Challenge 1: Do you feel that you were born with a predetermined role in society?
"Do you think any of them are predestined to kill?"
Ah, my dear Will. You always make such interesting pillow talk, lying beside me with your come-covered abs, your spent cock, and my still-warm seed staining your buttocks.
"Are you asking if killing human beings is a destiny?" I inquire as I prop myself up on my elbow, gazing into your blue eyes that reflect both your innocence and your guilt.
You blink, and briefly suck your swollen bottom lip between your teeth. Such insecurity, Will. Such uncertainty, as if you are afraid of the answers you so long to hear.
"No...I mean, do they have a choice?"
"People always have a choice."
I chose not to kill you, Will. At least, not yet. I chose to enjoy your clever mind and your wicked tongue and your firm arse. And perhaps someday I'll choose to enjoy your body in an entirely different way as well.
A faint smile plays around your lips, and I can't help myself, and run my finger over the curve of your mouth, down your chin to your throat. You sigh, submitting yourself to my touch, your eyes falling shut, hiding the pain and responsibility you believe you should feel.
"Can they ever change their behavior? Can they ever be cured?" you whisper, your voice hitching when I rub your taut nipple with the tip of my finger.
You really should learn to ask the right questions, Will. The question should be, after all, 'do they want to be cured?'
"Some people believe homosexuality is a disease," I breathe, licking the soft skin just below your ear. "Tell me, do you feel ill?"
Your eyes snap open. "I'm not a-"
I silence you with a kiss.
Yes, dear Will. It's hard to deny the truth when you're lying in the bed of a man who has spent the last half hour with his cock inside your arse, isn't it?
The brief tension drains from your body as you open your mouth to let me in. I taste you. Every last part of you is for me to taste, and I know this flavor, Will. You come to me because I can give you what your wife cannot, and still you deny what that says about you. You're a victim of society's shame, and you don't even want to admit it.
And that is part of your charm. That innocence. That dishonor. The guilt that shines in your eyes and lies as a thin, sweet layer on your skin. I love the way you taste, Will, since the sweetness of guilt is something I will never feel.
"Are you predestined to catch these killers?" I whisper against your moist lips, trailing my hand down until my fingers brush against your hardening cock.
Are you predestined to catch me, dear Will?
"I...no, I'm not," you moan, arching your back and bucking your hips, craving the contact you deny you need.
"Do you think any of them are predestined to kill you?" I stroke you to full hardness, fisting your eager prick while I admire your bravery for showing me all your emotions in the way you part your lips, wrinkle your nose, squint your eyes, breathe ragged breaths. So full of trust while your trembling hands betray your doubtful need as you reach for me.
"No. No one is destined to kill me." You pull me on top of you, looking up at me with the eyes of a child who has been denied his mother's caress and will settle for his father's fists.
I think you are wrong, Will. I think we are destined to fuck each other. I think we are destined to die by the other's hand.
There is a reason why you seek affection in the arms of the killer you are trying to catch. Why you softly beg me to slide my prick inside you. Why you crave something you deny yourself but are willing to accept from me.
You see darkness inside of me which you refuse to see inside yourself.
It's safer, isn't it, to admire it in someone else, instead of giving into it.
Our bodies are one now, your arms and legs wrapped around me as I thrust my prick deep inside you. You press your lips to mine, asking, begging for release, finally submitting yourself to your darkest desires.
I wonder if you would still let out the same addictive moans if you would know who is fucking you. Would you still crave my touch, my mouth, my cock if you knew what I enjoy doing most?
I think you would, Will. I think you know, deep down inside that wounded soul of yours, what I am. And I think that makes you crave me even more.
You need it. I enjoy it. You crave it. And I give it to you, Will, not because I want to, or have to, but because I can.
~~fin~~