his.

         Where one heard music, the other heard quiet instead; a sense of peace provided by a transformation from instinctive, primitive, animal drive into action that only philosophy would ever want to put to words. Even in the midst of chaos, where he harvested sheer anarchy, he was in control, the one to determine what came next. He was both present and future, cause and consequence—He was a God. The Meister alone had always known to make himself stimulating; throw a boasted ego and a satisfied bloodlust in the mix, and the result was intoxicating. His fist closed around the other’s jacket as he leaned in again, shamelessly tasting his mouth in an attempt to quench his unsophisticated, fired up thirst for him. After all, one couldn’t help thinking back to mythology and wondering— what were Gods without their Muses? Lips loosened, caving at the tug of teeth while a lascivious smirk curved the corner of his mouth. “Maybe just a little preview,” he requested, if only not to succumb to the raging desire of devouring him against the nearest wall he could pin him up against. 

     The sound of retreating footsteps filtered in like the irritating flap, flap, flap of a set of gnat’s wings There was no time to stop him.  No real want either. Let him run. The Meister was occupied with better things.  There were others close by, too petrified to move let alone run.  They would be waiting for him when he was done, if he was ever done…  Long fingers twisted handfuls of his love’s shirt into tightly held fists.  He swooned.  Bending as the small of his back arched against the arm holding him there.  Another kiss, another taste that he breathlessly opened his mouth for.  He was half-lidded and grinning, eyes bright as the taller of the pair pulled back and made his request. Oh, The Meister knew by the look on his face and darkened shades of forest green that if he didn’t answer it, there might be a problem.  But it was a problem that was so, so tempting to incite from the one holding him the way he was.  Instead of fully heeding the request–fickle hands moved along a shallow breathing chest.  Dipping down lower until the crescent shapes of his fingernails dug into slivers of bare skin they dipped under edge of fabric to make victim to their marks.  It should be nearly impossible for him to look coy.  Yet, somehow, he pulled it off with a bat of thick, dark lashes and a challenging smile.  “Hasn’t tonight been a preview all along?  I’m sure you’d like more than that. Wouldn’t you?  Or is a sneak peak really going to hold you over?  Somehow, I think the answer is no.”