“Base & Vile Things”
by Sonni de Soto
“Tell me.” Her voice, hoarse and hushed, whispered into the sightless, scopeless space Eli no longer recognized as his room. Without his glasses, the witching hour had warped his pitch-black bedroom, distorting the familiar shapes and scales into strange shades of themselves.
“Say it.” Her tone tightened as he felt Her lean in closer. Her hot breath felt wet as it fluttered against his shivering skin. He bit his lip to seal the words back, blood touching his tongue sharp and metallic like a sacrifice.
He wouldn’t say it. Couldn’t.
Lord knew, he shouldn’t.
Eli tried to turn away, but he was dragged back by the tangled tug of his trapped strands held tight in Her hand, his scalp burning as She pulled. His teeth released on a gasp, his head forced back to stretch and expose his vulnerable throat as he gulped breathlessly.
He loved Her.
“I can make you,” She murmured with a biting sweetness that sunk sharp as the nails that scratched and scored his scalp. “You know I can.”
Utterly unwillingly, he loved Her.
She held such power over him already; giving Her those words—tiny things that always felt so large—felt like too much. He could feel them bubble, like an incantation or a potion, in his throat. Felt them burn on his tongue. He bit his lip.
A part of him wanted to give them to Her. He wanted to give Her everything.
But, if he did, he wondered—worried—what part of him would be left.
Her silken weight swooped almost unbearably hot atop him, making his head rear back and his spine arch against the sensation—like a current, live and electric—that shot through him. She slithered over him, the satiny slide of Her hair spilling around him as She lowered Herself over him, the touch of Her skin a scorch along the length of his body. Each caress felt like a lash as Her ankles linked and lingered, brushing the bony bridge of Her left foot up and down and up his leg again.
Her hands crept to press hard against his chest. It scalded, that touch, as She sidled over his body, Her legs vise-like as they pressed into his hips. He cried out, the sound scratchy and weak compared to the scream caught—choked—in his throat.
Blind in the heavy darkness, he writhed against the small, but unshakable shape anchoring him down onto the comforter. Fragile fingers gripped his wrists like manacles as manicured nails dug like talons into his skin. He couldn’t see Her. Not really. Just a faint outline—a sinuous shadow—flowing, undulating over him as his near-sighted eyes strained to see.
He tried to trace the curve of Her, to touch with his gaze what his shackled hands couldn’t take. But the more he fought to focus on Her—to know the secrets of Her shoulders and spine, Her cheeks and thighs—the more She seemed to melt into the moonless night.
He lunged for Her, gritting out a throaty growl. With his hands and hips still held tight, he surged—whole-bodied and determined—toward Her, reaching for Her heat. Aching against the halted arch, he snarled as his chest met nothing.
Just the echo of Her.
Warmth like the smoke from a spectral flame.
He fell back to the bed, defeat a dull thump in the down as Her laughter, light and low, purred in his ear like a taunt. “Tell me.” The summons was a song that set his teeth on edge. Her tongue flicked a fiery lick along the sweat-slicked skin of his neck. “Tell me.”
So he did.
Like he always did.
He told Her. He loved Her.
She smiled, the white gleam almost swallowed by the dark, as She tore the confession from his mouth—his soul—on a howling moan. His whole body tightened as the tortured sound spilled out into the shadows. He jerked, his release a ragged, rough relief that left him feeling drained as Her body blanketed his.
She’s so hot, he marveled on a mewling yawn, Her skin all soft and slick heat. He should have been warm beneath Her, warmed by Her. Instead, he let his tired eyes close and shivered against Her as She cuddled closer, a fire that burned but offered no comfort. A flame that stole heat and gave none back.
God help me, he thought as he drifted off into dream, I love Her.
When he opened his eyes again, after hours of pure, peaceful darkness, he raised his hand to shield himself from the sun’s glare and sighed.
She was gone.
He could feel it.
His room was sunlit but cold. Empty and alone.
He lay back down, rolling onto his side as he touched the warm space where She’d been. The warm space where They’d been. He sunk low against the bedding, all but burying himself in the last remains of Their heat and scent.
He should leave the bed. The day shone bright and new as sunlight fanned itself across his bed.
It was time to wake up.
And he would.
But for now, while Her warmth lingered, he lay here, pressed flat against the mattress and nuzzled his cheek close, as he felt the comforter inevitably cool.
Sonni de Soto is a kinkster of color who loves horror’s ability to make the strange seem settled and the settled strange. Please find more of her work at sonnidesoto.blogspot.com and follow her at facebook.com/
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