There's breathing. Hard breathing.
In and out in and out in and out in and out.
In the night? Only in the night. Where else can the stars see us? In our favorite spot? Of course, of course. The sun does not shine kindly to where we fuck. But the moon. The moon smiles with those craggy teeth, and licks its lips with excitement.
Green hillsides all around us, a dilapidated chapel that once housed the lost races of proud lizard men. It is miles away from home. Yet you bring me here by chocobo, and unclothe yourself quickly from your royal robes. The moon is painting your flesh a disgusting pale color. I follow suit by leaving behind my robes, and, taking me forcibly by my wrist, our silhouettes walk clumsily through an arch and into what was once a great foyer once a upon a time.
Now there's only stone rubble and grass patches growing everywhere among a once decadent marble floor. A sky that sees everything is looming over our heads.
We stop over an igsignia on the floor, and that's when our bodies become one.
My hands move around your naked body, touching flesh sensually enough to make you feel it with excitement. You look into my eyes, your piercing traitorous stare burning into the back of my skull.
You kiss me, and I hate the salty taste of your bitter lips. Your tongue plays around in my mouth, grabbing my wrists hard enough to stop the circulation flowing through my veins when you feel my reluctance.
The kiss stops. You begin nipping at my neck, while I try so hard not to feel the-
Pleasure. Pain?
It doesn't matter if I embrace the sins anymore. The integrity I had against such morals was lost as soon as I wed you, shared my bed with you. Called you my king. As soon as you.
Used me.
But even then, I still refuse to-
"Love me. Love me?" you always say this, always beg this, during intercourse when we are in the chapel. When the moon gives us the misguided blessing the sun won't.
Always ask me to give you the only thing that is mine. The only thing that I value more than my body, than my integrity. My empathy.
You beg me. You ask me. But when I ask you.
"Am I your pawn, or your puppet?" does your visage become deranged. You snarl at me as your hand slaps me hard enough to cause cuts that nobody in the castle bothers regarding. You push me to the ground, where I am not even worth the dirt on the floor, then you grab my hair and force me onto my back.
And that's when the stars become truly intrigued. You want me to scream like an animal as you pull my hair; want me to feel as nothing.
As the commoners say in their slang terms, you fuck me like an animal.
Oh, but I hate it. I hate what you did to me, and I hate what you are doing to me.
Oh but if-
"I were a man," my sister in arms once told me in the peaceful abbey, where my memories where more sad than happy.
I would fight you. I would castrate you. I would stab you in the heart over and over just to feel the thrill of you dying by my hands.
I would make you regret ever being born.
You stop. I feel the floodgates open. You release. I hate you more than I do myself at the moment.
My chest is heaving in and out in and out in and out. You are calm as you look to the stars; a wry smile of satisfaction is slowly overcoming your face. The moon is painting your flesh a disgusting pale color.
In and out in and out in and out in and out in and out in and out in and out in and out.
"Tomorrow's your birthday," I'm still on the floor in the dirt and grime as your eyes finally look at me. Your stare burns into the back of my skull.
"What would the queen desire?"
In and out in and out in and out in and out in and out in and out in and out in and out in and out in and out inandout-
There's breathing. Hard breathing.
disclaimer