Levels of Hunger
By BA Tortuga
The sun had been down for a good while, the pink of
the sky gone a still, heavy velvet, when Adriano went
looking, bare feet making barely a sound on the wood
plank floor. The sound of the ocean came to him
through the French doors, soothing him like a lover s
touch, calming him just enough to give him patience
when he found Lars exactly where he thought he might.
In the tiny library, reading some dusty tome.
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Sighing, he bent, fingers trailing down Lars' cheek to
tilt the sharp-jawed face up for a kiss, breaking the
connection between man and words. Those eyes, as blue
as the Mediterranean at noon, blinked at him, dark
eyelashes tipped with the slightest hint of gold.
"Adriano."
"Good evening, love. I have waited too long for you
to surface this evening, hmm?" He had to smile, the
momentary confusion on Lars' face too amusing.
"Ancient Hebrew. Quite fascinating really, when
compared to middle English." The dull gold of his hair
echoed the pages with their age.
Stunning, his Lars. Truly stunning. Adriano watched
his tanned hand, square thumb and long fingers, as it
closed around Lars' lean, long throat, admiring the
contrast before bending for another kiss. He opened
Lars' mouth with his, tongue running along the lower
lip, soft and wet.
"I prefer other entertainments. Indulge me?"
"In all things." Slowly that focus turned to him,
heavy and intense, heady.
"Excellent." He held out a hand, backing off to allow
Lars to rise and follow him, the dust from the books
making the air seem otherworldly, making his nose itch.
Not in the library. Never there. That place, if nowhere
else upon the Earth, was Lars' sanctuary, and Adriano
would never violate that trust. They moved through the
house, Lars' hand sitting firmly in his. Trusting.
Understanding his need.
They wandered more than walked up the winding
stairs, the air seeming heavier as they moved deep inside
their home, the need thick between them. At the top of
the landing he turned left, not right toward their
bedroom. What he longed for could not be found in their
soft and luxurious bed. Not tonight.
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Still Lars followed, at his heels until they stopped in
the darkened room at the end of the hall, and Adriano
turned for another light touch of lips, to breathe in the
sweetness of Lars' very breath.
"Strip, lovely."
The spare, compact body was bared to him, ivory
washed in the barest of gold, his gilt one, kissed by the
near-forgotten touch of sun.
He kept his own clothes on, the thin linen pants only
a tiny shield between them, but enough to keep him on
his course. He had to touch, though, to feel that sweet,
smooth skin beneath his fingers. "So beautiful."
Lars shifted beneath his touch, drinking it in, soaking
him in. So utterly responsive. Adriano guided Lars to
the center of the room, walking around him and
admiring the tall, lean form as he decided what he
wanted, what he needed, what he craved. The only light
came from the open door, but Lars glowed as if lit from
within, making him hard, making fine tremors move his
hands.
"I read a story today about a man who so loved a
woman that he turned his back on God, on man, on the
world at her will, her word." Lars' voice ached with a
quiet need, the proof of his desire evident.
"And what happened to this man?" Candles, he
decided, would be their illumination, and Adriano went
to light them, listening for Lars' answer.
"God was furious and smote him, offered him
anguish and punished him with eternal hunger, yet he
cared nothing for it, for she was with him."
"Eternal hunger I can understand. It seems I have it
for you." The candlelight illuminated the heavy wall
hangings of silk and velvet, the scarlet cushions upon
the slate floor, and made Lars' hair into spun gold.
Adriano came back to his lover, reaching high above
A Torquere Press Sip - 3
Lars' head, standing on his toes to do it, so much shorter
was he, to grasp the cuffs he needed and pull them
down. Lars worried altogether too much about the fury
and attention of a dead god. "Tonight I believe we'll feed
it."
Lars' fingers slid around his waist, moving lightly,
drawing promises in one language after another --
Greek, Aramaic, Latin, French. "You make me ache."
"And you make me burn." He took each hand, kissing
the palms before fastening a cuff around each of Lars'
lean wrists, pulling the straps taut to take them tight
overhead, stretching that long body for him to worship.
There was a scar, old and fine, traveling down the flat
belly, ending in the mass of gold curls crowded about
the full, curved cock. A single well-traveled highway in
the map of a perfect body. Lars' eyes seemed bright in
the candlelight, his expression distant, angelic, not yet
marred by their need.
He could not wait to see that landscape change under
his hands. Adriano leaned to lick the tight muscles of
one arm, to nuzzle one fine-skinned armpit, the scent of
his most adored the most perfect drug. "Are you ready,
love?"
The skin beneath his lips goose pimpled, shivered,
and Lars gasped. "Yes. Yes, Beloved."
"Good." There would be little talk between them
now, until they were done, and his need was slaked. His
tools waited for him, in a carved mahogany box on a
low Italian marble table in one corner, and Adriano
chose carefully. They were experienced at this game, but
he still took precautions. Lars was too precious to him.
A sharp, bright sliver of a scalpel would do perfectly.
Adriano cleaned it, polishing it slowly, breathing deeply
to calm himself, to bank the burn in his belly before
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going back to Lars, letting his love see what he had
chosen.
As his breathing slowed, Lars' sped, a gentle flush
climbing up the golden skin, as if his lover's life blood
knew it would be called forth.
He simply watched for a moment, letting the
anticipation build, watching Lars' muscles begin to
jump. How perfect they were, his own need matched by
his lover's, mirrored by it. He would start just below the
throat, at the right collarbone, a tiny cut that brought a
thin, beaded line of bright red to the surface. The blood
beaded, gathering into fat, pregnant beads that spilled,
claret splashing on gold.
Oh, he wanted it, desperately, but the pleasure would
be far greater for the waiting. Better to watch the pattern
it made as it slid down Lar's chest, tiny rivulets that
separated and stained. Adriano considered his next spot
just as carefully, holding the scalpel to Lars' skin and
watching his lover's face.
Those eyes stared at him, clinging like a drowning
man to a life preserver. He could see the vein in Lars'
throat throbbing, beating. It tempted him just as much as
the darkening, drying blood, but Adriano waited on that
particular pleasure as well. There were other places.
Like the spot where Lars' waist curved just slightly into
the hip, where the hipbone jutted out. Another cut there,
precise, thin, and long, gave him a deep, rich trail down
one leg. Next the curve of Lars' elbow, the heat of the
dark blood slicking his fingers, painting the brightness
of the blade.
Unable to resist any longer, Adriano brought his
fingers to his mouth, the earthy scent and sharp tang of
the blood wringing a moan out of him. He leaned
against Lars for a moment, admiring the sight of that
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long body painted with his work, feeling the blood from
the last cut drip down on his cheek like a lover's caress.
Lars gave a low sound, nearly a growl, tongue sliding
out to slip over the full, parted lips.
"Mmm." The low sounds mingled, his own falling
over Lars'. The next cut he placed right next to the thin
scar on Lars' belly, just to one side, watching,
fascinated, as the skin split open so easily under his
knife. The long cock throbbed, pulsed, the roots of the
dull gold curls slowly going crimson, dark, wet.
He wanted to touch. He wanted to drop to his knees
and feel the stiff length with his cheek, feel the springy
curls go soft and flat as they soaked through. Instead he
knelt, running the very tip of the knife along the delicate
skin behind Lars' knee. The long legs trembled, toes
curling, Lars' head falling back, sacrificed to his hunger.
The fingers of his free hand reached irresistibly for
the cock just before his face, wrapping around it,
spreading the slippery liquid along its length before it
became sticky, thick. His other hand moved low, to the
bony knob of one ankle, making his final cut there
before leaning to lick flesh he held.
Bliss.
"Adriano..." The whisper seemed to echo, to
reverberate through the room, aching, wanton, rich as
the finest port.
"Yes." A final touch of lips to Lars' cock, bitter with
a hint of seed, salty with blood and his own sweat, and
Adriano rose, placing the scalpel aside carefully before
returning. One arm rose to wrap around Lars' neck, the
other dropped so he could touch chest and belly and
cock, tracing patterns, designs ancient and sacred,
modern and profane.
A Torquere Press Sip - 6
He rubbed against that long body, as if he could soak
up the deep, red blood with his own skin, and brought
Lars to him for a kiss. "Love."
"My heart." Lars opened to him, lips sweeter than
any wine, the wet slide becoming sticky, dragging their
skin together. The friction heated them, made them gasp.
His hands were back to shaking; while he cut they
remained calm, but now he was at a loss to control them.
Crimson and gold, his Lars, smooth and rough, making
his own skin seem plain until it was fully against his
lover's, painted with Lars' very life.
Lars moaned, eyes closed, breath panting into his
lips, lean muscles straining against the bonds that held
tight.
"Yes." He wanted more, wanted to hear and feel and
see Lars react to his touch, wanted to finish their ritual.
He wrapped his hand tight around Lars' cock, pulling
tight, his own hardness prodding Lars' hip, sliding and
moving, bringing more liquid life sliding against his
shaft. The scent of them stunned him, every time, metal-
earth-animal jumbling together.
He could feel the tremors, the vibration sliding up
Lars body, the shaft in his hand burning and heavy as it
wept for him, cried liquid tears of pure need.
"Soon, love. Soon." It had to be soon. The cuffs were
hard under his hand, his fingers, sticky-slick, fumbled
with the clasps, trying to free Lars while they rocked
together.
"I need..." The words were raw, scraping against his
nerves like broken glass.
They both needed, and Adriano tore his fingers
ripping the cuffs away. He managed though, and he let
Lars down from his bondage, his other hand catching the
weight of Lars' cock, steady and sure. "Whatever you
need, love. Now."
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"Now. Beloved." No longer sweet or light, his Lars
voice was a snarl now, the desperate growl of a starving
animal. Once that had frightened him, no more. A hard,
clawed hand gripped his head, tilting him back, mouth a
brand against his skin. He felt Lars' breath, a gust of air
that screamed of butchery and desire, the hint of fetid
death too close to the surface for comfort. Still, it was
familiar now, and Adriano arched, offered himself to the
beast full-heartedly. Sharp, deep pain, brighter than any
silver scalpel, ripped through him, rising in him with the
undeniable need, the exquisite throbbing draw of Lars'
lips and teeth pulling at him. Adriano's cock ached,
twitched, the swollen tip battered against Lars' body.
He drowned beneath the waves of Lars' need, the
draw of that mouth, the undeniable hunger that he fed.
On and on, his hand moved in time with each deep pull,
stroking Lars as everything in him was pulled out,
exposed, opened, just as he'd opened Lars' skin; it
poured out of him. His heart beat faster, the candlelight
growing, then shrinking to tiny pinpoints of light that
swirled in a maddening dance. His balls drew tight, his
knees buckling as his cock begged for more. His
beloved Lars answered that need, though, fingers
slapping his shaft with a sharp, breathtaking blow. His
climax took him, and it made his eyes roll back in his
head, sounded like nothing more than white noise in his
ears, his legs going out from under him.
Lars' hands were warm on his, lean muscles
supporting his with the strength of pure will -- a will that
defied time, age, God himself.
His beautiful Lars. Adriano ached. "Please."
"All I am is yours." The whisper filled him, soaked
into him, a balm.
A Torquere Press Sip - 8
As much as he belonged to Lars. He offered
everything, his hands, his throat, his entire self. How
could he give less than Lars gave him?
Soft laps cleaned the stains from his skin, the seed,
Lars lowering him to the ground. He rested on the floor,
feeling the cool slate under his back, hands at his side,
watching. Whatever Lars needed, wanted. Adriano let
his legs fall open, let his hips rise, inviting.
Those eyes shone, glowing, face animalistic and
fierce, mouth red, wet, open as a wound. Lars' cock slid
against his thigh, slick and hot, a promise. Opening,
Adriano pulled his thighs apart, holding his legs wide,
head falling back to rest against the floor, baring the
wound that still bled lightly. "Yes, love. Now."
Lars nodded, licking the air like a dog for half a
moment before the animal need, the demon of eternity
backed away a bit, leaving Lars with those happy,
wanton eyes he'd fallen in love with, smiling down on
him. Now.
He felt the wet kiss of that needy prick, the promise
and threat of possession that made this act so much a
temptation. Then Lars pressed forward and a pressure
filled him, spread his hole. Adriano made himself relax
that tiny ring of muscle, taking his love deep within.
Lars seated himself fully, hands landing on either side of
Adriano's head, the heat of Lars' lips against his throat
balancing the chill of the stone against his back.
Yes. He needed this as much as he needed the other
games they played, as much as the cutting and the
bleeding and the feeding. Perhaps more. Lars' thighs
were strong between his, long muscles hard as marble,
balls soft and velvety against his own.
Soft words slid against his skin, Lars' lips moving,
singing in a language as old as memory -- promises,
hymns, prayers, invocations. Answering with his hands
A Torquere Press Sip - 9
and legs and body, Adriano gave Lars his promises, his
darkest needs and deepest desires. His body pulled Lars
in, begged for more, asked for everything. The skin on
his backside felt raw, his shoulder blades ached, and he
dug his nails into Lars' shoulders, feeling the sting go
from him, to Lars, and back again.
In this, they were connected, Lars' focus complete,
the very blood flowing through the beating heart shared
between them. Lars took; he gave. Lars gave, and he
took. His cock was hard again, pressed between them,
making him gasp with pain as the sensitive skin rubbed
the blood from Lars' belly, making him moan with
pleasure as Lars filled him over and over.
"I would defy God for this, for you." The words were
moaned into his ear, almost a sob.
"You already have. I am yours." It was true. He faith
was gone. He belonged with Lars. He belonged to Lars.
"Yes. My soul, my life." Lars arched, cock driving
deep, slamming against that tiny spot within him that
made him believe in all the promises of Heaven, of
eternity.
There! His breath left him in a rush, his will
dissolving in the race for pleasure.
Yes. Lars snapped the word out, moaning, wild
eyes burning into him, making promises that lasted eons.
"Lars!" He was going to come again. He had to.
Everything. Lars asked him for everything, called for his
acquiescence with that look, demanded it and his body
answered instinctively. Moaning, wailing, Adriano shot
between their bodies, the ropes of pearly, burning fluid
wetting the dried blood, smearing hot and vital on their
skin. His body clamped tight around Lars, holding him
in.
Life poured into him, undeniable, the look on his
lover's face feral, lost in a sea of sensation. Everything
A Torquere Press Sip - 10
else grayed out around the edges, the only real, solid
thing Lars' otherworldly face, Lars' straining muscles as
his demonic beloved gasped for breath. Weak as a
kitten, yet oddly energized, that was how he felt, and he
let his arms flop to the floor, toes sliding down the
smooth skin of Lars' calves.
The room was pitch dark except for the flickering,
fading candles, Lars' fingers trailing over his throat,
teasing, taunting him with the question whether this
night would be the one Lars would choose to bind them,
entwine them. Take the soul he'd offered so often, so
willingly.
The breath caught in his chest, everything in him
stilling, waiting as he always did for Lars' next move.
Lars indulged him, but Adriano knew it was an illusion.
He was Lars' heart and soul. Owned.
"You would give the sun up for me." It was not a
question.
"I would give up anything but you." His reply was
just as firm, definite.
"I will indulge you until time stops."
They shared one last long look, Lars' face losing any
trace of humanity as those beloved eyes held him,
offered him the universe, and Adriano nodded, tilting his
head back, offering. He could only imagine what
indulgences they might find together in the future.
He couldn't wait.
end
A Torquere Press Sip - 11
Levels of Hunger
Copyright © 2011 by BA Tortuga
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used
or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission except in case of brief quotations embodied
in critical articles or reviews. For information address
Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX
78680
Printed in the United States of America.
Torquere Press, Inc.: Sips electronic edition / October
2011
Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press,
Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680
A Torquere Press Sip - 12
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