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I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Your last words repeat in his mind like a skipping record.
The rain is pouring in earnest now, mixing with the gore and blood already covering him, matting his hair and spreading the stains in his clothes.
He laughs, arms wide as if to catch the steadily increasing drops. Staring straight up: up past the rain, up past the tops of trees, up past the dark and thunderous clouds, up past the limits of the moon and sun and all the stars. Up to the heavens.
He hopes you're already watching.
His laughing continues, manic giggles leading into hysterical guffaws: loud choked off sounds that stress his lungs to their limits more and more until they seize, causing Alastor to hunch over, clutching his chest to try and catch his breath.
His eyes begin to dart over your still chilling corpse. Without conscious thought, he seizes your limp hand and brings it to his face. Dragging it across his cheek and nuzzling into it with open adoration, a blush deepening his complexion.
He's memorizing you with half-lidded eyes, a free hand stroking down your smooth arm. He brings his mouth to the vein in your wrist, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses it softly.
His kiss is so warm, contrasting against your cold skin, chasing the memory of your life.
He lingers there, entwining the fingers of his other hand with your own, held captive against his cheek.
It's a grotesque facsimile of romance, reminiscent of the evening the pair of you were sharing not too long ago...
--
You push Alastor onto the couch, and tumble on top of him with a breathless laugh.
The radio crackles with the lingering notes of the song. The host cuts in to give their in-between song spiel.
Alastor frowns, irritated with the reminder you chose to listen to a radio show that wasn't his. You giggle, enamored even with the petty jealously that often steals your lover's smile. You reach up a hand, cradling his face, and rub your thumb soothingly along his cheek.
"Hey now, I thought we danced that frown away!"
With you in his arms, warm and trusting and loving, his annoyance slips away, lips twitching upward. He turns his head to place a kiss in your palm to hide the returning grin.
"It's hardly my fault you decided to grace your attention on some half-rate hack! We have all the best tunes on vinyl right here!"
He's gesturing with one arm, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of your shared record collection. His face was still pressed into your palm, muffling your words, and your heart felt so full of affection for him.
"Oh Alastor, you goof. I already told you, I was in the mood for something new tonight..."
His chance to reply is stolen, interrupted by a sudden record scratch and a hasty announcement of the host.
"Breaking news, folks! Looks like the NOLA PD have made a serious breakthrough on the Bayou Killer, criminal at large-"
The radio crashes to the floor, cutting off the rest of the report. Alastor barely heard your soft, concerned calling of his name as adrenaline floods his system, buzzing in his ears and crawling on his skin.
--
He returns to the present moment with a shudder, soaking wet from the rain. His hand is still entwined with yours, still holding your lifeless limb in the air.
His lips still pressed against your cold, cold, cold skin. He parts them, tongue peaking out to lick away the salt and grime. He breathes a deep breath, and then...
He bites down.
Your flesh tears, finally giving way to his blunt teeth. Cooling blood, slow to react, leaks from the wound. Alastor closes his mouth around it, sighing tenderly as he tastes you.
Dogs can be heard barking in the distance.
He drinks for a moment longer, savoring, before letting go dejectedly. Blood and drool covering his mouth. He whispers, forlornly,
"Oh darling, if only we had more time."
He lets your arm drop and crawls on top of you, hands planted on either side of your head as he gazes down at your still face.
For a second, he pretends you're only sleeping. That you will wake up and look at him with your familiar dreamy smile, murmuring his name with such joy and warmth he could never quite understand.
He digs his hands into the muddy soil and forest debris below you when a spark of foreign emotion constricts his throat. He licks his lips.
"...I would savor you, every last part."
He moves to cradle your cheek in one of his hands, angling your head towards him.
The dogs are howling to each other like wolves, moving ever closer.
He's reverent as his hands ghost down your corpse. Feather light fingertips dragging mud and blood down your cheek, neck, chest...
"I would make sure nothing of you would go to waste. From your toes,"
He pauses here to lean in, lips almost touching yours, breath hot against your chilling face.
"-to your teeth."
He pauses, as if waiting for you to awake, his eyes flicking towards yours to see if they will open.
They don't.
He sits back up, with a shake of his rain and blood damp head, pushing his glasses up. His ever present smile grows more wicked again, goal refocused in his mind.
It's quick work to get inside your chest, flayed flesh and broken ribs from earlier seeming to move out of his way on their own. He feels heady, already abused nervous system alight with the growing excitement, the anticipation for what will come next.
"But alas, our time together has to be cut short. It's truly a shame, my dear."
With a laugh, Alastor pulls your plump heart right out of your chest, arteries and veins straining, then ripping from the strength of his yanking.
Once free from its bindings, he laughs again, cradling your organ like it's a precious treasure.
"This will have to suffice. I'm the only one who deserves to have your heart."
He's shivering, regaling his prize, as he brings it to his lips, kissing it softly before licking it, tongue lapping up the blood before it can be washed away in the rain.
The must be the peak, he realizes, his own heart thumping, body quivering with excitement. Drool collects in his mouth and drips from his teeth. They ache with the need to bite.
"After all, it belongs to me~!"
Sung fervently against the organ, like a prayer before a feast.
And he bites.
The noises of the night drown out his sinful moan at the first taste, thunder and barking covering the squelching of the repetitive chewing and ripping, Alastor eating your heart with increasing ecstasy and speed.
He's more than halfway through when the dogs finally arrive. He keeps eating, too impassioned to stop now, eyes darting between the dogs circling him.
The dogs are wary, growling at him, ears flattened back. Despite their number, their movements are unsure, undecided whether they should attack or not.
Alastor's smile turns sly around morsels of your heart. It looks like he'll get to finish his meal after all.
He continues eating, consuming and consuming until there's nothing left. Heavenly, the closest to divinity Alastor will ever be, the feeling of the flesh of your heart sliding down his throat and settling heavy in his stomach.
He sticks his fingers into his mouth, greedily, tongue laving over and in between the digits as he chases every last drop left of you on his hands.
He runs his hands down his neck, his chest, his stomach. He savors the feeling of eating his fill, whole and complete.
The dogs are whining, directionless and afraid in the face of a more threatening predator.
He laughs again. How delicious your bleeding heart was. How worth it everything was; having lead up to something as grand as this, how whatever comes next will never satisfy him the same.
A heart by any other name will never taste as sweet.
Through the dark trees and pouring rain, a gun is fired.
Alastor collapses on top of you, bullet piercing his skull, wedged in his brain. His head rests on your torso in a parody of a comforting embrace. He isn't quite sure if he's giggling or gurgling blood, possibly both, as blood pours from his lips onto you.
He reaches his hand upwards, trembling with exertion and energy he no longer has. His fingers crawl into the corners of your mouth, stretching your lips into a distorted smile to match his own.
He hears the footsteps of men approaching, crunching the wet branches underfoot. The dogs whining, hoping for direction from their master.
His blood rushing to the wound in his head.
The pounding rain, a heavy blanket around them all.
You're the last thing he sees, darkness growing in his sight until nothing is left.
He whispers, inaudible in the pouring rain and sudden horrified shouting of the gathering search party.
"Mon cœr...I think I love you too."