Winter's Rage

Alex glared out the window of the house he'd rented for Ranae and himself. Why he'd done it, he couldn't say. He'd felt compelled to get them the hell out of the city, secluded, away from prying eyes and ears.

Ranae had finished out his season at the ballet. Alex didn't understand just how Ranae had managed to arrange the time off around Christmas, but he had. He also had been utterly surprised that Ranae had even agreed to join him. Had he really thought Ranae would turn him down? Hell yeah. Ranae, his aloof, cool, bitchy lover who never wanted a loving touch from him.

No, no love. Only pain.

Pain and blood and domination and humiliation.

Even thinking about it now, staring at the barren tree outside the window, made his blood boil. The snow swirled, covered the lands with ice. As cold as it was outside, it was colder inside. Ranae's heart, the one damn thing Alex wanted to possess, was denied him.

It would never be his.

"Alex," Ranae purred from behind him.

Cat-like. Yes. That was Ranae. Cat-like, slick and frigid, fickle with his emotions. Alex refused to turn and look at him, eyes trained on that snow-laden, distant, skeletal tree. "What?"

"Come play." Ranae's voice slid over him like a silken scarf, warming him as much as it chilled him. "I need you."

Alex snorted. "You don't need anyone, least of all me."

"That isn't true," Ranae said.

But the voice didn't come closer. Ranae would tease him. Bait him. Ranae would make him come to him. There would be no sweet, soft words, no quiet, loving seduction. It was this: manipulation, lust, and pain.

"Fuck you," Alex spat.

"I'm lubed and ready, you know that."

Alex whirled, fury in his eyes as disgust warred with arousal. Ranae lounged against the door of the bedroom, naked, slender, pale. Those blue, blue eyes, eyes bright enough to rival a clear, summer's sky, stared at him with hot desire. A delicate hand traced down Ranae's body, plucking at a nipple before it traveled lower. Hatred rose inside Alex. He wanted to smash that smug smile on Ranae's face almost as much as he wanted to kiss it. Alex stalked closer, unbuckling his belt, and he saw eagerness light in Ranae's eyes.

The soft whisper of leather and fabric heralded the sharp, careless crack of the leather against snow-white skin. A long tongue of bright red snaked its way around Ranae's stomach and hip, the visible proof of the lightning-fast lash Alex had given with the slim belt. What incensed Alex more than his own burst of violence was the panting, hungry expression now gracing Ranae's face. The long, slim cock, topped with a plump, damp tip, was straining upward, hard and ready.

A black wave of despair washed over Alex. A romantic weekend away from their usual violent fuckings had been a pathetic fantasy. This was what they shared... what they would always share.

"You're as warm as the snow out there," he muttered.

Something flickered in Ranae's eyes, behind that curtain indifference. "Then warm me up," Ranae whispered as his hand wrapped around his cock. Alex watched him pump the hard flesh, the gesture obscene and crude.

"Nothing can warm you," Alex said, eyes meeting Ranae's.

Ranae now rolled his eyes, annoyance making his face ugly for a moment. "What? Did you expect me to melt in your arms? Sit in front of the fire and drink wine and feed each other chocolates? Make love on the rug?" He scoffed. "Romantic, Alex, and incredibly childish."

Alex's hand flew out without his thinking to do so and struck Ranae across the face. It was hard enough to send Ranae to the floor, panting as he held his face with his hand. When Ranae looked up, Alex saw nothing but lust and triumphant in the bright, eerie eyes, and the fury rose in him unchecked. He stormed into the bedroom, as he had so many times in so many hotels, houses, and apartments, driven by something he didn't understand.

Driven to shout, slap, whip, and fuck them both into a sated, bloody mess, ending with him inexplicably exhausted. Drained. He didn't understand it, but he knew he had to do it.

Alex loomed over Ranae, hard and angry, and Ranae gazed up at him, bruised and aroused. With a furious flick of his wrist, the bedroom door slammed shut, cutting off the sight of that bony, hibernating tree and the icy world surrounding it.

All works contained here are copyrighted to S.L. Armstrong. No reproduction or usage is permitted without written, express consent by the author.