Flesh Cut Flower

Author's Note: Written for the "Birthday" in-an-hour challenge on the livejournal community, contrelamontre.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't know, wish I did. Kevin ain't mine. Dang it.

(Started at 5:26, Weds. August 24th, 2005)

Kevin was hungry. It was all he knew right now.

So hungry… he’d resorted to gnawing at a clavicle, meant for the dog. He would go hungry tonight. He cried. He loved his dog.
There was one way to make him weak. Make him hungry, and Kevin was all yours. Roark knew that. Sometimes it confused Kevin; one moment he was told how loved he was, how Roark hadn’t know God before Kevin showed up. In return for giving Roark this epiphany, he swore to Kevin that he would keep him safe, both him and his dog; fed, clothed and warm. That he wouldn’t have any lovely flesh without him. In the next moment, the fridge would be empty and days would pass before he would get a job. Roark had made that clear; “Don’t come until you’re called, dearheart,”

Kevin was alone most of the time, and he wondered how close Roark kept to this promise. Sometimes Roark would go glossy eyed when partaking of whatever kill they’d come up with. Kevin was given insight when Roark would shudder, wondering if it were the flesh or the soul that filled his face with a blushing pleasure. Both were glorious, but it had to be one or the other with Roark, he thought. The last girl, the owner of the very bone Kevin chewed upon right now, oh, she’d been delectable.

But Kevin knew better. Knew how he would feel in tasting the first taste of her bloodied rib, his favorite, how just the sound of cracking bone would send his ears buzzing with pleasure. But he kept his stance and worked carefully, pulling sinew from fat, trimming it carefully. Roark didn’t seem to follow any sort of control when it came to tasting flesh; Kevin would outright glare at him sometimes when he’d smack his lips too loudly, or break a bone Kevin wanted to make something out of. He was selfish in his lust for power in soul-tasting, and Kevin knew it. Yet still he sat here at the table, sucking desperately at a bone too clean now to offer him anything.

He turned his head slowly, seeing Roark’s car pulling up. He stood up quickly, smiling wildly. He’d remembered. He had.
Roark stepped out of the car, flanked by his driver and another priest, one Kevin didn’t know. It didn’t matter as he ran out the door, shoulders a little higher as he went, filled with the enthusiasm of a young boy on Christmas. Roark smiled fondly and opened his arms, grabbing Kevin into a warm embrace. “I’ve missed you, darling one,” he said softly, kissing the top of Kevin’s head. Kevin hugged back, almost losing composure. Roark laughed, pulling Kevin’s head up to meet his face. “You haven’t been eating well, have you? Heavens, I would have been here sooner. There have been so many things to attend to… but I’m here now.”

Kevin closed his eyes and smiled. A moment passed, the priest to their right looking uncomfortable. Kevin could sense displeasure- he turned his face and opened his eyes to look directly at this new face. He knew what his eyes did. He knew.

The priest coughed nervously, looking away. Roark cleared his throat and took Kevin’s shoulder, motioning a hand towards this man. “This is Father Michael. I figured you would want to thank him in person, seeing as he’s the benefactor of your gift tonight,”

Kevin’s eyes widened, still staring at Father Michael. Roark rubbed his arm, up and down, looking to Father Michael himself now. “How did you come across this new meat, Michael?”

“She came to confess her sins today. I let Cardinal Roark know… she seemed… the type.”

Kevin felt high at the thought. He walked slowly over to Father Michael and smiled upon him with his usual quiet grace. He touched Michael’s cheek, running a finger over his jaw line. He loved the trembling skin underneath his palm right now, his second addiction next to tasting it. This one, his soul was very clearly dim but golden…


This was his own, all his own, this ritual.

Roark had granted him this one act for Kevin and no one else, no interference. It was the one time Kevin would feel love. The one time he felt like he was giving rather than taking, even if the act itself was to simply take. Strip.

He moved deft fingers over the girl’s top, untying the tight laces at her bodice. It was so rigid with thin, bone like structures crushing her chest, pushing heavy full breasts to the point of nearly being naked already. He was freeing her. She didn’t need to wear these things, and he cursed everything that made her do this. Wasn’t her immense beauty, covered by false colorings placed so haphazardly on her face, enough?

Her upper body was now revealed. He carefully moved to her legs, removing her short leather skirt and thigh highs, unclasping them from her skimpy underthings. He stood from the bed now holding the limp body of the beautiful, beautiful girl and went to the small cabinet where a basin of water sat. He sank a cloth into the cool liquid and walked back, sighing out quiet breath as he moved to her face.

This was always the first to go. Lipsticks, blushes, they all had to be washed entirely. He had to be careful to not bruise the skin in these actions, his zealous movements sometimes getting the better of him and bruising deadened flesh. Once finished with this task he rubbed the cloth in small, swooping circles over her body, smiling wide. She liked this, she was telling him that much.
‘You’re taking care of me. No one takes care of me.’

Kevin nodded. She was lovely; lovelier than just about anyone he’d gotten to bring home. He moved down her flat stomach, between her thighs, down, calves and toes. She was so clean now. She liked it.

Kevin put his cheek to her breast, smelling the remnants of the mild soap he’d been given. It was his favorite soap; hints of lemon and lavender wafted to his nostrils, letting him breathe to calm… calm…

To the side of her, nose nuzzling the sagging breast…

‘It’s so good and lovely. You’re the gift of God, Kevin,’

Second rib down and his mouth opened. Clamp of sharp teeth, so willing and ready to break skin. He put a hand on her navel, lining a circle with his palm around it. A soft knock on the door and Roark was there with a bag of clanking metal insides, smiling down on his lovely little protégé.

“Started without me?”


The sheets and Kevin’s knees were blood soaked. Roark however, his body seemed entirely red as he lie on his back next to the dismembered body of the beautiful, beautiful girl. The most beautiful girl Kevin had ever seen. Clara. Beautiful, beautiful name.
“She would have adored you, Kevin, darling,” Roark said as he lifted his back from the bed, going to lie on his side to suck at an exposed humerus. Kevin gave him a glare of warning. That was for the dog; Roark knew that. It was the dog’s favorite bone. Leave it alone. Roark smiled upon seeing Kevin’s frown. “Forgive me,” he said, sitting up fully now to watch Kevin biting past the third extremity of the night, the ring finger, left. Kevin had an order to follow. He made Roark follow it on the other side, but sometimes he was careless. For being a man of God he was incredibly ignorant.

Roark now leaned over the blood stained torso betwixt them, taking Kevin’s face in one hand. Kevin met his eyes, unblinking as Roark moved his lips to Kevin’s cheek. He pressed into it with a long hiss of breath, Kevin still suckling the thing strands of meat from his finger he held possessively. Roark loved him so much. He let the finger slide from his lips a moment to allow Roark’s tongue entry, kissing Kevin with wild abandon. Both hands at Kevin’s cheek, yes, love, this was love. Just like Clara. All of it love and exchanging of true meaning. All the while, Kevin wondering when he’d finally find the one to bring him full into God’s eyes. He wanted to see those eyes; right now he would settle for the ones closed, inches from his own. Roark could be God, maybe he was…
Roark pulled away, kissing Kevin’s lips softly, gently as he moved back. His hands were still upon Kevin, traveling to his neck and inching towards Kevin’s collar. Kevin watched, head cocking to the side and eyes wide as his neck became entirely exposed past the cloth. Roark’s lips wet the flesh there now with a hungry tongue. Kevin wondered if he’d ever gnaw at him. He would kill him. And he loved him.

“Happy birthday, lovely boy of mine,” Roark murmured into his skin as Kevin brought up his bloody treat to his mouth once again.

(Finished 6:25, August 24th, 2005)