Disclaimer: I own no Johnny-meats.
Author's Note: Um, okay. . . let's see, how should I justify this piece of crap? Well, I was reading some other NnyxDevi stuffits and everything pretty much rocked, but I kept remembering the parts in the comic where Johnny's all: "I hate bodily fluids!" and "I'll pull off my gentiles if I'm aroused!" And, while the second bit isn't addressed in this ('cause how could it be lime if Nny. . . well, you know.), I did want to do something about the hating-bodily-fluids and not-liking-to-touch-people thing. Sooooo. . . Devi and Nny are getting it on while Nny's fully clothed (gee, I'm so brilliant (please note sarcasm)).
The other bit with the knife. . . that's just something I thought they'd do, being insane artists and all. XD
And. . . that's about it! Please enjoy!
XXX
He didn't like the fluid. No, he did not like the fluid at all; the sweat, the blood, the. . . other stuff. But God, did he love the screams. He loved the screams and the writhing, the sear of heated flesh beneath his gloved hand. . .
Her heated flesh. Pale as porcelain, smooth as paper. A living canvas; bared to him in both hatred and love, spite and need. She moaned again—voice dripping in agony, pleasure.
A happy shiver raced up his spine.
Beautiful. She was so beautiful—lying naked in the moonlight: a pale, unearthly blue. The shade contrasted well with the vibrant purple of her hair, the forest green of the comforter, the bright maroon of her blood. Her fingers subconsciously squeezed the rope that bound her limbs to the headboard, lashes fluttering beneath his gaze.
Johnny smiled; leaning forward as raised his long, stained knife. "Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi. . ." he whispered airily, lips lowering to leisurely brush her earlobe, slender fingers dancing up her rib cage. She hissed when the icy digits neared a recent wound.
"What the fuck is it?" she groaned, unable to keep her eyes open. It was probably a good thing; his widening grin would have frightened her.
"Nothing. . ." he nearly sang, poking the blade of the knife gently into the flesh of her stomach for the umpteenth time; just enough to draw redness. "I simply enjoy saying your name." Nny laughed softly under his breath, eyes sparkling as his masterpiece expanded—slowly grew to a perfect state under his careful hand. A line here, a gouge there. . . smearing the dark liquid delicately near the edges.
His thighs squeezed her hips, the leather covering his legs rubbing up against her flesh in a both agonizing and pleasing way. A gasp wedged itself forcefully in the young woman's throat.
"Almost done. . ." The murmured assurance bounced off of the haunted walls, muffled as Johnny absentmindedly nuzzled his face into the girl's nape. (He didn't need to see what he was drawing, after all— he'd done it so often before: had memorized her each curve and dip; where her skin was thick and thin; every move she'd make when touched.) She smelt so nice. . . like starlight and fresh rain and misty evenings. His lips pressed lightly, almost hesitantly, to her cheekbone; trailing kisses as soft as feathers up the side of her face. (He could only stand minimal contact without the addition of a metallic tasting liquid on his tongue.)
The burning both on and in her abdomen intensified; Devi arched her back to the familiar sensations.
"There."
Johnny pulled back leisurely, admiring his handiwork in the bright moonlight. Shifting, he purposely intensified the friction of their hips, chuckling at the woman's soft cry. His dark eyes glinted like onyx, their glassy depths full of an emotional nothingness. Such a contradiction he was!
Hell—such a contradiction she was.
Such a contradiction this relationship had become. . .
"Do you like?" the homicidal maniac purred, rubbing their lower bodies together; licking the blood off the tip of his blade. Mmm, divine—! Nearly better than cherry brainfreezies. "I tried something new today."
Devi choked slightly, mind full of dirty thoughts, concentration torn because of it. Regardless, she managed to gradually lift her head, ignoring the rise of bile—taking in the picture now carved into her body. Actually, it was more of a design. . . twisting coils of nerves braiding, trailing; demented hearts and flowers meshing; leaves, veins, eyes, acorns becoming one around an intertwining couple as dark and malformed as animalistic beasts. She smiled, watching a droplet of scarlet juice ooze down her thigh, pooling where their bodies met. His black leather squeaked again, unable to hide the hardness of the bones and flesh it covered.
"Better than last week's," she muttered in way of reply, wasting no time for breath as his lips descended upon her own. His tearing teeth and probing tongue made her want to smile, to scream—the hurt, the hurt, the hurt! Burning inside her, on her, through her, as her; a never-ending fire. . . an unquenchable lust. The man's antics simply threw gasoline into the mix.
"I liked last week's," he growled, cheeks smattered in berry-colored stains. The knife glimmered through the darkness, its cold steel bright; she shivered, remembering what he could do to her if he wanted.
The flames grew hotter.
She was going to explode.
"I like it. . ." she snarled, tearing her long nails down his chest—with enough pressure to elicit succulent welts even through his shirt— "when you shut the fuck up."
". . ." Nny smirked, bending down to give her throat a sharp nip. "As you wish."
XXX