A Midnight Production
Disclaimers: FFXIII is not mine. No infringement intended.
Pairing: LightningxFangxVanille, Neapolitan.
Spoilers: None
Rating: M. This is smut and SMUT only.
A/N: No plot at all. Lightning and Fang are established, Fang and Vanille are established. Time to get freaky. I can`t imagine any of what I`ve written is actually true to character; I`ve just turned them all into perverts with a De Sadian flare.
OOO
We live a whirlwind life, caught in the gyre of chaos, spinning round the funnel of it with our loves across from us on the other side, reaching out with fingertips scantly brushing our own. We are out of reach. It is in this madness – the temporary universe of Pulse – that we exist. I do not expect anyone else to understand us or to know why we do what we do. In the face of terror and brutality, one should be horrified, numb, paralysed by it all. We feel nothing of the sort. When grief consumes us, we overcome it; when fear grips us, we defeat it. And when we are impossibly alone, vulnerable and desperate in the late night hours, exhausted from the day, desire takes us by force. We satisfy it, every bit of it until we're whole again.
We are wild, natural like the land itself.
I sit opposite the grove – the one that no one knows of but us – hidden in a discreet little nook next to the bushes. There is a sizable rock waiting for me there: my throne. A small camera rests in my lap. In front of me the stage is set, framed on either side by thick vegetation. In the middle, the players enter: first the huntress – Fang – leads the girl by the hand and guides her to a blanket on the soft ground. And the girl – Vanille – fumbles at her belt buckles, clumsily divests herself of the heavy fur kilt. She moves to unbuckle the other side and the skirt falls away from her at an angle, half covering and half revealing the milk-white flesh of her bottom.
At last the skirt crumbles in a heap on the floor: I am privy to the back of her lower half, lithe and young and full. I bite my lip, jealous of the fingers that knead her there, pinch her there; I grind my teeth aching to sink them into her virgin flesh, to mark her though I know she doesn't belong to me. Fang cups the girl's bottom with her hands and pulls her forward, leans around the side of it to nip at the flesh. Her gaze lifts to meet mine. She knows I'm watching. Fang digs her teeth into a soft, white thigh, grins wickedly as she does it, stares at me. Insolent. I'd smack her if she was within reach. She knew better than to tease me.
The girl gasps from the sensation; her head tips back in ecstasy, eyes close. Sweet girl, lovely little thing with such a young face she could hardly be eighteen, never mind the nineteen years she claimed to be. How I longed to be the one exploring her flesh, the first one to introduce her to the delicious aspects of her body and all of its delightful nuances. Fang had that pleasure once, discovering not only herself, but Vanille in the process, inducting her into womanhood, tasting her for the first time. I don't harbour any envy over it; I long to taste it for myself.
The huntress wastes no time, positions the girl until I can see them from the side. She directs the play, decides which is the best angle for my camera eye. They lie lengthwise; Fang is on top of her, tongue ploughing into Vanille's mouth, sending the girl into a daze. With her mouth fused to the Vanille's, the huntress squirms out of her sari, peels her shorts off and tosses them on the ground. Their lips part with a loud smacking sound and Fang lifts her top over her head. Vanille follows and begins to remove her jewellery. My jaw clenches. Fang's hands seize the girl's wrists.
"Leave it on," she says softly. We are very much alike.
An impish grin spreads across the girl's face and she leans back, legs apart; jewellery suspended from the beads around her neck dangles between her knees.
Fang attacks her mouth, lingering for a few moments before she trails a path down her shoulders, down the valley between her breasts, captures a nipple between her lips. Vanille arcs her back and moans; her hand clutches a fistful of Fang's hair. The girl's tongue darts out between her lips, wets the full bottom one, teeth bite down on the swollen flesh. The huntress is ravenous, devours the girl's ample breast and moves onto the other. Her moaning fills my ears and I cross my legs, ignited by the spectacle. The camera begins to tremble.
Vanille pushes her back and latches onto her breast. Fang cups her face and lifts it, coaxes her onto her back.
"This is all for you, my dear," the huntress purrs. Her eyes flick toward me discreetly. "All for you."
She is directing again, positions Vanille so that she is facing me. I can see the front of her body in full: her perfectly round and rose-tipped breasts, her tiny waist and flared hips, alabaster skin that funnels into the red-gold divot between her legs. Fang disappears stage right and then returns with one of her favourite tools. The leather straps criss-cross beneath her buttocks invitingly, the idiotic-looking member bounces between her legs as she walks. Vanille has caught sight of it. Her cheeks flush deeper red.
Fang sits behind her, opens her legs so Vanille can settle between them. The huntress folds the toy against her abdomen and crushes the girl against her chest. She rests her head upon Fang's shoulder; the huntress bends forward and sucks on the pulse at the girl's neck, licks her collarbone. The girl's breasts heave with each exaggerated breath. I bite my lip.
"You ready?" The huntress asks.
A coy smile. "Find out."
The huntress swallows the grin in a bruising kiss. Vanille reaches up with both hands and digs her fingers into the back of Fang's head, laces her hands in her raven-black hair. The huntress pries her lips from the girl, wets two fingers in her mouth and dips them between the Vanille's legs. She parts the slick folds, rubs through them, up over the sensitive flesh at the top, dives down and circles at the opening but doesn't push inside. Vanille gasps with each movement; little moans puncture the relative silence.
Fang groans. "Yeah, I'd say so."
She cups Vanille's breasts from behind and strokes them, aware of how tender they'd become. Vanille lifts her bottom as Fang pulls the member out from the space between them; the girl hovers for a moment as the huntress lubricates the long shaft with her wetness, runs it between the girl's slippery lower lips.
Fang moves the girl's legs apart, reveals the glistening wetness between them. Vanille shivers from the frigid sensation of the night air touching her bare sex. The huntress uses her chin to move strands of red-blonde hair from Vanille's ear, kissing the flesh she uncovers. She widens the girl's legs further, gratuitously exposing her to me as she bends her own legs beneath them, holding them suspended in mid-air. Fang lowers Vanille back down onto her and releases the girl's legs. Vanille tilts her head back from the sensation, her thighs splayed wide above the support of Fang's knees.
The huntress guides the member between the girl's swollen lips and plunges inside the yielding flesh. Vanille cries out. Fang looks up at me again, unable to see me, knowing that I am watching. I can see the dark-purple toy nearly swallowed by Vanille's body. Fang explained to me why she liked that colour: so I can see it, she'd said. Flesh colour was strange, pastel colours too bright and alienating. But dark colours – like the deep violet she'd chosen – were perfect for show, contrasted with her own tanned flesh, with Vanille's pale complexion.
"Do you like that?" She asks. Her gaze has yet to tear away from mine.
Vanille nods and moans incoherently.
Fang starts to pump her hips, milking the essence from the girl's body. She bites a creamy white shoulder as Vanille bucks her lower body in response. A tiny stream of crimson drips from Fang's lips: she's drawn blood from the girl's shoulder. Oral fixation. Her mouth always needed to be occupied. She laps at the warm red liquid gathering on Vanille's shoulder and the redhead becomes more invigorated, pounds against the impaling member.
"Oh, Fang..." Vanille sighs, "Oh, yes…"
The girl's body trembles violently and as her legs shudder; her head lolls back. Fang holds her on the brink of release, revels in the languid moment until a spasm ripples through Vanille's abdomen, her hips thrust forward once, twice, and then another, each time more firm. Vanille moans aloud, primal and incoherent as she climaxes, her fingers wound in the long dark locks at the back of Fang's neck.
Hooded eyes look up – oblivious to the ministrations of the woman behind her – and lock with mine. My breath catches as I inhale. She is looking at me. Vanille runs her tongue between her rouged lips. Surely, it's a coincidence. Fang pauses, following the girl's vision, chuckles to herself. I grit my teeth.
Vanille continues to stare, riding the toy between her legs subtly, making sure I'm paying attention. Her hands move down to flick her nipples. A jolt of pleasure runs though me spiked with rage. She knows. I'm sure of it.
The huntress pulls out of the girl's body, leans Vanille back in her arms to kiss her. They play for a while, tongues licking inside their mouths, parting to tease along their jaws. Vanille abruptly pushes her away and stands, saunters through the bushes that frame the two of them; her eyes are fixed on my position.
I curse as she uncovers my hiding spot. Naked but for her jewellery, Vanille has her hands on her hips. An arm snakes out and snatches the camera from my grasp. She raises it to her face and turns the lens upon me. Her breasts heave with her drumming pulse, her laboured breathing.
"Well, soldier, did you like it?" She asks wickedly.
Bitch. That's something Fang would say. Perhaps they're more alike than I've given them credit for. But Fang I can punish. This one is not mine. The red recording light is on; I am made powerless by a sprite.
Fang emerges behind her, a mischievous grin on her face. She cups Vanille's shoulders, rests her chin atop the red-gold head. She too is panting. The toy she had has been discarded somewhere backstage.
I cross my arms over my chest and scowl. "You told her."
The huntress nods.
"That wasn't part of our deal," I say.
"Light... "
"She did it for us," the young Pulsian interjects, the camera still recording us, still focused on me.
"How's that?" I ask.
"You get off on watching someone who doesn't know you're watching them," she says. "I get off on being watched."
I consider this for a moment. Fang speaks up.
"Didn't wanna spoil it for you."
I get up. "You still lied. You'll have to pay for that."
I wrap my arms around her neck. She smiles her signature smile.
"Punish me then," Fang purrs.
I run my hands over the huntress's naked body, over her breasts, send a finger through her velvet folds. She shudders against me. The girl licks her lips. I take the older Pulsian's hand and lead her back toward our little stage.
"Vanille," I call behind me. "Bring the camera."
To Be Continued...