Author: Verboten Byacolate PM
Through the rain there is fire, and through the fire she will dance. [PeinKonan]Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Words: 467 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 10 - Follows: 2 - Published: 09-09-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3776945
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: I've simply been reading too much PeinKonan, and I needed to vent my inspiration. I need medical assistance for sure.
- it is but a mere whim
May it be the fault of the rythmic beat of the rain against the tin roof of the small building they'd taken shelter in, but somehow, she'd found herself dancing.
This, however, was unlike any other dance you've seen before. This was their dance. One of the many things they... he... kept secret from any other soul. A dance that involved not only feet, but hands and tongues and teeth and bone and metal as well. They would generate between passionate blows to furious kisses, or vice versa; however you chose to see it. If you saw it.
Which you wouldn't, because he wouldn't let you.
She knew from the beginning that he was a sadist, so she'd made it her mission to gain a masochistic mindset. It had been to his pleasure, of course. It always had been so.
And he would always share that frantic beating of the heart with her in return. It was not love-- they did not allow each other love. It was only a moment of pure, overwhelming static that made her every nerve stand on end, and his throat reverberate with the moans that she forever welcomed.
It was lust, but oh what a wonderful sin.
- and disfunctional whims cast aside
By the end of the dance, she would push him away. Not in the physical sense (the only one they truly knew), for he would immediately take her down and constrict her within a warm, yet still viciously (eternally) cold emrace. His arms simply wouldn't let her pull away. But even so, she wouldn't reciprocate. She couldn't allow past passion, fire, smolder. She would simply remain the white rose to his red cloud, and it was so.
But tonight it was different. Tonight... it seemed he wanted more. Tonight, when his arms encircled her waist, and she obediently lay beside him, he placed two dangerous, powerful fingers under her chin. He could kill her with such ease that she was almost frightened... but not really. She was never afraid of the Boogyman.
He searched the icy blue gaze that was locked onto his own eyes (he had insisted, after all) and just... looked. She was almost puzzled.
But when he let his fingers trace her jawline back to delve deep into indigo tresses, the heel of his hand situated near her chin, and kissed her, it became perfectly clear.
May it be the fault of the rythmic beat of her heart against his, but somehow, she'd found herself dancing again.
- on a whim, I will dance for you