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Date Posted: 15:20:29 03/26/02 Tue
Author: Tristan
Subject: Succumbing
In reply to: Marz, Tia, Jeremy 's message, "Demonic temptations" on 10:08:47 03/26/02 Tue

Tristan was starting to feel slightly annoyed with Marz. Sure, his crazy lover was wild at times, and there was absolutely no holding him back when the two of them were alone, but lately things were starting to get out of hand. Tristan really didn’t know how much more he could handle being pawed at in public like that. It was getting harder and harder to control himself, to make his hands only touch certain things, to keep his breathing steady, his heartbeat normal, his body from trembling so much and burning inside with these stupid, wonderful urges Marz managed to coax out of him.

So to top that all off, now he was really letting this leader of the group thing go too far and ordering Tristan around in front of everybody. That in itself wasn’t actually the annoying part. Marz had always been the more dominant one between the two of them—in every aspect of their relationship, really. It was just annoying that he insisted on putting himself in danger at every turn of the next corner. Tristan would have been perfectly fine if he’d been “ordered” to stay by Marz’s side instead of creep behind him with the others, unable to protect him should danger befall them. But he obeyed him anyway, chalking it up to that strange and mysterious love thing they’d both been infected with, the thing that made all his willpower turn to absolute putty the moment Marz opened his mouth.

Fortunately, despite all his worrying, the room at the end of the tunnel opened up into what appeared to be a harmless looking chapel of some sort. Again, there were disgusting, lurid pictures exquisitely painted into the walls themselves this time. The funny thing was, though, now Tristan found himself reacting almost differently to them. It was all Marz’s fault, he figured, for getting him worked up. Of course he was starting to finally feel uncomfortable. But from the looks on the faces of the others, they were feeling it too. Jeremy even had to run out of the room, his cheeks red and his eyes wide with suppressed desire. The thought of an aroused Jeremy was almost sufficient enough to douse the fires building up within him, so he moved deeper into the chapel to investigate, still feeling slightly…unsettled.

For some reason, he felt himself almost inexorably drawn to the west side of the room. His eyes easily penetrated the dark alcoves, but he skirted the little fountain with the red water, since the thing was pulling so strongly at him. It was magic, a gross, unearthly, hideous magic; he could smell it, so badly that it was starting to reek with foul disorder, completely distorting his comparison of it to Marz’s magic, which was wild, yes, and definitely sexual in nature, but made a person feel almost perfect while drinking in its presence.

There were tomes back here—no, he realized, songs and epistles. He saw notes and refrains…these were what the worshipers used to follow the dark mass, he guessed you might call it. He was examining the ugly black words and notes in one of the books, his lip curled slightly back in disgust, when he felt more than heard someone creep up behind him.

“You can feel it, too, can’t you?”

He turned and stared at Rowan, his mouth curving into a frown. “Feel what?”

“You know,” the elf jerked his head toward the fountain. “The water…it’s calling you—calling all of us.” He stepped closer, a funny smile coming to his face, and brought his hand up to brush an ever present strand of hair out of Tristan’s eyes, his fingers lingering on his cheek. “It makes me want to do things I wouldn’t normally consider. You know…like…”

When the elf’s hand slid down along his jaw line, Tristan finally snapped out of it and backed up, accidentally bumping the table holding the song books behind him.

“I know, I know!” he said, holding his hands up as if to fend Rowan off. “So what’s your point?”

The elf shrugged and backed up as well, though he looked like he had to force himself to do so. “I dunno,” he said, smiling almost wickedly. “Drink it. Just a sip. I dare you.”

“Why?”

“Just to see what happens. Come on, I dare you to do it. Or are you really just a little meowing pussy cat underneath after all?”

That did it. Tristan growled and shoved Rowan roughly aside, unaware of the sudden laughing fit the elf was trying to stifle. Once he was actually walking toward the thing, he felt better about it, like this was what he was supposed to do. Dimly, he thought he heard screams and cries of pain and torment, but he shook his head, and they were gone again. When he was standing before the fountain, he turned and stared hotly back at Rowan, who crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin slightly. Tossing his head irritably again to get the hair out of his face, Tristan bent toward the water and, ever so gingerly, let his lips touch the water, his tongue catching a few, reddish-colored droplets…

Suddenly, he couldn’t see anymore. There was darkness, then complete blackness, and then—a hundred, thousand scenes and images flashed before his eyes, making him stumble back blindly, banging his knee against the stone fountain. He saw men ripping bodies apart with their bare hands, shoving their reddened arms into the gory flesh of still screaming victims, slung across an alter. He saw a priest raping a woman before a chanting audience, while several others milled about her, nicking and cutting at her with their bloodied daggers. Ribs were snapped open, still bleeding organs were yanked out, people were screaming, yelling, crying out in pain and horror and undying torment—

Then he was staring at the chapel ceiling. The bad feeling in his throat told him he must have been screaming, and the back of his head throbbed, as if he had tripped and hit it on the stone floor. He could feel his pulse pounding through his body with the memory of the horrid scenes he had witnessed in those few brief seconds, his breathing still quick and ragged as if he’d been holding his breath for too long under water.

“I didn’t know it would do that!” he heard Rowan shout defensively, and then Marz was beside him, helping him to sit up and embracing him tightly in his arms. Tristan shut his eyes and clung to him, trying to do away with more than the simple affect of seeing such horrors. It was as if the tortured pain and fear of those thousands of victims had washed into him, all at once, knocking him senseless in their undead fury.

Gradually, he began to breathe normally again, and his heart rate slowed down. He opened his eyes just a tiny bit, though he still felt rather odd. Something washed over him, something very close to the intense feelings he would get after giving himself a fix. Suddenly, a raging, almost uncontrollable desire flooded his body, and he found himself clinging to Marz for a different reason entirely. Heedless and uncaring of those who saw them, he hungrily fixed his mouth against his lover’s and kissed him more passionately and violently than he had ever done before. He found himself feeling completely aggressive about what he wanted for the first time in his life, and his hands weren’t trembling at all as he started to yank at their clothing, a low, animalistic growl working its way up his throat.

Tristan’s mind had been nearly completely taken over by his sudden lust, but before he could really get a chance to act on it, something else occurred to interrupt him. An intense wave of utmost fear and pure evil washed through the air of the chapel and the rest of the temple, soaking into the hearts of those who stood there, making even the bravest of them shudder slightly and lose their breaths for a second or two. Then the feeling passed over, and for ten seconds everyone could breathe again, some still clutching weakly at their weapons. Then, the dreaded feeling passed over them again, as if someone or something were purposefully awake now, reaching out and seeking the temple invaders.

The fear ended again and didn’t immediately return. Tristan turned slightly and pressed his face into Marz’s chest, his previous erotic urges gone. For a few minutes, he remained oblivious to the others, not caring for now that he was appearing weak and even silly.

“Does anyone else get the feeling that somebody’s looking for us?” Rowan asked quietly, his voice echoing eerily against the dark walls of the chapel.

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