Thank you Ari Goddess of Night, SwordsgirlJackie and Guest for reviewing to last chapter! :D
"You know. It's not safe to wander the streets at night. Two beautiful young ladies such as yourselves... who knows what the ill-intentioned would do to you."
Lily whimpered in fear and the woman was quick to turn around and push the little girl behind her with her left hand as she raised her right hand to point her gun at the owner of that voice. She glared at the man standing not three metres away from her; his hands were up in a peace gesture but his smile was down-right predatory. And the emotions she could pick up from him... God, they chilled her to the bone.
"Back off." The woman snarled. "Or I'll shoot."
"Don't be-"
The woman shot without a second warning, with such cold blood and accuracy that she startled herself. Her bullet followed a straight line to the man's forehead.
It would've killed him instantly if he hadn't glitched out of existence just at the right moment before reappearing a bit to her right.
(...)
"Run, Lily." The woman spoke, not daring to avert her gaze from the man. "Run and hide. I'll find you."
"B-Back off." The woman repeated, this time not nearly as bravely as before. Without Lily there demanding that she be strong enough for both of them - and knowing that even a gun wasn't enough to ensure her safety - she could allow her voice, and her whole body, to tremble in fear.
The man chuckled, his one visible eye literally sparkling with mirth. "Or what?"
The woman gulped. There were no threats she could make; her firearm was the only advantage she supposedly had over the purple-suited man. With him being able to so easily avoid her bullets - how he did that was a question that she didn't even consider at the moment. by far not the most unbelievable thing she'd seen in the last hours - she was completely defenseless. She needed to protect the little girl, but what could she do?
Sebastian! I need to call him.
"Come on, tell me. I'm curious what you'll come up with." The man coaxed. "You've always been so creative."
"And how would you know?" She asked, finally lowering her gun. It was useless, for now. "I'm pretty sure we've never met before, Mister."
Then again, not like I'd remember.
The man's unsettling smile slowly dropped from his lips as he narrowed his one visible eye at her. The stare was even more intimidating than his mocking smile. His eye was of a unique blue, clear as a Summer sky and seemingly just as infinite. Being the sole focus of that stare felt like being watched from above, as if there was nothing she could do to escape his vision, or his intentions for her.
"You really don't remember..." He mused mostly to himself. For a moment he seemed disappointed and she suddenly felt a pang of hurt in her chest, but she didn't know if it was her emotion or his.
But then his sad look was gone and he was once again smiling widely at her.
"I guess you didn't get out unscathed from all of this in the end. But nothing that can't be fixed. You're still you in your core; I just need to add some final touches. It'll be... delicious, molding you to my tastes."
Again the woman was hit by a wave of intense emotions coming from that man. Dark intent, twisted passion, perverted joy... it all came to her at once, making her feel nauseous and dizzy. Her vision tunneled and before she knew it, her weight was being supported by a pair of strong, gloved hands holding her shoulders.
"Calm down, Anima mia." He purred, moving one hand to her chin so he could raise her face to him. She could see his eye twinkle in fascination at the large bruise and dried blood marring her features. "I have you now."
The woman saw him close his eyes softly as he lowered his face to hers, intending to steal a kiss. She should've felt horrified - and a part of her did - but her body relaxed in the man's arms and next she knew she was kissing him back, as if following some sort of muscle memory.
An image exploded in her mind. Tangled sheets, a Polaroid camera laying on the night-stand, and a mangled eye staring down at her...
As if electrified, the woman pushed the man away from her. He just chuckled at her antics and moved in again but before he could grab her one more time she turned around and barged into the house, quickly closing the door and locking it as she had done so little time ago to bar the monsters coming after her. She had succeeded that time, but she knew this particular monster would not be deterred by that barrier if he didn't want to. Thankfully for her, he seemed to be in a playful mood and instead of barging in he just knocked softly on the wood.
"Honey, I'm home~." He sang, and then laughed at his own joke. "Won't you open the door?"
The woman started to cry then, staring at the door with fear and confusion and arousal all mixed together in a madness-inducing cocktail of emotions. What was that image? A memory of them? But... didn't she have a husband? A husband that died for her?
What is happening?
Her vision was starting to blur, prompting her to dry her tears in the back f her hand, and mid-way in the motion she noticed something on the floor. It was hope, in the form of a large chunk of metal with buttons.
The communicator!
Quickly she dived for the communicator, taking it in her trembling hands and fumbling with it desperately. She had just managed to turn on the thing when the violent sound of pounding reached her ears, startling her into dropping the device.
"Honey! I'm getting a bit impatient here."
There was no mirth in his voice this time. She had to be quick.
"Miss? Is that you? Something happened?"
"Sebastian!" She let out as she retrieved the communicator from the floor and brought it close to her mouth. "I found Lily! She's alive, but there's a man after her and-"
The door suddenly flew in an arch, slamming the opposite wall with enough strength to make a dent in it. The man in the purple suit looked as the devil himself. And he had a camera in his hands.
"Who are you talking to, love?"
There was a flash and she felt her blood froze in her veins, making it impossible for her to move a muscle. Her vision was overcame by a screen of light blue and somehow she started hearing classical music - his favourite, a voice whispered inside her mind - and beyond it she also heard Sebastian on the other side of the line, screaming at her to tell him what was happening, where was Lily, who was the man - "-SOMETHING! FOR FUCK'S SAKE JUST SAY SOMETHING!" - but she could not reply. She could not move her lips, or her body, or her eyes.
She could only watch in fear as the man strut towards her and calmly removed the communicator from her frozen fingers. Not moving his piercing blue eye from her, he raised the device to his ear. At hearing the desperate man on the other line, he smiled-
"Ciao."
- and promptly turned off the communicator.
"I think I'll hold on to that, if you don't mind." The devil purred, putting the communicator away. "So... you and him, huh? Already getting bored of me?"
He grabbed her chin then, painfully hard. But still she was unable to pull away.
What has he done to me?
"It's alright. I know how hard it is to keep the attention of someone such as you- such as us. But don't worry, I'll make you remember how much you need me."
He kissed her one more time then, this time with violence and possessiveness, as if he could shove down her throat what he wanted her to feel. Once he was satisfied, he pulled back and smiled that cocky, predatory smile of his.
"You'll never again forget the name Stefano Valentini."
Hearing his name made something click in her mind as it was once again assaulted by a sequence of images. One after the other, in quick succession, they guided and misled the woman, giving her multiple pieces of the puzzle that was her past but not telling her where to put them.
Those images, the horror of her reality, this man and his emotions... it all was too much for her. She blacked out.
And she dreamed.
"You always come here alone, and yet there's a ring on your finger. Where is your husband?"
"At work. Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"He could also be at he the Grand Hotel with his secretary."
"Ah, the most traditional affair in modern history. Tolstoy wrote that all families are unhappy in their own way, but reality proves his words wrong time and time again. All of you married people are the same. Cheating husband, unhappy wife."
"..."
"Why are you smiling?"
"You must be very frustrated with your life if your idea of flirting is trying to crawl under someone's skin."
"How presumptuous of you."
"Am I wrong?"
"..."
"Ah, the most traditional strategy of men in all history. To prey upon supposedly emotionally vulnerable women. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mister. My husband may be having an affair but it doesn't make me unhappy."
"Maybe not unhappy, but undoubtedly lonely. Don't deny it."
"Lonely... maybe so. But aren't we all? Don't we all go around feeling a bit empty inside, looking for the one thing that we believe will fulfill us, only to do it all over again after just a little while? Isn't that why every time I come here you have a new photo to show? And so often it is a piece of gore and pain... It makes one wonder if your bachelor life is such a wonderful concept after all. Mister Valentini."
"Oh, so you're of them? One of the neophyte critics who talk about of they don't understand, who criticize my work without ever, truly, seeing it. My creations are works of beauty. If you're incapable of appreciating it-"
"I'm a fan actually."
"...What?"
"You're not afraid to romanticize human pain, to showcase it as something to be beholden and appreciated. Don't look so smug so soon; most often than not your photos are macabre, close to horrific. But all of that is part of being human. Despite what people preach in their well-being movements, pain and blood and loneliness are part of life, just as joy and sunshine and love. There's no worse of better. All these emotions are beautiful in their own right, in their own time. And while it's easy to portray the good things as beautiful, it takes courage to show the bad things as such as well. And I admire you for doing that. Also, your montages are amazingly realistic. It takes a lot of talent to make it all so believable."
"You... You're an artist as well, are you not?"
"I like to think so, yes. Though it's been almost three years since I last put anything on display. Out there, in Krimson City, it was hard to make a living out of my artwork. People there didn't really enjoy my style much, said it was too chaotic. I painted some realistic portrayals and landscapes as well, but it was never enough to pay the bills so I had to give it all up and find other ways to make money. And here... well, I'm just an unhappy house wife."
"You still create though?"
"Yes. With my husband supporting me, I've had the conditions to continue painting. See? Being the wife of a cheating businessman has its perks."
"Show me."
Her palms were sweaty when she opened the doors to her studio. It had been too long since she last showed her work to anyone with an opinion that actually mattered. Sure, her husband would drop by sometimes to take a look at her work but she knew he only did that out of a sense of guilt and not actual interest in her work.
She never did understand his guilt. If he regretted cheating, why did he do it at all? She'd seen his secretary and honestly didn't believe the woman bettered her in physical appearance, and certainly not in passion between the sheets. Not that her husband would know, he never did dare anything new - dirty -with her, always kept the same routine. She didn't mind it too much though; she didn't choose him because of his prowess in bed, she chose him because of the way he looked and smiled at her. She chose him because she could feel how much he loved her every time they locked their gazes. He adored her and didn't attempt to hide it, and even his infidelity didn't hold a candle to such an absolute emotion. She knew she could do anything to him and he would never leave her.
And she enjoyed having someone to rely upon in such a manner, so she chose him. Even though she didn't quite love him.
She didn't regret marrying him. He was funny, smart, companionable and kind. She didn't mind his physical infidelity, as long as he never betrayed her emotionally.
And now it would be hypocritical of her to protest against his affair anyway, because she knew she was about to have one of her own with the man walking in front of her, perusing her art - her very soul - leisurely.
Stefano Valentini. Former war photographer. In Krimson City he was an artist pursuing his dark muse, while taking freelance jobs as a fashion photographer on the side. She could only imagine how much of a toll it took on the prideful man, having to subject himself to the fashion industry only to pay his bills because his work didn't appeal to the masses. She understood him because she had experienced the same thing when she moved back to the US.
They were very similar; both artists who came to Union because they couldn't make it in Krimson City. Both humans searching for one last chance of holding onto their passions.
He had succeeded. Somehow people in Union were more accepting of his artistic views, as if they could feel his almost obsessive passion just by looking at his photos. Every week he had a new photo to showcase in the gallery, and while some were of a more gentle nature to appease the critics, most were true to his ambitions.
She had succeeded as well, though he might not see it as such. She could create her art without worries, expressing her feelings and ideas through fantastical images that were as impossible as they were realistic. Ever since arriving in Union she had managed to paint to her heart's content and that was enough for her. Certainly one day she'd want more, but now, after two years of struggling without even being able to purchase the adequate materials for her craft, this was heaven. Her own personal heaven.
And he was standing right in the middle of it.
"You like it?" She asked with a smile. She knew he did, and it made her heart beat just a little bit faster.
Stefano didn't reply though, his one functioning eye completely fixed on the painting in front of him.
It was a piece reminiscent of a painting from her time outside Union, one of the few that she had sold at a good price. Not in Krimson City, of course, but in Berlin. It was part of a collection of paintings of an area of the Tiergarten, but a different version of the gorgeous park, filled with dark hues of purple, black and gray, with silvery, ghostly figures wandering around hand in hand.
She remembered how proud she had been of that particular work, and how hard it was parting with it. But she was an ascending artist, fresh of the Academy of Fine Arts in Munich, and it would be madness for one in such a situation to refuse selling her craft just as it was starting to gain attention of the community.
Her exposition then had been a success, albeit small. And he had been there to witness it, taking it all in with rapid attention. He still had both of his eyes back then.
"I knew I had seen you before, but couldn't quite put my finger on it." He said, not moving his sharp eye from her piece. "You hair was red. Longer too."
"I used to paint it." She admitted with a smile. "I'm surprised you remember."
"How could I forget? I punched a man for you that day."
The woman chuckled at the memory. "Yes. It was an ex-boyfriend. We had gone to Art School together in Munich, but I left for that opportunity to do my own exposition in Berlin and he did not take it very well. He had showed up and started shooting harsh critics all night to all who'd listen, saying how poor my technique was, how a child on LSD could do better work than me. I remember at one point he started to scream those insults at me in front of everyone. I was so close to bursting into tears when you marched through the crowd and took a swing at him. No explanations."
"He was a fool. Sputtering nonsensical critics about your work out of pure jealousy and ignorance; he was asking for someone to put him in his place."
"And so you did. It meant a lot to me, to have someone stand up and defend my work like that."
"I know." Then, finally, he moved his eye from her piece and stared at her. The light blue of his eye had darkened and he was smiling charmingly at her. The lines on his face were extremely pronounced, and she found it absolutely beautiful. "You slept with me that night because of that."
She stared back at him and smiled a much softer, much warmer smile.
"It wasn't only because of that." She whispered, laying a gentle hand on his cheek, caressing those expression lines that had charmed her in Berlin all those years ago, and still did today.
His mask faltered at her touch and beneath all his poise and confidence she saw a flash of recognition in the darkened blue of his eye. Both looked at each other and saw their barest and most truthful form as humans. Incomplete, searching and, in that one moment, finding.
"Prove it." He breathed out, raising his gloved hand to her face in a mimicry of her action. "Show it to me."
The woman felt her heartbeat rise in a steep curve and prayed that her hands didn't start trembling. Stefano radiated a sort of raw, barely contained passion that she hadn't felt in another human being in a far too long time. Even in herself such emotion was only truly allowed to flourish in certain moments of her day; when she was painting, and when she was alone in her bed, exploring her own body in a way her husband never really attempted to.
Slowly she pulled the hand that was cupping her cheek down and in between their bodies so she could pull out the glove from it. The appendage was warm and moist with sweat from being confined for such a lengthy period of time but it didn't bother her. She welcomed the sensation and pulled his palm towards her, until it was nestled between her breasts, over her heartbeat.
She saw Stefano exhale through his mouth when he felt the accelerated rhythm of her heart and she just knew his already inflated ego was dancing in pleasure at seeing how much he was affecting her. Her heart wasn't only beating faster, it was close to bursting out of her ribcage.
"Is this prove enough?" She asked, lowering her gaze to his hand, tracing a couple of battlefield scars with her thumb. "I can give you more. If you want."
Stefano took lead then. He pulled his hand away from her chest and grabbed the back of her thighs, hauling up her body so she could wrap her legs around his waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clutched to him for dear life, pressing their cheeks together.
"Where do you want to do this?" He growled in her ear. "Your bedroom, so we can leave plenty of evidence for your husband. So that fool can see what happens when your eyes wander? Or here, right in the middle of your personal sanctuary. To imprint a memory in this space of beauty that represents your very soul?"
"Here." She answered without hesitation. "Here is perfect."
She felt the satisfaction radiating from the artist as he kissed her cheek and pressed her just a bit tighter to himself.
"Well, then. Let's make art."
So, guys. As you can see there'll be smut in this fic. L-O-T-S of smut. ;)
As usual I'll abide to fanfiction's rules and not post any explicit content in here. Instead I'll post a censored version of the MA-rated chapters and provide a link to the full, MA-rated chapter in AO3 for those interested in it. :)
Hope you enjoyed it and please let me know what you think! :D
Kisses,
RedVoid
