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Another one of my Halloween Tales
This is DARK.
Title: Dancing with Demons
Author: Alex (alex_cat_45@yahoo.com)
Type: RPS AU
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is fiction. I make no claims that any event in this story happened. It is simply a parody of real life.
Warnings: VERY DARK, mild bondage, death.
Beta: Larian Elensar
Pairing: Marton/ Thomas(OCM)
Archive: OEAM
Author’s Note: In Norse mythology, Fenrir was the son of Loki. He was a wolf. For the purposes of my story, he is a demon of the Judeo/Christian mold.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Marton finds out the wages of sin.
~~~
DANCING WITH DEMONS
Marton didn’t often go to clubs anymore, telling himself that he was too old for such foolishness, but on this night he did. He was a stranger in town and someone on the set said it was a good place to while away some time and maybe even get lucky. He didn’t care so much about getting lucky as he did not being in that hotel room alone. He dressed in black leather pants, black cotton t-shirt, and lace up boots like his Yorgi character wore in xXx. He wore his hair long still from making the movie and he slicked it back into a ponytail and fastened it with a leather thong.
The club was dark and smoky with high tech music throbbing throughout. It was so loud that Marton could feel the beat in his chest. He made his way to the bar through all the couples dancing in the sea of bodies. It didn’t look like anyone was alone here, he thought, as he observed dancers doing everything from dancing to contact of a much more intimate nature.
He grabbed an empty stool and ordered a drink, tossing it back rather rapidly followed by a second one. He was about to down his third when he heard a voice close to his ear.
“If you keep that up, you won’t be able to dance with me.”
Marton looked into a face from a wet dream… a slender face with prominent cheekbones, slightly slanted deep, dark brown eyes and a generous mouth that was smiling at him. The face was framed with black hair in a rather shaggy cut. His accent sounded American, maybe Canadian; Marton wasn’t quite sure.
“How do you know I *want* to dance with you?” He tried to feign disinterest but was failing miserably.
“I just know things. My name is Thomas. Dance with me.”
And Marton did, following the tall, willowy figure out into the melee. They faced one another and began to move to the music in what looked like musical foreplay. They watched each other, bodies and hands almost touching as they sensuously writhed to the beat of the music.
When the rhythm slowed, they did touch… lips, bodies, hands, all at once. Marton felt like he would ignite… even thought he smelled fire once or twice. After the dance, he was sure they would leave the club and go somewhere more private but they went back to bar and he ordered another drink.
Marton remembered taking a sip of the drink…
***
Marton woke with the mother of all hangovers. His head pounded too hard to open his eyes so he just lay there. He needed to piss, but when he tried to get up, he noticed the cold metal around his wrists. His eyes flew open. The room was dimly lit; he could see dark walls and candles here and there. He looked at his wrists and saw that he was handcuffed to a wrought iron bed frame. He had played bondage games in the past but not with cuffs like these. They were heavy duty, all metal, police issue. He tried to move his legs and felt the manacles around his ankles. He was naked and the room was cold, uncomfortably so. He knew he was not alone but he didn’t see anyone, nor did he hear anyone.
Then Thomas walked into his line of sight. He was dressed only in his faded, torn jeans now. He looked at Marton with a benign look.
“I wondered when you would wake.”
“What did you do to me?”
“I brought you home to play.”
“You could have asked me. What did you do? Drug me?”
“I am not sure you would have come otherwise.”
“You could have asked. Now let me up.”
Thomas smiled, a cool smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I think I will leave you like that for awhile.” He left the room.
Marton tried to stay awake but he drifted. He dreamed of odd things, meadows in the moonlight, running and running until his sides hurt, odd sulfurous smells, blood…
“Wake up.”
He opened his eyes to a sight that he would forever wish he had not seen. Thomas stood by the bed but he was not the pretty young man in the dance club any longer. He was still dressed in his jeans but that was all that was the same. The dark hair that was shaggy before was a wild black mane now and eyes that were deep brown earlier now glowed a dark burgundy. His smile was frightening and for a minute, Marton couldn’t figure out why. Then it hit him. Fangs…Thomas had fangs. And when he moved, Marton saw the wings, black as a crow’s wings they were.
“W-what are you?”
“I am Fenrir… perhaps you would call me a demon.”
“What do you want with m-me?”
Thom-Fenrir came closer and Marton realized that he *had* smelled sulfur before.
“I do not want anything *with* you as much as I just want you. I want you to be mine, to belong only to me.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I can give you great pleasure.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You don’t want to refuse me.”
The demon leaned down over him and kissed him, his tongue darting inside Marton’s mouth. Marton shivered, not in revulsion as he should have, but in need and white hot desire. He jerked when warm hands sporting claws touched his chest.
“Would you like a taste of what I can give you, my love?” The face of the demon was as beautiful as it was terrible as he spoke next to Marton’s ear. Marton swallowed hard and nodded, not sure of what else to do.
“Close your eyes then, my love.”
He didn’t know why he so readily obeyed but he did. He felt one of the warm hands touch his face.
/Thomas was riding him, impaled on Marton’s throbbing cock. He was the gorgeous man that Marton had met in the dance club again. He rode hard and fast with his eyes shut tight and unintelligible sounds coming out of his mouth.
Marton strained up into him, his hands miraculously unbound as he reached up to move the curtain of shaggy hair back out of Thomas’ face. He was so close as he panted Thomas’ name over and over. Just as he felt like he was almost there, Thomas opened his eyes and Marton saw them glowing liked a deep red wine.
The pleasure disappeared in an instant and he was on the ground. It was night and he was in great pain. He screamed and opened eyes that were closed again. Standing above him were three wolves. They were feasting, muzzles bloody with fresh kill as they snarled and growled at one another. He looked down his body and saw that they feasted on his own innards.
He gathered all this strength and said, “Yes, yes, I’ll be yours, I’ll do as you say.” /
Marton was still screaming when he woke up.
He was at home in his own bed. He had a headache but he seemed to be whole otherwise. He got up and went to the bathroom. He looked fine in the mirror. He looked like himself.
He showered and dressed, got ready for work like he always did.
**
Time passed and the dream faded but Marton still felt a chill when he saw a man who even vaguely resembled Thomas. He worked in many more films and ended up in many strange cities. He avoided dance clubs and bars though and after time, he even forgot why.
One evening several year later, he was checking into a hotel when he heard a voice in his ear.
“Would you like to dance with me?”
Marton wheeled around and there he stood. Thomas.
“Aren’t you even going to say hello to me?”
Marton walked around him and headed for the elevator.
“Do you remember me?”
Marton pressed the button.
“Remember the cuffs?”
Marton boarded the elevator alone.
So he thought.
The voice was a low growl when it spoke in his ear.
“Do you remember your promise?”
Marton did… he had promised that he belonged only to Thomas. And it seemed that Thomas was finally here to make his claim. The memories crowded his mind all of a sudden. He saw no way out. He had given his word.
“Yes, I remember,” he whispered.
Thomas laughed a laugh befitting a demon, its obscene sound making Marton’s blood run cold. When the elevator stopped, he followed the demon without question. He opened the door to what looked like an ordinary room. Inside, it was a dark cell with a single bed and a few candles scattered about. Marton removed his clothing without being told and lay down on the bed. He was not surprised when Thomas cuffed him to the bed; nor was he surprised when Thomas climbed on top of him and rode him…this time to a screaming, writhing orgasm for both of them.
Marton relaxed. Maybe the part about the demon was just an odd nightmare.
Just as his eyes closed, he heard the low growl.
His eyes flew open. Above him stood three wolves. He started screaming when the first one dipped his head and ripped into him. He watched their eyes glow in the moonlight as his screams continued. His strength was fading fast and his vision was beginning to grow dark. The last thing he noticed before his heart stopped beating was that one of the wolves had eyes the color of burgundy and that it seemed to smile at him.
~end~
Title: Dancing with Demons
Author: Alex (alex_cat_45@yahoo.com)
Type: RPS AU
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is fiction. I make no claims that any event in this story happened. It is simply a parody of real life.
Warnings: VERY DARK, mild bondage, death.
Beta: Larian Elensar
Pairing: Marton/ Thomas(OCM)
Archive: OEAM
Author’s Note: In Norse mythology, Fenrir was the son of Loki. He was a wolf. For the purposes of my story, he is a demon of the Judeo/Christian mold.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Marton finds out the wages of sin.
~~~
DANCING WITH DEMONS
Marton didn’t often go to clubs anymore, telling himself that he was too old for such foolishness, but on this night he did. He was a stranger in town and someone on the set said it was a good place to while away some time and maybe even get lucky. He didn’t care so much about getting lucky as he did not being in that hotel room alone. He dressed in black leather pants, black cotton t-shirt, and lace up boots like his Yorgi character wore in xXx. He wore his hair long still from making the movie and he slicked it back into a ponytail and fastened it with a leather thong.
The club was dark and smoky with high tech music throbbing throughout. It was so loud that Marton could feel the beat in his chest. He made his way to the bar through all the couples dancing in the sea of bodies. It didn’t look like anyone was alone here, he thought, as he observed dancers doing everything from dancing to contact of a much more intimate nature.
He grabbed an empty stool and ordered a drink, tossing it back rather rapidly followed by a second one. He was about to down his third when he heard a voice close to his ear.
“If you keep that up, you won’t be able to dance with me.”
Marton looked into a face from a wet dream… a slender face with prominent cheekbones, slightly slanted deep, dark brown eyes and a generous mouth that was smiling at him. The face was framed with black hair in a rather shaggy cut. His accent sounded American, maybe Canadian; Marton wasn’t quite sure.
“How do you know I *want* to dance with you?” He tried to feign disinterest but was failing miserably.
“I just know things. My name is Thomas. Dance with me.”
And Marton did, following the tall, willowy figure out into the melee. They faced one another and began to move to the music in what looked like musical foreplay. They watched each other, bodies and hands almost touching as they sensuously writhed to the beat of the music.
When the rhythm slowed, they did touch… lips, bodies, hands, all at once. Marton felt like he would ignite… even thought he smelled fire once or twice. After the dance, he was sure they would leave the club and go somewhere more private but they went back to bar and he ordered another drink.
Marton remembered taking a sip of the drink…
***
Marton woke with the mother of all hangovers. His head pounded too hard to open his eyes so he just lay there. He needed to piss, but when he tried to get up, he noticed the cold metal around his wrists. His eyes flew open. The room was dimly lit; he could see dark walls and candles here and there. He looked at his wrists and saw that he was handcuffed to a wrought iron bed frame. He had played bondage games in the past but not with cuffs like these. They were heavy duty, all metal, police issue. He tried to move his legs and felt the manacles around his ankles. He was naked and the room was cold, uncomfortably so. He knew he was not alone but he didn’t see anyone, nor did he hear anyone.
Then Thomas walked into his line of sight. He was dressed only in his faded, torn jeans now. He looked at Marton with a benign look.
“I wondered when you would wake.”
“What did you do to me?”
“I brought you home to play.”
“You could have asked me. What did you do? Drug me?”
“I am not sure you would have come otherwise.”
“You could have asked. Now let me up.”
Thomas smiled, a cool smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I think I will leave you like that for awhile.” He left the room.
Marton tried to stay awake but he drifted. He dreamed of odd things, meadows in the moonlight, running and running until his sides hurt, odd sulfurous smells, blood…
“Wake up.”
He opened his eyes to a sight that he would forever wish he had not seen. Thomas stood by the bed but he was not the pretty young man in the dance club any longer. He was still dressed in his jeans but that was all that was the same. The dark hair that was shaggy before was a wild black mane now and eyes that were deep brown earlier now glowed a dark burgundy. His smile was frightening and for a minute, Marton couldn’t figure out why. Then it hit him. Fangs…Thomas had fangs. And when he moved, Marton saw the wings, black as a crow’s wings they were.
“W-what are you?”
“I am Fenrir… perhaps you would call me a demon.”
“What do you want with m-me?”
Thom-Fenrir came closer and Marton realized that he *had* smelled sulfur before.
“I do not want anything *with* you as much as I just want you. I want you to be mine, to belong only to me.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I can give you great pleasure.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You don’t want to refuse me.”
The demon leaned down over him and kissed him, his tongue darting inside Marton’s mouth. Marton shivered, not in revulsion as he should have, but in need and white hot desire. He jerked when warm hands sporting claws touched his chest.
“Would you like a taste of what I can give you, my love?” The face of the demon was as beautiful as it was terrible as he spoke next to Marton’s ear. Marton swallowed hard and nodded, not sure of what else to do.
“Close your eyes then, my love.”
He didn’t know why he so readily obeyed but he did. He felt one of the warm hands touch his face.
/Thomas was riding him, impaled on Marton’s throbbing cock. He was the gorgeous man that Marton had met in the dance club again. He rode hard and fast with his eyes shut tight and unintelligible sounds coming out of his mouth.
Marton strained up into him, his hands miraculously unbound as he reached up to move the curtain of shaggy hair back out of Thomas’ face. He was so close as he panted Thomas’ name over and over. Just as he felt like he was almost there, Thomas opened his eyes and Marton saw them glowing liked a deep red wine.
The pleasure disappeared in an instant and he was on the ground. It was night and he was in great pain. He screamed and opened eyes that were closed again. Standing above him were three wolves. They were feasting, muzzles bloody with fresh kill as they snarled and growled at one another. He looked down his body and saw that they feasted on his own innards.
He gathered all this strength and said, “Yes, yes, I’ll be yours, I’ll do as you say.” /
Marton was still screaming when he woke up.
He was at home in his own bed. He had a headache but he seemed to be whole otherwise. He got up and went to the bathroom. He looked fine in the mirror. He looked like himself.
He showered and dressed, got ready for work like he always did.
**
Time passed and the dream faded but Marton still felt a chill when he saw a man who even vaguely resembled Thomas. He worked in many more films and ended up in many strange cities. He avoided dance clubs and bars though and after time, he even forgot why.
One evening several year later, he was checking into a hotel when he heard a voice in his ear.
“Would you like to dance with me?”
Marton wheeled around and there he stood. Thomas.
“Aren’t you even going to say hello to me?”
Marton walked around him and headed for the elevator.
“Do you remember me?”
Marton pressed the button.
“Remember the cuffs?”
Marton boarded the elevator alone.
So he thought.
The voice was a low growl when it spoke in his ear.
“Do you remember your promise?”
Marton did… he had promised that he belonged only to Thomas. And it seemed that Thomas was finally here to make his claim. The memories crowded his mind all of a sudden. He saw no way out. He had given his word.
“Yes, I remember,” he whispered.
Thomas laughed a laugh befitting a demon, its obscene sound making Marton’s blood run cold. When the elevator stopped, he followed the demon without question. He opened the door to what looked like an ordinary room. Inside, it was a dark cell with a single bed and a few candles scattered about. Marton removed his clothing without being told and lay down on the bed. He was not surprised when Thomas cuffed him to the bed; nor was he surprised when Thomas climbed on top of him and rode him…this time to a screaming, writhing orgasm for both of them.
Marton relaxed. Maybe the part about the demon was just an odd nightmare.
Just as his eyes closed, he heard the low growl.
His eyes flew open. Above him stood three wolves. He started screaming when the first one dipped his head and ripped into him. He watched their eyes glow in the moonlight as his screams continued. His strength was fading fast and his vision was beginning to grow dark. The last thing he noticed before his heart stopped beating was that one of the wolves had eyes the color of burgundy and that it seemed to smile at him.
~end~