by Dean Drinkel
“Oh yes,” he salivated. “You will definitely do.”
Lucien spat, a large globule of spittle landing on the Creator’s face - he smiled as he wiped it away. “An adversary...”
In the basket, the dog yapped. It had finished what the Creator had thrown it and was ready for its next scrap.
“Come.” The Creator patted the bed.
Lucien was lifted and flung onto the bed. One of his arms landed on the Creator who physically trembled when it touched him.
“Angelic,” the Creator stated as he begun to remove his tunic, revealing more of the rancid body underneath. He was covered in tattoos, not professional ink either, they looked...home-made?
“I am ready,” he ordered. “Let us begin.”
The white clad men flocked around him, removed the rest of his clothes. He lay back as they prepared him, puffing on his cigar but all the time keeping his eyes on Lucien’s body.
“I have dreamt of you...you are the one...Lucien...you shall be the one I will Transform.”
He signalled to one of the men who went to the cabinet against the far wall. He reached inside, brought out a highly polished black box covered in gold engravings. He carried it to the bed.
“Steady him,” the Creator ordered.
Nobody was entirely sure what was happening. They had never seen the Creator like this, almost unsure of himself, it was also far too early in the evening to talk about Transformation surely?
“Can you hear the music? The angels are calling me to do God’s work,” the Creator stated. “So who am I to refuse a divine intervention?” He flipped open the box, took out the long stiletto dagger and held it before him almost ceremoniously.
Now naked – and with great effort it had to be said – he got to his knees. He moved so he was as close to Lucien as possible. He was drooling. The dog barked in anticipation.
“Are you ready?” the Creator asked.
“Ready for what?” Lucien replied.
Without any further ado he put the knife to his arm and drew it across his flesh.
The dog was beside itself, Henri’s eyes fell to his feet. He was downcast.
Seven
Lucien slumped down at one of the tables in the furthest corner, out of the way of prying eyes but not far from the emergency exit in case of...emergencies.
The music was loud. Pumping. Erotically charged.
The lights were bright. Neon. Flashing.
As he sipped his drink he wondered what it was about a place like this that so many people couldn’t get enough of.
Flies round shit.
He ran a hand through his hair; he thought about that letter, he thought about his friends...he thought about Romain, he thought about...
...he smelt the man before he had picked up a chair and sat down opposite him. A mixture of stale aftershave, cheap deodorant and lubrication he’d probably purchased from one of those machines in the toilet. His clothes and general appearance was dishevelled – it was clear what he had been up too before sitting down and if luck was on his side, Lucien would be next on his list of conquests.
Obviously, he didn’t know what he was letting himself in for.
The man swigged from a bottle of lager.
“How’s it going?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Lucien hesitated but took it. As he expected: hot, sweat, sticky. Don’t these people ever wash after sex?
“I’m okay, you?” he replied, trying to display some kind of interest, but he failed miserably.
“Haven’t seen you here before.” The man shrugged. “But I guess that’s okay.” He paused as he took another swig. “How old are you...and before you say twenty-one I know you’re not...seventeen...don’t tell me...fifteen?”
“Old enough and I can prove it.” Lucien went to reach inside his jacket.
The man shook his head. “I’m not that bothered but you have got an odd look about you. I’m not saying ugly, don’t think that...wise beyond your years.”
“I’m a lot older than I look, you have my word. You own the club?” Lucien asked, this guy was on something – poppers perhaps? Probably but then also speed, cocaine...
“Me? No way.” The question appeared to throw him. “But I’ll tell you this,” he leant in. “I’ve certainly fucked my way from one end of that dance-floor to the other, so in some sense I guess you could say I do own the place. That’s why I knew I’d never seen you, never tasted you before.” He licked his lips, which Lucien guessed was some kind of come-on. He took another sip of the beer, pointed – using the bottle. “You see that negro over there? The queen with the muscles? The one who dances like a demented butterfly?” In the dim light, Lucien could just about see who he meant, so nodded – confused slightly by the odd choice of imagery.
“What about him?”
“If he approaches you, stay away. Take my advice, he likes hot little chickens – and there is always trouble.”
“Chickens?”
“Young lads like you – always horny with a permanent boner in their pants. Older guys will prey on you if you’re not careful, especially those fucking queens over forty, disgusting, all that ancient rolling mounds of flesh...you know what I mean?”
Lucien cast a quick glance over the man speaking to him. He must have been fifty at least, and if he had told him that he was fifty then even then he was probably lying.
“What about you? Got a boyfriend? Fuck-buddy? Someone who blows you when you wanna come?”
Lucien shook his head. “Nothing like that, no.”
“Really? What about older guys? You dig older guys at all?”
“That depends, but look I’m not...” Lucien replied.
“Right, right...depends? On what?” He suddenly looked like he was paying attention.
“Well, whether or not they are over fifty, you know what I mean?”
The man frowned and then smiled, he leant over, rubbed the back of Lucien’s head. “You’re a smart kid, I like you,” he started then stopped, noticing that Lucien’s drink was finished. “You want another?”
Lucien shook his head.
“Oh,” the man sounded devastated. “A pity, okay...I get the picture.” He stood up; Lucien grabbed his arm, pulled him back down onto his seat.
“Perhaps you’ve got something else I’d rather have instead.”
The man pointed to his ear. “I’m not getting you, did I hear you right? The music, too fucking loud man.” He tapped his head.
Lucien shifted in his seat then under the table, he rested a hand on the man’s inner thigh, gently stroked.
“We can go somewhere?” He then gave the man’s hardening cock a gentle squeeze.
The man grinned like a Cheshire cat. “You sure?”
Lucien nodded. “Definitely...I want you to be my first.”
“First. Wow. I know the place. We can have some privacy.” He took Lucien’s other hand. “I knew you were special when I first laid eyes on you. Nothing too heavy, I’m all yours; you lead the way, whatever you want. I’m sure I’ve got something to quench your thirst.”
The disabled toilet.
How original.
Lucien tutted.
This man, this poor pathetic excuse of a man had no idea, no fucking idea at all.
He didn’t seem that bothered about privacy either. They hadn’t even got the door shut before the man had sunk to his knees and was scrambling about trying to get Lucien’s belt undone, then eventually managing that, fingers to his zip, yanking down both his trousers and underwear to his knees and then wrapping his mouth around Lucien’s growing erection.
It was almost annoying, Lucien thought, and sometimes even made him sick to the stomach, he didn’t really want to have this grotesque creature sucking him off but when the mind wilted, the body was all too ready to betray him. He was so fucking hard right then that he could probably drill a hole in the...Lucien groaned, instantly losing that train of thought. Fuck, this guy was good, really knew what he was doing with his t
ongue, his lips, his throat...well, he probably had had enough practice.
The man leant back, Lucien’s cock slipped out of his mouth but he grabbed it swiftly, began to rub it backwards and forwards.
“I really dig cut dick,” he stated. “And you’ve got some tasty juice already...you young bucks get hard and stay fucking hard all night...know what I mean?”
He didn’t wait for Lucien to answer, just pushed his head forward, and opened his mouth wide, taking as much of Lucien’s penis between his lips as he could, sliding the tongue up and down the shaft. He was more than an expert.
The man’s hands were now on Lucien’s backside, Lucien – for what it was worth – clenched those tight buttocks hard. He was sweating. His breathing erratic. He was trying to fight the pleasure he was feeling, but it was a losing battle.
“Do you...do you want me to do you...” Lucien sighed.
The man (still with Lucien’s cock between his lips, looked up), he gave it one final suck before he released it. He got to his feet, grabbed the back of Lucien’s head, pulled him in for the kiss, and tongued his tonsils.
Lucien attempted to back away, not understanding why men wanted to do that...why on earth would he want to taste his own dick (and saying that, he didn’t particularly want to taste the other dicks that had been in that mouth that night either)...but he had to go with it, had to get to that point of no return, only then could he reveal his true self – for now, he had to follow this through and return the kiss.
The man’s hand traced down his spine, grabbed Lucien’s shirt, hitched it up.
“Please,” Lucien mumbled. “Don’t do that.”
But the man wasn’t listening and if he was honest with himself, Lucien wasn’t putting up too much resistance. The shirt came up over Lucien’s head; it was dropped to the floor. The man took Lucien’s cock in his hand, pulled it backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.
Lucien felt vulnerable, very vulnerable; he didn’t like being naked at the best of times, but the problem was, against the odds, there was something happening here in the toilet, he was very turned on and if he wasn’t careful it wouldn’t be too long before he actually ejaculated.
He moved into the man, the kisses became more powerful, more intense, tongues probing deeply into each other, sucking faces. Lucien’s hands on the man’s back now, pulling him in closer. He could feel that hard cock and massive scrotum inside the man’s jeans, bursting to be released.
“I have to fuck you,” the man stated.
“What?”
“I know you want me too, it has to be done now.” He stepped away, undid his jeans, dropped them to the floor (he was wearing no underwear). That big cock and large heavy balls were revealed in all their glory. He spat on his hands, rubbed his fingers on the end of his penis.
“What are you doing?” Lucien was panting, his chest rose and fell. His own dick quivered. The flesh around his genitals and nipples flushed, the soft golden pubic hair and that under his arms, itched.
“No time for niceties. I’m gonna fuck you. Turn around. Get one leg up on the shitter, leave one on the floor, hands on the wall, it’ll be easier that way.”
“I don’t know...I don’t know whether I want you to do that,” Lucien replied. He tried to keep his voice calm and measured. His penis wilted slightly.
“Of course you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have come in here now, with me. We both knew that this was going to happen. So be a good boy, turn around, get your legs wide. First I’ll lick your hole to get you ready, then I’m going to place my massive rod into you, you are going to take the whole damn thing deep. Then when I’m ready, I’m going to pump my load into you. I’m going to destroy your virgin ass.”
“No, you’re not, you’re really not,” Lucien whispered.
Lucien’s penis was completely soft now. Yes, there was some clear fluid dripping from the head, but any pleasure he was getting from this experience had vanished. His heart was racing still for sure, but not from excitement – but fear. He found the cubicle oppressive, it was hard to breathe, no air: claustrophobic. His mind was shutting down, layer upon later. He couldn’t think clear, he needed to get out.
And get out now.
As his penis shrivelled, hiding within his body, he bent down, scrabbled around for his clothes. He detested this man and didn’t want anything else to do with him. He was a walking bag of piss and shit...
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Lucien tried to block out the man’s existence; he found his shirt, which seemed wet, hoped it hadn’t ended up in a puddle of piss. He tried to get his arm through the sleeve.
“I just asked you a question: what do you think you’re doing? We agreed I’m gonna fuck you...”
Now with most of the shirt on, Lucien stepped into his trousers, got them to his waist (he didn’t bother with the underwear, stuck his pants in his pocket). The man slammed him against the wall. He hit the back of his head on the tiles. “What the fuck!” Lucien spat. “Leave me alone.”
The man ignored him, grabbed his shoulders, tried to spin him around, half got it right, kicked the lad in the back of his legs, he fell forward.
“I wanted this to be easy,” he started. “But if you wanna play, I’ll play. Don’t mean shit to me.”
Lucien did his best to fight him off, knew he was lucky as one or two punches landed true. The man grunted, but he was too big, too powerful, to go down easily.
Using his arm as an anvil, the man brought his elbow down onto the top of Lucien’s head. The shock vibrated through his skull, his neck, he fell further forward, his legs gave way, turned to jelly. The man caught him, held him tightly.
“You won’t need these anymore,” he pulled down Lucien’s trousers; moved one of his own legs between the boy’s then lifted it up, onto the toilet.
Lucien was exhausted, could feel something hit the rear of his thighs, then that soft patch between his legs, behind his balls. Christ, it was the man’s penis, it was extremely hard, threateningly so.
“Now you’re going to get yours,” the man coldly said.
Lucien’s eyes closed, he could hear music. Soft to start, quiet, like fluttering wings. He could feel the man’s rancid breath on his neck. Stale, fetid. Someone was banging on the door, but what was the point screaming for help? It would only make matters worse.
If of course, they could get any worse.
“I don’t think this will hurt you, but...” the man played with Lucien’s hair, he rubbed the back of his neck, and then reached round to his face, his cheeks, and his lips. The man groaned as he moved to Lucien’s ass, opening it...he was right, it didn’t hurt, not even when the man thrust hard in and out, his sweaty stomach and knees hitting the back of Lucien’s body.
Lucien prayed that now the bastard had what he wanted, the rest would be all over pretty quickly. His eyes opened as the music in his head reached a crescendo. For a moment he was convinced that the sounds were coming from an overhead speaker or something rather than inside his brain.
Lucien looked down, some shit was smeared there on the wall amongst the graffiti (Phil sucks cocks, probably; Ask the Ferret) and he wondered if some unfortunate had crapped himself or whether it had been put there on purpose, you could never tell with some people; but it wasn’t that which was making his head hurt...
...something the man had said earlier distracted him.
Something about a butterfly.
Behind Lucien, the man’s movements accelerated. He was panting, grunting, loud breathing, but then suddenly it was over.
He felt something drop down his legs, not sure if it was blood, shit or semen – that wasn’t important, it was only fluids of the flesh.
No, that didn’t matter; Lucien was concentrating on the word.
Butterfly.
He had to open his mouth. His teeth were digging down into his lips. He ran his tongue over them. They were sharp. Razor sharp. He looked at his hands. His nails had grown. They wer
e like claws. The light above him was hurting his eyes. His nostrils flared. He took a deep breath, his pulse slowed.
He inhaled.
That familiar aroma: Blood, sweet blood.
Fuck he was thirsty...he was hungry...
The man dismounted Lucien, wanked his cock a bit, it was still semi-hard. “That was amazing, I could go again...tell you one thing, you’re no virgin now.” He chuckled as he tried to put his own clothes back on as he went to leave. He was flushed; he was saying something but Lucien wasn’t listening. He had taken out a small clear plastic pouch, it had some white powder inside...he dipped a finger in, rubbed it on his gums.
Lucien’s attention was on himself and himself only, he was aware of every molecule, every movement within himself – the very molecules that fused him together. He knew he appeared to be human, but he certainly wasn’t...his molecules vibrated at a different, higher, more pure frequency. Every hair on his body was erect, an illuminated sheen to his flesh.
“You got nothing to say for yourself?” the man asked as he tucked his shirt into his trousers. “I hope you’re not going to be one of those pussies that cry rape; you wanted this as much as I did. I know you tried to lead me on but...”
The man paused for a moment, scowled. He stared at Lucien, his eyes were wide, widening.
“What the fuck’s the matter with you? Why are you looking at me like that? The man who paid me to screw you, Kotcheff, he said you were weird, he should have paid me double.” There was pure panic in his voice. For such a big man, he suddenly didn’t seem so large anymore.
Lucien opened his mouth, made that hissing sound in the back of his throat.
Kotcheff? What the fuck?!
The man nodded. “You’re a crazy odd-ball sonofabitch,” he whispered. He picked up his coat, fingers on handle, tried to unlock the door. His hands slipped.
“Going somewhere?” Lucien muttered.
After several failed attempts, eventually the man managed to get the door open, but then suddenly it was slammed shut. He went to turn around but the boy was swiftly behind him, on him, on his back, on his neck, his thighs, again the man’s neck...where had this strength come from?