"Listen to me," said the Demon, as he placed his hand upon my head. "There is a spot upon this accursed earth which thou hast never yet beheld And if by any chance thou hast beheld it, it must have been in one of those vigorous dreams which come like the Simoon upon the brain of the sleeper who hath lain down to sleep among the forbidden sunbeams --among the sunbeams, I say, which slide from off the solemn columns of the melancholy temples in the wilderness. The region of which I speak is a dreary region in Libya, by the borders of the river Zaire. And there is no quiet there, nor silence." The words flowed smoothly together from a British accented voice, two rather bushy brows were knotted together as the same voice continued to read aloud from the thick, dusty book.

"The waters of the river have a saffron and sickly hue --and they flow not onwards to the sea, but palpitate forever and forever beneath the red eye of the sun with a tumultuous and convulsive motion. For many miles on either side of the river's oozy bed is a pale desert of gigantic water-lilies." The words to the disheveled Brit put him at ease, relaxing him as he imagined himself in the same exotic landscape. "They sigh one unto the other in that solitude, and stretch towards the heaven their long ghastly necks, and nod to and fro their everlasting heads. And there is an indistinct murmur which cometh out from among them like the rushing of subterrene water. And they sigh one unto the other."

Unknown to the man who sat so still his study, and was so engrossed in the words that seemed to become reality in his mind, that he didn't notice the other person that stood in the doorway, hiding behind the door, listening to the thick accent that had once brought the same world to life at bedtime. The person listened intently, the words reminded him of stuffed toys and playgrounds from his childhood, the voice, the voice that had once been used to scold him when he would break something and then after would be used to calm him down with soothing cooing and during nights when monsters would lurk under his bed the voice would tell him the same story so he would sleep peacefully.

"But there is a boundary to their realm --the boundary of the dark, horrible, lofty forest. There, like the waves about the hebrides, the low underwood is agitated continually. But there is no wind throughout the heaven. And the tall primeval trees rock eternally hither and thither with a crashing and mighty sound. And from their high summits, one by one, drop everlasting dews." The man in the chair smiled at the thought of another realm, the thought of there being another place where peace seemed endless, "And at the roots strange poisonous flowers lie writhing in perturbed slumber. And overhead, with a rustling and loud noise, the grey clouds rush westwardly forever, until they roll, a cataract, over the fiery wall of the horizon. But there is no wind throughout the heaven. And by the shores of the river Zaire there is neither quiet nor silence."

He turned the page, though no pictures were shown, the images that came into his mind were wondrous and far more beautiful than that of any painter could sculpt onto a canvas. The words, the literary beauty that captivated his mind had made the walls become those water lilies and the river and the skies and sun. The man in the doorway noticed the dreamy look that etched itself on the man's face, he was lost in his own mind, dreaming of the same landscape that he himself had dreamed of in his childish dreams.

"It was night, and the rain fell; and, falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood. And I stood in the morass among the tall lilies, and the rain fell upon my head --and the lilies sighed one unto the other in the solemnity of their desolation." The man in the doorway didn't know what had possessed him to say that aloud, to yank the other man out of his dreary fantasy and back to the bitterness of reality. Having already given himself away, he pushed the door open and looked at the man who was sitting upright, staring blankly at the man who had interrupted him from his imagination. Livid, scintillating, emerald green eyes look into weary, tired light blue eyes that hid behind smudged and scratched glass lenses.

"What are you doing here, Alfred," The British accent that had held such a sweet tone, was now direct and candid. The man in the doorway, Alfred, only half-smiled, his face hurt too much to fully spread his lips, his hair was messy, bits of dried mud clumped blond tresses together, dirt and dried blood was caked on the his face. His jacket was torn at the sleeve, dark denim jeans where torn in several places the knees showing the most damage. The Brit could only hold in so much shock as he looked at the American standing in his doorway, he was brought back when he heard a dry chuckle.

"Just passing by, it seems I'm not all that welcome into Britain by the locals," He said, almost mockingly, "Aren't you going to continue, Arthur?"

The man sitting in the chair, Arthur, looked at Alfred with mild confusion, "What are you talking about?" He asked.

"The story," Alfred said, making the other look down at the forgotten book, "you used to read it to me all the time when I was little, whenever I had a bad dream or I couldn't go to sleep, you would always pull it out and find any story that would fascinate me," His voice was dry, raspy. Arthur stood up, walking over to the other man before grabbing his wrist and took him into the kitchen, sitting him down at the table before he grabbed a first-aid kit from a cabinet above the stove.

"Take off your jacket," He said, pulling a chair right next to the injured man, he complied and shrugged the thick jacket off his shoulders and let it slide down his arms, low enough that he could pull his arms out, showing a plain black T-shirt and bruised, cut up, and slightly muscled arms. Arthur stared at the patches of bruised skin, purplish blue blended together into a disfigured shape, the cuts that scattered over his arms were different some deeper than others, some already scabbed while others still bled. Swallowing the lump in his throat he took a cotton swab and wet it with alcohol, carefully he went over the cuts with wet swab, he would lighten the pressure when he would hear Alfred hiss in pain, clenching his fists tightly to try and distract himself from the stinging pain as Arthur would continue till all of the cuts were thoroughly disinfected with the alcohol. After the pain had begun to subside, bandages were placed over them, carefully wrapped and secured to assure that they would be protected.

"I'm done," Arthur said, leaning back and putting the alcohol away, "take off your shirt," he said, standing up to put away the first-aid kit away.

"What?" Alfred asked, looking at the other oddly.

"Take off your shirt," He said again, "I'll wash your hair in the sink," he said going to the sink to get the water going, Alfred already began to take off his shirt, wincing when he would feel the cuts stretch when his muscles flexed, when he finally managed to get the shirt off he laid it on the back of the chair before going over to where the Brit stood, checking the running water to make sure that it was at the right temperature.

"Take your glasses off and lean down," Arthur said without looking at him, Alfred did as he was told and rested his glasses on the counter before he leaned down, letting the warm water run over his scalp. He felt himself relax as long, slender fingers went through tendrils of dirty blond locks, washing away the dirt and grim, the water that fell from his hair was a dirty brown colour, Arthur didn't stop running his hands through the other man's hair until the water came down clear. He turned off the water and told Alfred to wait there while he got a towel, he walk briskly to the hallway closet and grabbed the closest towel before coming back to the kitchen and wrapping the towel around the American's head.

"You don't need to do that, ya know," Alfred said, all the same he did nothing to stop the Brit from drying his hair for him.

"I want to," Arthur replied, taking the towel away when the hair was dry, the clumps of dirt and mud had made the blond tresses dull, almost a brown colour, now that his hair had been cleaned it was back to it's original blond. "What happened," He asked, the question had been hanging in the air since Arthur had seen him.

Alfred didn't say anything, "I told you, the British locals don't like me that much," it would have been wise to drop the conversation there, to leave it at that and take his former son to bed, but Arthur was curious.

"Who did it? The guards? Some thugs?" He pressed, Alfred sighed, wishing that he would drop the subject.

"I guess some thugs, must have wanted some money or something, nothing to worry about now," He said, grabbing his shirt to put it back on.

"Did you see them? Anything particular about them that you-"

"Just drop it," Alfred said, cutting him off, with his shirt on he got up, grabbing his jacket that had fallen on the floor, "It was too dark to tell," he said walking to the door that led to the backyard. He barely had his hand on the doorknob when he felt those same slender fingers wrap around his wrist.

Alfred didn't move, it wasn't that he was afraid, or that he felt compelled to stay, it was the Brit's voice that had made him stop in his tracks.

"And, all at once, the moon arose through the thin ghastly mist, and was crimson in color. And mine eyes fell upon a huge grey rock which stood by the shore of the river, and was litten by the light of the moon. And the rock was grey, and ghastly, and tall, --and the rock was grey." The words were perfectly recited, there was not a word that was out of place. "Upon its front were characters engraven in the stone; and I walked through the morass of water-lilies, until I came close unto the shore, that I might read the characters upon the stone. But I could not decypher the characters. And I was going back into the morass, when the moon shone with a fuller red, and I turned and looked again upon the rock, and upon the characters --and the characters were 'desolation'." Alfred looked back at the Brit, his eyes meeting the other's, he turned around completely listening carefully to the man speak.

"And the outlines of his figure were indistinct --but his features were the features of a Deity; for the mantle of the night, and of the mist, and of the moon, and of the dew, had left uncovered the features of his face. And his brow was lofty with thought, and his eye wild with care; and, in the few furrows upon his cheek I read the fables of sorrow, and weariness, and disgust with mankind, and a longing after solitude. And the moon shone upon his face, and upon the features of his face, and oh! they were more beautiful than the airy dreams which hovered about the souls of the daughters of Delos." His voice seemed to make man come alive, slowly, unknown to both persons, Arthur was coming closer to the American, inching his way closer to the man backed against the door.

"And the man sat down upon the rock, and leaned his head upon his hand, and looked out upon the desolation. He looked down into the low unquiet shrubbery, and up into the tall primeval trees, and up higher at the rustling heaven, and into the crimson moon. And I lay close within shelter of the lilies, and observed the actions of the man. And the man trembled in the solitude --but the night waned and he sat upon the rock." Arthur was in his arms now, wrapped securely in those bruised, bandaged and safe arms. Calloused hands ran through soft colored hair, urging the man on to continue the story.

"And the man turned his attention from the heaven, and looked out upon the dreary river Zaire, and upon the yellow ghastly waters, and upon the pale legions of the water-lilies. And the man listened to the sighs of the water-lilies, and of the murmur that came up from among them. And I lay close within my covert and observed the actions of the man. And the man trembled in the solitude --but the night waned and he sat upon the rock." Arthur looked up, he was so close now, he could hear the other's heart beat from beneath the thin fabric of the shirt.

"Then I went down into the recesses of the morass, and waded afar in among the wilderness of the lilies, and called unto the hippopotami which dwelt among the fens in the recesses of the morass. And the hippopotami heard my call, and came, with the behemoth, unto the foot of the rock, and roared loudly and fearfully beneath the moon. And I lay close within my covert and observed the actions of the man. And the man trembled in the solitude --but the night waned and he sat upon the rock." They were coming closer to each other, so close till they were breathing on each other, their lips lingering over each other. Alfred pulled away, and before Arthur could question him he was gathered in those bandaged arms and being carried up the stairs.

"Alfred, stop! You're going to hurt your arms!" He struggled to get down, though he tried he was kept in a tight hold, unable to get down in the end.

"Go on with the story," Was all he got as a response, Arthur, unable to do anything else, nodded and continued reluctantly.

"Then I cursed the elements with the curse of tumult; and a frightful tempest gathered in the heaven where before there had been no wind. And the heaven became livid with the violence of the tempest --and the rain beat upon the head of the man --and the floods of the river came down --and the river was tormented into foam --and the water-lilies shrieked within their beds --and the forest crumbled before the wind --and the thunder rolled, --and the lightning fell --and the rock rocked to its foundation. And I lay close within my covert and observed the actions of the man. And the man trembled in the solitude -- but the night waned and he sat upon the rock." Arthur rested his head against Alfred's shoulder still a bit begrudged but slowly relaxing.

"Then I grew angry and cursed, with the curse of silence, the river, and the lilies, and the wind, and the forest, and the heaven, and the thunder, and the sighs of the water-lilies. And they became accursed and were still. And the moon ceased to totter in its pathway up the heaven --and the thunder died away --and the lightning did not flash --and the clouds hung motionless --and the waters sunk to their level and remained --and the trees ceased to rock --and the water-lilies sighed no more --and the murmur was heard no longer from among them, nor any shadow of sound throughout the vast illimitable desert. And I looked upon the characters of the rock, and they were changed --and the characters were 'silence'." Alfred pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder, and kicked it back shut, Alfred laid the Brit on the bed before climbing in himself. He laid down on one of the pillows and pulled Arthur down to lay on his shoulder once again, tangling his fingers in his hair.

"And mine eyes fell upon the countenance of the man, and his countenance was wan with terror. And, hurriedly, he raised his head from his hand, and stood forth upon the rock, and listened. But there was no voice throughout the vast illimitable desert, and the characters upon the rock were 'silence'. And the man shuddered, and turned his face away, and fled afar off, and I beheld him no more." Their lips finally met in short, bittersweet kiss, one kiss led to another, and then another, and soon they were wrapped in each other, Alfred now on his side, holding Arthur by his thin waist.

Alfred trailed his lips down to the other's neck, kissing, lightly biting, softly sucking, and then kissing again until a purplish red mark had appeared on the side of his neck. Arthur's breathing became labored, heavier, his fingers entangled in Alfred's hair as the sensitive skin on his neck was ravished thoroughly, all the while those calloused hands slipped up Arthur's long sleeve grey shirt, teasing the pale skin beneath it and sensitive pink nipples until they were hard and perked. Arthur shook from underneath the American's touch, shuddering out gasps and soft pants, he bit his lip in a vain attempt to silence his noises. His shirt was quickly removed and tossed carelessly to the side of the room, just as quickly his torso was assaulted, his right nipple sucked and carefully bitten while long fingers played almost roughly with the left, the Brit writhed and shivered underneath Alfred, hesitantly pushing his need into the other's while he gripped his forearms.

Alfred's hands traveled about the man's torso, taking in the softness, the delicateness of the skin, slowly making their way lower, caressing his hips and then sliding into the dark grey pants. Arthur's body shook with anticipation, his face turning an apple red hue as he watched the American ravish him, but feeling him ravish his body was more what was making him shake. One hand went to his front, gripping his manhood lightly, making him gasp loudly as the same hand slowly stroked him, Arthur moaned wantonly gripping the other's shoulders tightly.

"W...ah...wai...t...wait....A-Alfred..." He managed to gasp out, darkening blue eyes met his dilated green, "s...stop...please....j-just wait...ah..ha..." Alfred stopped breifly.

"What's wrong?" He asked, worry edging on his words, Arthur's face would have went a shade darker if possible as his eyes shifted wearily.

"I...I don't want to...yet..." He moved his head to the side, feeling embarrassed at the American's gaze. Alfred smiled, leaning down and kissing his lips lightly before moving away again, swiftly, he discarded of the pants as well.

"Just bear with me for a while," He said softly, almost cooing the words into the Brit's ears as one finger was gently pressed inside the tight orifice, Arthur sighed out as the first was inserted. He tried to keep himself relaxed while another was pushed in, and soon along with the third, he closed his eyes, trying hard not to focus on the searing pain. After a few minutes of pushing in and out to loosen the hole enough, just enough so as not to be as painful as it could be, he pulled his fingers out and placed his own manhood at the entrance. He held Arthur's hand as he slowly pushed in, feeling a tight pressure in his chest when he heard the man beneath him gasp in pain and grip his hand tightly as he was filled.

"A...Al...fr...ed...Alf...red..." He gasped out in pain, clenching his eyes shut to try and force the welling tears down, but they fell from the corners down his cheeks. Alfred quickly lapped them away with his tongue, stroking his cheek with the back of his hand.

"It's alright, it's alright," he cooed gently, calming the Brit down, slowly he grew used to the foreign intrusion and with a small, hesitant nod allowed the other to continue. Alfred pulled out half way and slowly slid back in, allowing Arthur to begin to enjoy the feeling of the other being inside of him. Arthur took deep breathes that slowly became moans as the pace increased, wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck, the moaning in his ear only made him thrust harder, wanting to be indulged inside the other, wanting the other to also feel the immense pleasure.

It went on like that for what seemed like hours, thrusting, bucking, moaning, grunting, sweaty bodies mixed together till there was no separate entities, there was one single person as they mixed in the intimate pleasures that had them riding out to the core, wanting to savor the feeling, the sounds, the want, the need.

"Alfred...ah, ahha, oh god..mn..I-I'm...I'm so...mn close...I'm close..." He panted out, gripping the American's shoulders till four crescent shaped marks were shown, Alfred didn't reply but grunted out almost animal like. He bit down roughly into the soft skin, leaving a purplish black bruise, as they both ejaculated, Arthur screamed as his essence was shot between them, the feeling of being filled with the same essence inside of him made him twitch as he was at his high. But as quickly as it had came, it had left, leaving them both a sweaty, panting, tangled heap in each other's seed. The room was silent now, the smell of sweat and sex hung heavily in the air as they tried to catch their breathes, after the silence had drug on for what had seemed like eternity, Alfred pushed himself up, pulling his limp member out of the tight orifice that had invited him in not that long ago, his seed seeped out onto the sheets. He pulled Arthur onto his chest, cradling him and stroking his hair gingerly, murmuring sweet nothings as the Brit began to nod off.

"Now there are fine tales in the volumes of the Magi --in the iron-bound, melancholy volumes of the Magi. Therein, I say, are glorious histories of the Heaven, and of the Earth, and of the mighty Sea --and of the Genii that over-ruled the sea, and the earth, and the lofty heaven. There was much lore too in the sayings which were said by the sybils; and holy, holy things were heard of old by the dim leaves that trembled around Dodona --but, as Allah liveth, that fable which the Demon told me as he sat by my side in the shadow of the tomb, I hold to be the most wonderful of all! And as the Demon made an end of his story, he fell back within the cavity of the tomb and laughed," He whispered the words into Arthur's ear, a lazy smile spread across his face, "And I could not laugh with the Demon, and he cursed me because I could not laugh. And the lynx which dwelleth forever in the tomb, came out therefrom, and lay down at the feet of the Demon, and looked at him steadily in the face."

"The end," said Arthur, his voice drowsy and slightly slurred. Alfred pulled Arthur's hand up, kissing his knuckle before the Brit fell into a deep sleep.

"It's never the end," He said before following the man into the pale desert of lilies.

Silence

By Edgar A. Poe.

Creative Criticism Highly Wanted