Title: The est de Most chastes profanons que nous tous.
Rating: Orange
Genre: Introspective /
Angst Warnings: Yaoi / One-shot
Characters / Pairing: Labrador Ayanami, Castor / Ayanami x Labrador Castor + Labrador
FOOTNOTES The title is loosely taken from a poem of Charles Baudelaire's youth, the translation would be: We all profane word caste.
. Il est de Most chastes profanons que nous tous.
The hours before dawn are surely the more smoky the whole night. The world goes down a curtain of cold silence, the sun shyly begins to shed its rays are cut off from the sky is still covered by the cloak of night.
are cold, those hours, people who sleep in the beds is curled up between the sheets in search of warmth that those hours of death seem to suck. The right time to allow evil to enter into what is pure, in what at the moment can not defend themselves because frozen in its beauty obscene.
Labrador had a nasty tendency to sleep a little during the night. Perhaps because he was too busy looking forward , too lost in thought for even one second to look after sleep, in vain, tried to woo her with flattery. Most likely those sweet hours of solitude were necessary-except then be scolded by Castor to sleep as soon as they pecked-out; usually all ended with her falling asleep, finally, just when the sun rose.
And that night they were taking different characters from the previous ones, will soon be dropped in the garden, he would fall asleep under the tree, it would have been scolded by Castor and business as usual. A sigh, he was snatched in front of quell'abitudinarietà so cruel, he could not but be pleased at the bottom of something else would mean war, but the fact remained that it was boring at times.
A gust of wind stronger than the others lifted him from the meditations. He had seen something move in the room, furtive and silent as a shadow as the wind itself. But there was nothing to the window, only the huge white curtains fluttering in the wind chill.
semblance of calm that was broken by a sigh that shattered against the ear of the prophet as the waves on the rocks infragono. I immediately recognized the scent he carried with him: the scent of cemeteries, chrysanthemums stained with blood.
A shudder ran through the back, as if he had something under the skin was a sickening feeling as the fingers began to play with her hair.
"At last we meet again, Profe."
Ayanami. It was like playing with a snake, having to do with him. In every moment always the possibility to rebel and attack you from anywhere he wants, then inject poison to make you submissive. Or kill you.
and Labrador felt for a moment, all those feelings. His breath, his fingers, the warmth of his body. Everything about him recalled something treacherous, almost immortal, and awesome. He had a violent jerk forward, so that the chair was overturned on the ground with a crash. He did not bother to wake the others, indeed, if it occurred Castor might have been better.
His eyes, while staring at the tall figure and cruel, had lost all traces of the mask he was wearing usually good-natured, were harsh, stern, old. The muscles tense, ready for any effort just to save his life. Yet his gaze abruptly changed: a closer look there was nobody in front of him, only the darkness that enveloped the dark corners of the room. He swallowed, relaxes the muscles of the arms, that it was just a feeling? Or worse ... a premonition?
He was able to confirm this very soon, yes, because those hands that had previously only imagined clung to his life as strongly as tongs and cold as well. The long, cruel fingers left no way out, the body of Labrador was brought against her without having the possibility to rebel. He was all happening too fast, had made the mistake of relaxation. He was the sin of pride, he thought it was just a play of his imagination.
The anxiety and terror in its most insidious, slowly took possession of his body and his mind. He had to defend himself, yes, but my muscles would not obey his command. The vocal cords were not moving, did not want to give that cry that perhaps would have saved. He could not call anyone, could not call Castor. It was simply trouble. They stayed
both properties for several seconds, during which Ayanami did nothing more than breath against his ear. He did it on purpose, most likely, and with each breath followed by a shiver Lab
finally found the courage to speak, if only to distract him from whatever it was he doing there.
"Verloren ... What did you do? "His voice, though weak, was firm and full of a considerable threat. He knew he was not able to kill him alone, but at least wanted to give the illusion can do it. Paid no attention to the trickle of sweat ran fast on the back, was not the time to show fear.
The only answer that was given was a cruel laugh, and the feeling of a face pressed against her hair. He heard the man behind him their breath odor, felt her hands move so as to make it run, so he could be one hundred percent sure that it was just Ayanami. His eyes, in those hours, he was sharp as a handful of pins, seemed to probe the soul and tear it to shreds shred. She gave him sick. A grin
cut her face, like a wound procured by a sharp sword, the words that came from those lips were thin, perhaps, the worst that Labrador had ever heard.
"I came to taste, Profe."
There was only one thing that, according to Labrador, Ayanami could want from him. He began to think possible ways to escape, to which weapon to use at least reduce it to impotence, but something prevented him from doing anything else. Those cruel lips were laid on his neck, had discovered that the teeth were embedded in the meat tender and white. Like a snake, he was savoring the prey before the meal, he could feel the tongue dart on the skin, could suppress the wave of disgust that's mounted inside. But what he was trying to do? Play?
He tried to push him away with one hand, and he succeeded; Ayanami took along a trickle of blood from his chin dirty quell'antipasto terrible. It was pretty gruesome image, like a horror book focuses on vampires.
pity that usually being bitten was a beautiful virgin, and not a Ghost.
The blood flowed in ever smaller, the bite, but the pain still remained. It was not a pleasant feeling, but what followed was even worse. He could not feel the movement, Labrador, the only thing I could understand was found lying on his bed, immersed in the sheets that were almost untouched, with the man straight to his face.
Their eyes were too close, the danger itself was too close.
meant something, any kind of thing that would be able to send away and it disappears. He tried to drive his own power, but a rapid movement she stopped him; Ayanami had narrow wrists, so hard to break.
'... Verloren, stop it. "
words clearly unnecessary, the of Ayanami mouth opened wide, or better, the cold, cruel lips came to rest on those with too much vehemence of Labrador, making it sound like the kiss a bit. It was an unacceptable situation, that gesture was not to happen, especially between the two of them. But how?
Labrador felt, little by little, more and more dirty. Every second that passed under his body and under the pressure of the lips and equivalent to a thousand more years under the auspices of Hell, the destruction of his soul a hundred times. An experience that I would not want anyone, an experience that was scoring more than necessary.
Then, the overwhelming presence was replaced in the fresh evening air. Like it was a mistake on a drawing, wiped away by a rubber ... glasses?!
"Labrador, all right?"
Oh, that voice would be recognized as one of the dozens and dozens, even that touch, those arms, those lips that you took away every bit of darkness that until then had tried to overcome it and make it their own.
was in the arms of Castor, was to save him.
A little 'like a fairy tale, too bad that the fine words of the book had been desecrated and polluted a bit' too much. Almost to obscure part of the story.
. Finish.
This story has cost me BLOOD. . _.
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