Beto's head felt foggy. Had he been looking in the mirror at the women? The men? His heart ached an aguished squeak. God!!! Where are you? He ground his teeth, feeling a hotness behind his eyes. The taste had been real. And now...
Loss. He couldn't imagine it. The last time....frustration had built, clouding his mind, anger. Rejection. It overwhelmed him. His jaw hurt. His hands hurt around the copper cup.
He realized they were tight and tensed, a fist. For a moment he felt the tension of a throat in them. He breathed sharply, a memory stabbing him. The last girl. He had started strong, dripping and hard and dominating, piercing. The stallion that mounts the world. A god. And then triumph and power and hunger turned to shame as sweat poured off his face, dripped and he wilted, bored, unsatisfied. So bored. He tried everything, fighting to keep going.
Corded throat muscle and cartiledge resistant against his grip, fighting, face red, nostrils flared, and he raged to life. When he came it was fire...
But he felt laughter. Mocking laughter. A joke.
The veil remained unparted. He wanted to tear at the fabric of the world, to rip away the facade until God couldn't hide from him.
The night had been silent, the only proof of his presence and existence the bruises on her neck, the spilled seed inside her and on her. And he didn't care. Her breathing was ragged and sharp and she was strong. It had been the closest he'd come, though.
But....the veil laughed and taunted him. Never to be broken.
A voice cut into his thoughts. Soft and lilting. Black eyes piercing.
He turned, realizing a woman sat next to him. He wasn't thinking. "I wish God would stop hiding from me." He breathed, realizing how stupid it sounded. He smiled weakly, picking up the drink, toasting. "Sorry. Fighting demons tonight."
Loss. He couldn't imagine it. The last time....frustration had built, clouding his mind, anger. Rejection. It overwhelmed him. His jaw hurt. His hands hurt around the copper cup.
He realized they were tight and tensed, a fist. For a moment he felt the tension of a throat in them. He breathed sharply, a memory stabbing him. The last girl. He had started strong, dripping and hard and dominating, piercing. The stallion that mounts the world. A god. And then triumph and power and hunger turned to shame as sweat poured off his face, dripped and he wilted, bored, unsatisfied. So bored. He tried everything, fighting to keep going.
Corded throat muscle and cartiledge resistant against his grip, fighting, face red, nostrils flared, and he raged to life. When he came it was fire...
But he felt laughter. Mocking laughter. A joke.
The veil remained unparted. He wanted to tear at the fabric of the world, to rip away the facade until God couldn't hide from him.
The night had been silent, the only proof of his presence and existence the bruises on her neck, the spilled seed inside her and on her. And he didn't care. Her breathing was ragged and sharp and she was strong. It had been the closest he'd come, though.
But....the veil laughed and taunted him. Never to be broken.
A voice cut into his thoughts. Soft and lilting. Black eyes piercing.
He turned, realizing a woman sat next to him. He wasn't thinking. "I wish God would stop hiding from me." He breathed, realizing how stupid it sounded. He smiled weakly, picking up the drink, toasting. "Sorry. Fighting demons tonight."