Madame G (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
filthgoblin) wrote2009-02-05 10:11 pm
filthgoblin) wrote2009-02-05 10:11 pm
Entry tags:
"Sex and death", Being Human fic, Rated R
Title: Sex and Death
Fandom: Being Human
Characters: Mitchell, mentions of Annie, George, Lauren
Word count: 684
Rating: R
Warnings: mentions of sexual violence and death, large helpings of kink. Oh, and spoilers for episode 2 ;)
Summary: This is not who he wants to be, but whether he wants it or not he can't escape it.
Author's notes: huge thanks, as ever, to my wonderful beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silvaa, who always makes me strive to do it better.
Glaring darkly out of the window at the gathering dusk Mitchell turns the disk over in his hands, absently stroking the smooth plastic surface with his thumbs. People pass the house as he watches, oblivious to the predatory gaze regarding their progress, mentally weighing up each individual. The one-sided images he watched with carefully controlled passivity as they flowed across the television screen now play in vivid technicolour inside his mind. Visions of muscles contracting under skin as smooth as new bedlinen, limbs sprawled in beautiful, deadly abandon juxtaposed with a creeping dark pool of blood. Images that combine to fill him with an itchy need that irritates his skin from the inside, burns a path up his throat and gathers in his groin. Annie was right. The DVD was porn. Very specific porn. Porn aimed straight at his weaknesses.
There is only one way to deal with the crawling desire, he knows that for sure from bitter experience. He spoke the truth to Lauren, not even to dissuade her, just a statement of plain fact. He had never been very good at separating his need to feed and his lust for warm flesh. Clenching his teeth, his jaw flexes his cheek to a point as memories wash over him, myriad swirling blurry sensations give way to one faceless, writhing body, feeling as sharp as if experienced afresh: cold fingers on a warm waist; deliciously cloying flesh closing around him; the soft sound of tearing as he penetrates yielding skin; tongue thrusting and undulating against a vein aroused with panic, coaxing a gathering flood of warm, emollient blood, heady and rich with adrenalin, into his mouth. Blood that seeps through the cracks in his broken conscience as the body that encases him clenches tightly and fills him with thrills of inhuman passion.
His mouth waters; arousal makes its growing presence felt.
This is not who he wants to be, but whether he wants it or not he can't escape it. How many times has he told George that he has to accept the animal within him as part of himself? He shudders at his own hypocrisy, disgusted at his reaction to the sensual scene of sexual carnage spilling from his subconscious.
A thought cuts through the torment of his personal slideshow depicting feasts of flesh - something from his recent memory. The sensation of Annie's cold lips brushing against his taunts him with the degree to which he feels unmoved, as if he'd accidentally brushed her arm with his elbow. She's beautiful, so delicate, and cares so deeply. Any man would have to be dead from the waist down not to want her. He scowls grimly at the thought. Although the fact he can't hurt her makes it a moot point, he would love to believe he could trust himself not to do so even if such a thing were possible. But he knows what he's capable of. His mind experiments, transforming her cold lips into a fantasy creation imbued with the plush warmth of a vital pulse, starting a surge of sickening desire that twists his mouth cruelly and sends his tongue to test his teeth. Even Lauren's best attempts at sexual allure mostly left him cold, like the chill that had driven away the previous occupants of this place they now call home. Whilst she still offers temptations of the flesh, she lacks the essence he needs to abandon himself fully in all the ways he fights and wishes he didn't desire. He has already drunk his fill from that particular chalice. That attraction, which burned with such fire, has consumed itself. The feeling is dead in him now.
Dead.
His lips press into a tight line as he fights his body's autonomic responses to the stimulus, forcing his mind to acknowledge the truth he's been denying to himself for years. Without real danger, there is no way he can rouse himself to feeling. The flutter of a quickened heart traced against a pale throat raises an almost uncontrollable urge. He needs life blood to make him function. Sex and death. Desire and need. A need that is becoming more difficult to deny.
Fandom: Being Human
Characters: Mitchell, mentions of Annie, George, Lauren
Word count: 684
Rating: R
Warnings: mentions of sexual violence and death, large helpings of kink. Oh, and spoilers for episode 2 ;)
Summary: This is not who he wants to be, but whether he wants it or not he can't escape it.
Author's notes: huge thanks, as ever, to my wonderful beta
silvaa, who always makes me strive to do it better.Glaring darkly out of the window at the gathering dusk Mitchell turns the disk over in his hands, absently stroking the smooth plastic surface with his thumbs. People pass the house as he watches, oblivious to the predatory gaze regarding their progress, mentally weighing up each individual. The one-sided images he watched with carefully controlled passivity as they flowed across the television screen now play in vivid technicolour inside his mind. Visions of muscles contracting under skin as smooth as new bedlinen, limbs sprawled in beautiful, deadly abandon juxtaposed with a creeping dark pool of blood. Images that combine to fill him with an itchy need that irritates his skin from the inside, burns a path up his throat and gathers in his groin. Annie was right. The DVD was porn. Very specific porn. Porn aimed straight at his weaknesses.
There is only one way to deal with the crawling desire, he knows that for sure from bitter experience. He spoke the truth to Lauren, not even to dissuade her, just a statement of plain fact. He had never been very good at separating his need to feed and his lust for warm flesh. Clenching his teeth, his jaw flexes his cheek to a point as memories wash over him, myriad swirling blurry sensations give way to one faceless, writhing body, feeling as sharp as if experienced afresh: cold fingers on a warm waist; deliciously cloying flesh closing around him; the soft sound of tearing as he penetrates yielding skin; tongue thrusting and undulating against a vein aroused with panic, coaxing a gathering flood of warm, emollient blood, heady and rich with adrenalin, into his mouth. Blood that seeps through the cracks in his broken conscience as the body that encases him clenches tightly and fills him with thrills of inhuman passion.
His mouth waters; arousal makes its growing presence felt.
This is not who he wants to be, but whether he wants it or not he can't escape it. How many times has he told George that he has to accept the animal within him as part of himself? He shudders at his own hypocrisy, disgusted at his reaction to the sensual scene of sexual carnage spilling from his subconscious.
A thought cuts through the torment of his personal slideshow depicting feasts of flesh - something from his recent memory. The sensation of Annie's cold lips brushing against his taunts him with the degree to which he feels unmoved, as if he'd accidentally brushed her arm with his elbow. She's beautiful, so delicate, and cares so deeply. Any man would have to be dead from the waist down not to want her. He scowls grimly at the thought. Although the fact he can't hurt her makes it a moot point, he would love to believe he could trust himself not to do so even if such a thing were possible. But he knows what he's capable of. His mind experiments, transforming her cold lips into a fantasy creation imbued with the plush warmth of a vital pulse, starting a surge of sickening desire that twists his mouth cruelly and sends his tongue to test his teeth. Even Lauren's best attempts at sexual allure mostly left him cold, like the chill that had driven away the previous occupants of this place they now call home. Whilst she still offers temptations of the flesh, she lacks the essence he needs to abandon himself fully in all the ways he fights and wishes he didn't desire. He has already drunk his fill from that particular chalice. That attraction, which burned with such fire, has consumed itself. The feeling is dead in him now.
Dead.
His lips press into a tight line as he fights his body's autonomic responses to the stimulus, forcing his mind to acknowledge the truth he's been denying to himself for years. Without real danger, there is no way he can rouse himself to feeling. The flutter of a quickened heart traced against a pale throat raises an almost uncontrollable urge. He needs life blood to make him function. Sex and death. Desire and need. A need that is becoming more difficult to deny.