Do I Love You or the Thought of You?

There is a knife at my throat, a solid arm around my waist, and a hand attached to that arm digging its fingers into my stomach. Belonging to these appendages is a boy with an angry expression. He has dark blue-green eyes, unreadable; his hair is a strange reddish brown that hangs in choppy, unkempt waves that fall to his shoulder. For an assailant, he is rather handsome. But now is not the time for me to fantasize.

His grip on me tightens and I feel his chest heaving against my back. "Isaac, I found this… outlander…" he spits the word, as if it is a sin, "in our fields."

The boy called Isaac – I am betting he is twelve – approaches us. He looks me square in the face. His eyes are cold and ruthless. Isaac gives me chills. But I know he will not kill me. I have to worry about the crazy redhead holding me hostage. He is the one with the knife, which is rusted… no… caked with… dried blood. Great.

Isaac speaks, "what are you doing here? This is private property. Trespassing is—"

"Illegal." I cut him off.

"Speak not, outlander!" The redhead digs his long fingers into my stomach again and his arm is beginning to crush my ribs. The knife against my throat is pressing harder. My skin will give soon. I decide to remain silent.

Isaac glances at the redhead. Something unknown passes between them, and Isaac looks at me again. "What is your age, child?"

I roll my eyes and look innocently up at the redhead – it is difficult because he is a good six inches taller than me, and it does not help that he is crushing me against him, "can I speak?"

Redhead's lip raises in a snarl, "speak!"

"I'm seventeen," I mutter.

Isaac smiles, "Malachai, release this poor girl."

Malachai goes still. "Why? You never accept outlanders… never!" He throws his knife to the ground. It lands with a thud in the dirt. He then grabs me by the shoulders and violently spins me to face him. His nose touches mine as he glares into my eyes. "If you are the devil, if you have brought evil to this place, so help me, God… you will die." We remain nose-to-nose for a moment longer, and I read Malachai's odd expression. He looks pained, furious, and confused all at once. Though his mouth is snarling, his eyes are darting furiously around my face, looking for some kind of sin.

"Trust me, Malachai, I am anything but evil."

Isaac taps my shoulder, "she speaks the truth. He Who Walks Behind the Rows has spoken to me. She is a pure soul."

With a huff, Malachai releases me and goes off to find someone else to torment. I rub my aching shoulders and glare at Isaac, "look, kid, I won't stay if you don't want me here. I was lost, that's all."

"That's what they all say. But you… you are not a liar. You will be good for Malachai. He is my second in command. He could use a partner."

Partner?! "You mean, you're hooking me up with that guy? He tried to kill me!" I gape at the small child who seems to have control over everyone, including the children standing and kneeling behind him. They are all younger than me, and I'm guessing younger than Malachai, too.

"I don't think you understand what I mean. You will work with Malachai and… well, you'll see. And who are you, my child?" Isaac's voice is kind now.

Hesitantly, I tell him my name; "Desdemona."

Uncertainty flickers in Isaac's eyes. "Ah. Well, be on your way. Find Malachai."

Malachai, Shmalachai. Why do I need to find this freak?

I wander around the property for a very long time. There are no adults. I don't bother wondering why. The society I have stumbled upon is probably some Satanic cult that believes older people are corrupted and evil. I suppose it is true.

A white house sits on a lonely lawn. I approach it and knock on the door. It swings open at my touch. Two little children are standing in front of me.

"Does Malachai know you're here?" The little girl asks. She has long blond hair and big, worried eyes.

Her friend – or brother – grabs her hand, "of course… she's the outlander he caught this morning!"

The two children look up at me.

"Uh yeah… Malachai. Great guy." I grimace.

"Well, he sure doesn't like you. He'll kill you eventually," the little boy says. "You better be careful!"

"Well, pardon me, but who the hell are you?"

"I'm Job! And this is my sister Sara." The boy smiles. The two of them are about the cutest things I have ever seen. I nearly melt.

"Nice meeting you. I uh… have to go find Malachai, apparently."

"Who told you to do that?!" Sara cries, shocked.

"Isaac."

Job and Sara look at each other. Twin telepathy.

I leave them there and jog down the street, casting a look to either side of me. Empty houses stand by the dozen. It's so odd.

The town is eerily silent; no music, no laughter, no games. So weird.

Eventually, I happen upon Malachai. He is in a shed, walking aimlessly. His knife hangs in a holster around his belt. He has broad shoulders and a narrow waist. I blush when I wonder what lies beneath his shirt.

He must sense me at the door because he looks right at me. He doesn't seem surprised.

"What are you doing here, outlander?"

"I have a name, you freak."

"Should I care? You'll be dead soon," he growls, tilting his chin up cockily, smirking.

I step into the dark shed, which catches him off guard. His hand immediately flies to his knife.

"Dude, I'm not here to kill you or fight you… Jeez. Get a grip!" I take another few steps forward.

Malachai stumbles in his place and glares at me, "get out! You shouldn't be here!"

"If you didn't grab me, I wouldn't be!"

"We cannot let impure outlanders into our sacred place." He snarls.

I drop my jaw in mock shock. "Oh no! I intruded on a freakin' pagan ritual!"

He looks surprised. "You're not that far off, outlander."

I have had it with this kid. "My name, Malachai, is Desdemona."

Malachai steps towards me and fastens his knife in its sheath. He lowers his face so it is close to mine, again. He reeks of sweat and anger. I look into his eyes, which hold fear now. He is afraid of the devil. My name means 'of the devil'. Malachai must know this because he becomes very, very tense and still. "Like I said, outlander, cross us – cross me – and you will die." He presses forward. I stay where I am. Even when his nose touches mine once more, I don't flinch. We hold each other's gazes. His forehead is resting against mine now – or pressing, I can't really tell. I am overcome with a feeling I believe to be forbidden here. I manage to stare into his eyes; my glare never leaves his face. His body is inches from mine – I think I can feel his heat getting stronger. In the dim light of the shed, I cannot tell whether or not Malachai is red in the face.

"You think I'd just let you kill me?" I whisper, lowering my eyelids just the slightest bit – to appear sleepy and dangerous; it is a dastardly combination.

Malachai does not speak. Instead, he closes the remaining space between our faces. His lips are so close to mine – I can feel their heat – and the slightest shift in either of our stances would allow us a small kiss. Fear tingles in my fingers as I reach towards him. My fingertips gently brush against soft, flyaway tendrils of his red hair, which makes him flinch. Malachai doesn't back away though; he just blinks in uncertainty and wonder at me. I do not bother reading his expression when I run my nails over the tender skin at the nape of his neck. Malachai stands, nervous and emanating fear and urgency, completely aware that my fingers are tracing gentle lines up and down his neck beneath his hair, coming dangerously close to the collar of his shirt. He's never been faced with something like this. Quite frankly, neither have I.

"There are other things," I start, "in this world besides hatred and murder. Bloodshed is not always important."

"What other things could you possibly know of?" Malachai snarls quietly. "You're trying to corrupt me! I warned Isaac of this—"

I cut him off, "well, I don't see you running away from me. You must have some understanding." I place my hands on his shoulder blades. What I am doing is so wrong on so many levels, but it is what we need. Escape. "Malachai, you must live at some point. Love is not a sin," I softly kiss the corner of his mouth.

"W-what was that…?" He bites his lip. "I don't understand… What did you do?"

I gape at Malachai. "You've never heard of a kiss?"

"H-heard, yes… But… felt? No. Never. Especially not from an outlander like you."

"And, what is so wrong with me?" I lean in to kiss him again, and stop short to see how he will react. He exhales irritably when I do not proceed to kiss him.

His muscles tighten and I feel him draw closer, then he stops.

"You are permitted to instigate." I grin.

Malachai nervously presses his lips to mine. I hold back a sigh. His lips are so warm and inviting. He pulls away. Clearly, he doesn't know what he is doing. And really, in all honesty, neither do I. My fingers, resting on his shoulders, pull him closer. I rumple the soft, pliable fabric of his sweat – and blood – stained shirt.

"Outlander –"

Malachai's growl of protest and want is cut off by me. I kiss him again, harder this time. He remains still, but I feel the warmth of his body getting stronger, flowing, hidden energy coursing through him. Malachai's hands rest by his sides.

I pull away again, and he tries to speak, but I press my mouth against his once more. He groans, I think. My hands travel down the length of his strong, thin arms, and my fingers entwine themselves with his.

"Malachai, you need to get a shower." I murmur, kissing him briefly – and wetly – again.

He does not protest and he turns to walk out of the shed. I follow him, walking beside him. His face is very red and sweat beads around his collar bones.

I follow Malachai up the wooden stairs in the house he resides in. The home is utterly empty save a few pieces of furniture.

After taking a look in all of the rooms on the second floor, I find Malachai in his bathroom, staring at the shower.

He turns to me, "why are you staring at me? W-why are you even here?"

"You know why," I whisper, stepping close to him. "I can feel it coming from you. And, even though you are sweating, I can smell it." My hand absently moves to his chest, to the buttons on his farmer-boy plaid shirt. I undo one of them, then another, all the while keeping my eyes locked with Malachai's.

"Outlander," he growls, his voice husky, "you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

I grin evilly, "don't I? You can show me, Malachai."

He raises a brow.

"Kiss me, Malachai."

He does. This kiss is hard and passionate, but ever careful and cautious. His hands – he doesn't know what to do with them! – hang by his sides. I grasp his left hand with my right and place it on my lower back; I place his right hand on my upper back. I feel his instincts come into play when he crushes me close to him.

I move back so I can fumble with the buttons.

"Fuck!" I grunt into his mouth.

Malachai's tongue is in my mouth now, awkwardly tracing every crevice, tasting a woman for the first time. I return the gesture and slide my tongue over his bottom lip. A groan escapes him, and – my lord – it turns me on. As we kiss, he shrugs his shirt to the floor. I whip off mine, breaking our kiss only for a second. I discard my bra as well, still kissing him, tasting him… wanting him.

I press my bare chest against his; he is so hot now. I feel him shudder as my nipples brush over his skin as we move.

Malachai speaks again, "I want to say your name..."

"Say it!" I cry as his lips capture mine once again.

"Desdemona –" he says, releasing my lips only for a moment, "I think—" another kiss, "touch me."

I revel in the sound of him saying my name. "You want me to touch you?" I repeat, beginning to trail kisses from the corner of his mouth to his neck. I run my hands down his bare chest and torso. His body is solid and burning with desire. From far away, I hear him lock the bathroom door as I kiss him, going farther and farther down his body. "Malachai," I say; my voice is high pitched and almost a moan itself, "I can do better than touch you."

He lets out a whimpering sigh. I grab his hands and entangle his long fingers in my hair. "If you like it, your mind, the mind of the primitive animal, will kick in." His hands shake as I undo the buckle of his belt. Malachai tenses up when I plant a kiss right above the band of his jeans. I waste no time in teasing him; I kiss his lower stomach and his hips. I smile to myself when I see that wonderfully sexy trail of reddish brown hair stemming from his belly all the way to his manhood. Oh, he's a man alright.

I unzip his jeans and run my hand over him; he throbs when I touch him, even through his boxers.

"D-Desdemona! What are you doing?" Malachai half whispers, half moans.

Giving you what every man wants. I slip my hand into the fly of his boxers and feel him. His member is hotter than any other part of his gorgeous body and I pull it out. I blush; this kid isn't exactly tiny.

Malachai looks down at me – he must think I look ridiculous on my knees – and says, "you look so… good down there."

"I'll look better like this," I grin and take him into my mouth. His gasp sends waves of pleasure rushing through me. I pull back.

Malachai groans, "why did you stop?" His breath hitches when I draw him in again, and this time I stay there, swirling tongue around him. When I find my rhythm, he starts to pant and moan aloud. His noises peak and I fill his manhood swell. With a cry of relief and panic, Malachai fills my mouth with the seed of his long-baited passion.

Fingers still clutching my hair, he bends over me, trying to catch his breath.

I rinse and spit.

I return to him; he is still half out of his jeans. Smiling, I button them once again. He looks at me, asks me why. I tell him that foreplay is the most fun of all, "you have to wait for release, Malachai."

I can tell his is used to getting his way. Clearly, he doesn't have a clue what to do with me, the topless, sweating girl in his bathroom. So I wait, looking at him expectantly.

Malachai lashes out and pulls me against him – hard – and his lips meet mine, frenzied and passionate. His kiss is full of want - and tongue – and he tastes like warmth and raw hate. But this Malachai character, he is filled with desire for me, not hate.

You can touch me too… I think to myself, letting him kiss my lips harder and harder. Our teeth clash together and still he does not pull away. He bites my bottom lip and I cry out. This makes Malachai clutch me tighter, his hands trailing up my back and back down. I feel him squeeze my butt that way any normal man would. Laughing softly, I tilt my head back. A smart boy, Malachai begins to kiss my jaw and my neck. When he kisses my clavicle, his hands release my ass and cup my breasts. His palms are larger than my mini B-cups and he seems to enjoy holding onto them. His thumb grazes my nipple. I let out a moan. Malachai lifts his head, a startled look in his eyes. I say nothing and entangle my fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to my body.

His mouth is unlike anything I have ever felt before; loving, hateful, scared, aroused, and gleeful all at the same time. Malachai's tongue soothes the places where he's bitten and sucked my skin, leaving bruises – I call them hickeys. Suddenly, his kisses are on my breast, soft and tentative. I consider guiding his hand to the burning between my legs, but doubt myself. He can't multitask… He's being so careful anyway… It's really fucking hot.

Malachai's tongue traces indistinct patterns along the sensitive skin of my breast, and he claims the dark circle, erect with need, with his mouth. I feel his teeth gently, softly grind against the peak. I let out another cry, and I almost say his name.

This strange redhead continues to lavish my other breast now with his careful, nervous attention. My hands, too, have moved from his hair to his upper back. As he kisses my chest, his muscles contract and release, moving with the same rhythm and power that he is.

"I want to make you feel good too… Can I do that?" Malachai is nuzzling my temple, planting clumsy kisses on my cheek. In assent, I nod, unable to speak through the waves of pleasure and anticipation. In an effortless movement, Malachai takes me to the ground. I stare up at the ceiling for a moment before he begins to kiss me. First my neck. Feeling his teeth and lips and tongue on me once again, even if he has kissed me a thousand times in one place, is pure bliss. I stretch my arms above my head and as his hands glide up my hips and the sides of my ribs, I arch into him. Malachai's chest is heaving and sweaty. I can feel him, hard, against my stomach. Oh god, if only I could touch him again—

My thoughts are cut short when his mouth reaches that spot below my belly button. For a minute, Malachai hovers, lips an inch or so away from my lacey red undies. His hands shake as he runs his fingertips down the length of me, over the gentle swells of my breasts, the taut yet feminine muscles of my stomach, my hip bones… He stops.

"Please?" I whisper. "Take them off – please! I need you now!" My voice is not my own; it belongs to a girl crazed with passion and wonder. Malachai, I want you.

With a murmur of agreement, Malachai peels off my underwear. Immediately, I want to cover up. This is not for him to see! Oh wait… yeah it is.

He smiles at me and kisses the crease of my thigh, right next to my quivering womanhood. I arch forward slightly and dig my nails into the unforgiving wooden floor as his kisses become harder.

Before I can stop myself – or think at all – I scream as Malachai's tongue slides over me. Without finesse or understanding, he drives me higher than I have ever been. I'm crying out; I'm screaming that I'm going to explode; I'm telling Malachai that he is so good at this!; I'm moaning his name and sighing because I want him inside of me, not just his tongue. My high ceases slowly and Malachai swipes a hand over his face.

"Do we do more? Can I have you?"

"Ah… You're eager, so… horny. It's very sexy," I whisper, nipping his earlobe.

He is whining slightly now, "isn't there more?"

"Not tonight, Malachai. Not right now, anyway. I think we need to shower."

"Together?"

"Why?"

He hesitates, "I want to be with you."

And then I woke up because it was a dream, and I am not Mary Sue. Malachai is ruthless and evil, and I couldn't ever love him. Ew.