Title : Doomed by love
Author : DiBee
Summary : Helen, with John, on the night before 'last', her thoughts, her doubts. Because she knew. You can wash the blood away, but the scent, never. Helen/John Drama/Romance
Rating : M
Disclaimer : The characters belong to their rightful owners, no copyright infringement intended.
Author note : Written some weeks ago, after a rather weird idea. It's even weirder than I first intended it too.
You can wash the blood away, but the scent, never.
She was a doctor, she knew better than that. He should have known, too, or maybe he had done it on purpose, wanting to be caught, and locked up for good. For now, she was the one locked in his arms, and every single parcel of her skin in contact with his hurt, in lust as in disgust.
She let a finger run on his chest, tracing patterns on his bare skin, her head falling just a couple centimeters down to have her lips kissing the spot over his heart. Ever move, every single move seemed to reveal just a bit more of the horror he had committed. She had been his friend, his doctor, his fiancée, his lover. She had been blind as a bat, the love words pouring from his mouth her sole guidance, his gentleness the veil covering his vices.
She hated herself for loving him, hated him for making her love him, damned James for having been as blind as she had, and loved John altogether, because she simply could not refrain from doing so.
He had been late, tonight. Had sweetly apologized. He was perfect, as always, not a speck of dust on him after such a long day he must have had. It had been her first clue, and she was all too frightened of the possibility of yet another murder to think of an appropriate way to react when James would announce it to her the next day. It would be awful, and she would have to keep silent. Close her eyes, and stifle the loud thudding of her aching heart. Put the mask back on, as a lid on a boiler.
She felt John move beneath her in his sleep. She usually fell asleep before him, but that night, she just could not sleep knowing... it. She let a single tear roll on her cheek, her hand now resting to cup his. He looked so innocent, so harmless. So calm, peaceful even.
She felt his embrace tighten and she pressed her body further against him. It would be their last night. She had exhorted herself for days, but could not result herself to push him away. Now that she had... smelled, death, blood, guts all over him, it truly was over.
Or was it, she asked herself as he stirred, waking up slowly. She knew. She knew she would let go, she knew she would fall for him as soon as his eyes would be opened, adoring her as they always had, since the very first day. She had fallen, and fallen hard, that day. And she knew for a fact that she would never, ever get back on her feet again after this.
He smiled up at her as he opened his eyes, apparently content to find her still lying on his stomach.
"Having trouble sleeping, dear?"
She could not speak, not utter a word, she simply nodded with a weak smile, propping herself up to meet his lips. So tempting, so good, and yet...
She closed her eyes as their tongue began to duel, biting herself as they parted for air, their next kiss tasting of blood, nearly drawing tears to her eyes. She would not cry.
She thought about that resolution a couple minutes later when his lips had found her neck, her carotid again. She could not cry the tears that were welling in her eyes, but crying his name felt like a last adieu he deserved, for being the man she loved, and having loved her for the time he had.
"John."
She was weak in his arms, as always, and left him to lead the way for the rest of the night. They had little time before the sun came up, the news being shouted around of a new killing.
His lips were on the hollow of her throat now, and she could not refrain the moan coming to her lips. He knew of her every weaknesses, and had only ever used them to pleasure her. She bit her lips once more when she felt one of his hands go up to her side, drawing a lazy path to her left breast as he gently switched their position. He was not always that gentle, but he had never hurt her either. None of his violence had ever stained their relationship before, the only blood ever shed between us having been the loss of her virginity, and the most she could remember of that was his kiss, loving, unbelievably tender and sweet, making her forget everything else. She had been slightly too focused on each and every of his gentle touches to feel the pain for more than a second, and his love had been so overwhelming she had shed a couple tears, kissed away by his worried expression. She had smiled, and it had been alright. Now, every of her smiles were half faked, only her sighs as his hands roamed her body were real, reveling one last time in the touch of the demon that had stolen her heart.
She loosely grasped his shoulder, lowering his body a few more centimeters over hers, needing to feel him against her, feel him over her, feel his ever muscle twitch under her light touch, responding to her own body in ways only he could.
She was suddenly overwhelmed by her own desire, his, the lust in their eyes, and gasped as he moved against her, letting her feel how hard he was. She knew by his slow motions that he would take his time, play a little, let her wait for the orgasm to come, and for a split second she felt her heart rate accelerate for the wrong reason, wondering if he was ever slow or careful with his victims, took pleasure in their suffering, or just contemplated the 'job' once finished. She had to turn her eyes away, fearing for a moment he could read her thoughts in her eyes as he could feel her shivers of desire against him.
Her thoughts went back to the present as she felt him caress her tight, going up at the slowest of pace, putting her to agony by his simple gesture, a grin on his lips. And for a second, she was afraid. Closing her eyes, she could rebuild before them the scenery of the last killing after James rather complete descriptions of the state of the corpse. Was she just another corpse for him?
She opened her eyes to find his questioning glance, his hand stopped mid-tight, concern on his face. She smiled, arching her back, trailing her hands against his, hoping he would not suspect the cause of her reverie. It would be the end of all. Especially the end of her. But maybe it would have been better this way. Never having to face James' piercing glance when he would realize she knew before he did, never having to face the unspoken 'I told you so' Nikola would have plastered on his face, or Nigel's pity. And then, there was her father. He certainly would not be delighted either, but would probably let her be, let her deal with her pain the way she wanted to before putting a stop to it when he would think it was too much. But it would never be too much, never for John, never for the deep rooted love they had shared, so passionately so.
She was about to let a tear go, again, but was 'distracted' by his teasing having resumed, her nails digging deeper in his back, possibly enough to leave marks. He knew what to do, and all she was left to do was relax in his arm. He had occasionally let her take over, but tonight it felt like all he wanted was see 'that' expression on her face. Contentment, his doing. She gritted her teeth at the thought before letting a sigh go past her lips again as his trailed along her jaw to her collarbone. She only realized how high his hand had arrived when she felt him touch her, arching her back, closing her eyes, half trying to muffle a moan, feeling a smile spread on his lips against her skin.
Why could they not make love, one last time, without her over thinking each and every of his moves and motives? She would have cried in frustration was he not already driving her crazy. She would have to wait for some time still to have him pulling her over the edge along with him, probably, and she refused to spoil the moment to come by comparing it to the satisfaction he might have taken out of his killing.
"Whatever it is you are thinking about, dear, stop. Settle your mind at rest for an instant. Let me do that for you."
He had panted against the skin of her neck, his words casting a shiver along her spine like someone had poured pure ice over her back. She arched more violently this time against him as she fell his hand having now reached its goal, striking feather-lightly before slowly entering her. The world seemed to shut for a second, and it was just the two of them, her pleasure and her hand seeking him to get back at him. She heard him groan and smiled at the low sound coming off his throat. It was about getting and giving. She, herself, had committed no crime but to love him, and that was enough of her burden on her frail shoulders now, was it not.
They exchanged a glance, daring, tempting, as she fell him tense in response to the pressure she applied on him, and reverse. They argued next to never, but that was the only moment where they could exert their stubbornness on one another, and they would only rarely deprive themselves of such pleasure. After a few more hushed reactions and muffled sounds he entered her, the both of them sighing, enjoying their intimacy. No one had lost, no one ever did, until that night. She would lose him, forever. Somehow, he was already lost, to his own madness. And, without him, she would be lost as well. So, no, really, on this once, they had both lost, themselves, their minds, and their faiths. But it was not done yet, there was still some more love to consume, burning in hell.
"Helen." The way he had of pronouncing her name in those moments, passion taking over, was utterly arousing for her. It made her sound like his personal hell, and again she could not hold back a shiver at the thought that maybe, she was. But, as to now, so was he.
He worked his hips in a slow rhythm, his eyes never quite leaving hers, or her face at least, her eyes fluttering, her hand in his back leaving deeper marks. She was so close she would have begged had her voice not been reduced to a mere sigh by his thrusts. She could see it on his face, too. She closed her eyes for a second, leaving a longer trail of marks in his back before drawing her hand to his face, against his cheek, pulling his lips to hers in one last sensual kiss. They came as one, one of them moaning against the other's mouth, Helen's brain going in overdrive, forgetting all about what was not the man she truly loved for an instant, enjoying the last of him before it was too late.
They remained still as the last of their orgasms faded into the new day, casting a shadow on their faces that made them look like strangers. His smile was her anchor, and she held tight, well aware the end was coming, and it would all be too soon.
She felt him go, go away, and part of her wanted to keep him all to herself, but she knew she could not, not with what she knew.
He was getting up, leaving the sole sheets to cover her, suddenly missing his warmth and shivering. Soon, he was get dressed, and be gone.
"John, don't..." There was desperation in her voice, but she was caught mid-sentence once more. He had vanished into thin air, kissing her forehead one last time. One last time...
This time, she let a tear trace the curb of her face, and another. Each of them seemed to be a heavy burden, burning her skin, reminding her of what she had just done. She had let him show his love for her, one last time. It was wrong, in all possible ways, the ache in her heart almost unbearable, her soul crushed, her body sated.
Her hands were shaking as she put one of them on her stomach, tracing small circles where she knew her child, their child was growing, ignorant of what a monster its father was, ignorant of all things the life would certainly not spare on its impure mother.
"We are doomed." Helen breathed, the circles strangely appeasing the sudden nausea that overtook her.
"Doomed by love."