Midnight City
~A one-shot companion to Unnatural Selection
This is a Khan/Lyza story that is connected to my main multi-chapter fic, Unnatural Selection. It occurs during the three years that Lyza is living in London while Khan takes over and rules New Asia. It will mostly be in Khan's POV but the random bits in italics are third person discussing what Lyza is doing at certain points to add to the story experience. The other characters present in the story are Jazz and Valen, both of which are original characters that I own. Rated M for Khan and his perverted mind. XD
Sorry for any and all spelling and grammar errors. As most of you know I've been sidelined by medical issues. I just wanted to finish this short before New Year's and I'm too tired to do a final edit.
I do not own Star Trek: Into Darkness or Khan. I just own my other characters. A belated Happy Christmas and my fondest wishes for a wonderful New Year! Enjoy!
The First Year
I poured myself another full glass of scotch, the need to be intoxicated growing stronger with every passing minute. I could not stand sobriety and with it the rapid succession of illogical thoughts at this moment. Tonight I had no meetings about the continued building of my new country, no training partners to pin to the floor after grueling hand-to-hand combat in the barracks, or even a woman to warm my bed (not that I wanted just any woman).
No, tonight was Christmas Eve, and in a continued effort to appease the citizens under my rule, I had let all the human staff members working for me have the night off so they could enjoy it with their families and celebrate their holiday in their traditional ways. I had never celebrated this holiday, having been raised in facility that saw better to just push such novelties under the rug so that we would focus solely on becoming killing machines. I had no qualms with Christmas, no masked hatred, no Scrooge-like feelings that made me want to end my subject's enjoyment on this supposedly holy night.
The only bother to this entire evening was the utter lack of distraction from my thoughts. That was why I needed to drink. I wanted – no, craved – the sluggish drunken stupor that would follow if I consumed enough scotch. Anything to keep my mind off thoughts of Lyza.
Lyza…
A lump caught in my throat as I pictured swishing locks of chocolate brown hair framing a pretty, heart-shaped face and shining green eyes. I had only possessed her for a matter of days. My complete underestimation of her cunning had allowed her to escape me. She had left, she had run, she had hidden, and I, for all my frantic efforts, could not find her.
I would never, could never, I mentally corrected, give up searching for her. She held an almost captivating air about her that had instantly made me hand her my heart. In the periods when we had been made to spend time together in the Turkish markets I had learned several things. Firstly, I was quickly overcome by an intense protectiveness over her that I had only before felt for my own kind. Secondly, the sight of her pale, frosted pink lips twisted into a carefree smile was enough to bring an entire nation, as well as me, to its knees. Lastly was that I wanted her.
Not just any sort of want, like a child might feel over a toy he could not have, but rather a more intense want. A physical, sexual want, the absolute need to have her naked form lying prone beneath me, totally exposed, as I slowly thrust into her, listening to her softly moaning my name. I could imagine the little sounds she would make, the way she'd feel under me, the wide look of being overwhelmed her eyes would take as they gazed into mine. I wanted to take her over and over again, bringing her over the precipice of pleasure as many times as I could until she was spent and exhausted in my arms, her breath ragged and hard.
My grip tightened on my glass in frustration and I chugged the liquor it held without hesistation, enjoying the soft buzz already beginning in my mind, the desires and poisonous thoughts of that girl – that stubborn, obnoxious girl being slowly pushed away.
She wandered through the streets, one earbud hanging out of her ear and tucked into her v-neck sweater. She listened to the sounds of people making their way in and out of shops, buying last minute presents, or the happy, too-loud laughter of those who stumbled their way out of pubs and taverns after enjoying a drink with friends.
She didn't have anyone to share this Christmas Eve with, her boss had offered for her to spend the night with his family, but she felt like it would be an unwanted intrusion of such a sacredly familial holiday, so she had had to politely decline. So instead she was wandering the streets of London, observing the night scene and the merry gathering of friends and family and couples. As she wandered she sang:
Waiting in a car
Waiting for a ride in the dark
The night city grows
Look and see her eyes, they glow
Waiting in a car
Waiting for a ride in the dark
Drinking in the lounge
Following the neon signs
Waiting for a roar
Looking at the mutating skyline
The city is my church
It wraps me in the sparkling twilight
She pretended that she was on her way to meet her own boyfriend. Stopping in front of a particularly nice looking café, she imagined that he was waiting for her here. She thought about walking in and how, upon seeing him at their table, her lips would twist into a grin and her pace would quicken. He would stand up when he saw her, welcoming her into his arms before touching their lips softly. The kiss would end, and when she looked up into his face his eyes would be dark with desire –
She cut the fantasy short, a little perturbed by her imagination, and moved on, she had just thought about kissing him. What scared her even more was that she could not get the idea of it off her mind…
The Second Year
The Christmas Eve after that I was not alone. I invited Jazz and Valen, my commanders, to spend the evening drinking and talking in my room as the three of us were quite close, having been raised together in the bunker like brothers, and had no other social attachments.
We sat in front of the fire in my sitting room, Valen in the armchair while Jazz and I lounged on the sofa, sprawled out lazily. Drinks were held in our hands, must've been our fifth or sixth, at this point I could not remember. All I could think about was the how the two of them being here kept my thoughts off of Lyza, and that was all that mattered, though I couldn't help but wonder what she was doing.
She danced and drank and danced and drank until all the stars seemed to be falling from the sky and into the clothing and hair of the people around her. The closeness of the bodies around her, the smell of sweat and booze and sex filled her nose and she pressed her body to the closest man to her, knowing that if she wasn't so intoxicated she would have thought better of it.
At the end of the night the man wished to take her home. She fought him enough that he left her alone, and upon realizing how fragile her drunkenness made her feel she broke and began to cry. She wished he was here to scoop her into his arms and hold her until her mind cleared, but she knew that that could never be.
So she called her boss, and he came to her rescue, muttering angrily about his disappointment in her lack of self-respect that she would allow herself to get so plastered or some other shit like that as he loaded her into his backseat.
She was so hammered that sitting up while the car was moving made her want to retch, so she lay on her side, singing softly along with the radio. It was the same song she had listened to as she meandered the streets last year:
Waiting in a car
Waiting for a ride in the dark
The night city grows
Look and see her eyes, they glow
Waiting in a car
Waiting for a ride in the dark
Drinking in the lounge
Following the neon signs
Waiting for a roar
Looking at the mutating skyline
The city is my church
It wraps me in the sparkling twilight
She went to sleep knowing she would pay for tonight with one hell of a hangover the next morning…
The Third Year
I lay wide awake in my bed, the unconscious forms of three women draped over me, each of them gripping me in a fight for some type of favor in my eyes they thought would be granted when they woke. I had fucked them all into oblivion, and tomorrow they would feel the lingering effects of me in the harsh pain that would scream from their bodies as they moved to get up.
But the brief release they had brought me meant nothing. I just wanted Lyza.
This year she couldn't bring herself to leave her flat. She didn't want company, at least not anyone in London's midnight city could offer. The only company she wanted was the one of a man some thousands of miles away.
She elected to lock herself in the bathroom, curled up on the floor next to the toilet with her hand curled around the neck of a plastic bottle of bad vodka. In between swigs she recalled his dark fringe of hair, his cold eyes, his strong arms. Angry, at both him for being so damn cold, and herself, for not wanting to find him again (she feared his punishment) she slammed the bottle against the tiled floor.
She just wanted Khan…
"Merry fucking Christmas to me," she slurred unhappily.
And there it is. I know it kinda sucks (by which I mean really sucks). I never said it would be happy. It's just supposed to show how Lyza and Khan go about their lives during their separations, and how much they need each other. It's short, but it's just a drabble that I wished to bestow upon you all as a gift for the holidays.
Here's to hoping this story finds you happy and surrounded by friends and family during the New Year!
Kisses,
XxLadyVerlacxX
