Struck me at 3 am; crude language, depressingly dark backdrop, possible smut. Not suitable for little kids who love unicorns and rainbows.
Black Beauty - Lana Del Rey
[you'd paint the night time after day
so it'd suit the mood of your soul]
.
.
She seemed to be a composite of air and steam, graceful steps woven out of fairy breath, and body knitted so very enticingly with angel wings. Yet, as if to stain her dazzling purity, she sat herself in a sea of loud, careless, grinding bodies; too insignificant for blue baby doll eyes like hers to gaze upon. She was out of the place, a million dollar piece of art shredded and scattered amongst pieces of worn puzzles that didn't quite fit anymore.
Still, he decided that she was all too irresistible - the demon chasing after the angel. He wanted to rip off every strand of her holiness, tear her wings off. Make her just like him, a sinner, the purest creation of Satan : A criminal, a murderer, spreading chaos to every corner of this damned world. She was supposed to belong to Satan too, the way she had men like him lusting over her, savoring her every curvious move like a wolf. A wolf, starving and craving for the taste of fresh hunt; an easy prey it required to satisfy its hunger, and no one would satisfy its hunger like the unsuspecting, guardless prey that sat before it.
Lips pursed, she took the wine glass between her fingers and raised it to her quivering lips. She couldn't understand the little goosebumps nibbling on her skin; they gave off an oddly warm, yet shivering vibe. Downing the warm contents of the wine glass was the only possible way she could still her twitching muscles. Somehow, she could feel that someone was boring holes through her back, and the thought of eyes glinting with slyness and cruelty frightened her. The irony of it though, that she was born into the hopeless and violent, yet she was afraid of two little orbs of blatant hazel.
Or maybe, it wasn't the honey eyes that tore at her, but the soulless creature residing inside the man's soon to be empty vessel.
"Martini, "his voice never changed; hollow, low and cracked, as if he were in so much pain that he decided to succumb to the whip that was fate. His dark eyes never failed to par up with his loathsome expression: brows furrowed, corners of his purplish blue lips turned down at its corners and the little wrinkles that form fairly obviously like he was thinking about something. It had been this way for the past four weeks; she would find herself stumbling into the bar, knocking into tables and man alike with such brute force she thought she heard the table yelp, and then afterwards he would enter and make a big deal out of his arrival.
And he had a good reason for that; she remembered her mother telling her about him: brutal and merciless. She would love to add on, "too good looking for his own sake", but screw that, she wasn't here to pass up nicknames to strangers. She had one job, one assignment, simple and straight: she was here to kill him.
"Soda and Scotch for the angel here, " he jutted his thumb at her direction, sliding onto the stool next to hers, drink in one hand, cigarette in another. The bartender arranged a can of coke and a glass of strong smelling liquor before her.
She eyed the man with her beautifully savaged eyes, the sweet scent of marijuana coming from the smoke wafting into her nose. Marijuana blurred her vision, and she found herself losing her grip on reality and the man sitting next to her. Everything about him screamed to remind her that he was the enemy and the danger that lurked beneath his perfectly chiseled features and honeyed words that seemed to swirl colours in her mind. He was talking about... something about Vodka. Yes, he was trying to tell her...
"Have you come alone once again? "
Once again... Had he been observing her just as well, perhaps tied a suspicion tag to her? Maybe he knew who she was, what she wanted, or maybe who she worked for. There were so many presumptions behind his simple words. She was dumb to complicate things now that she was stuck between putting her plans on hold and killing him right this instance. Taking him out now would be the most advantages for the close range between the both of them, but this bar was swarming with his minions; one wrong move and she would be good as roast.
"Yes. " Her answer was brief, she didn't want to delve deeper into a matter in which both of them are inconveniently related; all she wanted was a clean swipe of her prey.
"You seem to enjoy Vodka more than Scotch, too strong perhaps? " He asked again, pushing past the line of requesting to be friends. He sounded a heck lot like a stalker, having gained the knowledge of her favored alcohol through the week she had made her appearance in the bar and in his life, wearing the most atrocious black top and red skirt that tore through his heart.
"Uh huh, " but once again, her response was blunt. He watched as she dragged her black nails against the marble counter top to seize the glass of Scotch.
"Cheers. "
He brushed a strand of loose strawberry blonde hair to the back of her ear and stared into her overwhelming eyes that seemed to be the uncharted night skies and vast oceans.
"Are you afraid? " He placed his hands on her bared shoulders, shaping them and feeling the warm, smooth skin beneath his touch. Why did he ask, now that he was the one who controlled her, held her in the palm of his hands with the ease of crushing her at any moment. Just like the blizzard he was, his touch threatened to wreck havoc in her innards. But she did not fear the raging storm, or the winter solstice he was; instead, she revered in his terror, she found the spark that ignited a sort of dangerous passion.
No answer came from her. She was left breathless when his bruised lips approached and assaulted her perfectly unpainted lips. And so was he when he caught a whiff of her scent, peaches and cream. She smelled like a fucking bakery, and once again it reminded him that...
"I can't! "
His once bright hazel eyes died into its usual shade of dark brown, almost black, and the once heated moment that had been going on between the two of them was long forgotten. He looked down at her, wrapped around him, head leaned on his firm chest. It was as if they were this two pieces of puzzles, separated for centuries and once again united and pieced back together. It felt so right to him, too right to be exact.
"Satoshi. "
"Huh? "
"My name, " he latched his teeth on the milky skin of her throat, and pressed his chaotic words on her fragile skin. He heard her breath hitch when his tongue lapped at her sweaty skin.
She was at his mercy.
Her fingernails dug into his skin as his lips hovered closer to her earlobe. Seeing this, he shifted his hands down to her petite waist to lift her up and press her against the wall. She followed his flow, wrapping her legs around his hips for support; in the process, accidentally grinding against him.
"What's your name? "
"Serena. "
"It's very fitting, " his voice is a hollow cry for help, but that she can't give a damn.
He is unforgiving as he overwhelms her.
She is taken by him. Storms are only ever nameless until they consume you and she is not surprised. What could possibly be more fitting for this ultraviolence than him? Grey, the colour of her thoughts and the rain clouds that bare down on her. Grey, the flavour of his lips against hers; borderline heretic black arts and Morana- rituals.
What a perfect storm he is, she thinks as his touch sends her over the edge of a cliff she is absolutely sure she can never return from. She cries out as their bare bodies collide one final time and he curses aloud, hands tightening around her body almost painfully. They collapse into each other and quiver like leaves in a storm. The hurricanes and cyclones are tearing her apart piece by piece. She is frozen under all that is him and time has finally acquiesced her wishes and stopped. Chests heaving, heads spinning and bodies tingling they begin their descent. She is burning from the numbing cold and his thoughts weigh heavy on him like the rain pelting the windows of her lightless apartment.
They collapse to her bed and sleep for hours. When she awakes, he is gone. Serena doesn't mind; after all she loves the hurt, the cold, the storm.
The rain is still heavy. But she is pleasantly numb.
.
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[darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue]