The Games We Play

Just inside the club was a completly different atmosphere, like a new dimension where everything was his plaything, his toy, but he wanted none of it. The thin tiers curled up into a taunting smirk, slit amethyst eyes lighting upon everything, picking out shadowed bodies writhing on a dimly light floor and trying to get all thoughts of the other from his mind. Music vibrated up his legs, fingers of bass slipping into the nests of his stomach and through his chest, another lifeform nuzzling in the heated depths of him. One light slid over him, the visage of ebony and violet, and he moved to sit at a table in a corner.

Can't you trip like I do

Lips parted to take in the amber intoxicant that had been deposited by a waitress wearing a slightly too little for it to be an accident, and he let it slide down his throat. Deft fingers returned it to the plastic table with a quiet "clunk", which was taken, stolen, devoured by the all-encompassing music. Leather-coated legs slid to cross, the violet shirt hanging off him and shimmering as the brillance of white illumination ran across the mass of people like a police searchlight.

The urge to dance was suspiciously vacant tonight, MIA, so it seemed, and he didn't miss it. Suffice, it seemed, to sit back and watch, he drew another sip from the amber bottle that was bitterly warm. Bored, yet smirking, violet eyes, shadowed by matching hair, found a couple of boys engaging in a deep, soul-searching kiss that was most likely the result of too much alcohol. The cause, of course, was no concern of his; just the action, that simple action of pent-up sexual tension that ended with tongues battling for some illusion of dominance inside the warm caverns of two mouths.

That looks familiar.

Lashes dipped down, weighted, tired, resting the dark pools as a small sigh burrowed forth, stolen up by the sound that surrounded him like a living, erotically breathing creature. Blind and trying to become deaf, he grabbed the bottle once more and brought it to his palmers, feeling it's bittersweet sting down into the deep recesses of his mouth.

Fuck him...He ruined it all, destroyed it all! Everything I believed in, the game that was my life, and he robbed me of it! Now it hurts, it's agony, and it's bland and boring! What do I do now? What the hell do I do now?

Lashes parted, and he was startled by the appearance of a young man in front of him, standing in a subtle pose most might not have even thought second upon: hands linked at the small of his back, eyes downcast with his shoulders back. Cheeks filled with the scarlet flush of alcohol and a timid nature, the one in violet saw right through him, right down to the beating core of a confused, yet yearning soul beneath.

My perfect tool...my perfect weapon.

"Have a drink," he yelled over the din of noise, gesturing to the chair across from him as he leaned back and watched as the stranger complied. The customary smirk was riding high, causing his eyes to slit themselves again and hide the frozen amethyst beneath, while his hand touched the chain that was tied around his waist as a makeshift belt.

I'll make him pay...make him burn...make him mine until he can't feel anything else other than me inside him, twisting him. I'll teach you to ruin my fun, Valgarv...I'll show you...I'll show you....

Laid out on my back, I can't sleep 'cause I'm slumming
Eyes in my teeth, I can't see 'cause I'm eating
Head full of noise, I can't think 'cause it's crushing
Back on my feet, like a freight train I'm cumming

And in the darkness, a flash of white was seen, a sea of it with the floating violet rose in the center. This would be his triumph, so help him. The round, the game would be his once more, and no one would take it from him again...no one ever again.

The End