Post by easytanner on Sept 7, 2006 23:22:37 GMT -5
Emitting a rumbling growl, The Beast closed in on him, and he scrambled away, running but more often falling then crawling, any movement to get away--till he was cornered, back to the wall, unable to go farther. And the dark shape came closer, the hands flexing, clenching and opening, moving as if already touching his young flesh, ready to tear clothing and skin alike, needing to have him, take him, devour him and...
With a shrill cry, the dark-haired youth awoke. In the darkness, he could not be certain that It was not upon him now, and he fumbled for the penlight, flashing the tight beam all around him till he felt safe in his surroundings. Heart hammering, hands shaking, he found the tin containing votive candles and matches and soon had several alight, dispelling remnants of his nightmare. As dark as it was, it was time to get out of here, he realized, back to the streets.
Setting the framed but splintered mirror up, he stared at his reflection, looking deep into tawny eyes, preparing himself for encounters to come, relishing the nighthunt. The beautiful unlined face was bruiseless for the moment, but that would change if he was lucky. The thought of roughness, violence sent a rush of heat through his slender body. He sensed the longing, too, a constant torment deep within.
'Longing for what?' he wondered. 'Love? No way, Jose! Sex,' he told himself sternly, 'that's all it is.'
"Time to prowl, Alleycat," he jeered at his shattered image.
Shortly after, Easy "Cat" Tanner emerged from the condemned building, having made certain everything was gathered together, boxed and bagged and ready for moving at a moment's notice. Now, he had to make some money to aid in his prospective move. The nightmares meant something, he was certain. The feeling of foreboding was almost constant now. Someone was hunting him and getting far too close.
He shivered, as much from that fear as from the weather--rainy and windy. 'Blustery night,' he mused, trying to place the story those words came from. Perhaps they were something he had read while hiding out in some library, the stacks being a very effective hiding place for the little alleycat he was. 'Not so little anymore,' he prodded himself mentally as he stopped to lean against a brick wall at the cross-streets--all the better to catch attention. He took a typical hustler's pose: back against the wall, hips thrust forward a bit, one leg up, with sneakered foot planted. It was a good pose, perfect for catching johns and just as perfect for starting off a police-avoiding race. His chilled hands went into jacket pockets, a red windbreaker that was one of the newest things he had ever owned. Generally, he didn't want to stand out that much, sticking with blacks and denim, like the tight, torn, well-worn jeans he wore now. His T-shirt was a personal favorite--Slut Puppies, abandoned in some alley for whatever reason. An artfully-added cut or two in the material revealed one of two pierced nipples. Most of his "ensemble" was more fit for disposal than streetwear. But...
'Beggars can't be choosers' came to mind, and, head bowed, he grinned crookedly and shrugged slightly. 'That's why you whore, right, Cat? Hustlers CAN be choosy--if they want.'
Approaching footsteps put him on alert, and he looked to his left, down the nearly-abandoned street, realizing that most of teh "prosties" had taken shelter from the misting rain. Well, one good lay, and maybe he, too, would return "home".
With a shrill cry, the dark-haired youth awoke. In the darkness, he could not be certain that It was not upon him now, and he fumbled for the penlight, flashing the tight beam all around him till he felt safe in his surroundings. Heart hammering, hands shaking, he found the tin containing votive candles and matches and soon had several alight, dispelling remnants of his nightmare. As dark as it was, it was time to get out of here, he realized, back to the streets.
Setting the framed but splintered mirror up, he stared at his reflection, looking deep into tawny eyes, preparing himself for encounters to come, relishing the nighthunt. The beautiful unlined face was bruiseless for the moment, but that would change if he was lucky. The thought of roughness, violence sent a rush of heat through his slender body. He sensed the longing, too, a constant torment deep within.
'Longing for what?' he wondered. 'Love? No way, Jose! Sex,' he told himself sternly, 'that's all it is.'
"Time to prowl, Alleycat," he jeered at his shattered image.
Shortly after, Easy "Cat" Tanner emerged from the condemned building, having made certain everything was gathered together, boxed and bagged and ready for moving at a moment's notice. Now, he had to make some money to aid in his prospective move. The nightmares meant something, he was certain. The feeling of foreboding was almost constant now. Someone was hunting him and getting far too close.
He shivered, as much from that fear as from the weather--rainy and windy. 'Blustery night,' he mused, trying to place the story those words came from. Perhaps they were something he had read while hiding out in some library, the stacks being a very effective hiding place for the little alleycat he was. 'Not so little anymore,' he prodded himself mentally as he stopped to lean against a brick wall at the cross-streets--all the better to catch attention. He took a typical hustler's pose: back against the wall, hips thrust forward a bit, one leg up, with sneakered foot planted. It was a good pose, perfect for catching johns and just as perfect for starting off a police-avoiding race. His chilled hands went into jacket pockets, a red windbreaker that was one of the newest things he had ever owned. Generally, he didn't want to stand out that much, sticking with blacks and denim, like the tight, torn, well-worn jeans he wore now. His T-shirt was a personal favorite--Slut Puppies, abandoned in some alley for whatever reason. An artfully-added cut or two in the material revealed one of two pierced nipples. Most of his "ensemble" was more fit for disposal than streetwear. But...
'Beggars can't be choosers' came to mind, and, head bowed, he grinned crookedly and shrugged slightly. 'That's why you whore, right, Cat? Hustlers CAN be choosy--if they want.'
Approaching footsteps put him on alert, and he looked to his left, down the nearly-abandoned street, realizing that most of teh "prosties" had taken shelter from the misting rain. Well, one good lay, and maybe he, too, would return "home".
