A/N: Sorry I know y'all must be kind of sick of me by now but well, I was a bit bored so this came out. But yeah, again, they have the characters and I have the plot. Boohoo.
Just to note, this is probably my favorite up to date.
The Involuntary Descent
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I. Apathy woos the thinker with clear logic.
It is the first time they have come together. Her nails slowly turn into blood red talons while her mouth opens and her eyes shut close, she is screaming in his ear. She claws at his back, anything to anchor herself from experiencing too much pleasure because she knows that once she does, she will be lost. He curses loudly, still buried in her. The sensation of his skin breaking causes him to stop his movements and glare at her.
There will no be casualties in their war.
He grits his teeth and takes her hardened nipple in his mouth, nearly biting it off. The act of revenge makes her stop her clawing and they look at each other, flushed yet far from sated.
They ask each other if it hurt.
They both shake their heads.
They continue.
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Pride is a thick, woolen gag that covers their maliciously beautiful mouths. It stifles them into the security they have built over their fictitious, mythical hearts but the words that have remained unspoken in turn feasts on their insides, it is a malignant cancer growing and growing deep inside. Gnawing, feasting, never becoming appeased by the amount of carnal pleasure or blissful vices the owners ingests in order to forget its existence.
Admittance is defeat.
Their bodies are the vessels in which they fight in; only they don't admit that they're fighting. They say that it's fucking. It's a vulgar term, commonly used for the masses. They are not part of that classification.
He is tall and handsome, always, always resembling a grown up little boy with charming features. He is deception in a man. When he stares into your eyes, he can make you feel as though the world existed for you. When he speaks, his words are a lullaby that will make you succumb, it will make you fall down on your knees and your rationalities will disappear. You want nothing more than to keep on reliving this rush only he gives, but as you open your eyes the next day, as your heart pounds with anticipation, you will find the sheets empty of his warmth. You will spend many nights crying over it, he will spare none of his precious seconds thinking of you.
He is dishonest.
You are sullied.
When he is inside of her, panting and gasping, she reaches behind his back and runs her fingertips through the skin of his shoulder blades. Looking for something.
(She looks for the remnants of the charred, burnt wings but she doesn't tell him she is. She doesn't tell him that there are times when she almost feels something protruding from his back when there is none. Phantom wings. She feels it in her hands and when he breathes in her ear, when she feels their sweat mingling in the midst of this sacrilegious act they perform with such searing heat, she feels it burn hotter and hotter. The stumps of soft, hacked off feathers keep on burning under her touch. It glows orange red until she stops gripping it tightly.)
He has the body of an angel, with intense eyes that were the same hue as the ocean when it is undisturbed by the filth of man, hair so delightfully curly and colored a golden yellow. A mouth so full, red lips of temptation and entrapment. He can lure anybody with a few chosen words he is exceptionally gifted in searching for.
He opens his mouth when he lies and closes it when he is telling the truth.
She, on the other hand, his confidante and antithesis, was beautiful in her own right. The sinful Eden from the lost paradise and the epitome of the temptress that offered the apple to Adam. Blessed with the same obscene amount of wealth, power, and beauty as her counterpart, she was a young woman made of marble, silky auburn locks, and sad green eyes that had darkened as she'd aged. Darkened with what, exactly? While his eyes were a bright blue, hers were filled with the secrets she kept store of in order to use later as she saw fit. Many men have vied for her attention and some have succeeded, if only to be cast off later. The men she has been with are an assorted bunch, but they had one thing in common. They were men of fine upstanding, of blue blood and charming dispositions. They were kings and princes of their lands, yet some were as inwardly foul as the disgust she feels when she sees them and they look back with love struck looks in their eyes. Some, the ones who value themselves too much, see her as the perfect accessory. She doesn't mind. She sees them as such as well.
When she allows him inside her body, he is renewed. He is baptized again and again in the depths of her wet, warm cavern. Sometimes the warmth she generates burns through him and he wonders if he has found hell in her body. The fires smolder her organs and in her heart rests the throne of Satan.
She is fire and ice. Pain and bliss.
(He feels her small hands on his back, grasping the skin there. Fisting it in her hands while he grunts and pounds into her. The mortar and the pestle. Sometimes he slams into her frail body with all the strength he has because sometimes he thinks he could break her. He wants to break her if only to crack through the impervious covering she's spent her entire life perfecting. Mostly, he never succeeds, but there are instances, rare instances that were as frequent as fleeting stars crashing down from the dark, velvet blanket of the night, that he looks into those jaded eyes and he sees… Something. He doesn't really know how to explain it, given his sharp intellect, but he classifies it as… Something. It is a glimmer of emotion, of faintest, and the most obscure of emotions. He doesn't know which, but it's there. It is in the place between fire and ice.)
They entered into this forbidden liaison with their eyes fixed clearly on that invisible boundary they've set by mutual consent. He's desired her for so long and she him, but they were proud, too proud to let that desire and that heated passion mold into something that they will have no control over.
They've no desire for another term used by the masses. The only term they wish to use is the term fuck. They don't have sex or sleep together or make love. They avoid love. They are powerful because they are cautious; they know that it is something that will sooner or later drain them of their energy. They have seen great people fall because of it, and they certainly have no intentions to follow their downfall. They of course, have hearts, yes. That cannot be denied, for despite their contradictory actions, they are still human. But their hearts are nothing more than organs which pump life into their veins. Their hearts aren't made of love and emotion rather, it is composed of veins and far from beautiful passageways for their life flow.
I suppose this should mark the beginning.
The forging of the affiliation itself was not instantaneous. It was not merely by pure chance that she had stormed into his room in the middle of the night while he was with another. She did not wake up earlier that day with the intent to seduce him. He did not wake up realizing that while his girlfriend took him into her mouth, the object of his lust would disturb his moment of euphoria.
During their years together, it began to grow. What it is, you may ask. They are both creatures who appreciate beauty well enough to want to own it. His father had informed him that there were to be added occupants of the large house since he'd taken a wife. This young man, the junior to the empire of prominence that awaited him in the future, had grumbled to himself while he was on his way to his room.
Then he stopped.
It was not her beauty that caused him to. It was the way, through the partially open door, he saw her look at herself in the mirror. Having been used to vain girls, he knew the look in a woman's eyes when she admired herself. This one, however, was not looking in self admiration although she was by all means entitled to it.
It was an intent, openly curious gaze. It was trying to find the key to unlock the secrets she kept from herself.
The emotion he felt was not love, it was not 'love at first sight'. No matter how extraordinary this female appeared to be, it would take more than a single glance to undermine the rules he'd set for himself. Instead, it was more of… a curiosity that was identical to hers.
He did not want to know what made her so quiet. He wanted to know what made her scream.
As for her, it was simpler than that. His reputation had preceded him and she recognized the lust in his eyes when they looked at each other during their first dinner together as a 'family'.
He smiled at her with a smile that she knew had charmed its way into the beds of his many preys. Preys who regretted ever letting him between their sheets because they thought that maybe, just maybe, he would change and he would change for them. That maybe the myth was not a myth after all.
She was not one of the deluded fallen.
She did not want to know how she could change his bed hopping ways. She wanted to know how to control him.
Therefore, they began to experiment with each other. Baits were thrown, some taken, some ignored. They began to exchange words of deprecation, and soon she allowed him to touch her.
(She was always cold to touch.)
When it was too much, when his hand was near the keyhole that would unlock the pleasures of her, body and soul, she always pulls away.
(Never losing control.)
Upon realizing that they made a formidable pair, they embarked on ways to bring more amusements in their fast paced yet tedious lives. Divide and conquer.
(He enjoyed the challenge of seduction, her the act of manipulation)
I suppose that after having this for years, after giving each other smoldering, lust filled gazes, it was only a matter of time. Their interactions added the firewood to the already burning pyre of this soon to be consumed craving.
(Lava was being poured, glowing orange and an angry red, smoking, sizzling and hissing threateningly into a large container. It will soon overflow and burn everything in its path.)
That night was the night it exploded. It came as a sudden rush of heat between her creamy thighs, coupled by the immense anger that could only be brought forth by an exceptionally bad day. She needed release. He was in the next room.
(She reasoned that to hell with it.)
So, she storms in. The flames dances in her gaze while she looks at him, her stepbrother, only to find his mouth open with the abruptly stopped groan that was about to escape his mouth. His cock was being taken by the mouth of the virgin, having found a new altar to worship.
(The virgin's corn colored hair shines prettily under the dimmed lights while she sucks him. She is committing a blasphemy and he is the sinner that urged for her to do so. Nothing gives him more pleasure than that knowledge.)
As he stops, he looks at her blankly and the virgin hurriedly lets go of his manhood and wipes her wet mouth with the back of her hand, looking shamed and humiliated. The young woman doesn't say anything except 'leave'.
The virgin notices the serrated blade glinting amidst the brunette's voice and quickly leaves with mumbled words of hasty goodbyes. She wants to make those green eyes catching her in the act of lewdness disappear.
The young man watches with interest at the blonde's departure before he raises his elbows until they rest on the pillows. His erection is still prominent, glistening with the virgin's saliva.
(Hallowed saliva. He wonders if he is suddenly pure but that thought immediately vanishes.)
She stares at it, standing proudly before her. She is thinking the same thing. The virgin she despises, the one who had stood for everything she hated yet practiced. Hypocrisy. Nevertheless, it was an act formed out of love. She wonders if her skin will burn off when she takes every inch of him into her body.
(She doesn't care. Maybe she wants it to burn off and peel the tiring layers that will take centuries to be taken off. It's too heavy but she has to keep it on.)
He asks her in an amused tone what the hell she's doing.
She answers by fixing him a look and he immediately understands it. He leaves the bed and grabs her.
He fucks her. She scratches him. Every part she wanted, she marked with her anger. Soon he is into her, in and out, a primeval hammering that gets her off. He talks dirty to her, he's never talked dirty before but somehow he felt that it was only proper. As her clothes lay torn and discarded on the cold floor, she suddenly realizes that the virgin's body fluids are inside of her now that he is.
(She wonders if she will feel as pure as she seems.)
As his mouth captures her breast, suckling and nibbling, she goes crazy. Feverish sweat overcomes her and the pleasure they both experience is a contract that is beginning to be written. His tongue, that delicious pink thing she had sucked on, starts flicking over the aureola and she holds back a whimper.
She doesn't want to whimper. She wants to moan and yell.
He is becoming too gentle now and she doesn't like it. She realizes that this is what he treats the virgin when they 'make love' and she doesn't want to be treated like that. They are not making love. They are fucking. Only fucking. She doesn't want to be loved. She wants to be fucked. She doesn't want to tell him this so she shows him.
(She shifts her position until he is the one under her.)
And she raises her hips, feeling his hands support her weight. She slams into him and his gasps fuel her. More. More. More!
His testicles are so tight and aching for the release it needed while it slams on to her over and over and over again. They are both heavily sweating now; there are no words of love and affection. They both talk dirty and call each other names, she was a bitch and he was a bastard. She was a slut and he was an asshole.
(These names serve as the lines they will not cross.)
As quickly as it happened, they are done. His now flaccid penis remains cozy inside of her until she pulls it out. There are marks of moisture along her body and his eyes travel to the mouth he'd tried to kiss but was turned down earlier.
They move.
She gathers her clothes without saying a word. He doesn't know what to say.
She breaks the silence.
"One rule."
They stare at each other and nod.
It has begun.
A/N: Well, obviously this is a step away from the usual turns I go with. It's a bit angsty and all that, I still haven't decided if I'll give it a good ending though. I'm sick of happy endings like with Awakening and Behind. But I dunno, you guys probably want that kind of ending… Hmm… Whatever strikes my fancy I suppose? Oh, and AIE will be under reconstruction but I don't suppose you care since you probably already read it (but if you haven't please don't until I say so because I've been meaning to fix a LOT.) Lol.
There seems to be a bit of confusion. This isn't a one shot although I can't be certain how many chapters this will have.
Right, I know this is the wrong place but I wanted to reply since I haven't replied before.
Katie: Yes, about that theory that I can get away with K/S anything… Perhaps I just might stretch that to the limit someday. But thank you, I'd like to think that I'm learning to adapt and shift so that I can always offer something distinctive. I know it's quite difficult since we all share the two main characters. Oh, do you know though, I've read a couple of D/Hr fics over at Harry Potter… I'd like to write one someday but I can't quite grasp it fully yet. (And I'll register under a different name so I can start fresh. Hmm... Look out for it! Lol) Saw your profile I know you're a fan as well. ;-)
Ocfan: Glad you liked the previous one, although I did have my reservations. I did think it was too… mushy? Ew. Lol, but hopefully this one won't be too obvious. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for reviews, that's all.
And to all the other people who read my stuff… Thank you thank you thank you. Please don't stop. But when I start to suck, just yeah. Stop. Haha