Want (Angels Unlimited)
Ska-weee, got more BPAL today! =D Thank you very much, Prima, I am so very, very pleased. *sniffs The Darkling Thrush* Mmm.... Now I have an extra imp of Forbidden Fruit, which I gave to my mum.
Ekwy: Here mum, you can have this.
Mum: Yay! =D Now I can go around smelling like forbidden fruit!
Ekwy: I'm... happy for you? =D
*merrily keeps on trucking* Hm, I wonder if I should claim another prompt after I'm done with this one... This is kind of fun!
Title: Want
Fandom: Angels Unlimited
Character/Pairing: Brice
Prompt List: Sin and Salvation
Prompt: Anathema: A scent as heavy as thunder from the Vatican, with notes that inspire every sin and excess. Black opium, with vetivert and honeysuckle.
Rating: R for sexing.
Word Count: 331
Author's Notes: Part three of six, follows Freeze. Astrid is an OC.
Summary: Maybe lust is as good as it gets, in Hell.
As he moves in her and lets her touch ignite fires in his mind, in his body, he wonders if there was ever such a thing as love or if it’s only a pretty fairy tale you lull children to sleep with at night. It feels like a fantasy, difficult to believe in a place like this.
Maybe lust is as good as it gets, in Hell. And hey, it’s not bad. It’s great, actually. Astrid smells sweet and heady, like some exotic and poisonous flower, and she writhes against him, welcoming him. Claiming and demanding she is, the demoness, and when she orders him to do it harder he just obeys, because this is escape for both of them. In her embrace he can focus on her scent instead of the heavy stink of sulphur and brimstone that surrounds everything here, and he can forget. It’s good. It’s great. It makes it more bearable.
She asks him to hurt her, and he closes his hands around her throat, squeezing without hesitating. She laughs hoarsely, her long fingernails digging into his back. And he deserves the pain, welcomes it as a distraction. He deserves more.
More he gets. Blood is trickling down his back from where her nails pierced his skin, and she claws up his neck, pulling at his hair and forcing him down to kiss her. Her lips are as soft as rose petals, but they are pulled back soon and reveal her sharp, brilliantly white teeth. She chews on his bottom lip until he can feel the faint taste of iron on his tongue, and then his body tenses and he collapses on top of her, panting heavily, for a second lost in post-coital bliss. It won’t last long, he knows, so he enjoys the few short moments when everything is fine, before his resentment and shame returns.
He has been dead for thirteen months. Ten of those have been spent in Hell.
He is sixteen years old.
Ekwy: Here mum, you can have this.
Mum: Yay! =D Now I can go around smelling like forbidden fruit!
Ekwy: I'm... happy for you? =D
*merrily keeps on trucking* Hm, I wonder if I should claim another prompt after I'm done with this one... This is kind of fun!
Title: Want
Fandom: Angels Unlimited
Character/Pairing: Brice
Prompt List: Sin and Salvation
Prompt: Anathema: A scent as heavy as thunder from the Vatican, with notes that inspire every sin and excess. Black opium, with vetivert and honeysuckle.
Rating: R for sexing.
Word Count: 331
Author's Notes: Part three of six, follows Freeze. Astrid is an OC.
Summary: Maybe lust is as good as it gets, in Hell.
As he moves in her and lets her touch ignite fires in his mind, in his body, he wonders if there was ever such a thing as love or if it’s only a pretty fairy tale you lull children to sleep with at night. It feels like a fantasy, difficult to believe in a place like this.
Maybe lust is as good as it gets, in Hell. And hey, it’s not bad. It’s great, actually. Astrid smells sweet and heady, like some exotic and poisonous flower, and she writhes against him, welcoming him. Claiming and demanding she is, the demoness, and when she orders him to do it harder he just obeys, because this is escape for both of them. In her embrace he can focus on her scent instead of the heavy stink of sulphur and brimstone that surrounds everything here, and he can forget. It’s good. It’s great. It makes it more bearable.
She asks him to hurt her, and he closes his hands around her throat, squeezing without hesitating. She laughs hoarsely, her long fingernails digging into his back. And he deserves the pain, welcomes it as a distraction. He deserves more.
More he gets. Blood is trickling down his back from where her nails pierced his skin, and she claws up his neck, pulling at his hair and forcing him down to kiss her. Her lips are as soft as rose petals, but they are pulled back soon and reveal her sharp, brilliantly white teeth. She chews on his bottom lip until he can feel the faint taste of iron on his tongue, and then his body tenses and he collapses on top of her, panting heavily, for a second lost in post-coital bliss. It won’t last long, he knows, so he enjoys the few short moments when everything is fine, before his resentment and shame returns.
He has been dead for thirteen months. Ten of those have been spent in Hell.
He is sixteen years old.