- Exquisite Corpse - "Always"

Jay and Andrew's night out...and back in...Pointless fluff basically because these darlings don't get enough.

I LOVE Exquisite Corpse. I think it's the greatest book ever written, even above American Psycho. It's so under rated with everyone turning to Lost Souls instead because it has a vampire in it. I love Ghost and Zillah and all, but I love Jay and Andrew a whole lot more.

I was inspired after a dinner of Curry mee when I re-read Exquisite Corpse and went to bed and this story basically automatically wrote itself in my head and I could see the words sort off floating infront of me before I fell asleep. The first thing I did when I woke up was scribble it all down but I think I lost a few things. Anyway. Here's the salvaged fragments. I'm not sure if I feel comfortable calling Andrew polite simply because he's an Englishman, but it seemed like Ms Brite wished to show that he was a terribly suave dandy of a Londoner so I'll stick by it.

Anyway - enjoy!

Warnings: Male/male relations, tiny bit of bad language, kinda sex, cannibalism/necrophilia/murder references.

P.S Incase you don't know...Exquisite Corpse was written in first person and I'm just carrying on, or attempting to, in the same style...Incase you thought I had flipped the tense over or something mumbles

P.P.S I noticed after scanning the pzb section that the beginning of this is a little like Gh0st's "Chopsticks" fan fic for Lost Souls. I didn't read that fic ever before I wrote this so I'm really sorry to them if it seems really similar, it's total coincidence!!

"Tuck in." I said, over a huge bowl of Curry mee, motioning that Jay pick up his chopsticks. I watched, curious to see how he would handle, human flesh may seem adventurous, but otherwise Jay's tastes didn't stray too far into the unknown. He was rich and indulgent but the places I had chosen to eat the past few nights seemed to have unnerved him with their exotic flavours and slices of far-off cultures. Tonight I had picked a tiny Malay restaurant, it was no more than a snack bar really, but the food smelt a lot better as it's aroma wafted down the streets than some of the safe meat-and-two-veg upper-class places Jay's eye had been longingly turned to. Jay groaned quietly before picking up the sticks with a semi-experienced hand and prodding a piece of tofu. Noticing a prawn that had conveniently snagged on one of the floating mint leaves - fishing for two flavours at once was simply not good table manners - I swiftly picked it up and swallowed. Jay prodded the tofu again, and then lifted it to his mouth. He bit down, before his eyes widened and he cupped his mouth, muffling his half-shocked, half-chocking sounds. For those of you who do not know, tofu is the equivalent of eating a sponge, biting into it will make it fill the mouth as it bursts with the flavoured soup of whatever it had been served with. I felt my eyebrow raise and my mouth twist into a semi amused smile. I wasn't surprised that the tofu's combustion had caught him out, but for a man who could cut a young boys corpse into gourmet slices, his handling of an unruly piece of food was quiet entertaining. "Jesus," He finally chocked, "What the hell did you order, Andrew?" Even with the blood of uncountable boys on his conscience, even though he knew his way round a corpse better than any pathologist, those green eyes of his shone with a strange innocence in that moment. Then the food was no longer important, I didn't want the taste of coconut milk or tofu or beef on my tongue. I wanted to taste Jay.

Immediately pouncing on him the moment we returned home seemed out of the question, I didn't want sex with him, I simply wished to savour his flavour. It seemed an unwritten rule between us that fucking was reserved for corpses or potential victims. It wasn't that I had no eagerness to bury myself in Jay, I could quite comfortably assume Jay would have no reservations about having me inside him either, it just seemed utterly beside the point. Sex made me unite with my victims, victims I knew nothing about and had nothing in common with, corpses who had nothing but their cooling rectums and whatever semen was left in them to offer me. Jay had many things to offer me, and sex was the least intriguing of all of them.

We walked in the same silence we often succumbed to as Jay led me through the unfamiliar streets back home. I would often be too busy admiring the every angle of the buildings to hear Jay's words anyway, half a decade in prison will make one desperately cling to every sight and sound the world beyond bars has to offer. "I choose where we eat tomorrow." Jay finally said as we entered his street and my wide eyed attention to new sights had nothing unfamiliar to admire. A speckle of yellow curried soup stained the collar of Jay's white shirt, the shirt itself was identical to any of the stiff white shirts I used to wear during my grim office years, but I had no doubt it was three times more expensive. "If you wish." I replied. Jay after all, paid for all our meals without a second thought, politely dismissing my offers to assist with his delicious smile. I suppose it was the politeness that life as an Englishman had beat into me that had me offer what cash I had those first few meals out, I had my wad of dollars, courtesy of Sam, still tucked into my jacket pocket, but even an Englishman only offers so many times. Besides, I was sure Jay had much more interesting ideas as to how I could repay him.

It was later than I thought when we arrived home. The need for a drink seemed to gnaw away at my concentration as I sat on the bed in one of Jay's spare bedrooms. The quilts were silken and brocaded, expensive and felt cool and slick against my bare skin. Two of the walls were lined with bookcases, half filled with books, half with ornaments and other odd trinkets. It was meant to be my room, as Jay's guest, although so far it was unused as we had collapsed onto Jay's bed together at the end of each night.

Jay waltzed into the room a moment later, having seemingly read my mind, with a glass of cognac. I wasn't sure if I wanted to nostalgically favour the taste and slow burn of the brandy or not. His clothes had been discarded across the living room. His quick-strip routine, which he had not warned me about nor apologized for, had quickly rubbed off on me, neither of us complained about the view. He lay down on the bed and tugged me down with him, I ended up with my head on his stomach. He began to fiddle with my hair, I half suspected this wasn't his first drink, and handed me the glass which I awkwardly but gratefully sipped at.

"Tell me again," Jay said softly, "About what you do to your boys." I smiled, whilst I had unending fascination with Jay's appetite for boys flesh, he had asked me about my alternative uses of a corpse several times, usually when we were huddled together like this, and my accounts of making love to a dead boy were like love poems. I drained the glass and stretched over, it barely made the nightstand before Jay safely pushed it back. The drink burned down my throat and I realised I had no wish to merely speak of what I did to my boys, I turned to face Jay, felt my mouth smile seductively, "I could show you." Jay lifted himself up on his elbows, and smiled equally as charming, "Alright, show me." I crawled over him and kissed him, our mouths hot and flavoured with alcohol, "But you have to play dead." I warned. Jay dropped back down on the bed and closed his eyes, "Done." He whispered.

I tried to imagine that Jay was truly dead, that his flesh was cold, that the blood beneath his naturally pale skin had stopped flowing. But Jay was not my usual sort of victim and I couldn't imagine what I would want from his unsuitable corpse, it was the very fact that he was alive that made me want him. I kissed him softly, on his unmoving lips, neck, collar bone, down his chest and onto his stomach. He was quickly aroused, but I ignored it. I'd have him suffer a little.

My head now reached the sharp angle of his right hip. I traced my tongue across it and felt Jay shiver. I smiled at my discovery of one of his sensitive spots. The tip of my tongue fit snuggly into it's hollow, inviting me to clamp my teeth around his flesh. I bit down, hard. He was nothing but skin, barely a scrap of fat or meat on him, I could feel the sharpness of my lower teeth as my jaw gripped harder, drawing Jay half way out of his act as he mumbled something incoherent. For all Jay's knowledge of giving pain and drawing out agony, he seemed exceedingly receptive to the little nips my teeth delivered and I wondered if his fascination with extreme sadism stemmed from his own low threshold of pain. We killers are easily able to inflict pain onto others without a second thought, though there are those who cannot receive it quite so well. In my case, I could handle pain, I had taken the blow to the head I had needed to start my escape from Painswick, I had bared Drummond's scalpel to the chest, I had ripped my own flesh open for the pleasure of the sensation numerous times, but I suspected Jay would not take pain as graciously as he gave it.

I bit harder, not pausing until familiar metallic saltiness filled my mouth. I became aware then not only that I had Jay almost completely under my control, but that I also had a good mouthful of him on my tongue. Why not bite off a chunk of Byrne, eh Andrew? That voice in my head said to me, the voice of desire, the only voice I had listened to in the past sixteen years, You've wanted to know what it tastes like, here's your chance. The irony of tucking into a nice morsel of Jay's flesh appealed to me, I had only to swallow. I imagined the round, wet, pink mass that would remain if I went ahead and deepened the wound, the soft, salty lump of skin as it slid down my throat, settled inside me. But that wouldn't be enough. The sight of his blood and flesh and bone would have the desire to see him dead shriek within me, having me sooner kill Jay than simply take a nibble at him. I did not want to kill Jay. But the taste of blood in my mouth, his aroused, still body, I felt the need inside me, pushing me, telling me to forget all the reasons I wanted to keep Jay alive - for I had never wanted to keep anyone alive before - and to simply rip him open right there.

The taste of brandy still lingered on my tongue, met with the taste of Jay's flesh and I knew if I continued I would be in too deep to escape my passions. I drew back, narrowly escaping the edge of the bed. I thought I felt tears in my eyes, tears of frustration and desire and confusion that I should actually so desperately want this living, breathing body next to me. "Andrew?" I heard Jay ask, alarmed. I felt his long fingers around my face, my vision was hazy, but I could see the concern on his features. My breath caught in my throat when he touched me. I wanted him like I had never wanted anyone before. But more than that, more unnervingly, I wanted him alive. I felt myself shudder as the thought sunk in. What strange force had allowed me to find him? Someone so exquisitely beautiful and intriguing death could not even perfect him?

"Stay with me." I whispered finally to Jay who had wrapped me tightly in his arms. "Yes," Jay whispered, kissing me softly. I wrapped my arms around his thin waist, my face hidden from him against his shoulder. I could feel his jugular beating against my cheek, evidence that he was still so utterly alive. "Always, Andrew." He said softly, those long, delicate fingers stroking along my back, the slickness of his blood passing, sticky onto my flesh, making my body shiver, "Always."