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Using Lauren the Corgi’s Promptober list.
CWs for vore
***
Stephen is 18 and Zion has been missing for three weeks when he and Ira get cornered by three men outside the flophous where they’re staying.
The men are high. Stephen is not. He used up the last of his supply days ago. He’s feverish and loopy from withdrawal. The world seems to crackle with unreality around the edges whenever he turns his head.
One of them gets hold of Ira. Shoves him face-first against the filthy brick wall. Stephen feels, in order: horror, terror, vertigo, rage, nausea, the edges of unreality cracking open to wrap its maw around him and anything standing close to him.
And like that, he knows his gate is opening.
He doesn’t see the sparkle and shimmer of light warping as it hits the bend of space and time. That’s for human eyes, people on the other side. But he feels the shift in his mind, as though suddenly he’s thinking with a different brain. One that looks out of his eyes and sees a different world, understands a different reality than the little primate brain he normally lives in is capable of comprehending.
Different urges well up from the heart of his labyrinth. The world is so deep, and the core of him aches, empty and lonely. He starves for love, for companionship, for direction.
The men turn to him, their eyes widening in shock. They see the shimmer of unnatural colors around Stephen, as light tumbles through the folds of his inner self. They track its glitter with their eyes and gaze into the heart of him.
Ira turns his head, face scraping across the brick, and squints in fear.
They have direction. Desires. They can show him the way they want to go. They have his little brother, and the part of him that normally resists the rest of him, normally fears the truth of himself–it steps out of the way.
Stephen steps forward toward them and the folds of him enwrap them. They aren’t within him, yet, but they stand at his entrance and stare into his depths.
Their desires resonate through him. He’s a sounding chamber, catching the reverberations of what they want most and echoing them, multiplying them until they hear the call of it from deep within him. Your big score: here. Your glory, the respect and deference of everyone around you. Your dick wet on a snarky little bitch who understands now he’s not above you, who’s ready to take his rightful place bending over for you whenever you want to feel like a big man.
Come here. Come here. Follow that voice into the deep dark woods of the folds of him. Follow him into the lonely ache of the grove that stands in his heart–silent, empty, but born to be occupied. Come to him so he can close his dark boughs around you and cuddle you into his depths and feel full of someone’s presence.
He cries out as they push into him, hungry for the promises that are really just their own voices echoing back to them. Oh, delicious fools. Delicious, lonely fools who just want the same thing Stephen wants, at their base. Doesn’t everybody just want someone to be with?
He closes around them, closes his eyes. So well-fed, so full of the companionship he’ll keep nestled there in his heart for as long as they last. Ira stumbles toward him, arms out, careful to reach around the sides of the gate as he folds himself shut, replete.
Ira catches Stephen just in time, as his legs crumple out from under him and he sobs, locked back into his little human brain.
“I ate them,” he moans, and drops his head into his hands. “I ate them.”
Ira hugs him tight. “They were going to eat us.” His face is bleeding where he was scraped on the brick.
Stephen hugs him back.
“It’ll fade soon,” Ira whispers. “It fades.” It’s half promise and half prayer, because they both know the limits of the truth of it. The limited little human brains they live with on this side of the gate can’t remember how it feels to be the wholeness of themselves. But the sensation of eating lives never goes away fully. The memory of the need, of how it feels to crave the lives of men, of the anticipatory joy of hunting and luring and swallowing them whole.
Stephen shudders in Ira’s arms, because he doesn’t feel guilty.
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