Black Rainbow [Closed/Ongoing]

[uomo_libro]

WHO: Freeman and Jinx
WHAT: This is what happens when Freeman socializes
WHERE: Chiamata del Corvo nightclub
WHEN: Night of Day 130

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[hexyoutotuesday]

Pure, true emotions were rarely ever felt by Jinx. With happiness came that lingering sorrow. With her anger, there was always a rush of adrenaline fueled joy. Pleasure and pain always went hand-in-hand. To feel something so strong and true, without an ounce of anything else tainting it, especially in a situation such as this... it was near impossible. Of course it was with everything happening around her. As he stabbed his cock into her over and over again, slamming up as hard as it seemed he could, she felt the pressure of yet another orgasm. When he leaned back into her blade, she could feel the warm blood smother her hand. All the pain he caused by clawing at her, biting her mouth, it was overwhelming... and she was getting off so hard that she could potentially stab this man and he would continue fucking her. After he dragged his canine along her lip, she looked up at him and--

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.

[uomo_libro]

There it is.

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."

[hexyoutotuesday]

A name... putting a name to a face, being able to call him something in her mind instead of "it" instead of "the creature." It made him feel more human. It gave her just one more ounce of control, mere drops in the bottom of a well he had emptied. As he pressed her hard against the wall, she ceased to struggle, keeping her hand firm and steady to the blade on his throat. The pressure of his orgasm had released with her, dripping, oozing over her and him as they were still connected, as he still pulsed into her, obviously not finished. Yet now she knew his name, something to hiss, curse and moan. English words, the equivalent of liberare l'uomo... Freeman. So, he did not have a name either, just a title associated with him.

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.

[uomo_libro]

Freeman's smile returned as her fingers slid back down his body. When she cut his cheek, his eyes were drawn to the glint of the blade's edge, until her catlike eyes caught his again, and he stared directly into them. She... was like him. A killer. A murderer. Someone who stood on the precipice of death and had seen to the bottom of the endless maw of the beyond. Someone who... knew the secret of living. When she spoke his name, brushed away his hair, and kissed him again, his mind was thrown for a loop. This girl... she was equal. He needn't show her anything; she'd seen it all before. His lips curled tighter as she grinned, grinding against him. When the knife came to his vein at a different angle, he welcomed it. Welcomed the fresh sting of her claws, returning the gesture in kind as his hands moved to her hips, digging semi-symmetrical marks into the flesh there.

"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.

[hexyoutotuesday]

As he acknowledged her name, a sick grin twisted her lips. Hearing it spoken through his terrible voice, over those disgusting and bloody lips, gave her a pleasure greater than the one burning in her loins. "Yes, that's right," she hissed through the sound of a slow, feline moan, "say my name. Say it." There was a certain change in her eyes, the slit pupils focusing a bit too much on his eyes, sharpening but not entirely looking at him, more like looking through. "SAY IT!" she demanded, harshly throwing her hips against his, violating his neck with the side of her blade, not yet cutting through flesh. Breaking free of the fear meant diving deep down into that place she spent every day trying to escape. The darker part of her mind, angry and cold, sociopathic and hateful, thriving off every ounce of pain her body could endure.

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..."

[uomo_libro]

There would be scars. New ones. It had been so long since Freeman had been scarred that he had forgotten how he liked them. Every one a reminder of how much he had lived, how many times he'd touched the unreal and come back for more. Ragged ones, along with the clean ones left by the blade. Ragged ones were always more intriguing; signs of a struggle, of a fight... but these were... voluntary? It was strange. Many times since, he would look back at these scars and muse about the experience he was now submerged in. Blood-drenched, sweat-soaked, filthy, animalistic... and he smiled. He kept smiling. Every new tear in his skin, every new touch, he kept smiling. And when she demanded, he did comply... because this was fun.

"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.

[hexyoutotuesday]

He tore her apart inside and out. Never before had she been fucked this hard. Either no one had the courage to or no one let themselves go like this creature. Digging in as far as he could go, slamming the tip of his cock far enough to cause pain, a sadistic pleasure. His thin hips rammed against her so hard her thighs were already showing signs of bruising. As a matter of fact, she was not covered in them. His inhumanly strong hands gripped her tightly enough to leave imprints and blood pulsed out over them. Pain, she wanted it, needed it, craved it now, coming from both herself and the bloodsoaked man fucking her. There was no passion in this, the only emotions harsh and rigid. He did not love her, she was not beautiful to him nor him to her, no thoughts in their minds about sharing pleasure, just the two murders finding a cruel, vicious outlet in the form of twisted lust.

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.