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*
Tiny, laughable minds.
Many of his classmates here cannot grasp the singularity and awakening of magic boiling through their blood. That being said… Michael does not mind entertaining their feeble attempts. It passes the time.
One of the young warlocks holds himself underwater in a long, ivory bathtub, upon Michael's command. His stark, pale features glimmering out of reach. A boy of gentle temperament and innocence. Skittish. Like a pet rabbit who desperately craves affection from his master, and yet hasn't the faintest on what to do when he receives it. Trusting.
He's too eager, captivated by Michael's physical attractiveness and his naturally seductive demeanor, spreading worshipful kisses, suckling upon Michael's cock until the boy stifles out moans. He chokes on the body-hot, thick length when Michael aggressively fucks the boy's throat, spilling inside him, fisting onto his cropped, brown hair until pleasure-pain overcomes him.
The boy emerges from the watery bathtub, sitting up and coughing, nearly panicking. His dark brown eyes widening. "What did you see?" Michael asks quietly, eyeing him. That traditionally conservative uniform and his long, dark eyelashes sodden wet.
"A black dog," he gasps, frightened, his ruddy, damp mouth opening. "It came running after me… and…"
Michael eases him back to his feet, combing the boy's hair out of his eyes and sharing a brief, intense kiss. The boy melts against him, gripping lightly to Michael's jacket. He does the same, much later in the evening, when others are fast asleep, whimpering and covered in his own glistening, red blood, dying slowly in Michael's arms.
His corpse drops heavily onto the ground when Michael wrinkles his nose repulsed and tosses him aside. The hellhound trots over, its jaws gleaming red. "Very good," Michael says, rubbing the black dog's snout and listening to inhuman, deep growling.
*