Disclaimer: I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Part three of the "Thearchy" series. Sequel to "Calavera" and "Tracasserie."
Disclaimer: post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, The Accountant basically doesn't have time for this shit but he makes time because honestly he is probably bored and Milton is interesting and Piper is lurking and there is something about all of that combined that he might just like. – Thinly veiled reference that The Accountant was once a fallen angel.
Call of the Void
He was a chord of fractured, debilitating light.
It was what she'd reduced him to by the time she clambered on top of him and lowered herself down. Taking him in a single, confident-slow glide that etched his nails into her hips like bloodied crescent moons.
He made a sound.
Something between a shout and a chorus.
Burning in an entirely new way.
"That's it. You like that, huh? Thought so," she hummed, self-satisfied. Tossing her hair back from her face as her eyes went half-mast with pleasure. Turning everything syrup-slow in the building summer heat as he reached up and gripped her by the throat. Almost whimpering when the sensation of sweat slicking between his fingers had his muscles wanting to recoil. "Shhh...I got you... I'll get you there."
It was more.
And he was greedy.
His human body was curious again.
But this time it was worse.
It was sacrilege.
Glory.
Divine punishment.
It was...her.
She was a puzzle of fragile bird bones against the curve of his palm. Delicate ivory that he could snap effortlessly as she wrapped her hands around his wrist as used him as a counter weight. Rising and falling as she rode him like breathing. Face expressive. Alive. Hungry.
This he understood.
His reaction, however, he did not.
She wanted him.
It was a novelty that appeared to be in good company.
Because somehow, he wanted too.
He wanted her.
Perhaps since the very first time.
He groaned when the sheath of her hair tickled between the snapped buttons of his shirt. Teasing skin that'd never kissed the open air before now. Disheveled and sullied as her breasts moved with her. Nipples stiff and rosy-peaked. Close enough for him to touch if he could ever untangle the fingers he'd clawed deep into the mattress when she'd slipped her hand down his slacks with an animal grin.
The ache in his belly was back again.
Nudging.
Warm.
Insistent.
The first move of his hips upwards was exploratory and cautious. The second was easier. Like a wildfire gaining momentum through a sudden influx of oxygen when she bit her lip and tossed her head back. Letting him have her throat this time as she bared it freely. An instinctual tell.
"Yes," he hissed. Uncertain of why or even what he was replying to as he met her hips in a building rhythm. Feeling that same alien pleasure swell as she let go of a broken cry. Cussing out a blue-streak when his hand left her throat in favor of cupping her breast. Feeling the lines of her ribs like individual indents as his mouth flooded with saliva - considering what it might be like to take her nipple between his teeth and-
"Christ-" she shuddered, curving into him when his hand trailed down. Reluctant to leave her breasts, but far too interested in the thin patch of hair that crowned her sex. "Hell yeah- right there...just- ah!"
So responsive.
Her hand guided him to the nub between her folds. Finding an entirely new sort of electricity as she arced, spine self-girded as he grazed it with his thumb. Watching her twitch and tighten in a way that pulled an unwilling grunt from him. Feeling the resulting pleasure tug at the dense muscles in his core as his hips pistoned. Trying to keep the delectable rhythm even as hers faltered.
He was a creature of urgency now. Enough that he flipped them without warning. Too hungry to stop. Sprawling her underneath him as he sank back into her with shudder that went bone deep.
"Yes, fuck!"
His arms curved over her head. Anchoring himself as she undulated up and crossed her legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass as she clung to him. Feeling her in a way he didn't know could sing so blasphemously sweet as his head ducked into the crux of her neck. Dragging his lower lip, teeth, everything- down the vulnerable porcelain of her skin.
"Please...holy god- just-"
He was tempted to tell her, right there in the heat of the moment. Tempted to tell her everything. All of it. Anything to prolong the soaring warmth in his chest. Feeling finished - full – in a way that only made him realize how long he'd been yawning empty as she sunk her nails into the back of his shoulders and ghosted her lips across his chin.
A kiss.
She'd asked him about it once.
Years ago when she'd had vodka and anger on her breath.
Nursing a childish blow to her wounded human pride.
Personally, he'd never understood the act.
Not until she'd festered the concept into being.
Making him pause whenever he was top-side.
Watching people in the act.
Trying to understand.
He tasted the iron-earth of her blood across his tongue before he realized he'd broken skin. Sending her keening- like it was too much- as her pleasure crested and he was suddenly aware that sometime in between then and now he'd gotten his hand between them and lost his forefinger in her folds. Coaxing her higher and higher until she was dripping wet and trying to best to crush his hand between her thighs.
He needed-
"Com'on... let go," she coaxed, raking her nails down his spine. Passionate, yet surprisingly comforting. "I'll catch you."
It didn't make sense until it suddenly did. Until he was spiraling downdowndown and white was encroaching his vision. Hips stuttering as she hiccupped through the last of her pleasure. Finding something familiar in the sudden, lurching fall as his lashes fluttered closed without his consent. Hazing through the pluming clouds of one reality to the next before-
For the first time in an eon, he was flying.
And it was everything.
Everything.
Tears seeped freely through closed lashes as he remembered the phantom rush of the wind against his face. Reacquainting himself with the warmth of a higher sun and the chorus of his brothers and sisters rising and falling on the wind. He remembered everything and nothing. Everything that had been and the nothing that'd lapsed in it's place since the fall. He forgot to breathe. Then forgot he didn't need to as he gasped out a wrecked sound. Sensing the soft, fluttering ghost of strong, primary feathers hushing against his cheek before the tight rope he'd been walking since she'd pushed him down onto the bed abruptly snapped.
God, he'd forgotten.
The last thing he remembered before the world stopped was finding her lips with his and finally allowing her to teach him.
"You know," she hummed later, when the afterglow was threatening to grow stale. Dewed with an uncomfortable sweat as the rasp of cheap sheets threatened to rub him raw in more than a few places. Distracted as her fingers traced off-center whorls across his chest. "I still don't know what to call you. Makes things kind of awkward, don't you think?"
The corner of his mouth lifted again.
"I am the Accountant. I don't need a name."
Somewhere outside a woman laughed, soft and pealing as the hem of her dress dragged against the mortar and brick exterior. Birthing shadows as her and another man passed the other side of the window.
"I know that, and yes you do. Trust me," she returned, combing her hand through her hair with a moist-sounding sigh before snuggling into the crook of him. "The Accountant is what you do, not who you are."
It was a strange, dangerous thing to realize that she was actually right.
He wasn't just The Accountant anymore.
He was something else again.
Someone else.
At least when he was with her.
A/N: This is the final part of this series. Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.
Reference:
- L'appel du vide: (French: "call of the void"): The psychological phenomenon in which people, with no desire to die, find themselves faced with a steep cliff and experience a strong desire to leap.