Billy moves in, his body finally touching mine, bringing us flush, and it feels like relief. Having him this close, breathing him in, his blue eyes on mine. My fingers tighten around my leather bindings, desperate to touch him but unable to, my toes curling into the cold stone.
He brings his bloody palm to my mouth. The rich red claret tastes familiar, earthy and metallic, I lap my tongue over it, keeping my eyes on his, his jaw tightening as I suction my lips over the cut, sucking hard and swallowing.
“I give you my life,” he whispers just loud enough for me, the blade coming to the freshly healed wound in my thigh, all while his eyes stay on mine, only the feel of his hand between us when he cuts deep. “Will you give me yours?” he breathes as I hiss, my teeth clenched as blood rushes down the inside of my leg.
“Yes,” my voice is barely recognizable, the chanting, the stomping, the ancient-sounding words being bellowed around us, everything adding to the feeling bubbling inside of me, euphoria. “I give you my life.”
My blood.
My heart.
My soul.
Billy drops down to his knees at my feet, looking up at me as I drop my chin to my chest, watching him as he follows the trailof blood with the tip of his tongue, lapping at the deep cut when he reaches it. He holds out his tongue, showing me my blood, letting some of it drip off before he swallows it down. Licking his lips dramatically, he smiles, making my stomach flip, and then he’s rising to his feet like a god called forth and plunging his cock inside of me.
My head slams back, grinding against the wooden spokes. Neck arched, eyes squeezing closed, hips tilting, I’m holding my breath, Billy’s fingers spread wide, holding up my thighs, my legs wrapping around his waist. He’s not moving, and despite my earlier hesitation, despite everyone in this room watching, all I want is for him to fuck me.
The sound in the room is slowing, quieting, dulling, it makes me feel suddenly so exposed, when seconds ago I didn’t care where we were, I just wanted Billy.
Now I just want to be able to pull my arms in, cover myself up. It no longer feels safe, like all of the air in the room is sucked dry. And as I open my eyes, I see it in Billy, the restraint, not fear, but something that tastes like it.
Gore steps up beside us, his eyes on the glass box in his hands, “Together, you must endure. Their bite spares no one, but it favours those who do not stand alone.” He opens up the box, my entire body trembling now, terrified of what’s inside, as he lifts the triangular arched lid. “Survive,” he looks between us, his green eyes looking black, pupils wide, in the red flickering candlelight, “and you are bound,” he says with finality.
Carefully, Gore tips up the box, and as Billy moves in even closer, eradicating the scant amount of space between us, Gore pours out the box's contents directly onto Billy's bare shoulder.
Billy doesn't look at them as they tumble down his arm, creeping their way down his chest. He just keeps focusing on me.
But I can't help looking.
Watching the spiders.
All different varieties, some small, some large, black, brown, bright backs, red leg tips, smooth ones and hairy ones. All of them making their own journey across his body.
I track the one that starts working its way down his bicep, a glittering web trail along Billy's skin. It makes its way towards me, moving for my shoulder, its front legs making contact, and then Billy is grinding himself deeper into me, his cock hitting a spot so high inside me that stars burst across my vision forcing my eyes to close. I forget all about the spider as Billy fucks me, his hot breath like steam down the side of my neck.
Underground, in this cave-like hollowing, an entire buried city, it's hot. All of the bodies, despite the winter weather however many feet above our heads, with all of these people packed in together, it's like burning in a fire pit.
Sweat slicks my skin, slicks his, both of us coated in each other's perspiration. His lips find mine, open mouthed, our tongues finding each other without needing to be forced. Everyone is watching, the chanting starts again like a hymn and a prayer, and it fills me, like some ancient magic, these people, their presence, all of it lifts me until I feel as though I'm floating.
My knees tighten into Billy's sides, my crossed feet at his back locked, heels digging into his lower spine. His thrusts get faster, harder, like he's trying to join us together, no stitching, just one seamless entity.
One heart.
One soul.
One divinity.
But then I feel it, a different sort of heat, a searing intensity in the cap of my shoulder. Burning fire scorching my flesh.
Immediately, I stiffen, my eyes flying open, my head banging back, disconnecting my mouth from Billy's.
“Penelope,” he breathes, his eyes hard on mine, “trust in me, you'll be fine.”
He says it with such certainty, such trust, such passion, in this moment, I believe him. The sincerity in his voice, the plead in his expression, it makes all logical judgment feel almost laughable. Like my fear, this horror that is weaving its way through my veins, is a waste of time.
And when he speaks again, “Don't panic,” he whispers, forcing his tongue into my mouth and twirling it with my own, my teeth wanting to clamp down onto it to stop his distraction, make him take me to a doctor and get me help. “Trust me,” he speaks into my mouth, willing me to listen, and unwillingly or not, I do.
I ignore the heat searing down my arm, refocusing on Billy's icy blue eyes, his sole focus entirely on me, and I fall into him.
