BACCHANALIA ! faemous, day 2

The alliance lingers in the forest like his fingertips on his wound.

Firelight flickering, broken knee swelling, the trees that encircle them sway as if urging them all to rise to their feet and dance. But wherever he glances, Bellamy sees some sign of destruction left behind from the ambush; splotches of iron seeping into the earth. It feels hard to conjure joy in this particular moment, irises flashing a deep shade of indigo, melancholy and wounded pride dancing across his expression. All he knows is that he will live to see the next sunrise.

But there's a quiet voice whispering inside his head, is any of this worth the cost? He has sacrificed the right to ask that question, as quickly as his hand had risen during the Reaping all those weeks ago, but it still reverbs inside him. He compares the boy willing to squander his life for glory to the boy now nursing his damaged body, and he realizes right then and there just how fragile his morality truly is. Even with his skin glowing, eye color shifting in sync with his emotions, he is innately human.

His hunger could be a knife.

What is deadlier than a man's wanting?

When Perry joins him in the clearing, sharp features accentuated by the shadows cast by the flames, he notices the wine bottle in her clawed hands and smirks. "Someone went and found themselves a treat, hm?" He presses down on his sadness, compartmentalizing it within himself, eyes balancing back out to a warm, amber shade when she positions herself beside him. He leans back against the log, supporting his weight on open palms, tall frame unfolding itself. His arched neck is left exposed for her sharp teeth to sink into. But she busies herself with inspecting his damaged joint, features wrinkling in mild disgust. "Gross."

He laughs at that, fingertips clutching tightly and tenderly to any frayed thread she leaves available for him to exploit — as hesitant as the girl from Two seems to be to allow him beneath her skin, he has learned that the greatest blooms are the ones that take the longest time to cultivate. If she wants to think him a fool, a bright eyed puppy to bewitch and kick to the curb, then perhaps ultimately that is the greatest gift. No one rushes to stab the snake they don't see approaching in the tall grass. And what Perry doesn't know, well...

It might just kill her someday.

But it has always been difficult for him to resist that temptation to be wanted, to be the center of attention in any space. Even if that means leaning his softest, rawest parts into the clutches of a girl that does not yet trust him, playing off the scarlet flashing in his eyes as mild frustration, anger and agony dancing so realistically together. "Probably hurts, huh?" Oh, little does she know. Imagining her death in the place of his victory is nearly enough to turn his eyes to pure gold.

His lips quirk downward, large hand folding over her curious one, just long enough to guide her in tracing the swollen, discolored bruise. The pain is dull now. "What, was science your least favorite class?" He sets her free, touch as gentle as it has ever been, voice like a lullaby playing over the crackling fire. If her defenses must fall, he will sing them to sleep. "It's just the natural process. I'd be more worried if it didn't look this gross." Dimples carved into his cheeks, little crescent moons, he smiles as she lifts the bottle.

"Y'know, this is supposed to help."

Hungrily, his grin widens, and he leans forward closer to the prize being presented. "Oh, you don't have to tell me that. I'm a sucker for debauchery." He reaches for the wine, and she mimics his pout as she pulls away, still secure by his side but twisting her body like the tides retreating from his gravitational pull, a dance of shattered teeth and greedy fingers and liquid splashing. "I'm the one who found it," she teases playfully, and he counters with a shove and a grasping motion, "and you're the one who offered it!"

"Careful or you'll spill."

Finally, like a puzzle piece coming together, her hand closes around the back of his neck and she places the head of the bottle between his lips. He tilts his head back as she guides the wine down his throat, russet red fluid trickling down the curve of his bobbing Adam's apple. All of his wants are being satisfied by a force that can so easily take his joy away, and yet he will ignore the danger if she chooses to do the same. Her laughter makes his heart thump, the dizzy feeling in his head turns his eyes to pink petals unfurling, bliss and giddiness and flirtation coming to life within his synapses.

The peacock develops its feathers for a reason.

Perry urges Larissa to loosen up, to join in on the fun, and he can't stop himself from reaching forward with his greedy hand and tucking a stray lock of raven black hair behind her ear. The movement of approaching her makes him wince, but admittedly, the majority of the hurt has already sank beneath the buzz of the alcohol flooding his system. "Didn't work? Still hurts?" Spoiled as he is, boy with his hands full of honey, stomach bottomless, he nods his head with his lips still pouted, eyes like spring in bloom. A call to worship the cycle of life.

"Y'want me to try kissing it better?"

Boy meets girl, and boy decides very quickly that even with the cameras filming, he does not consider the way his girlfriend's heart will break in the face of accepting the feast laid out before him. As quickly as the option is presented to him, eyes still teetering on blush, once so vividly scarlet, he does not hesitate to mimic her former embrace. She takes another swig, and he places a soft, warm palm on the back of her neck, losing the flash of his glowing skin in her dark sea of long, pitch black hair.

Her lips find his, jagged teeth slicing into his tongue, but the wine turns the pain into euphoria and static. Love is nothing in the presence of pleasure, and he is a hedonist lost in a forest of wonders. If Perry wishes to offer her company, even a serrated edge, even a clever ruse, he will accept what is offered to him. If he could kill this girl simply by breaking her heart into a million pieces, that would be the easiest route their lives could take. The possibility tempts him as much as anything else.

When she pulls away, he can taste iron, and salt, and a trace of dying lavender; as quickly as it starts to soothe his cuts it turns to a burning, stinging, fizzy feeling. Her thumb rubs at the blood trickling out of his mouth, her amused words ringing like a bell in the night. "Oh, oops. You've got a little something there." He takes his clean, open palm and runs it across his bright, calm face, scrubbing away the bloodstain that has smeared his exposed skin. Like a kind of rebirth. By the end of it, the only proof of his eyes and flesh and desires all sharing a singular shade is the crimson of his piercing stare.

When he speaks, he does so huskily; thorned flower inviting the fly to take another drink.

"Well, wouldn't you know it?" He places his bloodstained lips next to her ear, sacrificing his next words only to her and her pitch dark strands of hair. "I'm not afraid of a little mess."