Dream ∆ 009
’And now, ladies and gentlemen, before I tell you any more, I'm going to show you the greatest thing your eyes have ever beheld.’
A bare, sweaty back glistened in the flickering light of the television. Muscular hips undulated rhythmically over a soft, curvaceous frame. Chestnut hair mingled with white blond, the heavy, delighted pants rising above the muted roars of the great, beastly King. Every now and then a clear peal of girlish laughter would rise above the creaking and breathing and soft moaning.
This was love.
And if it wasn’t love, it was really damn good sex. Or at least, it was good so long as Jack didn’t get too excited and pull out too far, but even that was met with little chuckles and giggles.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, look at Kong, the Eighth Wonder of the World.’
King Kong was revealed to its awe-inspired Manhattan audience. Jack gasped her name, gripping her tightly as the warm spasm wracked his body. Her mouth lolled open, her eyes fluttering shut while Jack relaxed in her arms.
The audience ooooooooh’d and aaaaaah’d at the beast. The couple was silent.
…
“Rose,” breathed Jack at last, “It’s six a.m. Aren’t you tired?”
Rose hmmmm’d, twining his wispy locks between her fingers. “I am now, Jack.”
“I’ll take you to bed.”
Jack stood unsteadily and scooped her up in his arms like a love-drunk man during happy hour. She giggled sleepily, resting her head against his firm, muscular chest.
But something caught her eye.
Rose lifted her hand and carefully traced the digits branded on Jack’s chest. 57-86.
She didn’t notice him tense up.
“Oh, Jack,” she murmured. “Don’t normal men get dragon tattoos? What are the numbers for?”
The smile had melted from Jack’s face, replaced by stone-cold anger.
“Jack?” Rose sounded wary. She looked up at the face of her lover, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
Jack didn’t respond.
Instead he abruptly dropped her onto the floor, pulling a long blade out from behind the couch. Viciously he brought the weapon down on her, gutting her amidst the screams and gasps of King Kong’s audience. The room, he, was bathed in rosy red blood as Carl Denham uttered his famous last words:
‘Don't be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen.’ Jack, eyes dead, slowly turned to stare at perhaps the most famous monster movie of all time. ‘Those chains are made of chrome steel.’
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*Awakens with a sharp gasp, eyes wide, heart racing. It’s midday. Jack hardly ever sleeps at night.
Immediately looks down at his hands. They’re clean. He runs his hands through his sweat-drenched hair. He is completely unaware that he’s being watched.*
Rose…
*Takes a moment to calm himself before he disappears from the screen. It isn’t clear what he’s doing - searching for something?*
Where are you? I can't find you.
A bare, sweaty back glistened in the flickering light of the television. Muscular hips undulated rhythmically over a soft, curvaceous frame. Chestnut hair mingled with white blond, the heavy, delighted pants rising above the muted roars of the great, beastly King. Every now and then a clear peal of girlish laughter would rise above the creaking and breathing and soft moaning.
This was love.
And if it wasn’t love, it was really damn good sex. Or at least, it was good so long as Jack didn’t get too excited and pull out too far, but even that was met with little chuckles and giggles.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, look at Kong, the Eighth Wonder of the World.’
King Kong was revealed to its awe-inspired Manhattan audience. Jack gasped her name, gripping her tightly as the warm spasm wracked his body. Her mouth lolled open, her eyes fluttering shut while Jack relaxed in her arms.
The audience ooooooooh’d and aaaaaah’d at the beast. The couple was silent.
…
“Rose,” breathed Jack at last, “It’s six a.m. Aren’t you tired?”
Rose hmmmm’d, twining his wispy locks between her fingers. “I am now, Jack.”
“I’ll take you to bed.”
Jack stood unsteadily and scooped her up in his arms like a love-drunk man during happy hour. She giggled sleepily, resting her head against his firm, muscular chest.
But something caught her eye.
Rose lifted her hand and carefully traced the digits branded on Jack’s chest. 57-86.
She didn’t notice him tense up.
“Oh, Jack,” she murmured. “Don’t normal men get dragon tattoos? What are the numbers for?”
The smile had melted from Jack’s face, replaced by stone-cold anger.
“Jack?” Rose sounded wary. She looked up at the face of her lover, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
Jack didn’t respond.
Instead he abruptly dropped her onto the floor, pulling a long blade out from behind the couch. Viciously he brought the weapon down on her, gutting her amidst the screams and gasps of King Kong’s audience. The room, he, was bathed in rosy red blood as Carl Denham uttered his famous last words:
‘Don't be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen.’ Jack, eyes dead, slowly turned to stare at perhaps the most famous monster movie of all time. ‘Those chains are made of chrome steel.’
---------------------------------------------------------------------
*Awakens with a sharp gasp, eyes wide, heart racing. It’s midday. Jack hardly ever sleeps at night.
Immediately looks down at his hands. They’re clean. He runs his hands through his sweat-drenched hair. He is completely unaware that he’s being watched.*
Rose…
*Takes a moment to calm himself before he disappears from the screen. It isn’t clear what he’s doing - searching for something?*
Where are you? I can't find you.