The blood spatter against the dimly lit floor was like a little splash of heaven to Ludwig. His fingers digging their nails into the soft flesh.

Fritz was in pain. His Fritz, in Pain.

Something so heavenly, so beautiful about it. Something so carnal. So morbidly human, only he got to see, feel, understand.

Their feet glide in synchronised chaos across the floor. The harmony between them long since gone since first blood was drawn.

Their innocent dance tarnished in the primal bloodlust.

Ludwig's hands slowly trail upwards to grasp around Fritz's throat, watching his expression change, shift. The cheeks flush, and the eyes roll up waiting for air to refill his flesh, cool his lungs. Frit's hands, in return, move to dig nails deep into Ludwig's sides. Ripping into him, tearing him apart enough to pull the blood they both seem to seek.

Screams sound like heavenly moans in the ears of both men, the pain more like music.

As they dance, and they torment.