♥ drollicpixie wrote Ashes to Ashes 2/2 for venomwithlove
Title:
Ashes to Ashes 2/2
Author: drollicpixie
Pairing: Zoe/Kyle
Summary: She’s falling. Her heart is sick. Her bones are dust. The yawning maw of the pit waits below. His arms are raised up to catch her. Coven AU.
Spoilers/Warning/Triggers: Rated (Strong) M. This story has elements of self-harm, dub-con, violence, and violent thoughts towards women.
Author Notes: As my prompt mentioned both Violet/Tate and Zoe/Kyle, I thought I would take some elements of the Murder House pair and superimpose them onto the Coven pair.
Original Characters: Leonard Parris is played by David Tennant, Nicola by Lucy Hale.
( Ashes to Ashes 1/2 )
*
He was stunned. When had she learned his name? He was certain he had never told her. And how did she know all that shit? She was rambling, raving, he could blame the pills, the booze, the coke he had spied her blowing up her nose. Unless, he paused. But Kyle refused to believe. He had given up on hope, on soul mates and the idea of love, years before. She couldn’t be her. Life was cruel; it took, it did not give.
The Lambda house loomed as he helped her shamble across the lawn, her legs coltish and wobbling, tears streaming down her face, hands clutching him, tugging his shirt, his hair, desperately trying to crawl inside of him, so she would never have to let him go.
Kyle didn’t dare take her through the front door, the way she fucking looked, though he doubted any of his brothers would be in before midnight. Instead he maneuvered them toward the rear, entering the unlocked door of the kitchen, and guided her up the silent, black, disused staircase. Her heels pounded the old boards, her hands trailing along the walls, black fingernails scraping the plaster.
“You live here?” She asked, some of the starlight back in her gaze, snivels drying up.
“Yeah.”
“I live in an old mansion too. It’s a school, for girls,” she swallowed, listing to the side, “with problems. They call us exceptional. The only thing exceptional about us is how fucked up we are.”
*
His room was tidy, organized, impersonal but she didn’t seem to care, didn’t ask any questions, just flung herself down on his mattress, cheek against the quilt as her eyes drifted closed, making herself comfortable.
Kyle closed the door quietly, turning to look at the girl on his bed, a hand rubbing over his eyes, cock hard and straining against his khakis. Her squirming, wiggling, in that tight-ass short fucking dress was doing nothing to improve the situation. But he had to ask. “How the fuck did you know all that shit about me?”
“Huh?” Came the muffled reply.
“Before, you said…”
Zoe shrugged, limply rolling onto her back, knees falling apart. His gaze dropped, followed the line of her leg, the stockings, up to that place he knew she was hot and wet, just for him. “Because you’re Kyle Spencer.”
His eyes squeezed tight, muscles contracting, fury building in his gut. “I never fucking told you that,” and he was storming toward her, climbing up on the mattress, planting a knee on other side of her torso and grasping her wrists, tugging them above her head and leaning down into her face, his onyx eyes a mixture of rage and fascination.
She sighed up at him, wetting her lips, seemingly unconcerned about her position. She was either the dumbest bitch he had ever brought home or she wasn’t fucking scared of anything.
When he continued to say nothing, to only stare, Zoe got nervous, shifting beneath him, as she felt some kind of emotion, pain, regret maybe, rising inside of her. He didn’t remember her. And why would he, she thought. Just another stupid girl at the movies when he was in junior high. Sure, he had saved her life that night, but he would have done the same for anyone, that was just the kind of boy he had been. And when she had gone to see him, to tell him thank you, or perhaps that she thought she was in love with him, whatever burst out of her mouth first, he had sent her away. Over and over. He had rejected her. And why shouldn’t he have? She was a freak. She had healed while he had suffered, languished in a hospital bed. He hated her, just as she had always suspected. Kyle blamed her for what happened to him. She blamed herself. So she couldn’t fault him for not realizing who she was. Perhaps he would be disgusted if she told him, move away from her, shove her aside, scream and thunder. Or worse, silently dismiss her.
“You don’t know me,” she swallowed. It was a question and a statement rolled into one.
“Should I?” His face was red, the words low and menacing, his face inching a fraction closer. Kyle wanted her to say it. To dash his hopes, tell him that she was not her.
Zoe nodded, tucking her lip between her teeth, on the verge of tears, lost, unable to control her own body. In other words, she was a fucking wreck. Kyle’s head cocked to the side, scrutinizing her like some lab rat, something to study and dissect. And part of her wanted him to do just that: cut her up, take out her heart, her lungs, let her die and put her on display. Because she wanted no part in her life, in the world as it was. She hadn’t, not really, not since she was a twelve year old girl.
He might actually be doing her a favor. Once she had had a dream, something to think on, ponder, hope for, but if Kyle Spencer was there, with her, and didn’t know her, didn’t want anything to do with her, again, then she would have nothing left. Death was her only option.
With a trembling sigh, her cheeks damp and cool, she exhaled softly, “I’m Zoe. Zoe Benson. From…” But she stopped, the way he was looking at her, mouth agape, bright wavy locks falling over his forehead and into his eyes, made her chest ache, heart sluggishly pulling toward him.
“Zoe,” he repeated.
She nodded again, tears tracking down her face, rolling into her hair, her ears.
“But how?” It wasn’t possible.
She wanted to answer him, to go into detail, explain how exactly they had come to find one another again but a tiny ember ignited in her chest and began to grow, scorching, burning, tearing her open in agonizing pain. She swallowed.
He, Kyle fucking Spencer, had made her that way, the way she was. The fucking mess, the train wreck, sprawled beneath him, and he didn’t even have the decency to show some spark of emotion when he discovered who she was. He wasn’t angry, or sad, or happy. He was just Kyle, quiet and fucking staring at her. And Zoe was so fucking exhausted of all that shit. “How am I here?” she demanded. “Well, you fucking drugged me and half carried me home, like a twisted fucking psychopath. Or do you mean in New Orleans? Because that is one hell of shitty-ass story. But it all starts right around the time you kissed me in that stupid movie theater and then never spoke to me again.”
His rage had been put on hold, simmering just below the surface, as he fought to understand, to make sense of the whole situation. It was clear that she did not understand fucking anything. How could he have let her see him? How could he have faced her again? She was so perfect, so beautiful and pure. He had, in one night, possibly the best night of his young life, up until the point of the blast, become a monster. He shook his head angrily. “I fucking loved you!” He didn’t know why he said it, exploding, spit flying past his teeth, his lips, spraying her face, as her mouth dropped open, eyes wide with surprise.
Finally, after a heart-stopping moment, her face contorted into something dark, that mean little smirk playing at her lips, as she scoffed, “You were twelve.”
Kyle couldn’t hold back any longer, not as she dismissed his confession. “Don’t fucking diminish the way I felt,” he released her wrists and lifted her by the shoulders, slamming her back down on the bed, her neck wrenching, twisting with the force.
“You fucking sent me away!” Zoe screeched, arms thrashing as she clawing at his face with tingling fingers.
“Because I looked like this!” he boomed in return, showing her the scars, lifting his hair, tugging his collar aside, so that she could get a fuller extent of his disfigurement. “I never wanted to you see me. Never. Not like this.”
She released a lungful of air she hadn’t realized she was holding in a whoosh, a look of understanding gracing her features before her palm clumsily cupped his face, her talons withdrawn. “I like you like this,” she breathed, hips lifting awkwardly off the mattress, seeking friction, seeking him, to prove her point. “You’re beautiful.”
And the word, that word, the one he had so often and for so many years used when he thought of her, coming from her lips, to describe him, made Kyle more furious than anything else that had happened that night. What kind of fucking game was she playing? Was it a ploy to get away? He couldn’t believe, not for one fraction of a second, that she was serious. His hands were around her throat before he could stop himself, could actually think about what he was doing. His fingers grasped, squeezed, as she let out a choked exhale, eyes slipping closed, chin tilting up as the dim light in his room made her damp lips sparkle.
Her first impulse was to try and pry Kyle’s crushing grip from her windpipe, body struggling to supply oxygen to her blood, her brain, but instead she reached for his belt, tugging uselessly, desperately. She bumped his erect cock, slid her hand down, and then repeated the process, cupping him through his pants.
The boy above her, his eyes skittered to his fly, watched her futile attempts at seduction, and slowly eased his hold. “You want,” his gaze snapped back to hers, “with me? Still?” She nodded a reply, biting her lip. Kyle removed her hand, placed it on her own milky thigh, and wrenched his belt from the loops with a loud crack that made Zoe’s spine arch up.
She turned her head side to side, lifted her neck into the warm sweating grip of the single hand still there and whined, “Don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” It fell from his lips like a prayer, a benediction. “You mean, you want me to,” he jerked his head toward her hoping she understood his meaning.
“Yeah,” she sighed, body moving, slowly undulating below him.
“Zoe,” he shook his head. Was she fucking crazy? He had tried to fucking strangle her.
“I want you to,” she batted her thick black lashes. “I like it.”
“No,” he told her.
“Kyle,” her tone was warning as those large doe eyes appraised him cynically.
“Fuck. No.” He repeated. He wasn’t risking her life. She was Zoe Benson. She was there, with him, hot and ready, and body pliant, willing. His dick was so fucking hard. He wasn’t going to fucking choke her out. At least not until he sunk into her wet hole, pounded her into his bed, filled her up with jizz, and lapped it up out of her cunt. He didn’t have time for that shit. Not when she wanted him. God, really fucking truly wanted him.
"Stop being a little pussy bitch and just do it!" she barked catching him off guard and like that his hands were on her throat again.
She had a death wish he realized too late. Maybe she had all that time, since that night. But he feared he may have already fallen in love with her. Again. And he didn't want her to go, to die like the others. Not then, not when he had finally found her.
Her lips were so plump, full and dark, as her chest rose and fell, the rhythm all off. Her eyes, he wanted to them close, loll, but instead she glared, fixing him in her hard challenging gaze. Daring him to squeeze tighter, crush her windpipe, kill her.
The voices, the dark intent that dwelled within his thoughts, encouraged him. Bullying him into unspeakable acts. And they were becoming harder and harder to ignore.
"No!" He wrenched himself back onto his haunches, releasing her, hovering, watching air rush into her lungs, feeding oxygen to her starving blood cells. "I won't," he shook his head, smacking a palm brutally against his skull, “I won’t. I won’t,” trying to knock his terrible, horrible thoughts out. "I won't," he repeated, voice cracked and broken.
She didn't argue. Zoe used all of her might, her will, to swing a fist up and into Kyle’s jaw, then grimaced in pain, surprised at how much the act of hitting someone hurt. And it wasn’t even a powerful blow. The drugs were wearing thin but still present in her system.
Kyle couldn't think. Not then. That black monstrous part of him reacted on instinct. His fist closing again around her throat, the lower half of his body, thick and desperate for her, bumped against her cunt, making her legs fall farther apart as he rutted himself into the cradle of her thighs. It was all so very much like he had imagined it earlier in the night, long before he knew who she was, how very perfect she might be. And she was fucking it all up, ruining it. Making him hurt her.
"Is this what you fucking want?" he seethed, mouth moving close to her face, feeling her stuttering little breaths. His cheek rubbed hers in an approximation of affection. She was so soft, so warm and fresh. His lips moved to her ear, whispering, "Is this what you need?" One hand slipped to her cunt, stroked her before retreating once more to his fly, popping the button, working the teeth of his zipper down.
"I could kill you," she wheezed with the little air she had left, fingers worming their way past his, inside his boxers, groping for his dick. "I've done it before."
“What?” He stared, grip never slackening, as his mouth dropped open subtly. Knowing that she had killed, that she was a killer, sent a rush through his body, making him shake, muscles locking and releasing, jittery. And he couldn’t help but think that it was only fitting that she might kill him as he was certainly willing to kill her before.
*
Zoe had worried that he would stutter, stop, freeze against her, ask questions, forcing her to fight or cajole him into the act. There was honestly little she could do in her current state; her body had a mind of its own. Between the pills he had slipped her and the aching desire for his cock, she was as helpless as a newborn lamb.
Finally she felt his mouth once more, ghosting along the shell of her ear, giving her goose-bumps, "It'd be worth it." Her sigh heated his neck as her fingers wrapped around him loosely.
“Zoe,” he groaned. Her wrist snapped, jerking him, as he bit his lip, releasing her throat. She gasped, chest heaving upwards as air rushed into her lungs.
“Fuck,” she whimpered as his hands slid up her skirt dragging the soaked cotton of her gray underwear down her thighs, her calves, leaving them hanging from one black silk covered ankle. “I want,” she shook her head, adrift on a sea of desire.
Kyle wrenched her upward into a stooped sitting position and proceeded rapidly divest her of her dress, the sound of seams tearing the only sound in the room, before letting her fall back against the bed with a soft thud. Trying to be of some, any, assistance, Zoe attempted to kick off her studded stilettoes. “Leave them,” Kyle urged, his hands coming up under her knees, opening her to his penetrating gaze.
“You really want a second asshole?” She smirked, her voice nothing more than a rasp after his previous ministrations. He shrugged, lip quirking.
He was staring at her, couldn’t fucking stop. Everything about her was beautiful: her porcelain skin, marred and savaged by scar tissue, bleeding sores, cigarette burns. The map of destruction painted across her flesh was mesmerizing.
Zoe, impatient, made a whining noise at the back of her throat, pelvis coming up, her bare, sopping cunt glistening in the low light. Kyle stood, eyes never straying from her magnificent body, writhing on his bed. He tugged his polo over his head, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he debated.
“I want all of you,” she murmured.
And Kyle knew what she meant so with a deep intake of breath he yanked his thermal off as well, exposing the worst of his damaged flesh to her lazily perusing eyes. Then his khakis were dropped to the ground and he was back on the bed, between her thighs, the place he most longed to be in the entire existing universe, and she welcomed him with a lift of her brows and a coquettish smile.
“Fuck,” he sighed and she nodded, pleased. Her stiletto covered toe nudged his calf showing her eagerness. Ramming his cock inside her Kyle watched, delirious with pleasure, as her eyes went wide then fluttered nearly closed. Her small, pert, pink-tipped breasts heaved, as he filled her completely, stretching her, a tiny yelp escaping past her pursed lips. It was like coming home. He had never had a girl he hadn’t forced before and the feel of her body taking him in, accepting, welcoming him, slick and greedy, was almost more than he could bear. Zoe shifted her hips and he sank deeper, groaning, eyes closed, mouth pressed to the join of her shoulder and neck.
When he had collected himself somewhat he withdrew entirely, allowing only the very tip of him, hot and weeping, to remain in contact with her scorching flesh. He wanted it to fucking last but there was no way that it was going to. Kyle urgently wanted, needed, her to cum, to observe her face in the throws of ecstasy, and as he thought it, he found his hands, almost of their own volition, moving steadily from their bruising position on her sharp, narrow hipbones up, tracing the dip of her waist, over the ridges and valleys of her ribs, skimming the rounded sides of her tits, over her jutting collarbones and to her neck.
They made contact with the long, pale column of her throat, already raw, red, testing. The tips of his finger dug in softly, a light touch. She grunted, thrust up, ass rising off the bed, eyes closed, lip caught painfully between her teeth. Kyle’s thumb drifted upward, coming into contact with her jawline, forcing her to lift her chin, head tilting back to accommodate him. “Fucking look at me,” he ground out, thrusting brutally then stilling. Hazel orbs flashed. His hands tightened their grip. “Tell me to fuck you harder.” Zoe’s hair cascaded around her making a halo of silk as she made a show of struggling. “Say it,” he was bruising her beautiful skin, marking her with his hands. But he wanted to hear her fucking say it. Wanted her to beg him. Beg him to make her cum.
With a steeling look and a harsh snort she growled, “Fuck me harder,” voice a hoarse whisper.
“Sorry,” he breathed harshly against the side of her face, “I couldn’t fucking hear you.”
Zoe wheezed, air rasping into and out of her lungs as she struggled for oxygen. Her body was helpless to do anything more than squirm, her pelvis begging him. “Fuck,” she managed, eyes moving to the back of her head, then, “Fuck me harder, Kyle.” A beat, “Please, god. Fuck me.”
His lips twisted into something resembling a smirk but it was more sinister, darker. He, up on his knees, pounded the supple hole between her thighs, his grip never loosening, as her body began to quake and shiver. The inner walls of her cunt spasming, begging him for more. “You’re so fucking wet,” he sighed, “you little slut.” His tongue darted out to lap up the small line of drool that ran from her mouth down her cheek. And with his words, a thumb pressing against her pulse point, feeling it flutter, she came apart around his cock, grasping him, clenching, holding him like a molten vice.
When Kyle, two sloppy pumps later, spilled inside of her, Zoe’s mouth opened on a silent cry, her inner muscles continuing to hold him, milking him, draining his balls dry. The action was a rough mimicry of his fingers on her neck. It was almost poetic. But glancing down at her, his blood thrumming through his veins, feeling high, he saw that she had gone still, limp.
“Zoe?” He rushed, voice hoarse, sweaty hair in his eyes. He boggled at the hands around her throat, observing them from another perspective, like they were not attached to his arms, his torso. Slowly, with stiff fingers, he released his grip. The girl below him lay still, head cocked to the side, bloodshot eyes open, staring at a fixed point on the wall. Her chest did not rise with the sudden intake of breath he had been silently praying for.
“Zoe!” His face shifted from a placid, confused mask, to one of fury again, violently taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. Her body flailed, arms swinging as he lifted her from the mattress, head rocking back painfully, her mouth dropping open. “No!” He felt the burn of tears behind his eyes. “No! You don’t die! You can’t,” his vision swam, stung, as Kyle dropped her lifeless corpse back onto the bed. “Fuck!” He turned, screamed, rocking forward, taking his head in his hands. He was going to vomit, bile rose up in his throat, acid in his mouth.
Behind him, Zoe’s fingers twitched, eyes rolling in their sockets, before she gasped, sitting up, sputtering and coughing. Kyle spun where he sat, handfuls of his hair still painfully being yanked from his scalp. “Fuck. That shit burns,” Zoe panted, gaze flickering to him, as she inhaled roughly and he stared back helpless, eyes the size of saucers.
“How?” He rapidly crawled toward her, clutching her naked body to his chest, a sob nearly choking him.
“I always wondered if I could do that,” she told him nonchalantly, like girls coming back from the dead was nothing particularly interesting or exciting. Like she hadn’t just changed his life in the matter of one evening, one moment. Like she wasn’t already the only thing in the world he could ever truly love. The only thing that mattered to him in the whole filthy goddamn horror show they lived in. “I’d come close a couple times but I just never had it fucking in me to kill myself. That shit was crazy!”
“You died,” he stated dumbly.
“I guess.”
“But you’re alive.”
“Apparently,” she grinned.
The drug had quit her system entirely, body active and her own, fully functioning once more, heart pounding, lungs inflating, deflating. Zoe immediately reached for her boy, hands, fingertips, skittering across the pocked and marled flesh of his scars, exploring, memorizing.
“Sorry,” he frowned.
“For killing me?” She lifted a shoulder helplessly.
Kyle bit the inside of his cheek. He had actually meant for the state of his chest, his disfigurement. But, he figured, he should have been sorry for killing her, so he nodded.
“It’s okay,” she breathed against his lips, hands sliding down his chest, chipped nails scraping across his nipples, and over his shoulders to cup the back of his neck. “I forgive you.” He kissed her then, desperately, urgently, crushing her delicate body to his own as his thumbs dragged down her ribcage, over her hips, to her thighs, where they tucked themselves into the straps of her black garter belt. Zoe pulled back first, eyes flitting downward to take in his already fully erect cock, and lifted a well-sculpted brow. “Already, huh?” He had no words so he nodded. And she grinned, yanking his mouth back down to meet her own.
*
“We could run away together,” he hushed into the overheated skin of her bruised neck, later, as they lay collapsed and boneless on top of his quilt.
“We could,” she agreed, toes flexing as his fingers tripped across her clit, slipping inside of her, wetting themselves, and returning. “Or I could just stay here with you.”
“All night?” he smiled, boyish and full of charm. So like the old Kyle. She liked that there was still a little piece of him, the boy she had known, inside. Because she knew, deep down, there was a tiny part of the old Zoe in residence in her as well.
She shrugged, “Forever? I mean, why waste a perfectly good Tulane scholarship.”
He shifted so that his face was above her, driving three fingers into her body mercilessly as she squeaked then gasped, eyes glassy, before leaning down and savagely biting her lower lip.
Zoe’s hand worked its way from his shoulder to his neck, climbing along the tight raised tissue there. Over his jaw, thumb running along the scarred flesh at the side of his face, before raking into his hair, tugging it away from his exposed scalp. “Soft,” she mumbled, blood on her teeth, hips undulating up into his wet, waiting palm. “I always knew it would be.” He smirked wickedly against her mouth.
*
PROMPT GIVEN TO AUTHOR:
1. Please List Preferred Characters and/or Pairings:
Violate, Kyle/Zoe, Misty, Cordelia (pretty much anyone from Coven), Lana, Kit, Chad
2. Squicks or characters/pairings you do not want in your gift: None
3. Possible Scenarios/Themes/Lines to incorporate:
Two people falling in love and making a mess of it (hopefully fixing it in time--not opposed to some good angst, though).
4. Youtube link a SONG to describe the overall theme you would like:
My Chemical Romance - Summertime
5. Preferred Rating: M and above
6. Strictly Canon, AU, Doesn’t Matter?: Doesn't matter
Author: drollicpixie
Pairing: Zoe/Kyle
Summary: She’s falling. Her heart is sick. Her bones are dust. The yawning maw of the pit waits below. His arms are raised up to catch her. Coven AU.
Spoilers/Warning/Triggers: Rated (Strong) M. This story has elements of self-harm, dub-con, violence, and violent thoughts towards women.
Author Notes: As my prompt mentioned both Violet/Tate and Zoe/Kyle, I thought I would take some elements of the Murder House pair and superimpose them onto the Coven pair.
Original Characters: Leonard Parris is played by David Tennant, Nicola by Lucy Hale.
( Ashes to Ashes 1/2 )
*
He was stunned. When had she learned his name? He was certain he had never told her. And how did she know all that shit? She was rambling, raving, he could blame the pills, the booze, the coke he had spied her blowing up her nose. Unless, he paused. But Kyle refused to believe. He had given up on hope, on soul mates and the idea of love, years before. She couldn’t be her. Life was cruel; it took, it did not give.
The Lambda house loomed as he helped her shamble across the lawn, her legs coltish and wobbling, tears streaming down her face, hands clutching him, tugging his shirt, his hair, desperately trying to crawl inside of him, so she would never have to let him go.
Kyle didn’t dare take her through the front door, the way she fucking looked, though he doubted any of his brothers would be in before midnight. Instead he maneuvered them toward the rear, entering the unlocked door of the kitchen, and guided her up the silent, black, disused staircase. Her heels pounded the old boards, her hands trailing along the walls, black fingernails scraping the plaster.
“You live here?” She asked, some of the starlight back in her gaze, snivels drying up.
“Yeah.”
“I live in an old mansion too. It’s a school, for girls,” she swallowed, listing to the side, “with problems. They call us exceptional. The only thing exceptional about us is how fucked up we are.”
*
His room was tidy, organized, impersonal but she didn’t seem to care, didn’t ask any questions, just flung herself down on his mattress, cheek against the quilt as her eyes drifted closed, making herself comfortable.
Kyle closed the door quietly, turning to look at the girl on his bed, a hand rubbing over his eyes, cock hard and straining against his khakis. Her squirming, wiggling, in that tight-ass short fucking dress was doing nothing to improve the situation. But he had to ask. “How the fuck did you know all that shit about me?”
“Huh?” Came the muffled reply.
“Before, you said…”
Zoe shrugged, limply rolling onto her back, knees falling apart. His gaze dropped, followed the line of her leg, the stockings, up to that place he knew she was hot and wet, just for him. “Because you’re Kyle Spencer.”
His eyes squeezed tight, muscles contracting, fury building in his gut. “I never fucking told you that,” and he was storming toward her, climbing up on the mattress, planting a knee on other side of her torso and grasping her wrists, tugging them above her head and leaning down into her face, his onyx eyes a mixture of rage and fascination.
She sighed up at him, wetting her lips, seemingly unconcerned about her position. She was either the dumbest bitch he had ever brought home or she wasn’t fucking scared of anything.
When he continued to say nothing, to only stare, Zoe got nervous, shifting beneath him, as she felt some kind of emotion, pain, regret maybe, rising inside of her. He didn’t remember her. And why would he, she thought. Just another stupid girl at the movies when he was in junior high. Sure, he had saved her life that night, but he would have done the same for anyone, that was just the kind of boy he had been. And when she had gone to see him, to tell him thank you, or perhaps that she thought she was in love with him, whatever burst out of her mouth first, he had sent her away. Over and over. He had rejected her. And why shouldn’t he have? She was a freak. She had healed while he had suffered, languished in a hospital bed. He hated her, just as she had always suspected. Kyle blamed her for what happened to him. She blamed herself. So she couldn’t fault him for not realizing who she was. Perhaps he would be disgusted if she told him, move away from her, shove her aside, scream and thunder. Or worse, silently dismiss her.
“You don’t know me,” she swallowed. It was a question and a statement rolled into one.
“Should I?” His face was red, the words low and menacing, his face inching a fraction closer. Kyle wanted her to say it. To dash his hopes, tell him that she was not her.
Zoe nodded, tucking her lip between her teeth, on the verge of tears, lost, unable to control her own body. In other words, she was a fucking wreck. Kyle’s head cocked to the side, scrutinizing her like some lab rat, something to study and dissect. And part of her wanted him to do just that: cut her up, take out her heart, her lungs, let her die and put her on display. Because she wanted no part in her life, in the world as it was. She hadn’t, not really, not since she was a twelve year old girl.
He might actually be doing her a favor. Once she had had a dream, something to think on, ponder, hope for, but if Kyle Spencer was there, with her, and didn’t know her, didn’t want anything to do with her, again, then she would have nothing left. Death was her only option.
With a trembling sigh, her cheeks damp and cool, she exhaled softly, “I’m Zoe. Zoe Benson. From…” But she stopped, the way he was looking at her, mouth agape, bright wavy locks falling over his forehead and into his eyes, made her chest ache, heart sluggishly pulling toward him.
“Zoe,” he repeated.
She nodded again, tears tracking down her face, rolling into her hair, her ears.
“But how?” It wasn’t possible.
She wanted to answer him, to go into detail, explain how exactly they had come to find one another again but a tiny ember ignited in her chest and began to grow, scorching, burning, tearing her open in agonizing pain. She swallowed.
He, Kyle fucking Spencer, had made her that way, the way she was. The fucking mess, the train wreck, sprawled beneath him, and he didn’t even have the decency to show some spark of emotion when he discovered who she was. He wasn’t angry, or sad, or happy. He was just Kyle, quiet and fucking staring at her. And Zoe was so fucking exhausted of all that shit. “How am I here?” she demanded. “Well, you fucking drugged me and half carried me home, like a twisted fucking psychopath. Or do you mean in New Orleans? Because that is one hell of shitty-ass story. But it all starts right around the time you kissed me in that stupid movie theater and then never spoke to me again.”
His rage had been put on hold, simmering just below the surface, as he fought to understand, to make sense of the whole situation. It was clear that she did not understand fucking anything. How could he have let her see him? How could he have faced her again? She was so perfect, so beautiful and pure. He had, in one night, possibly the best night of his young life, up until the point of the blast, become a monster. He shook his head angrily. “I fucking loved you!” He didn’t know why he said it, exploding, spit flying past his teeth, his lips, spraying her face, as her mouth dropped open, eyes wide with surprise.
Finally, after a heart-stopping moment, her face contorted into something dark, that mean little smirk playing at her lips, as she scoffed, “You were twelve.”
Kyle couldn’t hold back any longer, not as she dismissed his confession. “Don’t fucking diminish the way I felt,” he released her wrists and lifted her by the shoulders, slamming her back down on the bed, her neck wrenching, twisting with the force.
“You fucking sent me away!” Zoe screeched, arms thrashing as she clawing at his face with tingling fingers.
“Because I looked like this!” he boomed in return, showing her the scars, lifting his hair, tugging his collar aside, so that she could get a fuller extent of his disfigurement. “I never wanted to you see me. Never. Not like this.”
She released a lungful of air she hadn’t realized she was holding in a whoosh, a look of understanding gracing her features before her palm clumsily cupped his face, her talons withdrawn. “I like you like this,” she breathed, hips lifting awkwardly off the mattress, seeking friction, seeking him, to prove her point. “You’re beautiful.”
And the word, that word, the one he had so often and for so many years used when he thought of her, coming from her lips, to describe him, made Kyle more furious than anything else that had happened that night. What kind of fucking game was she playing? Was it a ploy to get away? He couldn’t believe, not for one fraction of a second, that she was serious. His hands were around her throat before he could stop himself, could actually think about what he was doing. His fingers grasped, squeezed, as she let out a choked exhale, eyes slipping closed, chin tilting up as the dim light in his room made her damp lips sparkle.
Her first impulse was to try and pry Kyle’s crushing grip from her windpipe, body struggling to supply oxygen to her blood, her brain, but instead she reached for his belt, tugging uselessly, desperately. She bumped his erect cock, slid her hand down, and then repeated the process, cupping him through his pants.
The boy above her, his eyes skittered to his fly, watched her futile attempts at seduction, and slowly eased his hold. “You want,” his gaze snapped back to hers, “with me? Still?” She nodded a reply, biting her lip. Kyle removed her hand, placed it on her own milky thigh, and wrenched his belt from the loops with a loud crack that made Zoe’s spine arch up.
She turned her head side to side, lifted her neck into the warm sweating grip of the single hand still there and whined, “Don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” It fell from his lips like a prayer, a benediction. “You mean, you want me to,” he jerked his head toward her hoping she understood his meaning.
“Yeah,” she sighed, body moving, slowly undulating below him.
“Zoe,” he shook his head. Was she fucking crazy? He had tried to fucking strangle her.
“I want you to,” she batted her thick black lashes. “I like it.”
“No,” he told her.
“Kyle,” her tone was warning as those large doe eyes appraised him cynically.
“Fuck. No.” He repeated. He wasn’t risking her life. She was Zoe Benson. She was there, with him, hot and ready, and body pliant, willing. His dick was so fucking hard. He wasn’t going to fucking choke her out. At least not until he sunk into her wet hole, pounded her into his bed, filled her up with jizz, and lapped it up out of her cunt. He didn’t have time for that shit. Not when she wanted him. God, really fucking truly wanted him.
"Stop being a little pussy bitch and just do it!" she barked catching him off guard and like that his hands were on her throat again.
She had a death wish he realized too late. Maybe she had all that time, since that night. But he feared he may have already fallen in love with her. Again. And he didn't want her to go, to die like the others. Not then, not when he had finally found her.
Her lips were so plump, full and dark, as her chest rose and fell, the rhythm all off. Her eyes, he wanted to them close, loll, but instead she glared, fixing him in her hard challenging gaze. Daring him to squeeze tighter, crush her windpipe, kill her.
The voices, the dark intent that dwelled within his thoughts, encouraged him. Bullying him into unspeakable acts. And they were becoming harder and harder to ignore.
"No!" He wrenched himself back onto his haunches, releasing her, hovering, watching air rush into her lungs, feeding oxygen to her starving blood cells. "I won't," he shook his head, smacking a palm brutally against his skull, “I won’t. I won’t,” trying to knock his terrible, horrible thoughts out. "I won't," he repeated, voice cracked and broken.
She didn't argue. Zoe used all of her might, her will, to swing a fist up and into Kyle’s jaw, then grimaced in pain, surprised at how much the act of hitting someone hurt. And it wasn’t even a powerful blow. The drugs were wearing thin but still present in her system.
Kyle couldn't think. Not then. That black monstrous part of him reacted on instinct. His fist closing again around her throat, the lower half of his body, thick and desperate for her, bumped against her cunt, making her legs fall farther apart as he rutted himself into the cradle of her thighs. It was all so very much like he had imagined it earlier in the night, long before he knew who she was, how very perfect she might be. And she was fucking it all up, ruining it. Making him hurt her.
"Is this what you fucking want?" he seethed, mouth moving close to her face, feeling her stuttering little breaths. His cheek rubbed hers in an approximation of affection. She was so soft, so warm and fresh. His lips moved to her ear, whispering, "Is this what you need?" One hand slipped to her cunt, stroked her before retreating once more to his fly, popping the button, working the teeth of his zipper down.
"I could kill you," she wheezed with the little air she had left, fingers worming their way past his, inside his boxers, groping for his dick. "I've done it before."
“What?” He stared, grip never slackening, as his mouth dropped open subtly. Knowing that she had killed, that she was a killer, sent a rush through his body, making him shake, muscles locking and releasing, jittery. And he couldn’t help but think that it was only fitting that she might kill him as he was certainly willing to kill her before.
*
Zoe had worried that he would stutter, stop, freeze against her, ask questions, forcing her to fight or cajole him into the act. There was honestly little she could do in her current state; her body had a mind of its own. Between the pills he had slipped her and the aching desire for his cock, she was as helpless as a newborn lamb.
Finally she felt his mouth once more, ghosting along the shell of her ear, giving her goose-bumps, "It'd be worth it." Her sigh heated his neck as her fingers wrapped around him loosely.
“Zoe,” he groaned. Her wrist snapped, jerking him, as he bit his lip, releasing her throat. She gasped, chest heaving upwards as air rushed into her lungs.
“Fuck,” she whimpered as his hands slid up her skirt dragging the soaked cotton of her gray underwear down her thighs, her calves, leaving them hanging from one black silk covered ankle. “I want,” she shook her head, adrift on a sea of desire.
Kyle wrenched her upward into a stooped sitting position and proceeded rapidly divest her of her dress, the sound of seams tearing the only sound in the room, before letting her fall back against the bed with a soft thud. Trying to be of some, any, assistance, Zoe attempted to kick off her studded stilettoes. “Leave them,” Kyle urged, his hands coming up under her knees, opening her to his penetrating gaze.
“You really want a second asshole?” She smirked, her voice nothing more than a rasp after his previous ministrations. He shrugged, lip quirking.
He was staring at her, couldn’t fucking stop. Everything about her was beautiful: her porcelain skin, marred and savaged by scar tissue, bleeding sores, cigarette burns. The map of destruction painted across her flesh was mesmerizing.
Zoe, impatient, made a whining noise at the back of her throat, pelvis coming up, her bare, sopping cunt glistening in the low light. Kyle stood, eyes never straying from her magnificent body, writhing on his bed. He tugged his polo over his head, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he debated.
“I want all of you,” she murmured.
And Kyle knew what she meant so with a deep intake of breath he yanked his thermal off as well, exposing the worst of his damaged flesh to her lazily perusing eyes. Then his khakis were dropped to the ground and he was back on the bed, between her thighs, the place he most longed to be in the entire existing universe, and she welcomed him with a lift of her brows and a coquettish smile.
“Fuck,” he sighed and she nodded, pleased. Her stiletto covered toe nudged his calf showing her eagerness. Ramming his cock inside her Kyle watched, delirious with pleasure, as her eyes went wide then fluttered nearly closed. Her small, pert, pink-tipped breasts heaved, as he filled her completely, stretching her, a tiny yelp escaping past her pursed lips. It was like coming home. He had never had a girl he hadn’t forced before and the feel of her body taking him in, accepting, welcoming him, slick and greedy, was almost more than he could bear. Zoe shifted her hips and he sank deeper, groaning, eyes closed, mouth pressed to the join of her shoulder and neck.
When he had collected himself somewhat he withdrew entirely, allowing only the very tip of him, hot and weeping, to remain in contact with her scorching flesh. He wanted it to fucking last but there was no way that it was going to. Kyle urgently wanted, needed, her to cum, to observe her face in the throws of ecstasy, and as he thought it, he found his hands, almost of their own volition, moving steadily from their bruising position on her sharp, narrow hipbones up, tracing the dip of her waist, over the ridges and valleys of her ribs, skimming the rounded sides of her tits, over her jutting collarbones and to her neck.
They made contact with the long, pale column of her throat, already raw, red, testing. The tips of his finger dug in softly, a light touch. She grunted, thrust up, ass rising off the bed, eyes closed, lip caught painfully between her teeth. Kyle’s thumb drifted upward, coming into contact with her jawline, forcing her to lift her chin, head tilting back to accommodate him. “Fucking look at me,” he ground out, thrusting brutally then stilling. Hazel orbs flashed. His hands tightened their grip. “Tell me to fuck you harder.” Zoe’s hair cascaded around her making a halo of silk as she made a show of struggling. “Say it,” he was bruising her beautiful skin, marking her with his hands. But he wanted to hear her fucking say it. Wanted her to beg him. Beg him to make her cum.
With a steeling look and a harsh snort she growled, “Fuck me harder,” voice a hoarse whisper.
“Sorry,” he breathed harshly against the side of her face, “I couldn’t fucking hear you.”
Zoe wheezed, air rasping into and out of her lungs as she struggled for oxygen. Her body was helpless to do anything more than squirm, her pelvis begging him. “Fuck,” she managed, eyes moving to the back of her head, then, “Fuck me harder, Kyle.” A beat, “Please, god. Fuck me.”
His lips twisted into something resembling a smirk but it was more sinister, darker. He, up on his knees, pounded the supple hole between her thighs, his grip never loosening, as her body began to quake and shiver. The inner walls of her cunt spasming, begging him for more. “You’re so fucking wet,” he sighed, “you little slut.” His tongue darted out to lap up the small line of drool that ran from her mouth down her cheek. And with his words, a thumb pressing against her pulse point, feeling it flutter, she came apart around his cock, grasping him, clenching, holding him like a molten vice.
When Kyle, two sloppy pumps later, spilled inside of her, Zoe’s mouth opened on a silent cry, her inner muscles continuing to hold him, milking him, draining his balls dry. The action was a rough mimicry of his fingers on her neck. It was almost poetic. But glancing down at her, his blood thrumming through his veins, feeling high, he saw that she had gone still, limp.
“Zoe?” He rushed, voice hoarse, sweaty hair in his eyes. He boggled at the hands around her throat, observing them from another perspective, like they were not attached to his arms, his torso. Slowly, with stiff fingers, he released his grip. The girl below him lay still, head cocked to the side, bloodshot eyes open, staring at a fixed point on the wall. Her chest did not rise with the sudden intake of breath he had been silently praying for.
“Zoe!” His face shifted from a placid, confused mask, to one of fury again, violently taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. Her body flailed, arms swinging as he lifted her from the mattress, head rocking back painfully, her mouth dropping open. “No!” He felt the burn of tears behind his eyes. “No! You don’t die! You can’t,” his vision swam, stung, as Kyle dropped her lifeless corpse back onto the bed. “Fuck!” He turned, screamed, rocking forward, taking his head in his hands. He was going to vomit, bile rose up in his throat, acid in his mouth.
Behind him, Zoe’s fingers twitched, eyes rolling in their sockets, before she gasped, sitting up, sputtering and coughing. Kyle spun where he sat, handfuls of his hair still painfully being yanked from his scalp. “Fuck. That shit burns,” Zoe panted, gaze flickering to him, as she inhaled roughly and he stared back helpless, eyes the size of saucers.
“How?” He rapidly crawled toward her, clutching her naked body to his chest, a sob nearly choking him.
“I always wondered if I could do that,” she told him nonchalantly, like girls coming back from the dead was nothing particularly interesting or exciting. Like she hadn’t just changed his life in the matter of one evening, one moment. Like she wasn’t already the only thing in the world he could ever truly love. The only thing that mattered to him in the whole filthy goddamn horror show they lived in. “I’d come close a couple times but I just never had it fucking in me to kill myself. That shit was crazy!”
“You died,” he stated dumbly.
“I guess.”
“But you’re alive.”
“Apparently,” she grinned.
The drug had quit her system entirely, body active and her own, fully functioning once more, heart pounding, lungs inflating, deflating. Zoe immediately reached for her boy, hands, fingertips, skittering across the pocked and marled flesh of his scars, exploring, memorizing.
“Sorry,” he frowned.
“For killing me?” She lifted a shoulder helplessly.
Kyle bit the inside of his cheek. He had actually meant for the state of his chest, his disfigurement. But, he figured, he should have been sorry for killing her, so he nodded.
“It’s okay,” she breathed against his lips, hands sliding down his chest, chipped nails scraping across his nipples, and over his shoulders to cup the back of his neck. “I forgive you.” He kissed her then, desperately, urgently, crushing her delicate body to his own as his thumbs dragged down her ribcage, over her hips, to her thighs, where they tucked themselves into the straps of her black garter belt. Zoe pulled back first, eyes flitting downward to take in his already fully erect cock, and lifted a well-sculpted brow. “Already, huh?” He had no words so he nodded. And she grinned, yanking his mouth back down to meet her own.
*
“We could run away together,” he hushed into the overheated skin of her bruised neck, later, as they lay collapsed and boneless on top of his quilt.
“We could,” she agreed, toes flexing as his fingers tripped across her clit, slipping inside of her, wetting themselves, and returning. “Or I could just stay here with you.”
“All night?” he smiled, boyish and full of charm. So like the old Kyle. She liked that there was still a little piece of him, the boy she had known, inside. Because she knew, deep down, there was a tiny part of the old Zoe in residence in her as well.
She shrugged, “Forever? I mean, why waste a perfectly good Tulane scholarship.”
He shifted so that his face was above her, driving three fingers into her body mercilessly as she squeaked then gasped, eyes glassy, before leaning down and savagely biting her lower lip.
Zoe’s hand worked its way from his shoulder to his neck, climbing along the tight raised tissue there. Over his jaw, thumb running along the scarred flesh at the side of his face, before raking into his hair, tugging it away from his exposed scalp. “Soft,” she mumbled, blood on her teeth, hips undulating up into his wet, waiting palm. “I always knew it would be.” He smirked wickedly against her mouth.
*
PROMPT GIVEN TO AUTHOR:
1. Please List Preferred Characters and/or Pairings:
Violate, Kyle/Zoe, Misty, Cordelia (pretty much anyone from Coven), Lana, Kit, Chad
2. Squicks or characters/pairings you do not want in your gift: None
3. Possible Scenarios/Themes/Lines to incorporate:
Two people falling in love and making a mess of it (hopefully fixing it in time--not opposed to some good angst, though).
4. Youtube link a SONG to describe the overall theme you would like:
My Chemical Romance - Summertime
Click to view5. Preferred Rating: M and above
6. Strictly Canon, AU, Doesn’t Matter?: Doesn't matter