Without You
Title: Without You
Author: its_chase
Genre: Angst, AU, Romance, Tragedy
Characters: Michael, Sara
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I. Own. Nothing.
Summary: Michael kills Sara.
He’s so blinded by the harsh lighting that he hardly feels her mouth against his bare skin. Hardly feels her suck his nipple into her inviting mouth and nibble on it. Hardly feels his arousal pressing against the fabric of his boxers.
He closes his eyes, and suddenly he’s able to see everything. Her straight copper hair falling across his chest, her luminous eyes intently focused on his face, her fingers dipping between his elastic waistband.
“Sara?” He knows he said her name, but he doesn’t hear anything, even as her head tilts to the side at the recognition of his voice.
“Relax, Michael. For once, just… Don’t think.” His mind is so overrun with thoughts that he can’t obey her even if he wants to. The ink on his flesh looks discolored, the tints completely different, as if it was redone in a sepia tone.
But Sara, she looks just as beautiful as she did the last time he saw her. More-so, even. Everything around them, though, even though he can’t make out what any of it is, looks different. He squeezes his eyes tighter shut, hoping to correct the color imbalance of the world around him, his mind not understanding anything.
“You’re still thinking, Michael.” He sees her lips curl into a seductive pout and, for a brief second, she almost looks sad. He aches to ask her what’s wrong, but he can’t even manage that now. He can’t move his tongue, his limbs, or his body in general. He can only lay in anticipation and watch on, trying to spur his mind into working correctly. He can feel the déjà vu, but at the same time, none of it seems familiar. The color of her eyes intensify so much that his own eyes open up, only to be assaulted by the blinding light again. Once he closes them, she’s no longer looking at him, but straddling him, staring at his abdomen, his boxers long gone. Her fingernails dig into his colored flesh as she slides down his length, burying it all inside of her without so much as a whimper.
“Sara?” He calls again, and still doesn’t hear his voice. And, just as before, her head picks up and she stares at him questioningly. For the first time, he notices that she’s wearing a mid-thigh nightgown. Baby blue. Silk. See through. He sees her stomach suck in as she rises up, and go out as she slides back down.
Her eyes darken, entrancing him as she works him quicker, her thrusts growing harder. She tilts her head back, opens her mouth as she comes, but doesn’t make a sound. His eyes snap open and, as he prepares to shut them just as quickly, he realizes that he can see. His body is soaked in sweat, his bedroom dark, no sign of Sara.
“Michael?” His head jerks to the right towards the sound as she emerges from the master bath, complete with the same silk nightgown.
“Sara?” His eyes close as he sighs, his mind overheating.
“Michael, what’s wrong?”
“Just… A nightmare,” he shrugs, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to make sense of something. She sits next to him on the edge of the bed, her cool hand traveling across his moist forehead.
“You’re burning up.” She leans down and, as she kisses him, he knows it’s real. He knows how soft and supple her lips are, he knows what her mouth tastes like. He rolls her over him until she’s on her back, her nightgown hiked up to her hips before cradling her neck in his hand, his finger stroking her cheek. He kisses her with every ounce of passion he has, her eyes closing against her will. His eyes stay open, his other hand coming up as they wrap around her throat, squeezing it. He tries with all his strength to pull away but, even as her eyes open as she stares at him, his fingers remain gripping her neck. Her face is calm, but her eyes are full of hurt. Boring into him.
“How can you ask me to wait for you?” He knows he heard it, but it couldn’t have been her. She can’t breathe, let alone talk. Knowing that he has no control over what’s happening, he leans down and presses his lips against hers.
They feel cold already. He blinks, and his hands release her from his vice. Her lips are blue, her body tinted with purple. He couldn’t have done this. She must’ve been dead already.
…But she wasn’t. She’d talked to him, she’d moved. He scoots away, his eyes wide with terror as he reaches for the phone. He dials 911, his mouth agape.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I-…”
“See what you’ve done, Michael?” Sara’s voice on the other end sends him falling from the edge of the bed, his head hitting the dresser as he lands.
Just like that, his eyes fly open, he’s back in bed. The early morning sun is peeking through the window, bathing the room in a soft orange light. His eyes widen as Sara enters the room, dressed in dark slacks and a forest green t-shirt.
“You’re alive,” he breathes. His relief turns to horror when he sees the thin red line around her neck.
Blood. Blood that was now dripping down her chest, into the valley between her breasts.
“No, Michael, I’m not. You killed me. You’re the one that got me mixed up with all of this, asked me to wait for you. You’re the reason I’m dead. You killed me, Michael. I loved you, and you killed me.”
The image of her fades away before his eyes and he sits up in bed, realizing wholeheartedly for the first time that he did kill Sara.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Author: its_chase
Genre: Angst, AU, Romance, Tragedy
Characters: Michael, Sara
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I. Own. Nothing.
Summary: Michael kills Sara.
He’s so blinded by the harsh lighting that he hardly feels her mouth against his bare skin. Hardly feels her suck his nipple into her inviting mouth and nibble on it. Hardly feels his arousal pressing against the fabric of his boxers.
He closes his eyes, and suddenly he’s able to see everything. Her straight copper hair falling across his chest, her luminous eyes intently focused on his face, her fingers dipping between his elastic waistband.
“Sara?” He knows he said her name, but he doesn’t hear anything, even as her head tilts to the side at the recognition of his voice.
“Relax, Michael. For once, just… Don’t think.” His mind is so overrun with thoughts that he can’t obey her even if he wants to. The ink on his flesh looks discolored, the tints completely different, as if it was redone in a sepia tone.
But Sara, she looks just as beautiful as she did the last time he saw her. More-so, even. Everything around them, though, even though he can’t make out what any of it is, looks different. He squeezes his eyes tighter shut, hoping to correct the color imbalance of the world around him, his mind not understanding anything.
“You’re still thinking, Michael.” He sees her lips curl into a seductive pout and, for a brief second, she almost looks sad. He aches to ask her what’s wrong, but he can’t even manage that now. He can’t move his tongue, his limbs, or his body in general. He can only lay in anticipation and watch on, trying to spur his mind into working correctly. He can feel the déjà vu, but at the same time, none of it seems familiar. The color of her eyes intensify so much that his own eyes open up, only to be assaulted by the blinding light again. Once he closes them, she’s no longer looking at him, but straddling him, staring at his abdomen, his boxers long gone. Her fingernails dig into his colored flesh as she slides down his length, burying it all inside of her without so much as a whimper.
“Sara?” He calls again, and still doesn’t hear his voice. And, just as before, her head picks up and she stares at him questioningly. For the first time, he notices that she’s wearing a mid-thigh nightgown. Baby blue. Silk. See through. He sees her stomach suck in as she rises up, and go out as she slides back down.
Her eyes darken, entrancing him as she works him quicker, her thrusts growing harder. She tilts her head back, opens her mouth as she comes, but doesn’t make a sound. His eyes snap open and, as he prepares to shut them just as quickly, he realizes that he can see. His body is soaked in sweat, his bedroom dark, no sign of Sara.
“Michael?” His head jerks to the right towards the sound as she emerges from the master bath, complete with the same silk nightgown.
“Sara?” His eyes close as he sighs, his mind overheating.
“Michael, what’s wrong?”
“Just… A nightmare,” he shrugs, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to make sense of something. She sits next to him on the edge of the bed, her cool hand traveling across his moist forehead.
“You’re burning up.” She leans down and, as she kisses him, he knows it’s real. He knows how soft and supple her lips are, he knows what her mouth tastes like. He rolls her over him until she’s on her back, her nightgown hiked up to her hips before cradling her neck in his hand, his finger stroking her cheek. He kisses her with every ounce of passion he has, her eyes closing against her will. His eyes stay open, his other hand coming up as they wrap around her throat, squeezing it. He tries with all his strength to pull away but, even as her eyes open as she stares at him, his fingers remain gripping her neck. Her face is calm, but her eyes are full of hurt. Boring into him.
“How can you ask me to wait for you?” He knows he heard it, but it couldn’t have been her. She can’t breathe, let alone talk. Knowing that he has no control over what’s happening, he leans down and presses his lips against hers.
They feel cold already. He blinks, and his hands release her from his vice. Her lips are blue, her body tinted with purple. He couldn’t have done this. She must’ve been dead already.
…But she wasn’t. She’d talked to him, she’d moved. He scoots away, his eyes wide with terror as he reaches for the phone. He dials 911, his mouth agape.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I-…”
“See what you’ve done, Michael?” Sara’s voice on the other end sends him falling from the edge of the bed, his head hitting the dresser as he lands.
Just like that, his eyes fly open, he’s back in bed. The early morning sun is peeking through the window, bathing the room in a soft orange light. His eyes widen as Sara enters the room, dressed in dark slacks and a forest green t-shirt.
“You’re alive,” he breathes. His relief turns to horror when he sees the thin red line around her neck.
Blood. Blood that was now dripping down her chest, into the valley between her breasts.
“No, Michael, I’m not. You killed me. You’re the one that got me mixed up with all of this, asked me to wait for you. You’re the reason I’m dead. You killed me, Michael. I loved you, and you killed me.”
The image of her fades away before his eyes and he sits up in bed, realizing wholeheartedly for the first time that he did kill Sara.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.