La Bastille (ManxBoy)

Verse Deux - The pulse of love anew, Part 2

Verse Deux – The pulse of love anew, Part 2

I don’t feel dead, nor do I feel completely alive. Is there an in-between to being human? Because that…that is what I’m feeling right now.

—Cid, La Purgian, La Bastille 2089 AP

The man’s heartbeat, steadying…slowing down.

He can feel the life withering away in his touch.

The clench of his own heart as he lets go of the man kneeling before him.

Cid gasps as the feeling of having control over one’s body starts to return.

He pulls his hand away as if scalded by an unknown force; the man he just touched falling flat, face-first into the concrete with a bloody splat.

A puddle of red flows out from the man’s body, drenching his corpse in a pool of blood, making Cid recoil in horror of whatever it is he just did to the helpless, hapless soldier.

The sound of someone approaching.

Distant footsteps getting closer.

A man rounding the corner.

Dominic Reinhardt.

“Hey, are you…” Dom’s voice falters as he realizes the story behind the scene painted before him. He looks between the dead man soaked in his own blood and the child standing before him. Dominic puts two and two together, and it makes him draw his gun out of impulse, “Who’re you with, little girl?” he poises his gun, “Who’re you with!?” there’s a rough edge in Dominic’s voice.

Little girl? Cid thinks to himself.

Dominic draws closer, nearing the boy who is now shaking and holding a red apple. Their eyes don’t meet because all Dom wants to look at are exposed legs the color of honeyed milk; glowing, unblemished, untouched…virginal.

Something of a wicked nature pulls tight in Dominic’s groin as he pulls forward with the desire to examine the child up close…and personal.

Cid takes a step back and Dominic takes notice.

The patrolling officer holsters his gun, and then raises his palms in a gesture of goodwill as if he has no malicious intent or desire to detain the child who, as he walks closer to Cid, is becoming more and more attractive in his lustful eyes. The prettiest I’ve seen.

Cid gasps as Dominic rests both hands on his shoulders. The heat of the man’s much bigger palms unwelcomed, and yet there’s a quiet sense of relief in his touch.

The weight of Dom’s hands on Cid’s shoulders makes the boy feel weak almost, as if his entire body is flooded with a strange form of sensation, his willpower crumbling beneath the man’s fingers, the man’s entire weight resting on him, travelling down his body to weaken the rest of him.

Dominic swallows and draws breath, his hands moving from the boy’s shoulders up to caress the neck.

A frisson of alarm crawls down Cid’s spine, and as if triggered by the feeling of danger, he whips, pulls his elbow back, then smashes the apple into Dominic’s face, sending the man to stumble with his head thrown back, fingers cupping his nose in shocked surprise of the strength the boy has in his look of fragility.

“I’m not a girl!” Cid proclaims then makes a run for it, but a spark on the ground before him stops him in his tracks.

“Take one more step and the next bullet goes to your head,” Dom forewarns, his right hand poised holding the gun, and his left nursing the blood flowing from between his fingers.