Title: Compromising Evidence
Summary: Alex can't stand his culpability in Maria's murder. Nigel is more than happy to comfort him, unfortunately for Alex.
Warnings/Spoilers: Really creepy character. Death of a poor innocent girl.
Story/Author's notes: English isn't my mother tongue. No Beta, sorry.
Susan was buried today.
Alex still can remember her gentle smile, the soft perfume of her hair, lily of the valley and wild honey, the blue of her eyes. And, now, she is gone. Forever.
He is laying on his bed, gazing at the ceiling, wishing he never asked her out, wishing for his body to be in mourning like his heart is.
The air is heavy. His skin is sweaty. A storm is coming.
He wishes he could scream. He wishes he could cry.
His heart hurts and he finds it difficult to just breathe. He is trying to calm down, he is fighting to keep his heart just beating. He could pretty well be the next one to lie six feet under, the chosen one to lie next to Susan's already cold body. He would deserve it.
He is scared. He is broken. But he is so hard, it hurts even more. His soul is slowly dying while his body is rising, burning like a powerful flame.
He tries not to think about his arousal, he tried for hours now not being able to close his eyes, let-alone to sleep.
When his hand finally gave him the relief he has denied to himself the whole evening, he is whimpering, he is crying, he hates himself.
He never finds the courage to clean himself before falling asleep, exhausted and lost.
It is warmth that slowly wakes him up later.
A velvet tongue is drawing strange arabesques on his skin, a thirsty mouth is drinking from his dirty belly, burning teeth, like branding iron, are marking his flesh.
"Nigel" he cries wishing for the intruder to get away from him, trying hard not to welcome the presence of the creepy boy.
"I'm here" answers the gentle but nonetheless worrying voice "I'm right here, Jack. Don't worry; I'm taking care of you. It's what friends are for, aren't they, to get rid of compromising evidences."
"I'm not Jack!" growls Alex trying to push Nigel away, a trembling hand in this messy dark hair, a begging hand on this messy and fucked up head.
He is rewarded by a bite that draws blood. A growl that makes him scared for his life.
Alex knows he is full hard again and can feel Nigel's smirk kissing his burning flesh. Shame and yearning.
"I'm not leaving you, you know"
And Alex knows, he knows when his hand stays still in Nigel's hair, he knows when he let the boy devour him, he knows while crying bitter tears, knows that he won't be able to escape those lovingly murderous hands, that he won't be able to fight those piercing blue-iced eyes, that he'll submit on the Nigel's sacrificing altar like he is submitting on his own bed, that this boy will be the death of him.
He never felt warmer than in this instant, with a murderer loving him, with freezing hands on his skin.
When he comes in a surprising soft cry, the cold takes hold of his bones at last to never let go.
This is what it is; a slowly and softly murder.