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My Greatest Gift	By : Genderless Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > AFI Views: 1134 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of AFI. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-My Greatest Gift
- 1
Slightly disturbing content, so be warned, bad things happen. People die. This was planned as a threat to another author, but written because it was just such a fun image. Lots of blood. It's not supposed to make sense and this is fiction so, just go with it.

My Greatest Gift

The hallway was so dark, it was his crypt and it was warm in it’s absence of need and fear and all the things that bound and broke them.
He was smiling, his eyes half closed with joy and bright relief. This was perfection, what was in the room just down there was his perfection. He felt soft and happy; complete when for so long, all he had ever known was a pain beyond. Now he was safe, in those arms and in those eyes, he was love and knew he would never find a better place to be.
Such a wondrous gift, to have been given this, to be made whole.
And now he would repay it, now he would make them all proud, by making them so happy and make them all realise. He had so little to offer but this one gift, and it was going to be a surprise, something they would love and cherish as they cherished him, and each other.
He had done nothing to deserve something so perfect, so absolute in its mere breath of smooth life. He flowed so easily and swiftly down currents that had before drowned and choked him. Now, because of those heartfelt revelations, because they had had the strength to speak and he the strength to remain, when he had been so afraid. And now they had remade what had been broken, fixed the fractured pieces of that mirror that had been all they had even known. To be back in this place, and yet know, truly know it was better and it was ineffably different was what made his steps light and time vague as he moved to his destination. He knew they would be so proud and happy for him, he knew they could understand for no one had ever understood him like his beloved, like his family by everything but blood. Just to hold them close made everything better, just to be touched by his warm caresses made life real.
He pushed the door open slowly, the room beyond as quiet as the whole world was, waiting for the surprise to be sprung. The room was dark, and he liked that, liked how intimate it made everything feel.
He moved soundlessly to the bed, a slight dancers sway in his steps, the only way to appease the euphoric energy that flowed like wind and water, to him, and from him. He stopped at the side of the bed, and remaining poised, he turned the lamp on, the click of the switch lost in the infinite confines of heaven. He gazed lovingly down at the men he adored above all, bar one. He smiled. They were curled in close, one at the others back but wrapped like eternity around each other. He crouched down, his head tilted slightly to get both faces in view as he observed their intimacy. He knew they would not be angry, for this house was closed to secrets and separation. They were as one, all four, and though they had their preferences, the love felt in these four walls was more then most could even imagine. That’s why he had to give something back had to show them how much it all meant. He ran a hand through soft hair as he rose and settled on the edge of the bed. He would give them something special and unique to them so they would know they each had value to him.
He gently stroked his coarse fingertips over supple skin, then in graceful motion, he pushed back the angelic head so that he was that much closer to his partners breath. He ran a thumb over the ridges in the throat exposed, musing on the wonders encased there within. This man was something special, caught by something great and held prisoner by his own needs, but oh so eager to perform for them, his friends and the world, to share all that he had learned as he stared down what had crushed so many. It was evident in his every action, what he had been and how he was so much better. In truth, he felt so lucky to know this wonderful being that they called a man. And for the gifts he gave them and the world, he would gain his just reward.
The blade of the knife met no resistance, as it pierced the man in repose’s throat; the slim, small blade in parallel to the veins that pushed life in that slender tower. The steel went through like butter and with such ease, cut through to his voice box. Already blood – red like a mere mortal – slipped like secretive tears from the edges, trailing down the column to meet the pale white satin of the sheet below. He removed the knife, smiling happily.
He had more to do, but he owed them a synchronisation of destinies, so that they might not lose each other. He stood from the bed, and moved to it’s other side, gently gripping and rolling the other figure on the bed onto his back. Such inspiration was contained in those now closed eyes, such a vibrancy that neither action nor word could consume in despair. He lived a complete life, and found sanctity in his own strength built up from the many endeavours and trials that had fallen upon his shoulders. He was a perfect compliment, and he knew it, his confidence a rock they all drew upon. He made things better because he wanted to be somewhere better, this sheer force of will so powerful that they all basked in it’s warmth.
He drew the hands of the man to him, settling them in his lap as he sat beside the unconscious man. He knew he didn’t have long so he set to work quickly. He lifted one hand up, and set the blade to the web between thumb and forefinger. With meticulous precision, he drew the knife down, till he had slit the palm as far as he could, till blade met bone. He moved to the other webs, cutting down through flesh till the hand was malleable into an extended star. He rested it back on the man’s lap as he took up the other one, doing the same with the tender flesh there, making sure the cuts on each hand matched each other and there was order. Blood pooled on the man’s lap, the black top sheet barely hiding the blood as it gathered there, running like the wine that he had forsaken down the remade hands.
This done, he repositioned the second man till he was once again around the first’s form, curled protectively as if he was still caught solely in the drug induced sleep. He brought the seconds man’s arms around the first man’s shoulders, then rearranging hair to highlight their innocence and reveal how perfect they were. Realising he had no time left to watch, he took one of the second man’s wrists and carefully drew the knife along it, laying it back down amid the other hands he had arranged in front of the first. He next gathered one of the man in front’s hands then and did the same, moving after to the other’s whole wrist, that was already coated in blood from the slices in the hand above. Once all wrists were neatly laid open, he curled them back toward the front man, so that all their blood would mingle and coat the sheets that had been made pure by their presence and were made clean by their offering. He stepped back, admiring with his deft eye the play of light on the rippling, shiny surface of the blood lakes. Sighing, and feeling satisfied yet weary, he turned the light off and walked back along the dark hallway to his perfection.
Opening the door, his night vision had returned and he could see the form on the bed clearly, could smell the tangy fluid it seeped. He paused for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he watched death creep in after him. He was not afraid of losing his love as they moved on, for he would not let any barrier separate them, would find him no matter what stood between them. Just as he knew his love would for him. He sighed softly, and moved to the foot of the bed, climbing on over the frame of his love, his hands and knees being coated in the sticky and warm essence his love had shed. He settled down beside him, pulling him to his chest and cradling his form in his arms, tangling their legs together, feeling the wet soles of his loves feet where he had carved out the flesh in the hollows of his pads.
He had loved to move, to be free, hating to be held down by anything, and it was such a wonder he had ever let his-self be taken a hold of, for he was sure he had bound him to the ground he hated so much. He was meant to soar with the birds, to bask in the suns warmth were others had been burned by its heat. Height, freedom, life; his loves existence was a breath of these and so welcoming, even to him in his fear of the vertical.
But he had learned how to fly too, how to spring and leap with the grace he had always watched in awe. He knew he did not deserve this, but was so glad for the chance to have been this close, and knew that he would see far greater things with his love and his family in the next place.
He could feel the blood seeping from the rose slit in his loves chest, just above his heart, as it met his own, heating him and drawing him ever closer. Oh how he loved this man, his beauty, and perfection.
He had the knife in his right hand, and with care, he began to work on his own wrists. He could feel the blood that dripped from the corners of his mouth as he smiled. He had taken the acid at just the right time, for though he was sick and weak, he had strength enough to finish himself before he slipped beyond. His hands shook as he finished his other wrist, and with what little strength he had left, he drove it into the bed, to stand upright as sentinel to this, their passing; the blade marked with the blood of all those he lived and died for and his own world. Through our bleeding, we are one.
Now he drew his love close, curling his head to his chest even as he felt his insides burning away. He pressed a kiss to his perfections head, watching as the blood clung to the hairs there, leaving a string to his mouth as he pulled back oh so slightly.
He had strength enough to bind this moment in eternity, as it had always been.
“I hope I have made you proud my love, I hope I have repaid the debt you, by your very gracing existence, have bound me in. I hope you can see, and I hope you are as happy as I for now it ends and there is nothing but the skies for you my love. Hunter, this is my greatest gift, for you.”

A/N
Waddaya think? Any suggestions as to how I could have made it more gruesome? Excluding necrophilia of course...
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My Greatest Gift