FicWad

First PSoH fanfic, and I'm already getting twisted. This is what happens when I wonder 'What if..?'. Well, and when I get an idea stuck in me head and it doesn't go away. I think I murdered D and.. the other character. hangs head Anyway, try not to yell too loud at me..

Title: God help me

Author: rilo (glitterbats@gmail.com)

Rating: R for twistedness, PG or PG-13 for actual descriptiveness

Summary: Leon isn't the only one who loves D.

Disclaimer: This is twisted, even for me.

I love to watch him walk across a room, his silk garments sliding over his baby-soft skin, making a whispered shh sound. His narrow hips sway as he sashays gently, secure in his petshop as a king in his castle, handing out food to the pets that people his little world. His silky black hair, dark as the raven he owned when he was twelve, ripples and flows as he turns his head, the strands falling in his face, sometimes catching between those perfect crimson lips, begging me to reach out and free them.

He reaches up to brush those strands out of his face, the deep red polish adorning his nails gleaming in the light, their perfection worth every second he spent sitting in front of his vanity this morning. His almond-shaped eyes, lined lightly with a red-purple color that I adore, flit over to me, the shining jewels that pose as eyes gleaming in my direction, radiating a vague worry over my silence. Instead of relieving his worry, I choose to gaze at his eyes, planning to use the early hour as my excuse to study those two different colored orbs, jewels that compliment each other far too well to be called mismatched.

I close my eyes against the golden iris, familiar to me as my own hands, that threatens to pierce my eyes and read the thoughts etched inside my very mind. As I take in a deep, steadying breath, I smell the faint scent of his shampoo, almost buried under the incense, the ylang-ylang myrrh that reminds me of darkened catholic churches, and stolen moments with young priests who could not bear the denial of their holy purpose. The old memories bring to me a vision of him dressed in the black of a priest's uniform, of his innocent face turned to Heaven and whispering prayers to a God that I have never met.

The image brings my breath in a gasp, as my eyes fly back open, trying to force my mind to other things. All thought is suspended as his pale, lithe body kneels in front of me, a slender hand, tipped with artistic, talented fingers reaching out and touching me gently as he whispers, "Are you alright?" I nod my head as I turn it away, biting my lip against a soft moan as I imagine, the image unbidden, the things that I know those digits can do so very well.

I glance at his face in a panic as I feel his hand tense, horrified that my thoughts had somehow slipped out of my skull and into his mind. My own pale body relaxes slightly as my sharp eyes stare into his, seeing nothing there except a growing worry. His beautiful face, straight out of a love god's erotic dream, twists into a child-like frown as I shake my head at nothing and rise from my seat, my own inhuman eyes avoiding his as I say in my usual manner, proud at the lack of tremor in my voice, "I am going to lay down, I don't feel well."

Ignoring his offer of tea and comfort, I make my way silently into the back of the petshop, needing no guide to maneuver my graceful frame to the familiar room. My eyes stare sightlessly, deep in my own thoughts as my slender hand reaches for the knob, turning it and pushing the heavy oak door open.

Sliding inside, I close the door behind me, my hands flitting to my clothes, removing the delicate pieces of cloth. My eyes start to slide shut as my mind drifts, allowing, for a mere moment, the fantasy that the slender hands removing my clothing are not my own, but the soft ones belonging to the man I left, alone and worried, in the petshop.

I come out of it seconds later with a start, refusing to acknowledge the status of my now nude body by glancing downward. Instead, I choose to run my hands through my silky, shoulder-length hair, tugging at it slightly in frustration before striding to the bed, the candle-flames spread throughout the room flickering slightly as I pass.

Letting out a short growl of need and disgust mixed, I let my body fall down apon the mattress, the many silk sheets wrapping around my nude frame as it settles like an egg in the nest of comfort. As my frustrated structure starts to slowly relax, my parched lips part in a whisper, a desperate last attempt at sanity, I pray, "God, if you exist, please help me. For the first time in centuries, I'm in love.

And he's my grandson."