To Dance With The Devil.

Morgue may taste metal but if anyone else were to kiss Finn, they would catch the taste of fire, a fire so cold it scorched from the inside out. Finn had yet to reject Morgue's hands, but his grip tightened on the others throats as if in warning.

Morgue felt the grip of the boy's hand tightening on his throat but he couldn't care less anymore. He responded to the kiss with vigor, excited to see the bruise he would have in the morning from the boy's hand around his throat.

Finn's tongue was hot as it forced its way into the others mouth. Finn was aggressive, his teeth nipping at the others lips. He loved being physical with Morgue, loved to make him bleed.

Morgue grunted lowly as his nails dug into the creamy white skin of Finn's hips, drawing blood himself. He couldn't get enough of Finn...

And Finn could never get close enough to Morgue it seemed. They were bad for each other in every way, but alone they would be miserable. They were caught up in this sickening twisted love they shared.