Chapter 3
Regulus is 23 and he's looking down at a fair haired boy. He has golden, sun-warm skin and his green eyes are shut, as he opens his mouth to let out a moan. There's sweat on his chest and the red lines that Regulus's nails painted just moments before look beautiful. He lets his head tip forward, hips still moving, still chasing his own release, as his movements lose their elegance and take on a rather harsh tone. The bedpost crashes rhythmically against the wall, as the boy beneath him squirms of overstimulation. He dimly registers putting a hand over the boys mouth trying to shut him up, never slowing his pace.
Then the only thing he hears are his own moans fill the small room. He only registers that the body beneath him has gone limb, when he manages to gather some strength and rolls off him onto the other side of the bed.
He halfheartedly swears moaning the loss of his newest toy rather then the boy himself.
Philipe had been a amiable companion, too goodhearted to ever tell him no, when he suggested to occasionally hook up with him. Not for the first time Regulus tried to feel pity, shame or regret.
The only thing he felt was this need.
A need to harm that still wasn't satisfied. He pushed the black curls out of his eyes before leaning back down and rubbing his nose onto the still warm skin of Philipe's neck, inhaling deeply. His tongue laid against the flesh, he wandered up up up. Until he kissed Philipe's unmoving lip's fiercely, before drawing back.
His breath quickened, as he quickly ran though a list of possibilities.
Oh, where to start?
Sure, he could chose the easy, obvious option and just dig right in. But Regulus had colored himself unusual a long time ago.
So he sits upright again. His hands wandering across dead skin. Down his collarbone and over his left nipple. Before coming to a stop on his abdomen. He learned that human strength is a strange thing.
A woman once performed a two hour long CPR and saved a strangers life. After the ambulance arrived she collapsed immediately. But she managed to hold up an extremely exhausting rhythm for an insane amount of time.
Adrenaline was why mothers managed to lift up cars to save their newborn child. Adrenaline was why firefighters only noticed that the fire burned a hole into their suit, leading to them have second degree burns after they saved the screaming, three year old boy out of a building.
Adrenaline was why Regulus was able to do what he did next.
Or maybe it was impatience. Most time, Regulus appreciated patience. In his opinion, patience, was what distinguished a predator from his prey.
But his last meal of this kind lays weeks behind. His whole being is aligned to kill.
So Regulus tears through skin and flesh and breaks bones barehanded. His mouth is on skin before he even realizes it. Teeth tearing on flesh, tongue swirling over smooth bones and their sharp, uneven edges. Blood is covering the bed in no time, seeping into the mattress, staining his clothes, his hair.
He doesn't care.
All he feels is the rush of killing and finally consuming. He's starved but he always looks starved.
His pale, white skin is extremely sensitive to sun and sometimes he can't help but wonder if he'd been a popular aristocrat in his former life.
Those that only stepped out with a black parasol. The ones meant for blocking out the sun on his morningly walk.
The rush always leaves him paralyzed.
That's how the stranger finds him. Regulus has no idea how he managed to get past two locked doors. He didn't hear him entering the room but that's no surprise since he had been a little distracted.