Summary: Lust finally catches up to Isaac; Lust/Isaac
He is tired of running; it feels like his bare feet have caught fire while rhythmically hitting the brick colored dirt, littered with small rocks as sharp as spikes. They dig into his flesh and the cuts and scratches sting horribly, yet he grits his teeth and keeps going.
His lungs burn; he gasps for air and begs for them to not fail him, suffocate him. He stumbles and hugs the wall to his left, the rock scraping the roughened skin of his palms. Those walls, they all look the same, tall and twisted into a massive labyrinth; he is pretty sure he's been walking around in circles the whole time. Not an exit in sight.
It makes his hair stand on its ends and he picks himself off the floor, wiping some dust off the tatters that still clung to his body. Through the holes he sees the angry bruises and hot red lashes marring his powder white complexion; he feels them gingerly, wincing at the ache they send up his nervous system.
At first, he had kept track of them, remembered what and who gave him every single one of them, but then they piled up and he lost count. He almost feels bad now that he doesn't know anymore how he got that half healed line across his thigh, or those purple and blue spots on the inside of his elbow. All he knows is that he cherishes them, in a morbid way, like a painter loves his canvases.
The sound of light footsteps behind him tells him he can't linger anymore. She's been following him for days; he forces his legs to start moving again and they protest, aching and shaking. He leans hard into the wall and looks over his shoulder like a paranoid. He's never seen her, apart from a few flashes of pink out of the corner of his eye, which he has no idea whether they were real or just his imagination. He could hear her, though, clear in the back of his tired mind. Sometimes she sighs, sometimes she calls his name playfully and giggles when he jumps violently and whips his head around like a madman. But most of the time, she breathes. Heavy and loud and he swears he can feel it hot on the back of his neck, tickling his skin.
An awful feeling of being watched settles into his chest and makes him push himself off the wall and walk forward, slowly, dragging his feet. There's no exit; he's lost his hope of finding one a long time ago, back when she still hunted him, but not as insistently as she is now. When he first walked into the maze and she started hounding him, it felt different, like she was far away watching, but not getting any closer; now, it is scarier. She is right behind him. She is crawling under his skin, making him claw at it until he draws blood and reddens the milky expanse.
He must have looked behind him for a million times, finding nothing every time. How long is she going to play with him, before she finally gets tired, or bored of him and leaves him alone. Or catches him, and spills his guts all over the labyrinth before patiently awaiting for another juicy fly to walk into her net.
She laughs and it reminds him of a wind chime; goosebumps erupt all over his body and he is running again, ignoring all the pain in his legs. The internal battle between his instinct to survive and his desire to end the pointless chase has a winner, in spite of all the times he has almost given up, laid down on the ground and waited for her to do whatever she wanted with him.
His knees are cotton and he stumbles again, fully aware of the fact that this time he may not be able to rise again. His heart drums in his chest, pounding blood in his temples harshly while nausea rushes up his stomach and chest. Her heartbeat swims in his eardrums now, crystal clear; she's excited. He can't run from her anymore. He feels inexplicably furious at how she waited to drain him first, at the cold and calculated torture she inflicted on him.
"You could've had me from the beginning." He gasps for air and winces at how rough his throat feels. "No need to hunt me down like that." He's no longer scared, just exhausted and eager to put an end to it.
"It's true." It was the first time she talked to him, properly talked, apart from the unnerving mantra that she had made of his name, rolling off the tip of her tongue and going straight to the lower pits of his abdomen. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "But where's the fun in that?"
And suddenly he's staring her right in the eye. The shadow of a smile on her lips catch his attention; he outstretches his arm his touch the pink, silky skin on her round cheek. It singes the tips of his fingers, but he doesn't pull away, doesn't remember why he was running from her. Her eyes are inviting when she kneels down next to him, dragging him closer to her body; he gets drunk on her warmth, sinking his fingers deeper into her flesh. She doesn't wince, doesn't protest.
A few strands of hair fall down his face as he dares trapping her in his arms; he feels her lips on his, feels her smile against his closed mouth and he opens it, allowing her inside. It tastes of the tea sweetened with honey that his mother used to make him and it makes him sad, makes him break the physical bond and bury his face in the crook of her neck, and bite as hard as he can.
Satisfaction washes over him when she hisses, both from the pain and the arousal it brought her; he flicks his tongue over the teeth marks, then kisses them tenderly. He tastes copper but it doesn't stop him, trailing his mouth down her body with insatiable hunger. He growls as he throws her off him and on the ground, pinning her down with his own body. His anger takes over him again; she tortured him, she chased him and teased him for such a long time. She made him scared of her.
His mouth waters feeling her squirm and shiver underneath him; the roles reversed, the tables have turned and now she is at his mercy. His to do whatever he pleases. He crashes their mouths together, consuming her small moans; he lets himself fall heavy on top of her, catching her thin wrists in his hands and squeezing until the blood flow stopped.
It's not enough. That itch in the back of his head is still there, nagging him. He feels her slender body under his palms and he bites at his lips. She urges him to go on. "Don't stop now. Don't stop." Her whispers caress his ears; it makes him feel wanted.
He digs his fingers into her thigh and drinks in her reaction as he gets closer and closer to the warm core. Her face twists in the most tantalizing ways, once in a while flicking her tongue over her plump lips. She burns for him, and him alone.
She gasps when he pushes in, opening her up like a precious present; the delicious friction makes him grunt and close his eyes tightly until colorful shapes start dancing on the back of his eyelids. He pulls in and out slowly, delicately, almost afraid that he might break this beautiful porcelain doll that allowed him entrance inside of her. She wrapped her legs tightly around him and he caught her calf, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a small, chaste kiss to the white skin.
He loses control of the calculated rhythm as the heat starts pooling into his groin; she smiles at him and watches him with hazy eyes from behind the thick curtains of lashes. Her gaze is tempting him; "Come on, jump." She whispers to him as she rocks her hips to meet with his now erratic thrusts.
He tumbles over the edge and collapses, the world going dark and fuzzy around him.
When he wakes up, she is gone. Everything is gone, the high, the maze, the thirst. It leaves in with a bitter taste in his mouth, the horrible sensation of being on the brink of throwing up, and a few drops of liquid in an otherwise empty, used syringe. He stares at it in disgust and throws it around the room, watching it hit and bounce back towards him, rolling before finally stopping at his feet.
It would come back to hunt him again. And this time he would be more prepared.