Rate of Exchange
Gray skies were a torment. What was home to him was unwelcome for her. To call them "night and day" would be extremely inaccurate. But it would grasp a small part of why they were incompatible.
He obscured her brilliance. Overtook her. Overwhelmed her. Kept others from seeing her.
He was very possessive.
She couldn't say she loved him, because that wouldn't be true. He couldn't say he loved her, because that wouldn't be true. But they felt, and strongly. Overpoweringly. Elsewise there was no reason. No justification. No cause.
When he looked at her, it was a caress. When he touched her, it was an embrace. When he embraced her, it was a coalescence.
An electric connection? A spark of emotion? No. There was no way to trust in such things. Not with him. Moonlight feelings? Starry eyes? No. There was no way to trust in such things. Not with her.
But they had bodies. Besides the magic, they had bodies. And their bodies they trusted.
With his arms around her, she no longer existed as a lone being. He consumed her. Breathed her in. Her power became his strength, and his strength became her power. And their desires were one.
The first time was unexpected. A chance meeting. An enclosed space. A compromising position. Advantage was taken. And who could blame her? His hair was so much softer than she would have guessed. Touching it, finding the truth of it, made her wonder about his other truths. Her other misconceptions.
She had continued taking advantage. And had continued to allow her that interest. Those demands. As long as she gave of herself in return. And she gave. She gave and gave, and he took and took, and the giving and taking almost killed her.
Him.
Them.
Thus began their bartering of selves. I'll give you me, if you'll give me you. Their relative values changed based on demand. And competition.
He tried to hide her starlight. He tried to frighten away competitive offers with his glares and his pure power, but they still came, and they still bid. And she craved that. Not the possessiveness. No, she didn't care for that, or wouldn't if it were only possessiveness. No, it was the effect of his greed.
It was the control he surrendered to her when her value outweighed his. To have him under her. Needy. To make him ask. Or beg. The begging was wonderful. The begging was worth every stormy sky he'd ever raged from.
Of course, the scale tipped both ways. He was what he was, and what he was was wanted. He radiated desirability. Luckily, he also radiated apathy. They came. Oh, so many of them came to him, but she never once believe he wanted. Never once. They could crawl all over him, whispering his name, and she would not feel outbid. Even at the peak of his power over her, his value would never match hers at her own peak. But, then, that seemed to please him.
Unexpected. But she might think he preferred to be the one who begged. The one on his knees. To have her look down at a man so many looked up at. She'd put money on him enjoying the experience. Enjoying her.
A rare feeling for both of them. They savored each exchange.
She found, sometimes, sometimes, that she missed him. Like an expensive meal or a spa vacation, he was a treat, an indulgence. Something to enliven her not-even-close-to-mediocre days. It said much about her life that commerce with one of the most powerful men in the country was the only way to really give herself excitement.
For her birthday, she locked them in a hotel room, three towns away, for a weekend.
For his birthday, she locked them in a closet, in their guild, at noon.
When she slept, she could almost taste him and his screams.
Rarely did she wonder his own thoughts on the situation. As long as she could keep herself as a unique experience for him, she could keep him begging. And as long as he was for her what he wasn't for any other human walking the lands and seas of Earthalnd, she would continue to invest in his pleasure.
Beneath her.
On his knees.
Screaming.
The occasional bout of possessive behavior clouding her evening was worth it. Him pulling her from a patron at a restaurant or a runner at a park. Shoving her in a back alley or against a line of trees. Shadowing her. Shielding her. Hiding her.
Beneath him.
On her knees.
Screaming.
Nothing she'd rather offer herself for. Nothing she'd rather take in exchange.
XXXXXX
Author's Note: No idea. Don't ask.
I want to do a long-form LaLu, but as I want to make it post-Tartaros, I really need to make sure Laxus survives it, and intact. Otherwise it will make no sense at all.
My experience from reading Rave is that Hiro is occasionally cool with killing off some much-loved characters. Normally, I'd bet money on a character being plot-shielded, but Laxus has an interesting mix of a history of love-hate relationships, power, and potential for sacrifice. Maybe he won't die, but will lose his power. Or maybe Makarov will kick the bucket. No clue. If this were still Rave's Hiro, I would be looking for at least one or two more character deaths (not that Aquarius was a death, or that Silver really had any impact, but you get where I'm going).
WHO WILL IT BE?! Igneel? Maybe. I wouldn't kill of an exheed, as that would just be too damn cruel. Nor one of the 1st or 3rd gen dragonslayers, because they actually have dragons. But the dragons are good targets. Makarov, being old and having survived like 100 different potential martyr situations, is a good bet. And Laxus, being a reformed jackass, is worth watching (seriously, if he sits in one place until he's nothing but bones, I will never touch anything this mangaka makes again).