Dance with the Devil
"Anyone who hasn't experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all."
-Jeab Genet
Her eyes were blurred with tears, but it didn't matter, because vision was useless in a room this dark anyways. Thin fingers raked through his thick black hair as his skin melted with hers.
Soft, swollen lips crashed down on hers, sucking at her lifeblood, stealing the breath from her mouth. She bit his bottom lip again in anger, struck by that sick satisfaction which both completed her and tore her apart as she heard him growl and felt him push her back further as he pounded into her.
Luscious red hair fell to her waist, sticking to the cold sweat on her bare back as she was pressed into the hard ridge of the wall.
A sliver of moonlight fell through the curtain and lit across the man's aristocratic features, marred by fury as he bit the woman's neck. Between the curve of her neck and her collarbone, he sank his teeth into the unmarked white skin than glistened with the sweat of their unholy ritual, the angel's body that shone with fear and promised no absolution, only further pain.
Her eyelashes rose to reveal emerald green eyes swimming with regret, but, deeper, full of pleading for release, full of a search with no end, with no purpose, with no goal that may be fulfilled.
The man's eyes met her gaze dead on, and she was unflinching under the cold stare as he pulled her hips down onto his, pushing deeper into her than she had thought possible, filling her more completely and less satisfyingly than anyone had ever before.
She slid onto him again and again, never tearing her eyes away, even as her tears dripped down her straight nose, ran down her porcelain cheeks, fell from her chin to her chest, pressed flush against his.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, knotting their way down to his neck, where one hand continued; her nails dug into the skin and ripped the flesh of his flawless body. He howled in pain as she dragged her nails farther with vicious persistence, leaving four slim gashes on his back.
Bleeding, jagged cuts to match the bloody circle he had left on her neck.
His black eyes flamed with passion, with hateful, repulsive desire.
She drew her hand away, fingertips coated with his blood, and sucked at one finger. The taste of him, coppery and raw, drove her past the edge.
She screamed and pulled his head back to her again while bringing her hand down between their bodies, leaving a dark red trail between her breasts and over her flat white stomach before touching him. She held his length in her bloodstained hand for a moment, stilling their movement, before pushing back onto him, rewrapping her legs around his waist, pulling her fingers up and drawing a bloody 'X' over his navel.
Her tongue fought his as he worked over her mouth, pushing their bodies closer together as her hand came back to his shoulders. She let it fall down his back again as he moved his mouth to her jaw and cupped her breast, brushing the trail of blood.
She arched into him as he tugged at her. Pulling at her roughly, his other hand cradling her buttocks, supporting her against the wall. Her fingertips drew patterns over the bloody streaks in his back, teasing the sensitized skin as he bit her earlobe.
She couldn't get close enough, molding her body to his. They didn't fit together. One thing or the other was imperfect in their casing. One of her hands twisted in his hair. His arm went all the way around her, pulling her flush against his body with brutal strength. Her breasts were pressed painfully tight together into his bare chest, her pebbled nipples prodding his muscled abdomen.
He sucked at her throat as she spasmed around him, stretched taut, clenching firmly as they fell into waves of undeserved, pleasure. Forbidden ecstasy lashed at her in a wicked rhapsody as she clung to him, his body hard against her soft figures. The sharp planes of his face were barely visible in the tangible darkness. He yelled as he fell, and she was silent. Her teeth sank into her swollen lower lip, drawing blood immediately in the ferocity of the bite.
He struggled with the fragile curves of her body, tracing the line of her ribs, lingering over the trail of his own blood, desperately seeking some semblance of meaning in this hellish sanctification, this dirty ablution that cleansed his body and marred his soul.
He wished he could tear into her again, but she moved away from him, already drawn up in terror, her beautiful face stricken with the familiar sickness that followed their deeds. He drew her back to him, turning her pale body to face the moonlight by force as she looked away from him.
He was disgusted by himself as he watched the silver light illuminate the darkness of their actions, hitting the secret core of her, touching every bit of her exquisite beauty as he longed to do. He yanked her hips again to him, watching the horror in her eyes and never feeling less revolted at himself as he bruised her sweet mouth again.
Something lasting, for they never spoke. A memory without the words. Like music, crashing and climaxing and falling and falling, and never necessitating a single voice, for it conversed through a collective being, and assortment of endless crescendos and abrupt halts that comprised one thought.
She turned again, refusing to linger, as always. The curtains fluttered and she jumped.
She said not a word, but the weeping never ceased as she dressed quietly.
He tasted his own blood. He tasted her.
The door shut, the air stilled. He would end it.
He wouldn't. This was all he had left to live for, and he would never give up, no matter how the agony dragged on, despite the extensive, torturous proceedings that injured not only himself, but everyone he loved. He could barely claim that, for love was a nearly foreign concept to him. So he savored this.
Because she was all that was left. He had traded his soul to have her, and he was enraptured, entrapped. Caught in this dangerous dance with the devil.