Shadow of the dark

WAYNE’S POV

It could be just like one of those slow-motion scenes where events go on in a gradual pace and then the unhurried rhythm tunes that, at times, can make you want to cry comes after. Although some of these scenes are rather too annoying and incredibly dawdling to keep on, my current situation certainly was not.

With the scent of an unknown lingering presence in what seemed like my dark, four-walled chamber, I could not open my eyes to reality no matter how I tried. Initially, in my head, I was propped up on my bed, peering anxiously into the darkness to see if those imaginary shadow mobs approached me from every possible corner until the half, midnight moon suddenly found its way out of the clouds and casted its light through the unveiled window, illuminating a part of the wall that overlooked it.

Unexpectedly, the moonlight on the wall gave way to a frightening sight. I saw a silhouette on the illuminated wall; it was that of a human, I could tell, yet there was nothing much to see, as it looked like the silhouette owner took proper time to shade himself behind a cloak. It sinuously moved from its position to a dark part of the wall where I could see it no more, and just when I thought all was over, I felt ghosting touches on my sensitive skin, as well as a force that drove me to lie on my back.

Sudden Goosebumps erupted through my skin, perspiration dropping from every pore of my flesh, slithering its way down to the bedspread and seeping away at the former’s dryness.

I tried to talk, but my mouth seemed stuck firmly together by something unseen, and I lost total control of my teeth. I was certain that I was awake. Still, I could not open my eyes to the literal world. I only saw the images in my head, felt the touches, and perceived the presence.

Every stronghold left in me chattered when the fingers moving slowly on my slick skin did not stop. I shivered as it went from my muscled upper-limbs to my broad chest, settling right there and taking its time to create an imaginary revolving line with the sweat-drenched and sticky hairs of my chest.

The pleasure from this was so overwhelming that I could not help but want to moan out. It seemed almost as if the owner of these fingers smeared some kind of charm on it before commencing this torture.

When they stroked their way down to my taut, packed gut, I felt every organ in me fail except, of course, the one just between my muscular thighs.

These fingers played with my button, triggering a shuddering sensation that went all the way from my head to sparking a tingling, burning sensation in my abdomen, then causing a good quantity of blood to rush down my crotch, trapping right in my shaft.

My hands and legs then had no choice than to succumb to this torment, the tip of my fingers itched and I could not help but squeeze them tightly together. However, just when I did, it seemed like the mesmerizing fingers became stuck, as they suddenly stopped moving.

I felt an itch in my spine, an itch of desperate want. I eagerly wanted these hands to move further down and wrap its cold, smooth fingers comfortingly around my manhood. At that thought however, the hands were suddenly gone, and the blood instantly coursed through my body.

Within myself, I could hear my own groan― a groan of want, desperation, all in one. I saw the need to complain about this creature behind the shade of a cloak returning to stalk my dream and torture my flesh so mind-blowingly, but my body rather said otherwise. Still, it had been four days since this last happened to me. Why now, why did it return?

I precipitously felt something pull me back to reality and I woke up startled as I heard my door burst open all of a sudden. My bulging deep-set eyes dart to the door to see my last brother, Damien, leaning on it with his hands crossed on his chest. He watched me as I tried to catch my breath; his expression depicted that of uncertainty.

Usually, I imagined that mischievous-looking Damien had more height than an angry-looking one. The dude was either of these two sides from time to time; yet, now, he looked tall, lean, and had a devil-shade-like facial feature. A look fit for an impulsive Vampire.

With his silver, shoulder-length hair gathered into a neat, high ponytail; and his figure entirely buried inside a floor-favoring ultramarine Robe, I felt the need to cry out and tell Damien how a Robe irritated me, especially, at nights; a time like this.

Nevertheless, that was not close to possible because knowing who Damien was, he was sure to roast me up before I was even done with my speech.

I looked around the room, noting that the moonlight still shone on the part of the wall where I saw the cloaked silhouette in my dream, but now the shadow was not there, nor did I still perceive the scent of the presence.

“Someone was here!” Damien announced after a moment of silence, but I had no reply for him. Instead, I came out of my duvet and slid my legs down the bed. My hair― tousled, silver, waist-length long, and damp, moved to the side of my face and ushered some strands to my sweaty forehead. I tugged at the straight strands, deep in thought.

Though it seemed to be just a dream, I still felt the effects of the smooth fingers that caressed my skin, and the tip of my toes and fingers prickled sweetly like every other time I experienced this. Only that now, as I subconsciously placed my hand on my crotch, my shaft had gone flaccid. Literally, that was it, the end of my own gradual-paced scene.

Damien came forward and sat beside me on the bed. I turned to him. He had a wonky smile as he stared hawkeyed at me. That was his exact expression when the words that would pass his lips turn out to be like a thorn to the eardrums.

“Just take a look at you,” he uttered bluntly. “You look like a human who just rounded off a marathon,” he added and I sighed, obviously not ready for his derision.

I looked down at myself and yes, I did look as Damien said, it was too obvious― I meant my practically drenched cloth, as well as the perspiration that dripped in rivulets; but that was fine, no one was immune to sweat after all. It is in fact, a natural phenomenon that is bound to happen, be it a supernatural being or not.

Anyhow, I was quite relieved that Damien came in to save me from the sweet torture. “If you had not just come in, I would have thought it was you hunting me in the dark!”

Damien's head fell back at my words as he gave out a dry chuckle. When he stopped laughing, he reached out to remove strands of hair that had almost covered my full face, but I swatted his hand away. He then smirked, raising his hands as a surrendering gesture.

“Do you not ever sleep?” I asked as I faced the door, sketching an imaginary figure of the shadow I thought I had seen, in the air.

“You should know Vampires hardly do that, unlike you who easily sleep,” Damien grinned.

I heaved a sigh, finally taking a handful of hair from my face, and shoving them to my back. “It had been… a long time since I experienced this,” I muttered as I crossed my legs and placed my elbows on them.

I turned to Damien to realize I had the latter's beady eyes casually staring at me. I held his gaze and saw his lips slowly twitch to a side. I suspected he must have a mischievous thought going on in his head.