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stand under the stained glass
and i will know it’s you
you come crawling back
so what would you do for me?
i’m whole again for just a moment
til the morning comes
leave nothing left
take everything
It was an easy thing, to believe. And coming from someone who had always been aggressively against religion of any kind, that should have been more surprising than it was. But kneeling there in the gloom of that makeshift church that was really no more than a shack— while candlelight flickered a dancing mosaic over symbols on the wall that, at the time, meant nothing to him— he felt, for the first time in his life, that he was in the presence of something more.
It was easy to forget himself, to let go of his old life. That had been the point, after all, the point of leaving the way he did. The shack— the church— it seemed to call out to him like a siren, like a beacon. He left the car on the side of the road, keys in the ignition, even left the pistol on the passenger seat. There was something out there in the woods, something that he needed to know. The tatters of his past life, the looming finality of the future he intended, none of it mattered anymore, as he followed the overgrown path to where his heart, his soul was leading him.
There was dust and cobwebs. A few broken chairs. And more candles than he had ever seen lit in one place. It was beautiful, golden, and stuttered his breath as he lingered in the doorway, hands clutching the wooden frame so hard that splinters broke off deep into his fingertips.
There was an altar, the only thing in the room not broken or dirty or torn. Laid over top of it was a beige tapestry woven with runes, old and entirely foreign. There were no grand and frightening tomes, no books of the dead, no séance bells. Just the altar. The candles. The tapestry. And so many more runes, written all over the walls, beautiful and somehow also terrible for all their mystery. This place felt sacred, yet somehow, he was welcome here. He wasn’t afraid. But the power was undeniable. It throbbed around him, like a heartbeat making the smoke pulse and move even in the utter lack of breeze.
The room was small. There was nowhere to hide, so when the thing, the—the person— when they appeared, it was all at once and seemingly out of thin air. And yet somehow so expected that he hardly flinched. Hardly even gasped when the dark visage flickered out of his vision, then came back into focus closer, and closer still. And he was moving forward into the room as if pulled on a string, until his knees were pressed against the altar and the thing was somehow behind him. He could feel it there, oppressive, overwhelming, and the air was vibrating with its power.
He stared, wide-eyed, down at the runes written on the tapestry. Reached out a trembling hand to trace over one with a bloody fingertip; he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop himself. There was a soft sigh, a gentle breath that brushed past his ear. He shivered, tracing another rune, hardly caring as the splinters dug deeper and spread more blood.
Then, a touch. So soft that it was hardly there at all, but it was, it was, as the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. His eyes, suddenly unbearably heavy, slipped closed as the subtle touch smoothed from his shoulder down the length of his arm, lingering on scars old and new, faint and healed and the ones still angry and red and barely scabbed over. A hand, hot and dry as fresh lit kindling, wrapped around his wrist and pulled, turned him around, and he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut because he wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to see.
“Open your eyes,” came a voice, from everywhere. It echoed off the walls of the shack, ricocheted like a gunshot bouncing around in his skull. It brooked no argument. So he did.
Instead of stumbling backward, he felt himself lean closer, pulled in effortlessly by the other’s overwhelming gravity. The touch on his wrist had not released. A soot-black thumb stroked his pulse point, as his eyes tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Another hand pressed flat against his chest, and held motionless there.
He stared at the thing— not a person, this isn’t a person, this can’t be a person— while the air continued to vibrate, and the walls were shaking with it, and he was shaking with it. Drums were beating in his ears, slow and steady, and was it drums, or was it his heartbeat? The hum in the air, the rhythmic chanting, was the thing making that sound? Was it real? Was it real?
The mask was terrifying. White as bone, another symbol he didn’t recognize drawn in blood from temple to temple. Three sets of eyeholes but all pitch black. As if there wasn’t a face beneath the mask at all, and he might have believed that there wasn’t, if not for the slender jut of jaw and chin, stained in that same sooty ash. And still, despite the fear, despite it all, or maybe because of it,
maybe because of it,
he leaned closer, and the hands that had been seeking, tentative, moved now to grasp at his sides, to slide down to settle at his waist, at his hips, and allow him to press fully to the other’s body.
The world tilted, then. The scent of fire, of burning wood, of blood, thick and heavy and choking in his throat, it filled every sense. Dizzy, he clung to the other, his fists full of black cloth, holding on tight for fear of being lost, of being left behind, of being dropped. His stomach lurched. He couldn’t feel the floor beneath his feet anymore, could only feel the smoke, the flames as they lapped as his face, the wind as it rushed by and it felt so much like flying. So much like falling.
“Trust in me,” came the voice again, so all-consuming, everywhere all at once and entirely impossible to disobey. He felt the tension loosen, felt the fear melt away.
“Give yourself to me.”
“Be my III.”
~
And so III was.
And Vessel, Vessel was everything. When they returned from wherever they’d gone, III sank to the floor on boneless legs, trembling, staring up with tearful and reverent eyes at who had saved his life. Who had given him a reason to live. A purpose. Who had stripped him of all that he once was, all the pain and anger and ugliness, the loneliness and fear and misery that had consumed him for so long, that had driven him to the very edge, to the very end—
And at the end, at the cliff’s precipice, Vessel had taken his hand. Led him back to safety. Led him back, to Sleep.
He crawled forward, closer, rubbing his face against the other’s legs like a needy pet. Desperate hands tracing the intricate leather bindings wrapped from ankle to knee. Greedily inhaling the smoky foresty scent of the other, so otherworldly and special, filling his lungs like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.
Vessel reached out a hand, stroked it lovingly over the side of his face, allowing this embrace, allowing this devotion.
This worship.
The tears rolled freely down III’s face, dripped circles onto the dirty floor as he was gently pushed away and then helped to his feet, walked slowly backward until his legs connected with the solid, unmoving expanse of altar. It was hard but smooth beneath his back as he was guided to lie down, those strong yet gentle hands maneuvering him effortlessly. And III was putty in those hands of creation, to just shape me, mould me, make me into something worthy of you.
Vessel flickered again out of sight, just for a moment. So fast that III blinked and they were back again, standing over him now, gazing down with those fathomless black eyes. And Vessel’s body was feline in its grace, sinking down to straddle III’s thighs, swaying to that drum beat that had never quite ceased.
Vessel pressed their hands to III’s chest again, let them rest there, feeling his heart beat. Feeling the life pulsing, the blood rushing, and the moment felt suspended in time. III stared into the other’s hood, seeking out a gaze he could fully feel but not see, with open adoration. His eyes wide, pupils blown, lips parted as he struggled to regulate his breathing, but the entire universe sat perched in his lap and he was overwhelmed, overcome, by the sheer magnitude of it all.
Vessel leaned closer, down, hovering like a specter over III, and III’s hands itched to touch. Twitched at his sides where they’d been positioned and he yearned, he yearned—
And then he was being held, his face cupped, and thumbs tenderly swiped away the tears that were still falling. He sucked in a wet, ragged breath but it wasn’t nearly enough to prepare him for the feeling of Vessel’s lips when they pressed against his. Soft, gentle, and III felt his shattered heart pulling itself together again. He sobbed, fists clenching in the material of the tapesty beneath him. Vessel licked a trail from III’s lips up over his cheeks, cleaning away the tears, pressing healing kisses over his closed eyes, the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw. To his neck, and III gasped, heat pooling low in his gut as his body awakened to all the love and attention it was receiving, that he had been denied for so long.
Vessel’s hands explored him, like he was something precious, something worthy of the utmost care. Trailing down over his chest, til they reached the hem of his shirt and pushed underneath. And a low, rasping voice was hushed against his ear, heard for the first time out of his head, and this time the walls didn’t shake with it, but III did.
“I’ll take all the dark in you, and carve me out a home.”
III moaned, his back arching against the solid weight pinning him down. The pressure was delicious, the way Vessel was perfectly aligned to soothe every ache in him. And he writhed, beyond all shame, consumed with pure, unabating need.
Their lips met again, hungrier than before, and Vessel flicked deft fingers over III’s nipples, swallowing the resulting gasp and moan the action provoked. III’s slack-jawed pleasure was taken advantage of, the other’s tongue dipping in for a proper taste of him.
III’s head spun around, eyes shut tight against the pleasure that was almost too much, against the outpouring of love, how full to bursting his heart felt with every curl of Vessel’s tongue around his own, every breath tinged with clove smoke that fanned across his face when Vessel finally pulled back enough to speak again, yet still so close that their lips brushed with each word.
“I know the angels tonight are suffering, as I am, to merely behold you,” as clever hands tugged him free of his jacket, of his shirt, until he was exposed to the heated air of the church and the heated eyes as Vessel drank their fill of him.
“The gods would abandon heaven,” they whispered, kissing a line down III’s chest, paying every inch of him careful attention, “Just to find us, to merely behold you.”
Their hands finally found III’s, fingers laced, fingers clenched. While Vessel’s lips played along III’s belly, sharp teeth nipping at his hipbones, causing him to gasp and arch and cry out.
“Beautiful. And m̷̰̆͗̆͊̑̂̚i̶̬̞͔̮̼͆̉͊̈́͋̓̆̃͋̕n̶͍͎͔͈̳̜̋e̶̢͙̹͈̺̠͗̿̍̇̉͛̉̒̄͝."
The voice, a thousand voices shrieking at once, caused a wave of sound and vibration strong enough to extinguish the candles and shatter the windows. III felt his consciousness slip into nothing but smoke and darkness and he was floating, weightless, but he wasn’t afraid. He reached out, searching for the other part of himself, the missing piece that would complete him, would make him whole again.
And felt himself wrapped in a shadow, consumed by it, spun around and around and his hands were caught, clasped in strong, gentle hands kissed by the fire. He jolted as he came abruptly awake again, suddenly grounded by the solid presence still perched on top of him, still reverently being kissed and caressed while Vessel whispered words he couldn’t make out in a language he didn’t understand, but from their lips it could only be a prayer, as sweet as it felt against III’s skin.
It was as if the scream never happened, and maybe it hadn’t. The candles were all lit again, casting Vessel’s shadow on the wall and the ceiling, and III found himself enraptured by the way it flickered and moved.
He reached out below him, then, overcome with a sudden need to touch the other, to be somehow even closer to them. His hands were caught, though, brought to Vessel’s mouth where each fingertip was christened with a kiss, then stretched out til they draped over III’s head, hanging limply over the side of the altar.
“Keep them there for us,” Vessel commanded, staring into III’s eyes to be sure that he understood.
And III nodded dumbly, willing to agree to anything at this point, and he knew it. He wanted this, wanted all of it, whatever Vessel was willing to give him. Desperate for it, for love, for completion, purpose, life.
“It’s yours, all of it,” came that purr in his head, as Vessel’s fingers finally undid the button to his pants, and he felt every single tooth of the zipper as it was brought down in torturous slow motion and his straining need was finally exposed.
Vessel sighed, a soft, dreamy sound that made III’s toes curl because they sounded pleased. Pleased with him.
“We will take such care of you, III,” Vessel whispered, sliding the jeans down over III’s long legs and off, left to pool on the floor. They didn’t make any move to touch where III was twitching and leaking in his boxers, instead laving their tongue down trembling thighs, tasting and exploring and full of such devotion that III feared it might be enough to bring him to full pleasure. His hands clenched tight where they were still hung above his head and he couldn’t quite contain the whine that escaped his throat.
III sniffled, feeling a fresh wave of tears filling his eyes again from the frustration, the need he felt. His voice was raw, wrecked from all the smoke, when he croaked, “Please.”
Vessel paused, at that. Tilted their head and considered him.
“Please,” he tried again, legs falling open more in what he hoped was enticing. And felt Vessel’s gaze drift down to his center.
After what felt like an eternity, Vessel’s hands smoothed back up III’s legs, up the insides of his thighs where he’d spread himself open so wantonly. Fingers dipped up under the bottom of his shorts, stroking over soft and sensitive skin and making III arch and moan and beg for more, babbling nonsense, prayers, incantations in their own right.
“So long you’ve been incomplete.” The shorts were finally, finally slid down to join the rest of III’s clothes on the floor. And he was bared beneath this ethereal, otherworldly being that was still fully immaculately clothed. Desire simmered in his belly, molten, and he needed to be touched so badly he was ready to do anything—
“You’re ready, aren’t you? To be ours?”
“Yes!” III cried in a voice that felt much too loud for the tiny church, that he would have otherwise been embarrassed about, but now could only whine and desperately raise his hips up, so far beyond anything but seeking completion. But Vessel did not touch him there yet, instead placing their hands on each hip, pressing him down, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the dip of his hipbones.
“Tell me. Tell me what you’ll give to me,” came the voice, so much deeper than Vessel’s, so much stronger and it touched a special part of his insides that made his trembling begin anew.
“Anything,” III breathed, staring directly into Vessel’s mask. “Everything.”
A pleased rumbling purr caressed over him from the inside out, causing goosebumps to blossom over his skin, and then Vessel’s mouth descended on him. Took him down to the root, while their hands lovingly soothed up and down his sides, petting him, loving him, loving him so well.
The drums were beating louder, drowning out the wet sounds of Vessel’s mouth on him, of their tongue working expertly over his aching, throbbing desire. And III could only receive, intent to leave his hands where they were, and his hips firmly on the altar where he was given a reminding push down whenever he got too excited, the effortless strength of the other belied by their slighter frame and enough to make III shiver at the implications of it.
While Vessel pleasured him, the voice in his head continued whispering sweet honeyed affection, of III’s perfection, his beauty, the way his muscles danced beneath Vessel’s ministrations. That he tasted like heaven, that his essence was ambrosia, that they would have an eternity of this. Never be parted. Never be alone again.
III’s eyes rolled back in his head as Vessel took him deep again, and coupled with what was being cooed in his ears, he felt his body beginning to twitch. His hips rocking gently, rhythmically, his desperate cries reaching a crescendo as his toes curled up in the tapestry, his fingers clenched in his own hair, face twisted up tight in pleasure that was almost unbearable.
His mouth fell open on a soundless scream, gasping for air but only inhaling a thick smoke that sank its tendrils down his throat, slithering out into the branches of his lungs, that flowed now through his blood stream. He felt it reaching his fingers, his toes, even where his cock was hard and pulsing now deep into Vessel’s swallowing throat. His eyes opened wide, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, back arched entirely off the altar where he now floated, suspended in the air.
Vessel flickered off and away, licking their lips, head tilted as they considered the newest addition to their family.
III slowly lowered back down, his fingertips tainted now with the same black smoke that painted Vessel.
Vessel approached the sleeping man, stroked a hand tenderly down his face.
“Missing pieces find me, and I am whole again, whole again, whole again.”