Chapter 9 Lazarus
nine
Lazarus
The scent of burning flesh meets my nose before the pain even sets in.
I let out a soft groan and falter where I kneel before Father, facing away from him and the task he has asked of me this evening.
The hot metal sears my skin, and I waver on my knees, reaching with my hands for someone to help keep me upright.
I do not wish to fail in this task, but I am faltering.
“Hold him,” Father commands. “Keep him steady as he bears this pain in reminder of his duty to Bright Haven.”
Arn, one of the older boys, reaches for me. Though he is not the one I want holding onto me, I grab at his forearms, digging my fingertips in as the burning ache spreads through my body.
“Breathe,” Arn whispers. “It’s easier if you breathe, Lazarus.”
I nod, gasping for air as my lungs expand.
Arn was marked not two weeks ago, and I can trust him.
Angelo and Herold, two other boys of Bright Haven, stand by as well, eyes darting between me where I kneel and Father behind me.
They haven’t yet been asked to take the brand that seals us to the community as Elders, but I know their turn is coming.
Only Timothy is not present, having no stomach for such things and being granted grace not to attend this evening.
He will have to take the brand at some point, but he is still young.
We are all still young. I am only 12 myself, and I was surprised when Father sought me out and offered me this honor. Usually, boys have to be at least 14 before they are asked to learn the scriptures and act as Elder of the faith in our community.
Finally, after what feels like forever, the metal is removed from my skin, and I slump forwards, loosening my grip on Arn’s arms. He still holds onto me, but allows me to fall forwards, resting my cheeks against the cool grass beneath me.
Sweat drips down my forehead and sinks into the dirt as my body quakes and burns.
I had known it would hurt, but not this much.
It feels as if the brand reached right inside me, searing itself to my very bones.
“Rise, my child,” Father murmurs as a cool, wet cloth is placed on my back.
With Arn’s help, I make my way to my feet, wavering where I stand. I turn to look at Father as Angelo lifts a cup. More cool water is poured onto the cloth that lies on my shoulder, and I offer a wobbly smile to him, looking over my shoulder to offer gratitude before turning back to Father.
“I seal you to Bright Haven,” he says, meeting my eyes with his own. “May you be well and live long in the glory of our God. May you bear the weight of duty and protect Bright Haven from all who seek to destroy it.”
“Yes, Father.”
He steps forward and leans down to place his lips beside my ear. “Lazarus, may this mark also keep you safe from all who seek to destroy you.”
“Yes, Father,” I whisper.
I can feel the storm coming before the clouds have even started to roll in.
My muscles twitch and my teeth clench like they have minds of their own.
I have taken to pacing the floorboards as the urge to give in to my base instincts ripples through me.
Soon, the clouds will come, and I will feel the need to fight, fuck and run like I am nothing but a crazed beast.
Like I am one of the zombies in the forest beyond the walls of this cabin.
This is when they are at their most dangerous.
It is also when I am at my most dangerous, despite what the Lamb may believe.
I can be evil, but the storm draws malice out of me to play along the surface of my mind.
It also draws arousal, my cock thickening with the need to fuck something and my body desperate for release.
I can already feel the prickling along my skin, the threads of want and need uncurling inside of me.
I look to the Lamb as my teeth grit together, my jaw muscles twitching.
He is silent where he lies on the floor, having moved back to his side and closed his eyes after our conversation. As I glance at his face though, I can tell he’s awake. His lips move as if he is either talking to himself or praying.
Probably praying.
Part of me wants to run over to him and force his eyes open so that he can see me.
I don’t know if he is even aware of what happens inside those who are tainted by the rain, yet not turned into mindless beasts by it.
Back in Bright Haven, those ones are considered to be carriers of sin and spend storms within their homes, doing whatever they can to keep from flaying their own skin off, fucking each other into oblivion and tearing others apart with their hands.
I have carried this taint since my first storm after escaping Bright Haven, but I also know that it is not sin that plagues my blood. It is an infection. A virus, RRV13, a toxin released on purpose into the air by the people who used to be in charge of this world.
Little Lamb knows nothing of this world, where the immunity he carries is rarer than gold and most human beings fall between carrying the virus in their body or being made entirely monster by it. While his blood is bright red and will always be, mine is made darker by the touch of the toxin.
I don’t think he knows this.
I wonder if he wants to know.
“Lamb,” I bark, stopping my restless pacing. “Do you want to see my blood?”
His eyes pop open, and he winces. “No, thank you?”
I laugh softly at his polite tone, where only a few hours before he was rebuking me with everything he had inside of him. “There is a storm coming.”
He tilts his head upwards to the hole above his head as I scent the rain in the air. Slowly, The Lamb pulls himself to a seated position, wincing and reaching for the knot in his head as he does so. He is wobbly where he sits, but soon gains balance, turning his head upwards to the sky above.
“I might kill you tonight,” I offer.
“Oh,” he breathes, as I go back to pacing the floors.
“You might want to start praying.”
The Lamb is silent, offering me no response as I twitch and clench, pace and fidget.
Outside, the wind picks up and the clouds roll in bathing the world in dark light.
I turn my head to the Lamb as a smattering of red raindrops fall through the roof, the droplets landing on his upturned face.
More rain falls onto the shoulders of his white robe, and even though it has become dirtied by the dust and dirt of the cabin’s floor, I can clearly see the red as it sinks into the fabric.
He closes his eyes and places his folded hands in front of his lips, clearly having given into the need to pray that seems to live within him.
Then he opens his eyes and lowers his hands to his lap. He stares at me hard, his blue eyes cold in a way I have never seen. I glare back, curling back my lips as a growl escapes my mouth, but it is not a mean thing.
It is want.
It is need.
“Repent, sinner,” The Lamb murmurs, his eyes capturing mine as my cock thickens in my overalls. “Repent and seek mercy from the Lord your God.”
“Not my God,” I hiss, body heating as I stare at the Lamb, watching as raindrops slip down his face. His plump lips purse, and my body quivers with arousal at his defiance.
“Your God, Lazarus. The God you have forsaken. Beg for forgiveness in His cleansing rains.”
“Pure as always,” I murmur.
“Always,” he replies, certainty in his tone that sends a pulse of want rippling through me.
I moan softly as more rain falls on him, the red droplets cascading unchecked down his body and staining the shoulders of his robe crimson. I grin as he watches me back, though he cannot possibly know what is rumbling inside of me.
I reach up and unclasp one side of my overalls, letting it fall to the ground and stepping beneath the hole in the roof so that I too may be touched by the rain.
The Lamb’s eyes widen as I undo the second metal buckle holding the only clothing I wear on my body, letting that one also fall to the ground.
My body sings with pleasure as the red rain spatters on my bare skin, slicking trails down my flesh and soaking me. I close my eyes and bathe myself in it.
“Lazarus,” the Lamb says, but if he finishes that sentence I do not hear it as I give in to my base needs.
I trail my hands down my body, delighted in how everything in me responds to my touch, wondering what would happen if I were to make the Lamb touch me instead.
My body ripples with pleasure as I imagine it, The Lamb on his knees with my cock in his blessed hand, wringing a divine orgasm out of my sinner’s body.
I open my eyes to find that he is staring at me, eyes wide as the moon. Rather, he is staring at one part of me, and it is this part that I take in my fist, gripping tight. The Lamb’s eyes pop to my face, and I could be wrong, but I swear I can see his cheeks burning red beneath the raindrops.
“Like what you see?” I murmur, squeezing my cock the way I like in my hand. The Lamb shakes his head, then closes his eyes as I laugh and give myself a long stroke. “You can watch. I am worth watching.”
The men I sold my body to when I ran from Bright Haven knew this of me, and I don’t see why the Lamb should be any different. Though he believes himself to be holy, he is still just a human being, and being a human being means he is not immune to the need for pleasure.
I wonder if he’s ever touched himself like this.
“Lamb. Have you ever pleasured your body?” I ask as I slide my hand over my cock, using the rain to slick my skin up as much as I can. “Have you ever touched what God gave you?”
“It is a sin,” he whispers.
“Ezekiel was no stranger to his cock,” I snarl, hatred rising from the other place inside me that is triggered by this red toxic rain.
The Lamb’s eyes open, and he looks at me, his confusion crystal clear.
The rage inside me dies down a bit as his gentle, questioning eyes meet my fury and temper it to a simmer beneath my skin.
I ripple again with pleasure as I stroke my cock, hoping he keeps his eyes on me, needing him to watch me.
And watch me he does.
Though I can see his discomfort, he glances down to where my hand slicks over my skin, drawing heat and need through me like a tidal wave.
I tilt my head back and moan into the sound of the thunder, reaching up with my free hand to splay my hand over my chest. My hips thrust forward ever so slightly as I tighten my grip on myself, and when I turn my head back down I see he is still watching me.
“Touch yourself, Lamb,” I murmur. “Give in to what you need.”
“Repent, sinner,” he whispers back, but he does not move his eyes off my fist as I fuck my own hand.
His eyes meet mine, and I moan, my balls drawing up as I rub one of my nipples, then move to caress the next.
His cheeks burn red beneath the continued storm, his robe soaked through with rain.
As he trails his eyes down my body again, I fuck my hand even harder, hips slamming against my fingers as my need for release reaches a fever pitch within me.
With a feral shout, I come, spurting my release over my hand and the floorboards beneath me. My body quakes through the aftershocks, hand falling away from my cock as I linger in the aftermath of my pleasure.
“Sinner,” the Lamb whispers again, and I can’t keep myself from diving forward at him, delighted in how he flinches. I kneel in front of him, my knees touching his, and he looks at me with defiance and arousal in his eyes.
“Touch yourself,” I murmur, reaching for his bound hands with my cum-slicked fingers. He pulls away from my grasp, and I press my hands against his knees, holding him in place as I glance down at his lap. “Shall I?”
He hesitates, and that gives me enough time to reach for his face with one of my hands.
I cup his cheek in my palm, smearing my cum across his lips with my thumb, and he lets loose a small whimper.
I watch in delight as his pink tongue sneaks out to taste what I’ve left there for him.
Whether or not he meant to, he has tasted me as I have tasted the iron tang of his immune blood.
“It is okay to want,” I murmur, moving my hand away and licking my lingering release off my fingertips. “Don’t let me kill you before you’ve experienced such pleasures, little Lamb.”
“You are the Devil, Lazarus,” he whispers.
“I am Lazarus, as he made me.”