Rating: M (for sexytimes references)
Summary: 'She is temptation, sin incarnate. An addiction which makes him weak. But he loves her and somehow that is enough to cloud his judgement almost entirely.'
John Seed and the Deputy making out on some kind of fur skin rug in a world where they have most definitely ended up catching feelings for each other. Angsty/sexy fluff?
Author's Note: For smashinterrupted.
I was trying out a different style here, but basically I listened to the song a whole lot and wanted to write these two making out to it in a drabble. Here we are! I hope you enjoy :-) Also big thanks to Sakom75 on tumblr, for being an unwitting inspiration for this piece as she's currently working on a badass commission for my Deputy and John Seed. Check her out, she's awesome! :-)
-x-Sass-x-
"It was right that we did meet each other in each other's eyes
It was right that we did see each other in our shadow sides
It was wrong then too that crazy love, loves crazy as it does
And each of us and both of us so crazy, as it was
Who else is going to love someone like you that's marked for death?
Who else is going to be with you when you breathe your last?
Who else is going to take my place and hold and keep you safe?"
Marked for Death – Emma Ruth Rundle
Outside the air is cooling fast, a cloudless sky that doesn't hold back the heat of the day's sun. The light is fading, a soft blue light shrouding the world beneath a darkening cobalt sky. A breeze shakes through tall conifer trees, evergreen branches rustling as the shriek of a nearby owl punctuates the air.
The ranch is lit by firelight and flooded with warmth, an orange glow that casts flickering shadows against the far wall. There's no one but them sheltered within the its walls, the privileged few Chosen bodyguards that John trusts posted outside, watching the perimeter, their backs turn to the blatant sin of their herald. It's been a long time since he cared what the babysitters Joseph insists he keeps think of him.
It's so much easier not to fear sin when she is close.
She isn't the Deputy when she's pressed beneath him, caught between the fur rug that lies before the open fireplace and his bare chest, marked flesh moving against his with the hunger of a woman who fears that this might be her last chance. Her kisses are feverish, impatient as she nips at anywhere she can reach, lips tugging at the skin of his neck and collarbones as if all there is is the desire to taste him.
She's shaded in firelight, grey shapes dancing across her bared skin. There isn't an inch of her that isn't covered with some kind of mark or tattoos, black ink spiralling in convoluted twists and turns up the sleeve on her right arm whilst a dark, intricate rose blooms at her hip. In amongst the tattoos are a litter of scars, pale, raised up edges that mottle her skin. Some, she had before, others he gave to her.
He kisses each in turn.
They wear their love on their bodies freely now, their sin carved into their skin in a way that makes it feel more like a badge of honour than something that deserves shame and scorn. Everything he believes tells him that the words she's cut into his body should burn like the fires that will swallow him, his brother's counsel ever present in his ear when he's lying alone, bereft and lost. But the fires of Hell feel like nothing in comparison to ache of not having her whenever she is near, the Garden of Eden a pale imitation of the feeling of her lips against his. He knows in his heart that it's in the devil's interest for sin to feel good, that more often than not the pious road is the hardest to walk. But with her he is so completely cut adrift, intoxicated by the acceptance he finds in the arms of a person who asks for nothing from him.
She is temptation, sin incarnate. An addiction which makes him weak. But he loves her and somehow that is enough to cloud his judgement almost entirely.
Nails dig against his back, drawing long, oversensitive lines that burn in all the best ways. Even with the heat from the fire, his skin rises into gooseflesh. John retaliates in kind, sucking the skin of her neck into his mouth, applying just enough pressure to bruise. Beneath him, Kate moans, strong arms pulling him closer as her body grinds against his, eager and impatient.
There's no sweeter torture.
She'll be gone by the morning, slinking straight back into the pretence that they are nothing but enemies, unrelenting forces fighting for polar opposites. She'll continue to burn and tear at his brother's legacy, to rip at the very core of Eden's Gate. She'll taunt him, tease him, spur him into action with such conviction that at times he will actually imagine killing her, about cracking open her rib cage and cutting free her sinful heart. Sometimes he aches to see it beat in his hand, to watch as the woman who brings out the worst in him fade before his very eyes. He's made so many false promises to himself by this point, empty words that speak of a deed that deep down he knows he is incapable of.
All thoughts of murder disappear the moment she returns to his ranch, bathed in moonlight with those smug eyes that are his undoing.
Their love is a drug that promises to end them both, a hedonistic chase that was cursed before it ever really began. Kate is as helpless as him, addicted to the violence, lust and pride that crackles like fire between them. For every time he's held a knife to her heart she's held a gun to his head, for every scar he has inflicted on her she has paid him back in kind. Beneath all their ideals and virtues, locked underneath a facade of twisted morality; they're both the same kind of monster. Like two sides of the same coin, they are mirror images driven by the same core, the same creature who revels in pain and is made all the stronger by it. They both get the same thrill from inflicting it on others, from realising how it can change a person and from having the opportunity to watch that metamorphosis happen before their very eyes. Deep down, their hearts beat for the same purpose.
At night, when they fall back into being lovers, it's an unspoken truth hanging between them, a reality far stronger than the ideals and morality that either of them are fighting for.
John should feel guilty, but he doesn't.
Instead, his fingers curl around her neck, feeling the corded muscle tighten beneath his grasp. She can breathe just enough, but the action is entirely under his control, the very air filling her lungs his gift to her. Another moan, hoarse and soft thanks to the hold he has on her and Kate is looking up at him with a fire that pushes a self-satisfied smirk across his face. With a free hand, he traces her torso, eyes locked on hers as his fingertips rub across the lust carved into her hip, her eyes watching him in quiet anticipation. Almost unbearably slowly, his fingers sink lower and slip beneath the elastic of her underwear. Kate bucks her hips against his hand, unwilling to surrender full control and in reply he laughs, silencing her with a bruising kiss.
He knows that she'll pay him back for this and have him begging her like a wanton sinner before the dawn comes. In a world that has him questioning so much, she is the only real certainty, unshakeable in her wants and desires. He doesn't question whether or not she will return to him, nor does he question the fact that they will both keep on fighting, doggedly refusing to back down to the other. They're two deer, locked in a battle for dominance, butting antlers until one of them finally slips and ends the other.
He doesn't know who will slip and fall in the end. Doesn't want to know the end of the story before it falls into place before his eyes. Instead it's enough to know that one of them is marked for death and that everything that comes before is simply foreplay to a much greater end.
They're cursed. But at least for the moment they are cursed together.