As I said before this isn't a continuing stroy. It's more or less the extended ending. I just couldnt figure out which one suited my purpose more. Let me know.
Chapter two.
In the end it was she who broke. Clinging to him, begging him to make her clean again. And as always he obliged without a second thought. Stripping her of her doubts and grief as well as her bloodstained clothing. In the quiet of his apartment he attempted to restore to her, something of the vitality he had seen before, months ago. Entwined under the hot embrace of the water, he whispered things he never would have told her. Never should have told her. And she wept, the salt combined with the water rolling down the skin of his neck then fell away.
Her first hesitant touch came long after the water had turned cold. The second touch, more insistent and pointed drew him from his stupor. Now his hands were on her, touching, caressing, soothing and healing. Carefully he drew a fingure over her abused lips, tenderly settling on the corner of her mouth. Her hands in his hair pulled his mouth to hers. Nearing reverence he continued to touch her, dragging fingertips one by one across every inch of exposed skin.
He couldn't allow himself to think.
She tore her lips from his and continued her attack on his chin and neck, sometimes nipping at the sensitive skin, making him quiver.
He couldn't allow himself to dwell on the ways she was using him.
So he let her consume him.
With a growl he lifted her, pining her between his slick chest and the slick tile. His fingers found her in seconds and began to sooth the tension from her. Each time her head lolled back, it hit sharply against the tile and he winced as he felt the impact through her fragile body. But the increasing presure of her nails biting into his skin kept his concerns at bay.
Sometimes he hurt himself. Apparantly so did she.
After a moment she was begging for him to complete what he had started. Blood tasted coppery in his mouth as he bit back a sob, whether of anguish or frustration even he couldn't tell. Again he obliged her. Sinking into her hard, trying to repay some of her pain with his own. It made him sick to want revenge after all she had been trough. But the hatred had been written on her face. He failed to protect her. He failed her when it had mattered. And perhaps she would never forgive him. He could live with that, even as she was grinding against him in a desperate effort to release whatever had built inside her.
For a moment he realised what she had meant about feeling ugly shame that left you dirty. But as soon as he grasped the knowlegde that he too had been tainted it slipped away as he fell over the edge.
Red haze was all he could see as she extracted herself from him. Somehow on his knees, still in the small tile stall he watched her retreat from him. His heart could not be stilled. His breath would not be caught. Bowing forward, he curled into himself and did something he had never done before.
He prayed. He prayed for her forgiveness and for her mercy. He prayed that whatever had happened while she was Pfasters' prisoner would be as easily wiped from her mind as the water she now worked furiously to dry. Dry sobs wracked him, no tears could come. Not when he was so angry at her. At everything.
Her arms settling around his bare skin made him start violently. Pulling her roughly against his body he held her, unwilling to let her go, even if she chose to fight. She didn't. Instead she was at last still. Different. Peaceful. A soft kiss reasured him of that. Begging his forgiveness without words.
And he obliged. What else could he do when he loved her so?
Forgiven for something he never could have stopped.
Forgiving for something he could understand all too well.
End.