Tin Foil

I am too busy to have friends
A lover would just complicate my plans
So I will never look for love again
I'm taking matters into my own hands

I think I could last at least a week without someone to hold me

They don’t make love. They fuck, and they fuck long and hard until she gives in completely and he is done with her, and then they separate as if nothing happened. As if he hadn’t taken away another piece of her soul.

They don’t kiss. They bite and bruise and bleed with their lips and neither are left unscathed. She must hide her face behind that high collar (“it’s so fucking unpractical!” Hidan had always said, but if he knew, if he knew the true reason behind it…) and he can simply pull it off as a battle injury. Not that he’d be touched, but no one questions him anyway.

They barely talk; they know. She can tell by the look in his unfathomable eyes what he wants. It is always what she wants. They desire things equally, because they are one. So he doesn’t speak, and she neither does she, for who needs words when sex says it all?

She cannot imagine.

But, beside those facts, she isn’t aware that every time they fuck, he adds another piercing, and the number of unnatural holes in his body was equal to the times he was allowed to penetrate her greatest barriers, enter her, become one with her. And she doesn’t know that she still takes the breath from him when her lips are on his, teeth and tongue meeting in a sadistic, masochistic waltz.

Of course she doesn’t know.

By the time their lives are finished (he is a god, and he won’t die, and she is his angel, so she won’t die, but the term ‘finished’ simply means the time eternity ends, of course, of course), every inch of his body will be covered in metal.

He will never be done with her.

- -

And here she comes again.

I think I could last at least a week without someone to hold me
Won't you hold me?

- Fin -

Lyrics: First Orgasm, by the Dresden Dolls.
This totally wrote itself. I had nothing to do with it! Don’t shoot!!
-is shot-