The Violin

Written by Marius

His eyes were so distant but totally focused, in his own world perhaps he saw the music laid before him, perhaps he saw palpable representations of his music in images or perhaps he saw nothing.
Nothing at all but the darkness which he had always drawn on. His lips looked soft and full; delicious to see and to touch…I dared not imagine it. Precise his body, arms free but his movements so definite. Languid at first in his strokes and building to a dangerous level; dragging me into a state of ecstasy. The powerful muscles of his thighs were taut, his whole boy attuned to the violin. If only I could feel the smoothness of his skin and feel his heart beating ever faster with this powerful tune, I felt I would die if this did not end.
I could no longer help it; my hands were on his shirt, my fingers slipping between the buttons. There was a glistening blood sweat on his skin. Sweet blood. I let the lust for it wash over me; I swept his hair back from his neck. Oh Nicolas. Love me the way you do this music, this violin, love me obsessively, totally and passionately. Want me Nicolas.
Kiss me, sink in your fangs and taste this powerful blood that courses through my veins. The mother of us all wanted me, the Devil himself wanted me…and now I would have you want me. My mortal lover. You found what you wanted, like Louis…you craved destruction and I brought it upon us. You love me, you want to be me, you want this light, you want me Nicolas.
My fingers worked swiftly on his shirt and soon it was open. He never faltered, not for a moment. Did he even know? Could he feel it when I placed my lips against his dark nipples, his arm just touching my hair as it swept across his chest and across the violin, and when my tongue gently licked at the blood risen on his skin could he feel it? I let my fangs lightly over his shoulders, teasing myself, provoking him.
He didn’t miss a note. Even my soft moans were drowned out by the insistent notes pouring forth from the violin. My fingers curled around his arm gently, “Nicolas…my Nicki…kiss me now.” And then I knew. I knew why I had been so scared of his playing.
“Please stop Nicki. You’ve played enough. Please…please Nicki.” He can’t stop, he really can’t. “Nicki!” Oh God let him stop; let him become quiet again if he must. “I’m sorry Nicki, I’m so sorry…” I was sobbing, fingers on his face, “Please Nicky, I love you”