Black Rainbow [Closed/Ongoing]
WHO: Freeman and Jinx
WHAT: This is what happens when Freeman socializes
WHERE: Chiamata del Corvo nightclub
WHEN: Night of Day 130
( God couldn't make someone filthy as you )
WHAT: This is what happens when Freeman socializes
WHERE: Chiamata del Corvo nightclub
WHEN: Night of Day 130
( God couldn't make someone filthy as you )
Like an adolescent child in fear of being caught, she slipped out of the Meira brothers' apartment through the window. Of course it was several stories up, but the height meant absolutely nothing to her. Free falling, grasping onto the fire escape on the next building over, swinging from that, and a kickflip to the ground. There was no need to sneak around, but the thrill overcame her. The thrill of leaping out a window, tangling with gravity, and winning. What she left behind on the bathroom counter was what she had transformed herself into tonight. The black eye makeup, dark lipstick, blood red fingernail polish and she had left the curling iron on.
The nightclub was a familiar place of what she dubbed her childhood. Dancing hard, going home with a man she just met and bathing her hands in his blood as she slit his throat like the pig he was. The deep rhythm of the music, screaming, thrashing, awakened the parts of her that had been suppressed for much too long. Without hesitation, she found herself in the middle of the crowd, engulfed in the dirty atmosphere that could drive a young girl mad. Yet Jinx was not young, not in the least. She was experienced, knew her way around the world, and the heavy music and lights made her blood boil. And as the night progressed on, as she could barely hear the thrashing of her own heart against her eardrums, she began to take control.
Her platformed boots belted and laced in their tight vinyl up to her knees. Muscular legs were glistening and sticky through the black fishnets. The skirt she wore was so short that, with the right flick of her hips, it would flutter up to flash her toned ass and thong through the fishnet material. A black bra with no shirt, ebony gloves that came all the way up her arms, the fingers cut out to reveal her bloody nails. Each time she twisted, her abdomen muscles would react, glistening in the dim lighting, ribs protruding through her pale skin. The steam of her breath was almost visible through the smoke.
The heavy metal blaring in her ears, she slunk around the crowd, a feline fluidness in every step she took. Occasionally, she would move to rub herself against another person, but never touched them, just sexually teased her body in front of them and moving to the next target. Breathing over the back of a man's neck an vanishing before he could see the gothic embodiment of death, dragging her fingertips over her own body and moaning at the sensation, sweat dripping across her torso like salty, sticky pain. In the way she taunted, slunk about without hesitation and violated every moral code on the dance floor, it was obvious she was in control over the naive. With just a movement of her hands, a grinding of her hips into the thin air, she drew the attention of a crowd who could barely follow her movements. Her thumbs itched to draw a blade along someone's pale flesh.
Our of the corner of her eye, she caught the image of a man lurking against the wall. With a pink sparkle in her gaze, she looked him over, then twisted away, getting lost in the music once again, her blood pumping.
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Freeman's hair fell away from his eyes as he watched one in particular come out from the crowd, if only for a brief moment, her small body standing out from the more lanky and broader individuals who used their outfits, makeup, and the lighting of the club to make their body flaws invisible, to cover up their mundane appeal with exotic accouterments. She, on the other hand, seemed less like she was covering up, and more like she was emphasizing. Muscles, bones, a lithe body - all things that the others in the club seemed to lack, generally speaking. But what caught Freeman's attention was her eyes. He saw something in them, something he himself was familiar with. A certain movement, a twitch some could say, that he had seen when he looked into the mirror. He watched her more intently, as she moved among the other dancers, her eyes glancing about in that way he recognized.
Without a sound, he unfurled like a wilting flower, arms hanging at his sides as he peeled away from the wall effortlessly, bonelessly, like a rubber novelty that had been removed from the shelf. As he approached the floor, he closed his eyes, listening to the music. He let it invade him, let the sound, the beat, the rhythm wrap around his muscles and take control. Slowly, his fluid movements began matching those of the crowd, albeit different. While those on the floor did their best to move like liquid, Freeman was a contortionist by training, and the structural trappings of the human body held little bearing on his movements as he melted into the living mass, his steps effortless, his gyrations hypnotic and natural.
While many who had eyed him on the wall were now showing further interest, he ignored them all. They were blind, unaware of what it was to live. He wouldn't suffer the naive like them. No, it was someone else that held his attention. The little, deadly pixie in black and red, skin like bone and hair like exposed muscle in the club lighting. This little girl, who seemed to tease the senses of most everyone, teased something else in Freeman. Something that made him do something he rarely would.
He smiled. He approached. Then, he spoke. A soft, but deep sound, that reverberated over this girl's head.
"You know how to live, don't you?"
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Like a bee to pollen, the horrible sting and unmistakable buzz of the girl began to eye the poisonous flower.
The way he moved intrigued her. There was something off about him, something just not human. The strange man was not trying, not doing this to make himself look attractive, yet he continued to attract her closer. The way his muscles bent to look as if they would tear although his gait appeared effortless. Drawing in a damp, smokey breath, a chemical reaction took hold of her body, giving her the insatiable need to touch the danger before her. Jinx was not one to play with fire, but rather force the fire to need her inside of it. For it to beg to be inside her. Yet now she wanted to touch the burning flower, to feel the sweat of their bodies glide over one another.
When he caught her eyes, a spark in the back of her mind told her to turn around, to be evasive, to pretend she was not staring. Closing her eyes to the world around her, she only felt the music, ignoring the flame coming closer, closer still. And then he was there, his fire freezing her spine. Breaking through the smoke was the cool scent of the night with just a hint of something that tingled her molars, the metallic taste of blood. God, she wanted to touch him. So she did, running her clawlike nails over his abdomen, her fingertips thriving off the salt of his sweat. Slick, sticky, hot. "Do I?" she let the words hiss over her lips, letting them linger on her deep crimson lipstick. The touch was quite literally electric. "Or better yet, do you?" Not making eye contact, back half turned to him, her hand ran down his abdomen to his hipbones, grazing the edge of his pants. "Show me..."
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"Show you..." His lips twitched a smile off of them, as his own hands came up to rest on her shoulders, mimicking the interactions he had been observing throughout the night. Again, this was almost foreign to him; if he touched someone, it was most often not a good thing. However, this girl, not a girl at all, she was like him. He didn't want to test her. At least, not yet. Besides, he was more interested in this 'challenge' she had put before him. His body glided along with hers, pressing close to her, feeling her heat, her sweat, her blood pumping within. She felt like something familiar, her aura that of one like him - someone who had seen the face of death and come away smiling. It was bringing him to some level of comfort he'd never really known... he would have to see. Have to find out how she could live, but later.
His palms flat against her skin, he curled his fingers around, the tips of his own long nails finding her flesh and digging in slightly, firmly but without breaking skin. He did feel the urge, but here, it would be out of place. So, instead, he dragged his hands down, over her back, leaving trails where his claws raked her skin, all the way down to the curve of her own hips, before he reached around her, grabbing between her hips and thighs and pulling her close against his body. It seemed to be the thing people here did when invited.
His body still moved effortlessly, as he felt hers slide against his frame in a similar manner; while he seemed an entity of sinew, she was all muscles. It was quite the sight to see them moving together with the music, the towering scarecrow and the deadly pixie. His mouth moved again as his body curved over her. "I can show you many things..."
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When his body glided over hers, all her senses felt as if they were on fire, his flames engulfing her down to the breath in her lungs, burning the oxygen. The feeling within her was not normal, completely unexpected, and much different from the things she had felt before. A fluid sex in her every touch, an aching need for a man arising in her... but as he touched her body, she threw her head back and took in a sharp breath, feeling the same way she did as she gutted a man while fucking him. That sick pleasure that made her want to lose herself to the flame and never have to deal with that morality again.
His nails digging into her sweaty skin as they danced, his body driving hers to madness. Her hand gripped at the small of his back, her muscles tightening, fingertips twitching. The cool metal of the switchblade in the pocket of her skirt... she could almost smell it, mixed with the strong scent of sweat and what she could only know as blood. His long limbs wrapped around her body and she pressed close to him, heart pounding with the beat, a separate pulse in her thumbs and between her thighs. Without breaking her movements, she continued to dance against him, moving with him in all her assassin's grace, the center of attention but oblivious to the world around her that was not pure music.
The only thing that could break through the pure sound of screaming, the thrashing metal, the pulse of the speakers that controlled her like a marionette, was the sound of his voice. The control she held over the room he now commanded. He held the end of the strings that tangled around her body. Immediately, her hips thrust forward against his, grinding, aching. Her claws ran down his spine and she leaned up to let her ghostly breath fall over his neck. Her lips came to that skin of his pulsing jugular vein, teeth grazing the sweaty skin. "And I can make you feel things you never could have imagined."
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He raked her flesh once more before pulling barely out of her reach. "You want to live, I can show you..." He felt stirrings within him. Things he had never shown any conscious interest in. Things that were more base; not below him, but rather, nebulous to him. His only interest in others was of an observational standpoint, something where his only interaction was one of education, of exposure to that which would truly invigorate, would give life meaning. But he was still only human, at least as far as he had acknowledged. And there were needs that a human body would have. If the energy was expended, the body needed sleep. If things needed replenishing, sustenance was required. And when a body was stimulated in a particular manner...
As he made his way out of the throng, he began to breathe easier; the people fell away, replaced with open air for him to fill his lungs with. Barely watching the girl from between his burning strands, he was certain she was following. They had already discovered a connection. He saw it, and he knew she had seen it too. He wanted to explore this... how she made him feel... how he could make her feel.
"Not far." He finally muttered when he could be heard. "A block... two blocks. You'll know." With that, he slipped between the doors, not even looking like he opened them for himself, rather like he fit in the closing crevice.
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And then his words made her freeze, eyes growing wide. What did he mean by that? His first words to her were about her knowing how to live, so was he trying to teach her how to do it better. Or was he... was this a threat? An actual threat on her life? Numerous times she had gotten those, the usual anger of wanting to see her dead in a ditch, but this was so much different. This was fun for him. As he began to move through the crowd, obviously wanting her to follow, she immediately knew what he was, why she felt that connection. This man was a murderer just like her. Part of her hoped they were different enough to where he did not get off on slitting throats after sex, yet that would make it all the more enjoyable. That darker part of her mind began to take over as she followed him closely.
When the speakers were at a further difference, it was easier to hear, lighter to breathe. Her heart still pounded with the beat. She listened to him, wondering if it was the broken sentences of a man with a serious hard on, or that of one who did not care to take that extra time. Jinx watched him slip though the doors, not only not bothering to hold them open for her, but not bothering to even pen them in the first place. That voice in the back of her mind continued, now screaming 'DANGER' and she was still dumb enough to ignore it. Curiosity killed the cat, and this may very well be her demise.
She paused, staring at the doors, not knowing what this night would bring. Her thumbs itched. She fought between grabbing her cellphone out of her pocket and calling for help, or just running and never looking back. Instead, she pulled the switchblade out of her pocket, flicked it open, and slunk through the doors. The cool night air washed over her sweaty body but the image of that man was the one to truly send chills down her spine. Thumb running along her blade, she rubbed the metal along her glistening abdomen. And all in one move, she was on him, her body wrapping around his, obviously having trouble even going the few blocks to wherever he was taking her. One hand grabbed for a handful of his crotch and the other came around his back, pressing the cold handle of the knife into his spine and reaching up to kiss his lips hard.
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He grunted into her mouth, digging the claws of one hand into her thigh below her curve. He held her against him, tasting her... bitter. Bitter, with some burning sweetness... he couldn't identify it. Whatever it was, her tongue was spreading it across his own mouth, making it difficult to escape... not that he was trying. Again, an interesting experience to say the least. As she pulled it away for a brief moment, he grazed it with his teeth, catching it like a wriggling worm for a fraction of time before releasing, squeezing his nails into her tighter.
"Eager..." He licked his lips before jerking his head, half-ready to carry her there, if she kept this up. In fact, he was almost ready to give into this need right then and there, but, as with anything he did, the more of a spectacle it was, the less he wanted it. So he would urge her, as best he could, to the near-condemned warehouse he sometimes slept at. It was trying, with the way she groped at him, talons raking at him, mouth taking every opening to press against his slick flesh. The night was cooling him, and he felt refreshed; the cooler he felt, the more he responded in kind, hands ghosting over her, nails leaving their mark, teeth touching to her own skin.
When they reached the side door he always used, he practically commanded her in through sheer body language. It was quite obvious he intended to give over to this desire within him, especially with such an eager participant. Maybe he would kill her; maybe he wouldn't. He knew that she'd stared down Hell's maw before, so perhaps he wouldn't have to try and kill her to show her the meaning of life. Perhaps she already knew... perhaps she would actually teach him something this night. It wouldn't surprise him; she was already proving to be some amazing instructor.
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He was taunting her, teasing her... and somehow she felt as if he was testing her as well. Normally, she would have to work to be able to last this walk, force herself to take the steps forward to their destination, but he pulled her strings along with his every movement. As his nails raked her flesh, she moaned and rubbed to him. As he moved away, she came closer to feel his head. As he licked his sick lips and bit hers, she latched to him whichever way he twisted. She was eager, so much that she could feel a warm fluid trickling across the fishnet that clung so tightly to her thighs. The masochism about this moment... she needed him to control her. She needed the adrenaline rush of that pure fear. It reminded her of all those times she had been left horny and rabid because of Gin. And with this man's every sadistic breath, she felt her hormones spiking, boiling and screaming for him to touch her.
An old, abandoned warehouse: How picturesque. It seemed like the perfect place for such a sin, to make a serial killer scream with orgasm and lose complete control. Without a doubt, she knew what this man was. The way he reacted as the steel of her knife touched his skin and how he enjoyed this just as sickly as she. Never before had she been with a man who had a fetish for death. It gave her permanent chills. Heart pounding in her ears, she followed their dance and nearly crawled toward his poisonous pollen. The look in her eyes was dangerous and feral, a feline growl in the back of her throat. And with a surprising amount of strength, she was on him.
Quick and hard, she thrust him against the cool wall of the warehouse. Her body pinned him there, one hand at his abdomen and the other holding her knife firmly against his throat. Her forearm keeping his shoulder pinned to the wall, she let her venomous lips travel down his chest. When she found bare skin, she licked the sweat off of it, all the while her pelvis grinding against his leg. Maybe the blade of her knife drew blood, maybe it did not; she was not interested in paying attention, just holding it there. Her bloody, deft fingertips went to work on removing his pants. While the sane part of her mind continued to scream at her 'stab him and RUN!' everything else hissed a cold 'fuck him, slit is throat, fuck him harder, they'll never know it was you, lick the blood off his wounds and make his corpse cum.'
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His free hand reached back, and once he touched her sweat-soaked skin, he bore down, digging his claws in so deep, they were sure to draw blood. He tore them down her back slowly, in excruciatingly lustful agony, until he reached the band of her skirt, feeling it an obstacle. She would be able to feel his muscles tighten beneath his pallid skin as he flicked his arm in a motion normally reserved for ripping and slashing. This time, though, the goal was much less visceral, rather simply to yank the zipper of the offending cloth, letting it drop off her waist to her ankles. He was learning from her quickly, and as she worked at his clothing, he returned the motion in kind.
As her ministrations freed him as well, he was quicker than she was expecting. He flipped her to the wall, pressing her raked skin against the cold stone as he lifted her with one arm. The quicker he moved, the stronger he was, as he wouldn't have lifted her that way if he had been easing the motion along. His strength was best in bursts, but when he did need to hold out, he could do quite well. Supporting both her and himself on his arms, he reached down to her thong, pulling it aside as he took what little he knew, and what little he could pull from instinct, and thrust roughly up into her. Letting go of the fabric, he returned his bloodied hand to the wall, holding the two of them in place as his hips began moving of their own accord. Meanwhile, his lips remained curled; this wasn't turing out how he thought it would be, but... it certainly was fun.
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With a sharp cry, she thrashed against the wall he slammed her to. The cold stone was liquid fire over the bleeding scratches on her back. The floor was well out of her reach now, as was control for that split second in time. He was strong, much stronger than she could ever be. For just a moment, her small form struggled against him, but every muscle in her body immediately tightened and she drew in a sharp breath with his next action. Rolling her head back, body arched forward to him, she felt an explosion of sensation as his slammed himself into her harder than she had felt in a very long while. As his hips thrust against her like a wild animal's, she felt herself nearly to the point of cumming already. The adrenaline, the masochistic pleasure... and the fear that screamed in her head louder than the heavy metal of that club.
Her thin, muscular body writhed against his. Her tense arms wrapped around him, nails digging deeply into his flesh. In her heavy breathing, she came forward and licked a trail of his blood off his collarbone, then immediately threw herself back, closing her eyes and crying out as she felt herself come to a climax in under sixty seconds. The horrific thrill of this moment already felt like a sick, perpetual orgasm. Grasping the handle of her knife tightly, she ran the blade alongside his spine, slicing through his flesh and not at all caring about the repercussions. And while she did that, she leaned forward to kiss the grinning mouth of a faceless man who she did not even know the name of.
The pleasure of sex fogged her mind, made her stupid to what could soon happen. Against him, she was having fun... but struggling for control. She clenched and tightened around his cock, bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, kept trying to cut him to make him feel fear. She needed him to be afraid of her... but he had not so much as flinched since she pulled the knife out on him. And every time she tried to think of getting away, she cried out once more, gasped for breath, thinking with how fucking amazing the feeling in her pussy was instead her screaming mind. And god, she wanted to know him name... she wanted to know it so she could scream it. And it had not yet occurred to her, that thought this entire endeavor, she had not seen this killer's eyes.
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Her muscles tightened, and with them, so did he, forcing more blood through new ragged tears in her skin, forcing his cock deeper into her, forcing his own flesh against her naked blade. Her mouth came to his again, teeth digging into the soft muscular tissue of his lips, drawing blood, mingling with sweat and spit, the tang of copper powerful on their tongues. As her tongue came close, he sunk a canine into it, bringing her blood to mix with his, their fluids to combine in the passionate coupling that he never knew he desired. He leaned into her, his towering frame all but covering her in shadow. His hair, sticking in clumps of sweat, blood, and the grime of the air, fell away. In that moment, Freeman glared down into the eyes of this killer he was rutting, and pulled away, slicing another new wound on her lip before he gave her the coldest, most unfeeling... and yet lethally passionate smile. His blood red eyes glinted like they were aflame.
"This... this is living."
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A pure rush of emotion.
A pure rush of fear.
Between him and the wall, she was paralyzed. For that moment in time, she was numb to all but her heartbeat and the sound of his sadistic breathing. He arched over her, large and strong, commanding and controlling. Staring at his smile, she saw nothing. And looking into his eyes, eyes that seared her flesh, those of a creature who could eat a man's heart without flinching... a fear overcame her that would never be forgotten. Jinx should have run.
Against him she thrashed, trying to hold in a scream. And finally she wrapped her arms tighter around him, burying her head against his collarbone, trying to hide the evident fear in her catlike eyes. She did not want to be here. She wanted to push him off of her, but she knew she was not strong enough. So she drew herself closer as she prayed for an escape, trying to feel if there was any part of this thing that was human. Even his heartbeat felt sickening, uncomfortable. As he impaled her, she felt pain and cried out, the sound much different from her previous moans. Oh god... she could not stop herself from cumming. No matter how afraid she was, there was that haunting voice telling her how much she was liking this.
She almost wanted to cry, but held it in, already bleeding and sweating enough for her own good. As she closed her eyes tightly, her face buried against him, she could not rid herself of that image: his twisted face grinning at her because she was the most amusing toy in his collection. And tonight she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was going to be killed. She was going to be killed while Jushirou hated her for not keeping control, while Stark was probably trying to have her arrested, while Shunsui was under her curse because she did not want him to leave her, and the last words she said to Alba... GOD! She could not even remember them! She prayed they were "I love you."
But she bit her lip, lifted her head up, rolling it back against the wall, moaning as she felt her bittersweet, repulsive release. "Tell me your name..." she said in a low growl. Her hand came around his body, pressing her steel blade into his neck, ready to slash his jugular vein open. She did not have the courage to open her eyes again. She hissed another moan with the pain in her aching sex, still liking it. "Your name," she demanded from him, drawing her nails over his shoulder and down to dig into the open wound.
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The way her eyes focused, the twitches in the musculature of her face before she pulled it away, tore it away to hide from his gaze... that was what he lived for. When he wasn't looking at his own death, he was the death others were frightened of. When they would not face their own deaths voluntarily, he would force them to look, force them to confront their own ending. That was why he killed; they were too frightened to look. Too frightened to deal with their own mortality. When one fears something, the best way to deal with that fear is to directly confront it. Had he not been shaped by whatever circumstances created him, Freeman might have been an interesting psychotherapist. But as it was, he only knew one case study, and one treatment. Unfortunately, it was lethal to all he prescribed it to.
When she clung to him so tightly, alternating between the shudders of fear and the spasms of pleasure, he drove into her hard one final time, muscles stiffening and rock-hard as he flooded her with his own orgasm. It was an intoxicating feeling, a light-headedness that would have reminded him of drug use, if he didn't think drugs were a crutch for someone who was too afraid to face life. Still, as everything before, not an unpleasant sensation. His nails had buried themselves into the flesh of her shoulders, more blood oozing from these ragged tears as he came, but it was only a moment of peace before he continued thrusting into her. The way she writhed against him, loving and hating every pulse, told him to continue. This was far from over.
It was then that he felt the new pressure, one that caused him to slow. The blade against his jugular, and heard her say something between guttural moans. His own eyes narrowed, as though he could bore holes through her eyelids, out the back of her eyes, and right into her mind. When her fingers dug into a wound previously opened, he felt the sting, felt pain that was enough to get his attention. He pressed against her harder, not in an effort to bury himself in her, as much as to regain his own firm hold on the situation. The creature, the little human with the eyes of a predator, was demanding something from him. A name.
He didn't have one. At least, not a birthname. No family, no friends, and no past to tie down simply through a title given after leaving the womb. No, the man had no name.
But he did have a name. Not so much a name, as much as a truth. The truth about what he was. The truth about how his deeds made him feel. The truth about why he wasn't rotting in prison, if not killed by the police outright.
In perfect, proper English, enunciating each syllable, the smile left his lips as he told her this name, this title, this truth.
"Freeman."
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The two murders, serial killers, thrusting against one another, finding that release in pain. Now was not the time to give into fear. If she was going to die, she was going to do it with a smile and without regret. Then again, she had worked this long to keep herself alive and there were only ten years left to go. Stopping now would just be a waste. If she slashed his throat, she be killed before he bled out. The warehouse was too dark to see any weapons nearby, and pinned to a wall such as this her aim would be terrible. Freeman would live... and so would she. That was a promise.
Jinx removed her claws from the wound on his back and let her fingers slide down the warm blood. They were both covered in it, covered in each other, mixing everything they could. A low growl in her throat, she moved the blade away from his neck and up toward his face, brushing away his hair with the back of her hand, letting the steel barely swipe his cheek enough to draw blood. And finally, her feral eyes unveiled themselves, narrowing at him, grasping for a dominance, burning back into the eyes that seared her to the very core. That fear shot down her spine once again, but she fought against it, facing him full on, as strongly as one could when impaled on a throbbing erection.
"Free...man..." she spoke his name, Italian accent slathered over the two syllables. With the side of her thumb, she brushed a lock of his hair behind his ear, not breaking eye contact with that contorted face until she leaned in and kissed him. Control, grasp for it, never let go, not even in the face of fear. Do not give in to him. Control. Made him scared. Made him shiver. Grinding her hips forward against him, she grinned. The hand that held the knife came around to the back of his neck, her thumb pressing the blade into his jugular from behind, her claws digging deeply into his flesh. Against his lips, she hissed, "Call me Jinx... and if you don't make me cum again, I'll gut you like a pig." God, she wanted it. She was scared out of her mind, and that made her want it more.
Glaring deeply into his eyes, searching for a soul to command in the frightening crimson. Her tongue, steaming, wet, flicked across his lips, tasting the blood they had drawn from each other. Harsh, hatred, lust... he was horribly attractive. Leaking sex like a demon who only craved pleasure and found it in the pain of others... in his own pain. Well, she could be fucked up too. Jinx could be the psychopath. Slowly, she gave into that part of her mind screaming for him to to hiss her name. Sinking down deep into the weapon she was destined to be.
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"Jinx." He breathed into her mouth before her tongue traced along his lips. The idea of gutting wasn't unusual, but... not tonight. Not now. Her eyes, they wouldn't leave his. He'd never encountered that. People always feared the direct confrontation that it implied, the naked exposure it granted. They would turn away from his gaze; one of the signs. Her, though, she stared right back. As much as he burned her retinas, she seemed to strike back, electricity arcing through the empty space into his irises. "Heh. Jinx." He acknowledged her again... or moreover, he accepted her existence. It was then that he thrust back harder than before, pounding into her to the hilt. She brought him a new enjoyment, and dared to stare him in the eye. He would give her what she wanted.
Hands that could tear flesh, muscles that could snap bone, a mind so corrupt as to justify both in the name of 'a full life.' All were now pressing on to bring this... equal... to another orgasm. It was only fair, after all.
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