Lay Whimpering in These Sweat Soaked Sheets
By: Shattered Hourglass
Disclaimer: I do not own Shaman King
My hands trailing along your spine. Cold fingertips caressing your face. Lips pressing against your throat.
A mindless night of wild passion. All too quick to end. All too quick to repeat itself.
This sullen comfort, this mockery of love. We are addicted to it, aren't we?
By day, bitter enemies, rivals as we clash and snarl and bit and rip and tear at each other.
By night, false lovers, together as we tangle in the bed sheets, limbs intertwined, hot breath fanning each other, sweat soaked entities that gasp and moan and beg and plead.
It started as a mindless moment of indulgence. We did not think of the consequences, of the pain that the carnal pleasure of the flesh could bring. We still don't.
Even now, our bodies pressed so close together, my raven locks, (limp for once) tickling your face. Your soft lips take mine in a fevered, desperate embrace.
Touch me. Care for me. Love me.
They all but beg it as our tongues touch. My hands burying themselves in your silken strands as I answer your pleads.
I'll touch you. I'll take care of you. I love you.
And I do, though this is far from the relationship I had intended for us. Yes, this did play an important role in my mind's scheme, but there was more.
Dear spirits, there was more.
I tower over your prone form, pressing you harder against the bed; our lips never breaking contact. You whimper as your arms wrap around my back. You cling so tightly to me, as if you think that if you were to let go, I would vanish like everyone else in your life.
I don't plan on leaving you.
You choke on your own tears as I prepare you, despite your pleas for rough, raw sex. You want to be loved, but don't want me to be gentle or loving.
You want to fuck.
It's easier for you that way. If we fuck, then there isn't any love between us. If we fuck, you can rationalize it as hormones and a moment of weakness. If we fuck, you can tell yourself that I don't really care for you; that you aren't weak, aren't hurt, aren't anything.
Even now as I enter you, ignoring you tear filled screams and pleading to go faster; you try to act as if it means nothing to you.
Even once we finish in our little charade, and you curl into yourself, sobbing brokenly, you act as though it means nothing.
Even when my hands go to comfort and wipe away tears, you shy away, you can't accept the comfort I offer. It's as if you are standing right before me, eyes pleading for attention and love; but for every step I take towards you, you take two steps back.
I wish I could say I didn't understand you or why you do such things; but I can. I want to blame your painful past, or your pride for your actions, but I can't.
I look at your limbs and frame, disgust filling my amber eyes. You are so thin now; so pale. I feel as though my touch will shatter you. I don't remember you being so thin the first time we committed our selfish indulgence. I don't remember your collar bone feeling quite so prominent when I first gripped your shoulders.
I don't remember you having nearly as many scars either. You whimper as I trail my fingers down them, trying again to deny my touch. I want to know what caused them. Was it the X-Laws you are so quick to worship? Or did you do this to yourself?
I can't even say anything to you, for fear of you pulling even farther away from me.
A Tao fears nothing. What an egotistical lie. I fear many things. I fear my blood soaked past. I fear failure. I fear losing those I have finally allowed close to me. I fear losing you.
I want to take you away from this tournament. I want to kill Hao so you can move past him. I want to keep you someplace where you'd be safe and cared for.
Even if I could, you would not allow it. You place is here, as you would say. Here, with the X-Laws. Here, in these sheets damp with sweat and our own fluids. Here, where you sob over your empty life and deny the love and comfort you beg for from the one who is more than willing to give it to you.
I sit next to you, pulling your small body towards my own. You are quick to bury your face in my lap. My fingers pet you, weaving though your hair, as I croon soft murmurs of comfort that sound so strange coming from me.
You want someone to love you, to hold you, to cherish you; but you're afraid. Everyone who has ever been dear to you has either left you, or was taken away.
I lie back, pulling you into my arms. Your head rest upon my chest, and you listen to the rhythmic beating of my heart. It is quick to lull you sleep, as it always is.
I like it when you sleep. Your face is calm and innocent, even though it still looks so sad.
When morning comes, we will be enemies once more. You will go worship your iron wrought god, while I fall deeper into the growing exceptions of my comrades.
We will part ways until we find ourselves here again, tangled in the bed sheets; until we find ourselves lost in physical ecstasy and false love and lies and pleads. Until you shatter and break and fall completely to the insanity of it all.
Lay whimpering in these sweat soaked sheets.