Summary: There's anger and darkness and… then there's Myka and Helena is almost sure she is doing things wrong.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine
Notes: So… the idea of dark!Helena with her twisted emotions is just not going away anymore o.O So while this is somewhat of a companion piece to Forbidden Emotions, it can also be read as a standalone. This story is kinda dark and not at all fluffy, so consider yourselves warned!
"Don't talk!" The words, demanding and angry, come out in a mixture somewhere between a hiss and a snarl, and considerably harsher than intended. Helena feels unhinged and agitated. It's unsettling how easily Myka seems to be able to get into her head and under her skin when she feels like this and Helena simply can't allow that. She just can't allow Myka to not only wheedle herself into her heart but also her head; it's bad enough that a simple smile from Myka can make her chest tighten with love and her heart flutter with excitement. There are things, plans and thoughts, that she needs to keep hidden no matter the cost and Myka, Myka with her kind eyes and gentle, understanding smiles, is too easy to confide in. She has spent more than a hundred years plotting; she isn't going to risk it for love's moments of folly.
There's surprise in Myka's expression and maybe a little hurt (and Helena is distantly aware that she is going to feel terrible about this, once the flare of stark madness that's driving her actions is exhausted), but Myka doesn't stop Helena or even protest when Helena yanks unceremoniously at her shirt and rather carelessly divests Myka of her clothing. Myka believes in her beyond reason and seems willing to yield when Helena wants or needs her to; always. And for a moment it's there, out in the open, insanity, as white-hot boiling anger bubbles up in Helena in response to Myka's implicit and completely undeserved trust, and she barely resists the disturbing and violent urge to beat some sense back into Myka. Instead she's gripping her just this bit too hard, fingers pressing into Myka's soft, warm skin probably with enough force to bruise.
Nearly Helena's full weight presses down squarely through her forearm on Myka's shoulder blades to keep her restrained and largely motionless, where she is trapped lying on her stomach underneath Helena, a pillow wedged underneath her hips. Myka is panting, face turned to the side and half hidden under a mass of unruly curls. Helena, even though she can feel insanity gripping her mind, is not delusional enough to think, even for a second, that Myka couldn't break free of her hold if she wanted to, but Myka submits willingly and the realisation sends a thrill of excitement through Helena that is quite distressing in its intensity and painfully arousing.
Maybe, Helena thinks, later, when she can feel the sweat on Myka's skin under her fingers starting to dry and cool off, she shouldn't have dismissed Adwin Kosans offer of professional counseling so easily; not with the guilty sobs of shame that came unbidden and unexpected when Myka still shuddered through her climax, or the tears that keep silently spilling down her cheeks although she's not even sure why she's crying in the first place. Not to mention the dreams of blood and violence and all-encompassing darkness that only lessened in their frequency since she's not sleeping alone anymore. Myka seems to be able to appease the monster, the madness inside at least a little. But still, there is anger - so much anger - and resentment lingering in her and Helena can feel it intertwining with the unexpected (and endlessly complicating) feelings Myka instilled in her heart until there is only a twisted knot of demanding, angry, unreasonable desire left. Helena can't deny that she is worried, worried about what she might do to Myka and what Myka would let her do without reservation.
"It's okay, you know." Myka whispers softly, when Helena's tears finally stop, fingers caressing random, but soothing patterns on Helena's back through her clothing and presses a kiss against Helena's temple. "If I were you, I'd be confused as well."
Helena wants to ask Myka why she's allowing her to do this, why she's so forgiving, so infuriatingly understanding, but doesn't, because she dreads the answer, dreads that she isn't the only one that fell in love. So instead she clings to Myka, pressing her face against the column of Myka's throat, lips tasting salt as they brush over Myka's skin with every word. "Myka, make love to me."