Portrait of Love in Red
by Ravyn

Portrait of Love in Red

by Ravyn

Splashes of red on an off-white wall, brush strokes caused by the frenzy of the hunt. Feeding time at the zoo for those of a more nocturnal species - a species with the intelligence of their prey but strength that far outweighed that of their food.

Micah stood up from where he'd been examining the body and looked around. Strangely, the scene didn't have the same feel that most scenes of this nature had. This one had an underlying - something. Usually there was fear but here there was none.

It felt darker, and yet it made him feel more alive; it made him think of Devon and the way he smelled right after sex.

He figured that made sense because the position of the body led one to believe that death wasn't the appetizer on that evening's menu: legs spread and tied to the posts nearest the door, arms similarly tied to the ones above the body's head. The look on the face was one of satisfaction, not terror or pain. Micah could almost see the body arched in its completion; he could almost hear the cries of need bouncing off the walls.

Fangs, gleaming white, striking the dusky-toned throat as the vampire's seed spilled into the body below it.

A small moan escaped Micah's throat, the visuals too clear for him to not be affected by them. Need for his lover hummed in his blood.

With his eyes closed, blond hair replaced the dark hair on the bloodstained pillow. Unseeing brown eyes became blue, heated by lust. Sounds, familiar to his ears, vibrated against the skin on his shoulder as he thrust into the body tied to the bed.

His hands clenched into fists as the ones in his vision grasp his lover's hips, pulling the other off the bed and further into his thrusts. Heat surrounds his cock as he pushes himself deeper into his lover. Moans and whimpers gain volume as his thrusts get harder.

He felt his cock harden as the vision kept playing in his mind. Reality flirting with imagination, Micah couldn't be sure if the scents, sharp and musky, were in the room or in his mind. His mouth tasted the air; metal and spice mingled together to create an aphrodisiac.

Shaking his head, Micah brought himself back to the scene before him. He had only one thought on his mind, one that wouldn't help to solve this case, but would help solve a problem he was having at the moment.

Stopping to tell his commander that he had all he needed and that he would see him first thing in the morning, Micah stalked to his truck ignoring all calls for his attention.

Twenty long minutes later, Micah was in his home, rope in hand, standing in the doorway to his bedroom. Pristine white cotton sheets were draped over the body he wanted. The body he knew like he knew his own.

Micah dropped the rope and stripped, never once taking his eyes from his lover. Tanned skin, hands lightly peppered with fine blond hairs, back wide and smooth - all there for the taking and that was what he planned to do - take.

Staring at the skin bared to his eyes, Micah thought of the times he had done nothing more than skim his hands over his lover's body. Devon reminded him of a Michelangelo sculpture - well-defined muscles under marble-smooth skin, skin that was warm to his touch and tasted of sunshine with a hint of night. Light gold hair hid Devon's face from his gaze. Micah had spent hours memorizing the angles of his cheekbones and jaw. Their sharpness was tempered by the slight touch of childhood that clung to Devon's cheeks giving him a look of innocence - an innocence that was proven false with one heated look from Devon's sea blue eyes.

A look that Micah wanted to see every night for the rest of his life.

Micah stepped away from the clothes he'd left on the floor and reached for the rope, making a loop in one end as he moved closer to the bed. He wanted to time it so that Devon's hands were tied to the bed's posts before he woke. It was possible; Devon was the heaviest sleeper that Micah had ever been with. One morning last year Devon had been greeted by a tree across the walkway when collecting the morning paper from the front steps. A car had slammed into it earlier that morning, knocking it over, and Devon had not only slept through the initial accident but the rescue crews who had arrived to cut the driver from the totaled Honda. Micah figured that if Devon could sleep through that then this should be a piece of cake.

Placing the loop around Devon's left hand, Micah tied the end to the nearest bedpost. He carefully laid the remaining length of rope across the bed and circled around it in order to reach Devon's other side. Micah made another loop around the right wrist that was lying on the sheets, and then tied that end to the post on that side of the bed, drawing it tight.

Devon shifted and tried to roll, a frown coming to his face before he relaxed once more against the bed.

"Wanna play, lover?" Devon's voice, sleep-filled and husky, rolled through Micah's blood mingling with the need that had cooled but hadn't left.

Micah didn't answer; he simply picked up the next length of rope and fastened Devon's legs to the footboard. When the ropes were tied to his satisfaction, he moved away to his bureau between the bedroom windows.

The scrape of wood on wood seemed to echo through the stillness of the room as he opened the bottom drawer to pull out the wooden box buried under his sweatshirts. It had been far too long since this box had been taken from its hiding place.

Micah carried the box to the side of the bed making sure that Devon saw what he held in his hands; a sharp inhalation of breath let him know that his lover had caught sight of the box.

"You asked if I wanted to play, Dev." He opened the box and removed the sole object housed there - an ornate silver dagger. The blade was four inches long and sharp - kept that way by the loving hands of the man tied to the bed. Swirls and leaves had been etched in the silver handle by the one who held it. The dagger had been a mutual gift purchased by both men on their first anniversary, solely for the purpose it was about to be used for - to make the blond bleed.

Turning the blade to capture the moonlight that flowed in through the windows, Micah watched the play of the beams on the lightly tanned skin of Devon's back. The pale light highlighted the almost invisible scars that had been made on previous nights such as this one.

Placing the blade at the base of Devon's neck and lightly applying pressure, Micah drew it downward towards the top of his ass. Beads of red welled up, creating a cookie crumb trail along Devon's spine.

This was the part that Micah loved. That initial cut, the first brush stroke of red on an otherwise virgin canvas. Beauty created out of pain and love. Or was that love of pain?

Micah heard the soft breaths brushing against cotton sheets. Soon they would turn to moans, and then screams before finally returning to the soft breaths when Devon's voice gave out. Only then would Micah allow Devon his release.

Two small parallel lines were placed on either side of the first cut, the tip of the blade his pen that leaked red ink onto the parchment of skin. The blond's breaths, now uneven, were the only sounds heard in the darkened bedroom.

More cuts, more red, painted Devon's back as Micah sketched a portrait of love into his skin. The white sheets soon turned crimson; a living shadow of the designs on the body lying upon them.

Time had no meaning for the two men. Everything beyond the four walls of the bedroom fell away to isolate them in their own world, one they were creating with each new slice of the blade.

Soon it would be time for the final act; Devon's hips rocked against the blood stained sheets looking for friction. Micah knelt between his lover's spread legs and lifted Devon onto his thighs. He reached up with the arm that held the blade and made two swift motions, cutting the ropes that bound Devon's wrists to the bed. As Devon's hands fell to the sheets, his hand that still held the dagger slipped around his lover's waist to hold the blond tight to his chest.

Licking at the blood that was trailing down Devon's upper back, Micah reached his other hand around and grasped Devon's cock, drawing a low, husky moan from the blond.

"Mic, please. It hurts; make me come." Devon's voice was hoarse from the screams, moans and cries.

"Soon, love. Going to make you come apart for me." Micah began to thrust his hips, the blood providing a slick surface as his cock slid against Devon's lower back. The breeze from the window had cooled the fluid; the contrast between the cool wetness and the heat of Devon's skin brought Micah quickly to the point of no return.

Thrusting erratically, Micah pumped Devon's cock, the blade falling from his hand as he pulled Devon harder to his body. Micah's teeth scraped along the base of Devon's neck, drawing blood and gasps from his lover with each new pair of marks.

Micah opened his mouth and bit down, breaking the skin. Blood flowed freely into his mouth as he felt Devon shaking beneath him, come spurting over his hand and arm.

Growling, Micah released his lover and pushed Devon down, the blond head flat to the bed as he continued to thrust, his blood-covered cock nestled between Devon's cheeks.

His lover's hand slipped between their legs and cupped his balls, a finger pressing against the soft skin behind them.

Micah's screams filled the room, his back arched and body rigid as he came.

Falling forward, his hands dropped to the bed framing Devon's head. Kisses, soft and gentle, were placed on the bite mark.

Needs fulfilled for the moment, Micah's hand searched for the dagger, sitting back on his heels once he found it, cutting the ropes that bound his lover's legs to the bed. He let the blade slip onto the floor and rolled to his side, pulling Devon with him and nuzzling his lover's hair and neck.

Sleep-garbled words drifted to him on the air of Devon's yawn.

Micah wasn't sure what Devon had said but he was positive he knew.

Some things didn't need to be spoken to be heard.