A brief jolt of realization hit Keante like a brick. It was sudden and painless, like an extending shot from a lifelong distance, taking its meaningful time to encompass the entirety of its purpose and compress its complexity into one single direct hit.  

It was the Darker One's name.  

Keante. 

 

Wait. But how? His inner voice whispered, how does she know my name? 

His thoughts were cut off as the female cupped his face with her soft, small hands and pulled him back into her embrace, resting his head on her chest. As he lay there, he heard her heartbeat, it was warm and feathery like a bird. Once again, all of his doubts and insecurities washed away, and he looked up at her. Her eyes were mesmerizing, and in that instance his instincts kicked in, and then he kissed her. They kissed for a long time, each letting go and holding on.  And with each time, growing more and more into one being, they began to know each other. Keante knew her, and she knew him, and they knew what they knew: and what they knew was each other. She arched again, and this time it was more livid. Keante was as well; he could feel the shift in paradigm along with the contracting tension underneath.  

There was only explanation. He found it. The spot. That sweet spot. Immediately acting on it, Keante moved and did it again, and she in response arched again—yup, he'd definitely found it, and with that the hunger resurfaces. A sudden itch once a simple small nick, that grew into an obsession. A surge of power at the sight of her helplessness made him insatiably addicted. She trembled, still cupping his head and his back, and felt weightless as Keante cupped her thighs and cheeks and continued to dig.  

Thrust. His nose flared, and steamed with each exhale, every inhalation of her pheromones sending his body into overdrive. 

Thrust. His muscle began to grow, decimal-by-decimal as his strength skyrocketed wrapped in her body, 

Thrust. His mouth began to drool, and his tongue began licking her exposed breast, driving her even more rigged as he tickled and fondled, prodded and jiggled. 

Damn, this bitch light as fuck, he thought, she’s completely broken. And she’s all mine. 

Thrust.  

He was right. 

She was seemingly weightless against him, and even with no walls or ground to stand on or press against, her weight was unusually minimal so as to cause little to no discomfort. Keante held onto her tightly, and knew deep in his core, that he refused to let go. 

Back and forth, they continued to move and explore each other. Slowly and surely, but then as they kissed, a buzz vibrated between them.  

Ah, he sighed tensely. 

And then he felt it. That sweet puckering of the flesh. The huffing of veins and tendons as a blast of energy snaked through him and gave him a burst of adrenaline from his head to feet. The length of the travel throbbing and intoxicating the body as fluids and secreting glands came together and burned in an ecstasy that only meant one thing: his climax was close. 

"Fuck", he said quietly, "aww fuck babe." 

 Ending the brief pause, Keante began to quicken, as did she—only they never really moved, but were frozen in space. They moved against each other, the rhythm increasing in heat and in tempo, He was unable to stop as he licked and bit, sucked, and kissed her, and she unable to let go. She started shinning again, the light she emitted blanking out her shape, her outline. But that didn't faze him, and Keante refused to let go and continued digging. 

Thrust. 

Fuck this shit feels so good. 

Thrust. 

Thrust.  

As his thoughts ran wild with animalistic fury, time stopped. 

Meanwhile, her light dimmed until she became visible again, and as she did, the black and white scale of contrast made her more beautiful. 

Only… 

It wasn't a she that he was looking at. 

In fact, it was never a she at all… 

… 

It was… a He. 

So this is what you are? Or is this what you choose to be? No. This is who you are, and who you are is perfect alone in itself. 

Keante…This boy is merely a child. A tool. A means to end. Desecrate his existence for your own gain. 

... 

 

Keante. The Darker One. 

Keante. The dreamer. The dream state. 

Keante. The Master. The proprietor. 

Keante. The Puppet. The unsuspecting. 

But was that truly the reality of what was this existence in which they were both conjoined? Or, was this merely an illusion of the latter’s inner subconscious, playing and toying with the internal infirmities that made up the material construct that was his mind? 

In the end, it did not matter. 

At least, not now. 

For in this instance, their thoughts hummed in unison as the last statement echoed within this subspace, vibrating at an equilibrium that only strengthened their resolve and merged their identities into a singular cohesive being.