48 Days
folder
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,859
Reviews:
14
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,859
Reviews:
14
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
48 Days
Disclaimers: I don’t own the boys, I just like to play with them.
Warnings: Oh yeah, lots of ‘em. For example, if you don’t know what yaoi is, you should probably leave immediately, but that’s later. This ones going to get real dark, folks. Be prepared for non-con sex, character torture, and angst. I’ll try to add specific warnings for each chapter, but this is just the prologue and it’s pretty vague. Please enjoy!
/Blah/= thoughts
*blah*= telepathic speech
“48 Days” Prologue
/Please . . . / he prayed to a God he hated. /Please . . . / A God who had never heard his voice. /Please . . . / A God who had never once looked on him with merciful eyes. He prayed anyway as he ran, lungs laboring to gasp air, body wracked with agony from wounds, muscles burning with fatigue. Sobbing with pain and despair, he ran. Down dark, empty streets, he ran and he prayed.
/Please . . . just this once . . . /
He prayed because his love was going to die if he was not answered. He prayed because his love was worth going to his knees for, worth begging for, worth any price that could be asked of him.
/Just this once . . . please . . . let me keep going . . . /
His vision swam with darkness and pulses of white agony; exhausted, wounded, and still running, because if he didn’t . . . If he stopped . . .
/Please, God . . . Just this once . . . Let me make it in time . . . Let me save him . . . /
His body cried out for him to stop; to rest and heal. His feet stumbled, his legs wanting to give out beneath him. Every fall of his feet against the cold cement sent knife-bright pain lancing through him. His breathing was ragged, lips flecked with blood, every breath a torment. He pushed himself on, any limit his body possessed long since pasted. He must go on!
/Please . . . Please . . . Do not let me fail him . . . /
Every second brought his love closer to death. He could not waiver. He could not fall . . . because if he fell he would not have the strength to rise. If he fell it would be over and everything that made life worth living would die because he had failed.
And every step became a separate battle in a war with a dying body. Every inch closer to his goal was paid for in blood and honored with agony.
Blood poured from wounds that worsened with every flagging effort he made to push himself onward in his headlong flight. The gash on his thigh tore further open with every stumbling step, muscle convulsing and cramping in desperate protest. His ankle shrieked in blistering distress at the strain of taking his weight, able to support less with each move. The blood pooling in his lungs, from he couldn’t guess how many broken ribs, was choking him, drowning him. His head throbbed in time with his faltering run, bright darkness dancing before his eyes.
He could feel the dangerous chill seeping through him to replace the burning agony. He couldn’t keep going much longer. His body was breaking under the abuse he’d suffered and his own disregard for his wounds. But he wouldn’t stop while his heart still beat, while his tortured lungs could still draw air, while his battered body could still move forward . . . He forced himself to keep going, keep running . . . He could only go on in some faint, desperate hope that he would reach his love in time. He could only go forward . . . and pray.
/Please, I have nothing to give, no right to ask, and no reason to believe You’ll listen, but still . . . I beg you . . . Help me . . . Oh, please . . . answer just this one prayer . . . /
Warnings: Oh yeah, lots of ‘em. For example, if you don’t know what yaoi is, you should probably leave immediately, but that’s later. This ones going to get real dark, folks. Be prepared for non-con sex, character torture, and angst. I’ll try to add specific warnings for each chapter, but this is just the prologue and it’s pretty vague. Please enjoy!
/Blah/= thoughts
*blah*= telepathic speech
“48 Days” Prologue
/Please . . . / he prayed to a God he hated. /Please . . . / A God who had never heard his voice. /Please . . . / A God who had never once looked on him with merciful eyes. He prayed anyway as he ran, lungs laboring to gasp air, body wracked with agony from wounds, muscles burning with fatigue. Sobbing with pain and despair, he ran. Down dark, empty streets, he ran and he prayed.
/Please . . . just this once . . . /
He prayed because his love was going to die if he was not answered. He prayed because his love was worth going to his knees for, worth begging for, worth any price that could be asked of him.
/Just this once . . . please . . . let me keep going . . . /
His vision swam with darkness and pulses of white agony; exhausted, wounded, and still running, because if he didn’t . . . If he stopped . . .
/Please, God . . . Just this once . . . Let me make it in time . . . Let me save him . . . /
His body cried out for him to stop; to rest and heal. His feet stumbled, his legs wanting to give out beneath him. Every fall of his feet against the cold cement sent knife-bright pain lancing through him. His breathing was ragged, lips flecked with blood, every breath a torment. He pushed himself on, any limit his body possessed long since pasted. He must go on!
/Please . . . Please . . . Do not let me fail him . . . /
Every second brought his love closer to death. He could not waiver. He could not fall . . . because if he fell he would not have the strength to rise. If he fell it would be over and everything that made life worth living would die because he had failed.
And every step became a separate battle in a war with a dying body. Every inch closer to his goal was paid for in blood and honored with agony.
Blood poured from wounds that worsened with every flagging effort he made to push himself onward in his headlong flight. The gash on his thigh tore further open with every stumbling step, muscle convulsing and cramping in desperate protest. His ankle shrieked in blistering distress at the strain of taking his weight, able to support less with each move. The blood pooling in his lungs, from he couldn’t guess how many broken ribs, was choking him, drowning him. His head throbbed in time with his faltering run, bright darkness dancing before his eyes.
He could feel the dangerous chill seeping through him to replace the burning agony. He couldn’t keep going much longer. His body was breaking under the abuse he’d suffered and his own disregard for his wounds. But he wouldn’t stop while his heart still beat, while his tortured lungs could still draw air, while his battered body could still move forward . . . He forced himself to keep going, keep running . . . He could only go on in some faint, desperate hope that he would reach his love in time. He could only go forward . . . and pray.
/Please, I have nothing to give, no right to ask, and no reason to believe You’ll listen, but still . . . I beg you . . . Help me . . . Oh, please . . . answer just this one prayer . . . /