A/n: For this drabble or short, we might find this to be sort of suggestive or something. Also, for this theme, let us pretend that for some reason whatsoever ROMEO IS DEAD. Oh and Juliet is sort of cuckoo here.



He had degraded himself. That he knew. Becoming a mere substitute for a woman's comfort.
For after Romeo died, Juliet was never the same.

She had lost the radiance in her skin, the sparkling laughter in her eyes and her smile lost its meaning.
She became a doll. A marionette with her strings cut. But it would quickly reverse—upon the sight of Tybalt.

Her face lit up and her vibrancy returned with her sprinting steps leading her to him. She would throw her arms around him, kissing the expanse of his chest with fervent sobs of joyful pleas, begging him to never leave her again.

Every time she did this, Tybalt would always be tempted to wrap his arms around her. But his arms would drop down to his sides when she uttered that one single name—"Romeo…"


Francisco, Conrad, Cordelia and the others would beg with Juliet that he stay. For Juliet wouldn't eat nor sleep less he was there. Somehow, she saw Romeo in him and Tybalt would grit his teeth in frustration for he was nothing like his half-brother.

But he stayed.

Let her be selfish… He thought. For she has been selfless all her life…


So every night, Tybalt let her be selfish. He would suck in his breath when her dress pooled down around her feet, revealing the splendor that was her bare skin. Her hair tumbling down her smooth back, the candlelight casting a beautiful glow on her like an angel's halo, She would look into his eyes with unabashed nakedness and yearning.
Desire radiated from her every pore and Tybalt felt a rush of exhilaration just looking at her.


She was passionate under him, responding to his every touch with spasms of pleasure. She would arch out to him, craving him—needing him. Her nails would rake on his back, biting and digging into his flesh leaving red scars for tomorrow.

As much as he wanted to scream in ecstasy with her, to join in her climax, to climb to the peak of euphoria—he would not.

For this foreplay was just a means of comfort for her. Juliet only saw Romeo in his every touch—the screams of Romeo's name testified that.

He was being used, that he knew. He had every reason, every right, to leave this charade. He was not Romeo; he was just a man that substituted for the real thing…a shadow of the substance.

But much to his dismay—he could not.

He smiled a sardonic smile as he felt her shift closer to him.


Every night became a ritual. He would come. She would spread. They made love. He would resent. She would plead. The cycle repeated.

Slowly, the feelings began to build up in him, coming down like a block of stone after another that slowly built an impregnable tower that could not be swayed. Hard, cold, bitter and black, a perfect metaphor for the dark feelings that harbored in him…


Finally his restraint snapped. He no longer wanted to play a part of another man. His patience was used up and all hell would pay. Pinning her hands over her head, Tybalt glared at his captive with boring eyes.

Then, he unleashed himself to her. His touch completely different from the Romeo he played for her.

Tonight, he decided, she would feel Tybalt—not Romeo—Tybalt.

Juliet's body sang in protest to his touch, feeling another man, not the Romeo she imagined. She saw flashes of color. She saw irises and roses. Different faces of people flashing and flashing. Then, she saw blood. Lots of blood. Seeping and creeping. Deep, dark and red. She felt her body lurch, her mind staggering to fit the pieces together.

She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out for Romeo. Another man was moving inside her, she pushed and screamed, squirming to be free. But this only seemed to make him stronger.

He descended his lips down her neck, lower and lower he made a trail, lingering kisses down that fated mark; nipping and feeling. He fanned his hands on her, feeling the need to touch every inch of her satin skin, every crevice and intrigue.

He moved deeper into her, his rhythm playing her like an instrument as every melody poured out from her lips. Her screams began to die down replaced by moans of gluttonous indulgence blasting in the air.

Their bodies were pushing against each other, grazing and pressed so close together that it was almost as if they were merging together. Threads of air and beads of sweat fusing them in their state of experience.


That was when Tybalt realized that Juliet had stopped fighting. Giving up in resisting to make way to this blissful interlude. He felt himself smile in the crook of her neck, burying his nostrils into the glory of their mixed scents.

It no longer mattered if she was seeing him as Romeo or what would happen afterwards.

All he knew was that—right now—she needed him and he found himself needing her too.

So much that a shout tore from him, burning his insides from such intensity of their flesh play. Small tremors running down his nerves, as he watched her splay her small hands on him. Her fingers skimming downwards—feather light but scorching, were pointing him to all directions of higher insanities, driving him to the brink.

Swiftly and surely—they fell deeper.


Tangled up in the abused sheets of the aftermath, Tybalt tore his gaze from the ceiling and focused on Juliet snuggling up to him with a contented sigh. Her eyes looked hazy and a tad bleary.

Nervously, his hand caught hers just as she was about to pull the sheets higher to their bodies. Trapping her vision in his deadlock gaze, he managed the words to come out perfectly together.

"Who do you see?"

Outside, the moon became clearer and brighter, its illumination to the likes of daylight.

Juliet told him her answer.
Tybalt replied with a smile.

Somewhere, a tower collapsed…

Theme(s): Disgrace. Rapture. Answer.