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 )
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.
Reply
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.
Reply
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.'
Reply
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.
Reply
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.
Reply
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."
Reply
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.
Reply
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."
Reply
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.
Reply
"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.
Reply
With a grunt she traced her tongue over his collarbone, his salty flesh burning her taste buds. Her lips smeared the blood, their blood. Now, her thumbnail dug more into his throat rather than the blade, its glistening edge caressing his flesh as she pressed her body in full against his, rubbing him hard with the up and down, up and down. Pain, searing heat, bloodlust, this monster fucking her, fucking her hard with no qualms of stamina, morality, how her knife kissed his flesh in ways that would imprint him for a lifetime. "Freeman..." Her climax was approaching. Eyes still open, picking him apart, she kissed him grotesquely, her tongue fighting his for dominance outside of their mouths.
At his back, she finger painted in his blood. Something pulsed through her, a familiar unnatural energy, that flicked over her fingertips in sparks that buried into his wounds. And in the moment she came, in the moment all her muscles tightened before the euphoria of release, she lost herself. Her eyes became harsh and she let the switchblade fall from her grasp, confident she could slaughter him without outside help. Her hands came away from him, back slamming against the wall and grinding her wounds into it. Her palms streaked blood across her abdomen as she touched herself, then they came back to him, her claws digging into his collarbones and tearing down, further down, ripping the material of his shirt, drawing blood, sweet crimson, life oozing over her fingertips as she moaned, guttural, almost a howl, lacking a certain amount of humanity, her hips pressing forward to impale him as deeply as he could go, hot pussy clenching around him, strangulating his shaft and her eyes never left his, wanting him to see the look on her face as she came, not because of him, because of how fucking intoxicating the copper aroma of blood was and how she climaxed covered in it, soaked in a murder she would not yet complete.
"Freeman..."
Reply
"Jinx." There was no urgency in his voice, no fervor to match hers, but it was strong, unwavering, and did what was ordered of it. When he felt the pinpricks stabbing at his back, the energy crackling against it, he grunted. "Jinx." He thrust against her, hard enough to split her in two if necessary, his own muscles burning with the strain... and with the pleasure. When the switchblade hit the ground, when her hands went to her own body, when her fingers returned only to tear away at his chest, blood and flayed skin mixing with stained frays of black fabric, he knew this was what she wanted. What she demanded. And this was what he would give her.
As she clamped around him, smearing their combined fluids across their bodies entwined, he felt that stirring within once more. He dug into her, both with his fingers drawing more blood, and with his cock plowing as far in as it could. He was like a jackhammer, unrelenting, unfeeling in the finishing of his task. His eyes still locked with hers as that howl came from nowhere and everywhere, inhuman, enraptured. His reply was a simple groan as tightened once more, muscles rigid as steel, as he came into her a second time, feeling some of his energy go with it, this time. He thrust until he could feel the pulse in his loins no more, and when it was still, so was he... His fingers pulled away from her hips, letting her legs drop to the floor as his own body began to inch away from hers, slowly withdrawing from her overworked pussy.
Reply
And then he came in her, filling her to the brim, their fluids dripping over their genitalia and down to the concrete floor. After the last of their orgasmic shudders, those little twinges of pleasure, the entire warehouse stood in silence with only the sound of Jinx's breathing to counteract it. While he was perfectly still for that moment in time, she was a wild animal who could never be calmed. It showed in the electric glare of her eyes, eyes that were magnetized to his. Face him, drink in the fear, let it linger, take control.
A hissing moan drifted between her lips as he pulled out of her body. When he was no longer there to support her, the full weight of her raging orgasms fell upon her and she slid down to the floor, leaving scrapes of blood along the wall. And there she sat, catching her breath, her hips rolling up and sinking down as she could feel the pulsing heat that devoured her drift away. Their fluids oozed around her inner thighs, tinted pink with blood. Freeman had torn her apart inside and out. Grinning, she gave a soft, sadistic chuckle. Her eyes were still locked to his, never leaving. Drifting across the floor, her fingers came to rest upon the blade she was dropped. Immediately, her thumb began to flick over the sharpened steel.
Her recovery time was impeccable. When she finally caught her breath, she pulled herself up by all the wrong muscles, her movements contorted. After flicking her thong back into place, not seeming to care about the sexual fluids that covered her, she put her skirt back on. Her toned form glistened with sweat and blood. Somehow, she made the sight look completely natural for her. The burning eyes of a killer. Jinx came back toward him, managing to hide the trembling of her knees. Over the years of killing men during or directly after sex, she was well conditioned. "Was that enough living for you?" He was weak now. The creature had lost a lot of blood and came twice, of course he would be. Jinx was in pain, burning pain, bleeding as well, feeling stings much worse than she had in a long while, but she could ignore it for the time being. Right now, Freeman was weaker. With one slash of her knife, she could bring the towering scarecrow to his knees. But she did not...
"Go clean yourself up," she ordered, finally looking away from his eyes, turning her back to him, showing she had no fear of what he could do to her. In this state, she accepted death in all its forms. "This was fun, but I'm leaving now. And you're going to come back here a week from now. If I don't see you at that time, I will hunt you down and make you beg for death." She flicked her gaze back to him, completely serious, as if looking straight through his eyes and out the back of his head. "I'll find you, Freeman. So save me the trouble. Oh... and bring a friend." Her tongue flicked over her teeth as she caressed her switchblade. Old habits died hard.
Reply
Leave a comment