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The Quiet Ones

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The Mansion was dark and empty, dead leaves skittering across the floor like insects. His prey hid here, in these empty rooms. The night poured in from the broken windows, the damp air carrying the scent of fear. It was thick and sweet as syrup. He stopped for a moment, listening. The prey was on the left somewhere, but he liked the hunt too much to end it so soon. Liked smelling that fear. He bounded on the right, his claws clicking against the parquet. He could sense the prey's relief, and he grinned in darkness, making a sharp turn. He settled down to wait.

For awhile there was no sounds or movement. It worked for his benefit. The fear gnawed the prey, forcing him to move eventually, to dash out of his hiding place. He listened his heartbeat, inhaled his scent. So close. So ready.

Then, the sound of footsteps, running fast down the hallway, back toward the front door. He moved after him, the distance closing fast. He aimed for his legs, swiping him down to the floor. The prey fell with a heavy thud, the air escaping his lungs. He released him and backed away, watching with interest as the prey scrambled up to his feet. He let him have the hope of freedom for a moment before he swiped him down again. This time the prey sprawled on his back, sliding across the floor. He growled and bounced, pinning him down. The prey squirmed underneath his hold, eyes wide and scared. He huffed, pleased. The prey spoke to him, like it always did, the sound garbled nonsense. He didn't care for it, only the squirming.

He dug his claws into the bare flesh, the smell of his blood intoxicating. The prey shouted more alien words at him, and he drank that sound from his mouth, feeling his blunt teeth with his tongue. He tried to kick him, but he hardly felt it. The prey didn't have enough strength to fight him off.
He had him, now, forever.

He captured his legs in his hands, pulling them up and open, sweat and blood making his skin slick. He felt heavy and full, pushing against his hole. The prey's body was tight and closed, but he was stronger than him. It was a battle, and the victory was glorious as he finally sunk into his slender body, taking everything he had tried to keep from him. The prey kept screaming and crying, the white of his eyes showing in the dark.

He rammed his cock in, relishing his own power, thrusting as hard as he liked, the flesh torn open for his pleasure. He growled, and the prey's screams turning brighter and urgent. He came with hard spurts, licking the tears from his cheek as he gushed inside him. He kept rocking slowly against him, rubbing his scent deeper in his skin.

The prey sniffled underneath him, and he purred, satisfied. He kept moving, the rocking turning to thrusting, then hard, wet slaps. He licked him again, scraping his bared throat with his teeth, biting down when he came for the second time, filling him up.

There was always a moment when the prey stopped moving, when all the sound ended.
He kept fucking.

Hank woke up surrounded with feathers, the remnants of the pillow case stuck in his teeth and nails. The feathers made him sneeze and he slumped off the bed, the torn, sticky sheet following him down. He leaned his back against the side of the bed and watched the light get brighter, the first hesitant chirps of the birds.
House sparrows. Passer domesticus.

He picked the goose feathers from the floor, assembling them into a straight line from smallest to largest, then to small again. He would vacuum them all away in a moment, when he had his body back to under control. Heart beat lowered, adrenaline evaporating, the hard-on vanishing.

It had been Charles again, like every night. He didn't know why the dream had stopped changing. Why every single detail remained the same. It hadn't always been like that.

There was a hesitant knock at the door. Hank coughed the feather from his mouth.


“You up? Charles needs help getting downstairs.”

“I'll be right there.”

He brushed the straight line of feathers into a chaotic mess before getting up to his feet, ready to face an another day.