Title: Dark Boy
Author: Lizzy Rebel
Disclaimer: the author does not own Digimon Tamers in anyway, shape or form. She is simply borrowing them for a spot o'fun!
Keywords: darkness, sex, and… darkness insert creepy voice
Couples: Alice/mystery man (revealed at end—but you really should have figured it out before that)
Rating: R for language and sex scenes (not very heavy but you should heed the warning!)
Genre(s): Angst/Drama/slight romance
Teaser: She's an obsession. A dark, dirty secret I lock away with every rise of the sun. [heed the R rating! Lemon and language ahead, one-shot]
Feedback: if you can find it in your heart to do so…
Timeline: several years after the D-Reaper
Author's Notes: Ack! I really didn't want to make this end so bad, but my screwed up muse refused to have it any other way. So yes, this is not gonna be pretty… it's actually pretty dirty if you ask me. But please though I tried to make it grim and gritty this is my first angst story (one-shot or otherwise) so please don't be to harsh with your review? I tried my best, honest!
Story Notes: okay, I know that Alice is either 10 or 9 in the Digimon series and the Tamers are like 14 or so, but let's pretend they were about Alice's age during the series, okay? They don't look like teenagers I tell you!
I'm going straight to the fifth level for this…
Blonde hair thrown across his pillow… aqua eyes lidded… lips parted to draw in shaky breaths…
She looked beautiful there, he decided, wrapping his arms around her sweaty body as she trembled in the aftermath of heated passion. Her arms, pale from the lack of sun and life in her bones, rose and wrapped around his neck. She didn't speak, but it didn't surprise him.
Never once did she call out his name… she hardly moaned... if her eyes hadn't been so translucent he might have doubted whether or not it was consensual.
For a long moment she lay on his pillow, curled at his side, panting, trying to draw back some of the energy he had removed from her. He didn't want to let her be strong again. He wanted to press his lips against her own and take her again, but he was human and his body was still weak from the exertion and he could do nothing as he felt her tense beside him.
Then she sat up, like she always did, without looking at him. She leaned over him, the white sheet of the blanket she wore over her breasts teasing him with hints of what lay underneath, and snagged her black ribbons from the top of his pillow. She tied her disheveled hair back into its trademark pigtails.
She went about gathering her clothes next. She pulled on her black bra, discarding the white sheet with a look graduate on her face. He realized she had never liked the stark white of his sheets, even the pale green of his pillows bothered her.
Her black bell-skirt dress came on next. It clung to her body, sticking from the sweat. She pulled on the gold cross from inside one of the dress's pockets and stuffed her black panties into the cross's former residence.
When she made a move to climb out of bed, he snagged her arm and pulled her back. "Don't go, please," he all but begged, his voice hoarse. He didn't know why but every time they ended up in his bed he never wanted her to leave.
And every time she answered with the same sentence, "Dawn comes. I must go." She pulled her arms from his grasp and crawled from the bed.
"Why then?" he whispered, his voice uneven and pain filled, "Why do you come? Why bother if you just disappear every morning?"
"Because," she answered calmly, hand on the doorknob, never looking back, "you need it. I come because you need me… you want me… you're not supposed to. I know that, you know that, but it doesn't stop you… and every time you think about me I feel it and I can't ignore it."
Her skirt swished once as she opened the door to his locked room and disappeared. He didn't bother going after her, though something inside him said that maybe he should. Instead he pulled a thick, leather-covered journal out from under his bed. It had become a habit for him to write down all his screwed up emotions after being with her. There were already pages full of words. He skimmed his most recent entry.
She's an obsession. A dark, dirty secret I lock away with every rise of the sun. My friends ask me why I'm always so tired… how can I tell them I'm up every night fucking a girl that's dead? They'll think I'm crazy or some sick perverted freak. And maybe… maybe they'd be right.
But they can't understand her like I do. To be locked inside her, she's real then. She's all heat and passion. For a fleeting second I trick myself into thinking that she's human. But then it's over and she's the cold dead girl again.
Why does she come to me, to share my bed? Why does she let me come inside, be with her, make her moan when she's just going to walk away again? Why does she let me mark her, bit her, bruise her when it doesn't matter?
I'm sick, I know that. I've known I'm sick since the first night I let her inside my room on the rainy night. I knew I was sick the minute I helped her pull off the damn dress. I knew I was a goner when I buried myself deep in her and lost myself so completely that there's a piece of me I'll never get back.
Damnit, I'm only seventeen and I'm like this… consumed with her. Whenever I close my eyes all I can see is her, her body a sheen of sweat, her back arched, her nails biting into my back. The beautiful Dark Girl.
There are times when I want to kill her from making me want her so badly. That's when the sex hurts. That's when I'm clumsy and messy, not caring for her pleasure so much as my own release. When it's all over I apologize and she looks at me like I'm… I'm nothing. I hardly count to her… I'm just someone to give her a few fleeting moments of heat and nothing more.
He trembled as he read. It was the truth. He knew every time he looked into her eyes he was nothing more then someone to heat her when she got cold. He supposed it would have to be often, since she was dead.
It was degrading, this feeling of being used. And yet he enjoyed the feeling. He enjoyed knowing she came only to him for the passion, the heat, the sex. It was a dirty, dirty thing but he wouldn't give it up.
The pen clicked on and he began to scribble across the sheet next to his former entry. Easy strokes—like the way he caressed her skin, he thought—moved his hands across the paper as he wrote.
She wasn't supposed to be anything more then a tool used to defeat the D-Reaper. My friends have forgotten her. I know if I was to mention her to them out of the blue then they would wonder what on Earth I was talking about.
But she stuck with me. Even when I was ten I wanted her badly, until my body ached. I closed my eyes and I saw her standing beside her dog digimon, telling us that Dobermon had a gift for us and I wondered what she would taste like.
I never mention my dreams involving her to my friends. I disgusted even myself. I dreamed of a girl who was surely dead and cold and pale, locked in a darkness that could consume everything and anything. And I—the sick fool that I am—wanted her so badly I thought I would die if I didn't have her.
When I was fifteen I finally got her. My parents had taken my siblings to the mall; I had stayed home because my throat was sore. I remember little of that day—most of my days after meeting the Dark Girl were blurs—expect watching the TV after my family had gone and hearing the doorbell ring.
I opened it and there she stood, just like when she had been… I don't know how old she had been when I first saw her. I don't know how old she is now. I don't care. She had matured though. Her blonde hair was longer, but still in its pigtails with those damn black ribbons. She wore the same dress, though now it was tight over her curves.
Without a word she stepped into the apartment. I was too dazed to protest. Then she began to peel of her clothes, sopping from the rain outside. For a moment I could do nothing but watch as she revealed those lovely curves and shapely breasts. Then when she was finally stark naked she stood in front of me and waited. I hadn't said anything as I dragged her to my bedroom; giving her my virginity… and later, I realized, my heart.
And now… I see her almost every week and every time I take her I discover new types of pain and pleasure. And every time she walks out of my room like she hadn't just had mind-blowing sex I realize I need to get out.
But I've tried it before. I've tried not wanting her. But it's useless. I can lie to myself and say that I don't need her taste, that I'm not addicted to it, but the minute she's standing outside my door I can't stop myself.
This time, though, has to be the last time I let her in. I can feel her killing me, like some sick virus that tastes so good even as it destroys you from the inside out. It might kill me to push her away but at least then I can die somewhat clean.
When the doorbell in his apartment rang he knew it was her. Somehow she always knew when his parents and siblings where out, when he was at his weakest moment. When he couldn't say no.
"I'll say no this time…" he told himself and made his way to the door, opening it and looking into her dead eyes.
She didn't say a word as she stepped inside, and neither did he. He supposed that conversations weren't needed in the relationship they had… if you could call it that.
Those calm aqua eyes stared at him deeply, waiting for him to take her. She looked so beautiful standing there, pale moonlight on her hair, skimming across her body. He wanted to jump her right there and forget the promise he made to himself.
She's poison in my veins.
"No." The words were ripped from his lungs and he backed away from her, as if afraid she would jump him even though with her small frame it wouldn't do much to him.
"No?" She repeated in a calm voice, no surprise there.
"No. I don't want this anymore." His breath came out in hitch as he stared at her, wanting her so badly. "It can't go on. I need to get on with my life. I have a lot to do… and this is killing me. I don't want this anymore."
"Is that so?" She walked over to him and he backed away, tripping over the couch and landing on top of it. "Then why are you looking at me like that?" She came up and straddled him, pulling at the buttons of his shirt, saying in a purring voice, "Don't pretend. I know you want me. I can feel it. You called me here."
She had his shirt off in a few seconds. Her fingers played in his hair as she bent down and nipped at his chest. He fought the moan that came from his throat. He lay prone on the couch as her skilled fingers skimmed over his ribs and down towards his waistband.
Her laughter, a harsh inhuman sound, rang in his ears as she tugged at his jeans, unsnapping the button. For a moment he considered laying there and letting her have her way with him. His will was almost completely broken already. A few more moments and he would give in. The burning fire in her eyes as she glanced up at him told him she knew it as well.
"I'm really worried about you. You just seem to get quieter and quieter by the day… and you're not getting any sleep. Are you sure you're alright? We're friends, you can tell me." Ruki had said that to him, placing a soothing hand on his arm. He had contemplated telling her about his nightly visitor but then her boyfriend, Ryo, had strolled along to entice her for a dance, in such a way that the former ice queen laughed and blushed. The light in those violet made him burn for he knew the woman who shared his bed would never look at him like that.
His jeans were off before he could think and her small hands moved towards his length, testing his willpower. The Amazon look in her aqua eyes—the few emotions she ever showed—told him she would snap his resistance in a second.
"No." He grabbed her forcefully by the shoulders and pushed her away. Her forehead hit the coffee table with a thud.
What sickened him even more was that he didn't even feel the tiniest bit of remorse that he had injured a woman. His father had always instilled in his mind that he was not to raise a hand to a woman or cause her pain.
When she stood, however, there was no blood on her forehead. There was nothing in her eyes as well, he noted. Her voice was cool and remote as she said, "You're just making this harder on yourself, you know."
"You disgust me," he snapped. "You're nothing but a dead spirit, sucking the life from mortals. I was foolish to want you in the beginning, but I won't let this go on. Get the hell out of my house."
"Very well." She strode over to him and gave him a kiss goodbye. She was a vixen with her tongue, he knew that very well. "But I'll come back one day and you won't say no because despite what you think, you want me. It may disgust you and you may hate me for it, but I had nothing to do with your passion."
She walked out of the room, leaving him panting and hard. He went about putting back on his clothes before his family came home and found him in this state. They still didn't know about his rendezvous with the Dark Girl.
He curled onto his side and shook.
It's been two years since I last saw her and yet… yet I can still taste her on my lips. I can still feel her moving beneath me, withering from pleasure. And I can still feel her eyes burning my skin.
I thought if I pushed her away, if I made her take her passion and dead eyes and skin away, then the sickness I've had would leave. But it hasn't. Every night when I'm alone I think about what it was like to be inside her, to moan out her name as she used those clever hands on me.
She was so utterly fuckable and blonde and beautiful… and no one else fits like she did. I don't date any girls and I think my friends think I'm gay. How easy it would be if I was gay. Everyone would accept that, even if I ended up dating Kenta. But they can never know about the Dark Girl I fucked when I was a teenager.
I've tried to find other women, to forget her. But every time I manage to find a woman willing to have casual sex without promises I ended screaming out the wrong name, and it was always the same goddamn name. Now I don't even bother with sex anymore. Nothing will be like what I had with the girl who was a mere spirit.
Why hasn't this sickness gone away? Why does it still linger in my system? It's been two years since I left her. I've moved on. I've gone to collage, I've watched Juri fall in love with Takato, and I've seen Ruki marry Ryo. And yet I still feel the sickness that had been inside of me when she was around.
Will it ever leave?
The knocked on his door drew his thoughts away from the page. He raised his head and looked at the door, suddenly trembling.
How did he know she would be there on the other side, waiting for him? And why did he want to let her in? Into his mind again, into his heart. Was he willing to throw everything away—the dreams, the hopes, the healing—for the cold passion she gave him?
Mindlessly he stood and made his way for the door. In the back of his head he heard a voice protesting against it, but his hands were already twisting the knob. He stared down into her calm eyes as she smiled, cat-like.
She wore a sleeker black dress. It curved more fully against his hips and tighter against her breasts. It was short, reaching only about mid-thigh, and strapless. Her hair wasn't in pigtails anymore, though the black ribbons were still twined into her golden locks. The only thing that hadn't changed about her was the gold cross dipping into her dress.
He didn't say anything as he pulled her inside. She didn't say anything as he yanked her painfully against him, devouring her lips. He used her back to shut the door and pinned her against it.
Her dress was off in seconds, thrown and discarded to floor. She kicked off her black high heels and pulled at his shirt. A few seconds more and he was nude as well. Within a minute he was buried deep within her.
She moaned with each thrust, her head falling back against the door, rapping it in an almost painful manner. She meet him thrust for thrust, her eyes glazed with passion. But even as she withered in ecstasy she never cried out his name. She would scream and bite his shoulder but she never cried out his name. Not even when he cried out her name, loud and tearing from his throat.
When she climaxed he was right behind her. Even in the haze of his passion he cursed himself for being weak. For taking her back, for loving her. He was such a weak fool. He had barely looked at her before he had broken and did what she had said he would do all along.
He slapped his hands against the sides of the door, caging her between his arms and trying to balance them. It wasn't that he worried for her pain—on the contrary he decided any pain she received during their rump she deserved—but he feared if he allowed them to fall to the ground he may never be able to get up again.
Those pale legs of hers were wrapped securely around his waist, locked there as if to squeeze the life out of him. There was still a glazed look in those light eyes but he could not see anything else but satisfaction. No love, no hatred, no nothing.
"Alice McCoy," he whispered her name not because he wanted to but to see if he could still talk. To see he had enough willpower to do so.
She nodded, leaning her golden head against his shoulder. He found himself thinking it was odd she was the one gifted with such fair hair when inside she was dark and dead. "Yes."
"I hate you…" he whispered, knowing it wasn't true. When it came to her he didn't hate her; he didn't even love her anymore. Love had died ages ago. But he needed her and would not be able to be with anyone else.
"No you don't," she said absently, kissing his shoulder in rare tender moment. "We really shouldn't do this against the wall often, you know. You'll probably break your legs."
She slithered off his body and moved towards his bed. At first he was surprised that she just didn't leave, but then he remembered it wasn't even midnight yet. She left only with the sun, she would stay with the moon. Slowly, he followed her towards the unadorned twin sized bed.
"Say my name." He pushed her into the mattress, straddling her, wanting her again. "Just this once. You've never said it before." His eyes were pleading.
"I won't." She answered, running her snow coloured hands along the ridges of the muscles on his arms and then the ones on his chest, making him shiver.
"When I'm with you I forget… and when you went away I forgot. I forget who I am. I even doubt who I am now." He lowered his head and bit at her neck. He had the sudden urge to break her pale skin, but banked it fiercely. "If you say my name then I'll remember. Say it like you mean it."
"You don't want to remember," she muttered, pulling him down besides her and placing hot kisses along his skin. "That's why you called me here. I can make you forget who you are. You're enthralled with the darkness that you destroyed years ago. You're attracted to it, but you burn with the light… that was why you became a Tamer. You hate that light, deep down inside, and you want to forget you ever had it. I'll make you forget, I'll make you burn, for a moment you'll be human but you won't be alive. I can give you you're darkness. That's a sensation you're addicted to. A sensation only I can give you. Darkness has always been more erotic then light. Your friends can never understand that, that's why you never told them about me. I'm your dirty little secret. Living proof the light can be smothered by darkness."
"I don't want to remember." He trembled suddenly, cold and frightened. He tried to grasp the names of his family, his friends, but they were gone from his mind. He couldn't even remember his name.
And what was the worst of it all was that he didn't care. He didn't care that he couldn't remember his mother's name or sister's. All that mattered was that Alice McCoy burned him with her eyes and kissed him with her hot, dead lips… smothering him with that intoxicating darkness..
"I didn't want to be Alice McCoy," she told him, rolling on top of him and locking her legs against his hips. "I always felt constricted in that human body. That was why I jumped from that building when I was ten. I was attracted to the darkness, as well. I wanted to feel it move inside me, to be a part of it. You can give me that darkness just like I give you darkness. You'll try to pull away, back into the light, but you'll always let yourself drown in the end." As his eyes widened and he tried to pull away, she growled, "You're disgusted with me… with yourself because you can't face the truth. You want to pull away, pretend that you're still part of the light you're friends love."
It was true. He had been dying slowly everyday, filled with the light from his friends and family. He remembered always wanting to hide in the back corner, where it was dark and cool, and shy away from the light dancing all around him.
Yes, that was why he wanted her. She had a darkness around her, a darkness she couldn't feed off of but could feed others with. He wanted to be smothered with that darkness, forget the light. It was horrible, sick, twisted, but it was the truth.
"You don't want to be Jenyra Lee because he was a boy in the light. You want to be cold and dead and consumed with the darkness like I have been." She grinded her hips against his. "Give me your darkness, Tamer, and I'll give you mine."
He gave a cry, not of joy or ecstasy, but one of grief and pain as he realized he was trapped in the intoxicating darkness. A darkness he didn't want to escape, even if he could.
They melding into one another, biting at skin, drawing blood, feasting on the darkness they both had inside. There was no love here, in them, but only a need that would never be quenched. For as long as the world was filled with light they would need the darkness.
Hours later, he licked at the blood on her neck from where he had bitten hard enough to break skin. Her finger tips drew playful circles around the claw marks on his back, which had stopped bleeding a while ago.
Her blonde head rose and she looked out his window. "Dawn comes. I must go." She bit his lip, soothing the spot with a flick of her tongue. "I'll come back tonight. I know you want me to." He didn't say anything, instead he wondered how long it was before he could not stand the sunlight and lived with her in the eternal darkness.
He nodded, unable to say no, and she stood and gathered her clothes. The last thing he saw was the gold of her cross as it disappeared into her generous cleavage. He made a note to himself to ask her why she still had it when he saw her tonight.
Suddenly he felt cold, cold and dead, like her eyes. Without realizing it he began to cry. He sobbed, his whole body trembling with them, and made a plea for someone to drag him from the darkness he was trapped in.
No one heard…
It's a vicious cycle I've designed for myself. I'm in love with the darkness, drowning in it. My friends will always have their light and hope, but I shall have the darkness and Alice. I wonder if it's worth it. I can't deny what I want, what I don't want. I don't want to remember the light… or who I am… and the darkness won't let me. I want the darkness… and I want Alice McCoy.
Jenyra Lee's dead… and all that's left in his place is the Dark Girl's Dark Boy.
Author's Notes: Like I said, this popped into my head during history class and I couldn't get it out. Somewhat depressing I know, but hey my muse was most likely high when she forced that into my head. So yeah, our dear Jenyra's not gonna get a happy ending, but notice the Angst/Drama genres? Please review my story and go easy on me since I've never written an angst story before. I also hope that this wasn't to ahem graphic for you. sheepish grin
"Life's a bitch… then you die…"