Page 187 of Property of Necro
Today, I make My Soul mine. Forever.
Today, No One will take a wife, a woman who will carry his name. Our surname—Larrsen. The name bestowed upon me and my brothers by our foster father, the man who put up with our shit, and kept us alive, Lars. It’s a Viking tradition to carry the name of your lineage. Son of Lars. That is what we are. A product of the man who gave us this life, this church… and, by extension, this woman. It’s only fitting she also carries his name as we do. Coffin, being the only one of us with a father, hyphenated his last name, whereas I never had one, and Rot can’t even remember what was written on his birth certificate from the woman who bore him but no longer wanted him.
Speaking of Rot…
Racing up the center aisle, between the pews like his ass is on fire, Rot reaches the dais and stops beside my throne, grumbling under his breath. “That fuckin’ woman,” he huffs.
“What?” Coffin chuckles from the other side of me as I smile. It’s impossible not to, given she said yes. Sure, it wasn’t automatic, but we didn’t expect it to be. Sola is her own woman. Living with her for almost a year, or has it been longer? Who the fuck knows…We’ve gotten to know every inch of her, inside and out. The good, the great, and the broken bits we’re trying to glue back together.
Shaking his head in frustration, Rot unfastens his jeans and drops them to his ankles. He quickly removes his boots and kicks everything to the side so he’s just as naked as we are, ready to welcome our woman into our world forever. Naked. Bared to her. Our hearts. Our souls. Our cocks.
Cockroach collects Rot’s clothes as we wait for the church doors to open whenever she’s ready. We left Creature outside to guide and protect Sola since none of us can, given we’re the grooms.
Processional music you’d hear in those silly chick movies Rot loves plays through a speaker as the wooden doors open, much like the day when she first arrived.
Stepping onto the tile, Sola’s eyes latch onto mine and never leave as she slowly glides to us like a queen, head held high.
“Fuck me,” Coffin grunts, and I snicker at his appreciation of our woman.
She chose the black dress just as I knew she would. Pride blooms in my chest that I chose correctly. Her. The gown. The day. The ring. My brothers. My life.
The black contrasts perfectly with her milky, freckle-kissed skin and red hair, just like I knew it would.
I stroke myself slowly, swirling my precum around the tip with my thumb as she floats to us like an angel. Shenever falters. Never slows. Her steps are sure as she watches me pleasure myself to her, waiting, wanting, needing.
When Sola steps up onto the red tile, Rot and Coffin go to her. Kneeling on the floor on each side of our woman, they take her hands and rest them on their heads like we practiced.
Mama stands from a pew as our only other witness today, besides Creature, who sits in the back row. The rest of the brothers will not observe our union as it is for us. Not them. We can celebrate later, as a club, when the time is right.
Dressed in a black button-down and matching slacks, Mama steps beside our woman as her protector and friend. “Do you, Sola, accept these two men—Coffin and Rot—who kneel before you to be your husbands?”
Chewing her bottom lip, Sola nods and visibly shivers. “I… I do.” Her fingers run through their hair as they stare up at her like she is their everything.
And she is.
Our everything.
“Good girl,” Rot praises as Mama hands Coffin his knife.
“Do you, Rot, take Sola to be your wife, your everything, your one and only, ‘til death do you part?” Mama recites.
Inching closer to Coffin, Rot offers his chest to our brother.
“I do,” Rot vows, and Sola’s eyes widen as Coffin smirks like a fuckin’ deviant and carves a deep S in Rot’s pec. Blood rushes down his abs, to his thigh, and over theroot of his cock. A hiss passes his lips as he takes it without complaint.
Mama repeats the same to Coffin, and Rot accepts the knife to carve an S into his pec, opposite the bite tattoo.
Blood washes down their fronts and pools on the floor at Sola’s feet as she watches them with those big, bright, green eyes.
“Come down,” Rot urges her, and with their help and a shaky hand, Sola kneels before them in her dress, soaking the lace in their blood. Their sacrifice.
Coffin gently cups the back of Sola’s head and brings her lips to his damaged chest. “You are mine, and I am yours,” he groans as she takes the cue like a pro and traces the wound with the tip of her tongue, tasting his blood, his devotion, his love. Coffin drops his head back and moans as she laps at him, cleaning him up, before moving to Rot to do the same. Taking her time, she savors him, humming in pleasure as she laps his thick pec.
Once she’s through, Sola pulls back and licks her lips, her lids heavy with lust, chest heaving for air. Much like my brothers, as they touch her softly, everywhere.
“Go to him,” Coffin urges, nuzzling his nose to her neck as he looks to me.
“Make us one,” Rot whispers, nuzzling the other side and dragging his lips up her cheek, where he kisses her.
