lamb to the slaughter
A/N: Originally posted on my blog on April 16th. Just thought I'd post it here as well.
she might be the most beautiful thing he ever saw
–dead and cold with rigor mortis just settling in; bloody and battered; with ripped flesh and broken bone; covered in blood and gasoline
alive in that control room
–soon her head shall be crushed into the screen and her arms to the keyboard, her skull cracking and her mouth emitting a scream
his eyes are yellow and her eyes are blue
–and he thinks of drowning her or injecting her with methelyne blue, a slow death to delight him in the fullest
his hair is white and her hair is black
–he wants to see just how much white contrasts with black, how mush she would contrast the white walls and floor of this room
he sees nothing but blue in her eyes; she sees all and everything in his
–in that moment, he knows that she is not afraid; she is not a afraid of dying, of being murdered by his own hands
he raises the razor's blunt edge to caress the line of her jaw; she doesn't flinch nor does she bat an eyelid
–he smiles and thinks that he might as well get the most of killing her
"aren't you afraid?" he flirts with her
"i've seen far more terrifying things in my life than you have." she answers monotonously
"do tell." he smirks
"better to show than to say." she replies and takes a step closer, takes his wrist into her hands, moves the blade down to her neck, and whispers "wouldn't you like it better this way?"
"not too fast." he doesn't falter, he keeps his gaze on hers, and he decides to test her, to play her; he retracts his hand, her grip is too soft, he folds the blade back, and takes a step closer as well. "not too fast."
–and he knows that she fears for the moment where he steals her lips using his
she does. and by heaven above, she relishes in the selfish, carnal feeling. she wants to spit, to vomit, to remove him from her system
but he's invaded, he's touched, and he's tainted every crevice of her mouth; she can feel his stench fill her nose and drown her lungs; she wants to cry, but she doesn't. she's been taught not to cry, not to show a glimpse of defeat at moments of despair.
"wouldn't you like it better this way?" he uses her words against her, and tempts her, and tempts her, and tempts her until she reaches for the switch "you wouldn't want to do that, would you?"
"they trust me." she answers with her voice shaking in her throat.
"and they left you here, like a lamb to the slaughter." his grim smile makes everything she sees dimmen into a horrific madness; but all she sees is him, all she hears is him, all she smells is him, all she tastes is him, all she feels is him
she lets him get away with stealing her lips once more. she feels the blunt tip of the razor blade curve into her side; his arms, dear lord his arms, lock themselves behind her. she can't get away.
–just like a lamb on the chopping block.
A/N: I ship Yayoi with whoever I like. Don't judge.