A/N: Enjoying, my darlings.
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Red River
"Together," he repeated softly, his eyes still squeezed shut; a child that wished they could go back in time to where two brothers played together in a garden. It was a warm memory that fought against the chill of the wind, describing what he had always deeply desired – someone that might love him. But even memories could be distorted by time, and soon enough his warped sense of self overshadowed that bright green garden, blurring the face of a mother who watched from the window. Erik swallowed against the memory that had now begun to fade, and even when the scene within his mind morphed to a murky black, he reached up his arms to complete Christine's embrace. He needed her somehow, and not just to fuck…although he was dying to be inside of her…No. He somehow knew that if he kept hanging onto her – as delicate a thing as she was – that he might learn the source of her strength. Yet even still, he could feel the memory of the garden as if it were living and breathing, cowering in the corners of his soul that could not be ripped away or drowned.
There was indeed truth inside of Bruce's warnings; he did not know how to love her while hatred lurked within every ounce of blood that gave way to his life force, a cruel allotment that compelled his heart to continue on. He could not keep ignoring the daily shudders of pain, the needles he pushed into his own veins every twelve hours, biting his lip against the burning that grew inside of those intricate red rivers…
Blood.
How much blood had been spilled on his account? How many people had he killed during the war…how many empty eyes had he seen? He remembered the sallow faces, the jaundiced skin hanging off of bones, the tiny light of life fading from bright green eyes. And what was that light? Was it the passing of the soul from one realm to the next? Had he bestowed too much power upon himself through the senselessness of violence, although it was praised by his superiors, and even his own father?
And then…was it retribution that had occurred? Did his own capture save hundreds of lives that would not have been spared? Did he deserve what had happened, for which was worse; the capture, rape, and torture of one man…or a large pile of bodies laying on a dead foundation of weeds, stinking of mortality and burnt flesh?
Put me beside Vanderbilt…he kills everything and everyone in his path.
Erik forced his eyes to open. His heart throbbed with the terrible need to be understood, to perhaps explain to Bruce that it wasn't just the torture, or the fucking, or the German with the blue eyes…
It was a war he had been raging against himself since the very first man he had killed.
Throat slit, the man's eyes had hung out of their sockets while Erik held a hand against a stab wound…he remembered the dark red texture seeping out from between his fingers…he saw the knife fall from the dead man's hands…
"Erik!" Christine's voice was laced with fear as he slipped through her arms, falling to the cold stone floor of the balcony. He landed upon his knees, and reached up warily for a hold on the black iron railing, desperately trying not to black out from the pain. He could feel her hands on his face, checking his eyes as they rolled to the back of his head…
Fuck. He was having a fit. Right in front of her.
"Erik, look at me, please look at me…God, help! Someone help!" She was crying now, and he wanted to stop her, to calm her, to let her know he could still hear her, but the panic swirled like a flurry of wind and rain, and his hands went numb, and next would be the blackout…
Erik hated himself as he felt his consciousness slipping away, and the very last thing he heard was her blood curdling scream as his head smashed into the railing. He was falling down, falling fast into his own personal hell, with an audience of intrusive and invasive thoughts that sewed thorns into his flesh, never to be healed or plucked out…
He awoke in a cold sweat, not knowing where he was at first, and he let out a guttural cry. He felt tender hands upon his cheeks, and he heard her voice through the roar of his racing heart, tracing little patterns across the scars of his face.
"Erik," Christine's voice broke…had she been crying? His eyes slowly focused above him to the lovely curve of her heart shaped face, and the dark fringes of waves that surrounded it's flawless beauty. She gasped audibly when his eyes met hers, and she bent down quickly to bestow a kiss upon his open lips…and she didn't stop there. She kissed the entirety of his naked face, and he could barely move any of his limbs, with how heavy they felt…as if they were made of stone instead of flesh. She was moving her mouth against his angry red scarring, tracing bits of it with her tongue, smoothing back his hair with her hands…he sighed deeply, closing his eyes once more.
"You…" he whispered, his throat tight and dry, "you don't have to do this, Christine. I'm all right, I…I just…"
"You hit your head on the railing, Erik…it…it was like you were dead," Christine murmured tearfully, clutching the sides of his face with her hands. "I was so afraid…and you…you kept repeating this name, over and over. I didn't know what was happening, and I…I called for help. Bruce helped me get you onto the bed…and he wrapped up the wound on your head. I was so frightened, Erik…God," her voice stung with hot tears and blackened fear, and he watched her from where he lay, his head beginning to throb. "Please tell me what happened…was it something that I said? Did it…hurt you? Was it too much? Oh, I know I'd said too much too soon…I'm so sorry," she whimpered, kissing him upon the lips again. Even though his entire body felt paralyzed, he did not want to stop her kisses, anymore…they were the only thing that kept him clinging to consciousness, for the darkness beckoned sinfully with a long, white finger…
Vacant. Wide. Dead.
"Help me sit up," he muttered, his fingers itching to touch her in return, to let her know that somehow, she had saved him this time…that somehow, she was his protector; nothing more, nothing less.
"Erik, no! You need to rest…please rest…just don't close your eyes. Bruce told me to keep you awake. He thinks you might have gotten a concussion…"
Erik began to feel blood trickling through his veins again, those terrific red rivers that could bring both pain and endless joy. He began to move his body slowly, adjusting himself so that he was propped up slightly upon the copious pillows behind him on the bed. "Lay next to me," he pleaded, lifting a hand toward her face. "Lay with me, please…"
Christine climbed over his body immediately, the ends of her hair dragging along his abdomen. He realized that he was shirtless, and that there was dried blood soaked into the dark of his chest hair. "How badly did I bleed?" He asked quietly, feeling her body press into his, her fingers tangled up in his hair. "Very badly," she answered, a deep sigh rippling through her body. "Can you tell me what happened? Bruce said he's never seen you like…like that…we were both terrified, Erik…"
Erik moaned softly. "It was just a fit…I have them sometimes. But I usually take sedatives and…and that keeps me from…well, from blacking out."
"Blacking out? But…listen, I know you were upset. You were crying into me, and…and I kept talking about forgiveness, about things that hurt us, about the past…it must have been too much for you. I shouldn't have…said all of those things. Not at once, anyway…" Christine explained hastily, desperately wanting him to reveal more of his mind to her, so that perhaps she could begin to understand his unraveling, his scarring…his past that was seemingly built from nothing but shades of pain.
"No, Little Dove, it wasn't anything you said…it was my own mind," Erik said through clenched teeth, steadying his eyes upon her worried visage. "Can you bring me something for the pain? My head…it's…"
"Yes," she responded instantly, uncurling herself from beside him.
"Go ask Bruce for some morphine…and please hurry…I need you here, with me. And kiss me before you go. Then when you come back, kiss me again." Erik's voice was low in his throat, although he meant to beg her…but it came out as more of a gentle command. He saw her eyes glitter with longing as she registered his orders, and she knelt beside him on the bed, stroking a finger along the edge of his forehead. "Whatever you ask of me, I will do," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him again. He responded against her, moving against her lips with a forcefulness that could not be reigned in. She pushed herself into him further, exploring the scars that were still stitched up, kissing each one with a delicate decadence. As she finally pulled away, he found his breath coming in heaves, and a warmth stirring underneath his skin.
Fuck.
"Don't you dare close your eyes…I'll be back with the morphine as fast as I can. Bruce still has guests in the house, but…he said we won't be bothered in his bedroom." Christine crawled off of the bed, and hurried across the room, making sure to shut the door behind her. Erik stared up at the ceiling, listening to the muted noises of the party that still seemed to be in full swing. Fuck those insolent brats of society that Bruce favored…yet he was almost thankful for them in this moment, for they would be too caught up in their own gossip, their own tiny little lives to care or know what was happening just a hallway away. Or, what was possibly about to happen…Erik groaned aloud. His cock was already throbbing, needing to burst forth from the confinement of his belt. He wondered when the hell he had even gotten hard…was it when she started to move against him? Had she seen his need for her? Did she plan on…
No….fuck! She's married. She's married, you insolent ass…you can't fuck her…
He turned his head toward the balcony, noticing the doors were still flung open. It was peaceful, almost…with the curtains shivering against the wind like slivers of gauze, the same bullshit wound patching that now marred half of his head. Fucking Bruce…can't even clean a wound right. The city called distantly through the open doors, but there was enough silence within the room that he could still hear his thoughts, the ones that didn't care if she were still married, the ones that made his chest flutter anxiously, excitedly…
The door across the room opened, and Christine slipped through, holding a folded leather satchel in her hands. "Bruce wanted to administer the morphine, but I told him you'd rather have me do it…unless you object?" Christine raised an eyebrow, sitting on the edge of the bed near Erik's legs. She let her eyes wander across his naked chest, the thickened muscle of his pectorals, all the way down to the silver buckle of his belt. She put a hand on his torso, rubbing it back and forth, feeling the prickle of his flesh react against hers. "Don't worry, I'll give you just enough…" she purred, and he gripped the sheets against the cool touch of her hands. "God…" Erik whispered, his voice a dry rasp in his throat. "We shouldn't, Christine…"
"I think we should just…see how things go," she answered while moving slyly to straddle him, the warmth between her legs aggravating his already hardened cock. "Fuck…but I need the morphine." He was begging her now, helpless to the mischievous gleam in her eyes, and the curve of her breasts against the open moonlight.
"Oh, I almost forgot," she teased, dragging herself off of him. He groaned accidently, for her leg seemed to purposely rub against his crotch…she took his left arm gently and laid it out on the sheets, his veins facing up toward the ceiling. She tied a thick rubber strand on the lower half of his bicep, pulling a syringe from the satchel that was filled halfway with clear liquid. "Tell me…when…to stop," she breathed, sliding the needle into one of his larger veins. His skin was now so sensitive to her touch that he gasped at the sliding of the needle, his eyes smoldering with need as she stared back at him, breathless. Her breasts were rising and falling underneath her blouse, and her hair fell around her, much like the moment he had seen her through his skylight. "God, it's as if…you're made of starlight, of sky…" Erik moaned, pushing his body upward against the sting of the needle. Suddenly, every ounce of pain within him faded away.
There was her, and only her.
He closed his eyes as he felt her mount him again, once she had untied the rubber strand from his arm. "Keep your eyes open," she commanded softly, "I don't want you to black out." Christine slowly began to move against him, undoing the buttons of her slacks to reveal dark, lacey underwear. Erik reached forward, the morphine hitting him with a dizzying array of euphoria. He slid his thumbs along the waistband of her underwear, grazing his fingers into the soft skin of her belly, numbed by the electricity that spurned from her movements, urging him to go further. She was breathing hard and fast, bending down to undo the buckle of his belt. As she pulled down his briefs with nimble hands, his cock sprung forth, and she licked the bit of dew that was settled upon his engorged pink tip. Erik arched his body underneath the wet kiss of her lips, moaning uncontrollably as she took his entirety in her mouth. He felt himself already getting close – fuck! – and he reached forward to touch her chin with his hands, pulling her mouth away, trying to steady his breathing as she stared down at him, her hair wild around the edges of her flushed skin.
"Give me…a moment…" Erik gasped, moving a finger along the curved lines of her lips. She extended her tongue along his finger, taking it into her mouth and sucking on it loudly. "God," Erik moaned, "you're going to make me…lose it…"
"I want you inside of me, Erik…I want you to…feel me, feel everything at once…" she paused, pulling the loosened slacks down off of her hips. "And I want to feel you."
He could see the pink of her cunt through her lacey underwear, and he moaned further when she pulled her panties down to her knees…and she was…completely shaved. Erik marveled at the hairlessness of her sex, wanting to pull himself up from where he lay to lick and suck her until she screamed…
God, he was helpless to her now. She surged forward like an immovable storm, allowing her wetness to dribble onto his naked thighs…she was untamable and unstoppable, and he could do naught but bite into his lip to keep his groaning quiet. Christine positioned herself above him, bending one knee to the side, arching her head back as she pushed his reddened tip up inside of her…and slowly, she sank down upon him, allowing him to fill her up, crying out against the girth and the warmth of him inside of her. Erik forced his eyes to stay open as she moved her hips methodically, up and down the entire shaft of his cock. His breathing was ragged, dismembered, out of control…he gripped her thighs with red veined hands, rocking her back and forth, matching her rhythm with every thrust…
And fuck, was he close.
"Oh Erik…Erik…Erik…" Christine was moaning his name, over and over as he felt her tightness swallow his cock whole, and God he wanted to keep going, he wanted to be inside of her forever…
And for once in his loathsome, fearful, and violent life, he felt as though he were connected to another, so completely and irrevocably…
And he knew then, that he loved her…loved her without her knowing…But he knew, deep down that he was showing her his love with every movement, with every wet, engorged thrust…
He was bewitched by her…stupefied by her…and he wanted to stop the moment he came inside of her, for he was immediately afraid of something other than the demons that haunted his not so distant past…
As she collapsed on top of him, breathing into him, his heart feared for something he had never felt before…
Being so deeply in love, so maddeningly deep that he could not control himself. And he knew he would die then, without her…if she left him that night, or the next day, or any day thereafter…
He would simply die; his heart would burst into a million red rivers…alone at the bottom of his soul along with the dead, and the shattered pieces of his mother's magnolias.
…
A/N: Well? What are we feeling? I hope you all are enjoying the holidays, and as always, thank you for reading. Love, L.