-'Revenge,' he whispers like sweet nothings in my ear, 'fight fire with fire and make them pay.'-

-ZaDr-

BloodLust

I'm waiting.

For that moment, that spark, that little voice in my head to speak up and tell me i've been a bad bad boy and hit me with a sh!tload of remorse. My soul must be destined for the worst pit in hell and my conscience is nowhere to be found.

Zim tells me it's nothing, I should stop worrying, and until the blood on my hands dries I can listen to that. Accept it, like I accepted him - Took his hand, his body and let him kiss and convince me into taking someone's life.

And I did.

Relished in the rush, the moment, the killing. Relished in the lust that overtook his gaze whenever I caved to the bloodlust he'd stirred within me.

The bloodlust I welcomed with open arms (open legs) and the bloodlust I now claimed as my own.

"Revenge," he whispers likie sweet nothings in my ear, "fight fire with fire and make them pay."

I shivered with want. For him, for his words and for everything both implied.

I begged like a dog, like a whore and he kept giving. (Kept whispering.) So we kept killing...

Slicing notch after notch in the name of revenge.

And the sex was better with bloody hands. Hotter, rawer and more rough and violent than anything i'd ever done before.

And I craved it - lusted for Zim like I lusted for blood, single minded obsessions (disasters)... the perfect kind of atomic bomb.

We destroyed everyone, everything, we could chalk up to revenge - and anyone that got in our way.

Then the sex was good...

The whispers sweet...

As were the lazy moments shared on the couch watching our own handiwork on the news.

But the bloodlust remained - shrieking and shaking on it's cage like an addiction.

So I begged again. On my hands and knees, between his, curled up on the couch and whimpered into his sly and expectant smirk.

He gave in, always would, and we'd pick fights just to win them, slaughter bullies and bank robbers like we were angels, then went home to f#ck like the devils we really were.

And I was still waiting...

Waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the scales to balance, for good to triumph over my, his, our blood-drenched evil.

Then...

He mentions a throne,

I think of the bodies.

He mentions a game,

I agree to world domination.

And he laughs like he loves me, and I laugh 'cause I feel the same and we destroy the bed just on thoughts of the carnage.

We eat breakfast over dead bodies littered in the streets. Eat lunch on someone else's table, with three someone else's blood all over it. We eat dinner with some sort of leader, then Zim lets me slit his throat for thinking we could be reasoned with.

And the sex was better with bloody hands, blood splattered bodies and the bloodust momentarily sated within me.

Then the morning came and we began again.

Hunting and killing anyone who tried to flee and anyone stupid enough to face us.

We stole lives like we stole air, stole kisses from each other like they weren't free and stole everything we came across until eventually we owned the world.

And I saw the bodies.

The blood.

The destruction.

Zim.

I saw his throne atop the bodies, my seat atop his lap and I was pleased, satisfied in a twisted sort of way.

The bloodlust remained active - but every time it called I would do the dirty work.

Beg like a princess, a bitch, an urchin. Beg with my body like no one was watching.

And he'd smile, that contented and sly little smile as he caved, just like always. Then he'd start a game that involved someone running, and me chasing right on after them.

And the sex was all the better for it. All the forceful, all the needy. But... I was still waiting for that moment, where all this turns around and bites me in my (Zim owned) ass.

(...)