Prompt: Usagi/Prince Demando
Kink: Mind control. Because we all know if Mamoru didn't bust in...
Inspiration: Written for the Sailormoon Kink Meme on LJ
Warnings: Mind control, implied rape

When Demando kisses her, it is a burning, terrible thing. There is no possible way for her to close her eyes and pretend it is Mamoru – her eyes are no longer hers to control and Mamoru's touch has never felt like this, never carried this intensity. Because it is not the touch that hurts, although he is fierce and demanding and his fingers dig into her skin. No. Much more apparent, much more important, are the emotions behind it: he is consuming her, devouring her, pouring all the strange, convoluted feelings he has for her future incarnation into this one act.

And when he finally pulls back, after a long, tortuous year of contact, she is breathless and dizzy and does nothing to catch herself when she falls. The bed beneath her is soft and welcoming and she longs to hide herself under the sheets, to escape those watchful, hungry eyes if only for a moment.

He is almost sweet when he bares down on her; his fingers are now light against her skin and she knows that it is because there is no need to rush. It does not matter how fast Mamoru runs or how hard her friends search for her. They will not find her in time.

Wherever they are, time has stopped. Wherever they are, Demando has all the time in the world.

His hands glide over her shoulders, across her chest, so slowly she thinks she might go insane. He wants to remember this moment, to be able to close his eyes one day and recall each second in burning detail.

She wants him gone; his touch weighs her down. There is a pressure behind it, the same intensity that lurked beneath his kiss, and she thinks wildly, How can he stand it? It steals her breath away and he has been living with it for longer than she can imagine, keeping it bottled up inside until it led him to do this.

Soon, her dress comes off. She can't remember him removing it. She can't remember much of what's happened, actually. It all seems to blend together, one long expansion of white surroundings and roaming hands, broken only by flashes of deep purple eyes. He is speaking but the words are too low for her to make out, a faint, breathless rumble that sinks into her bones and leaves her shaking.

His mouth ghosts across her cheek, gliding towards her ear. "Love me," he whispers, and the affection she feels for him at this moment is overwhelming, stronger than anything she has felt in her life. She can only press their mouths together and pull him closer, desperate to prove that yes, yes, she loves him and there is nothing that can change her mind.

And she ignores the part of her, locked somewhere in the back of her mind, that screams and cries and, for at least this one moment, irrevocably hates him.

-

He is not sated. He does not think he ever will be, now that he knows what she tastes like, now that he knows just how inadequate all his dreams were compared to the real thing. He has wanted this for so long and he has her now and he will not stop – cannot stop! – until he has exhausted himself on this pleasure.

Behind her eyes – adoring, loving, the perfect blue of her beautiful planet – lurks a spark, a flicker of the familiar, defiant anger the Neo-Queen once cast in his direction.

He will snuff it out. He will press and mold until she loves him like he loves her, until that anger is nothing but a memory, replaced with the endless devotion that he knows will bring him happiness.

Any and all comments are appreciated.