All he wanted, now, was this. He craved nothing else. Wanted for nothing else.
“Come kneel before me where I stand,” his everything said. “Come take what I offer.”
And so he did, and he would, and had ever since the first taste had left him love-blind and hormone-drunk. Thinner now, scrawny, pale as white snow with stark blotches of freckles that speckled his skin and got traced over with reverence and wonder. Touches that made him flinch and feel lost, caresses that sent shivers and shocks through his system, that made him want more.
His creator, the new god. Moulding him into the shape and shade and image that was desired. He desired, and was desired, and burned with it.
He faced forward, inched closer, mouth open, tongue out. Ready to receive, ready to give. Sweet nectar, that white fluid. Ready to flow, to change him.
It stole away his memories, he gave them away, because before this it had been different and the pain of remembering was too much and too raw and every taste sent the recollection tumbling further and further away.
This was all he was trained to need. This was all he was rewarded for wanting.
“Drink Dean, lap it all up.”
He didn’t need to be told, “Yes, please.” he mumbled. “Please please please.”
All he wanted. Made him wild with it. Hard with it. Longing for it. Begging.
“You can take it, take it all.”
Fed into his mouth, he opened up wide so he could be full. In and in until there was no more and nothing else. Just this. Just now.