Hi everyone... just a drabble I wrote whilst thinking about some things. I hope you enjoy it. Any comments or criticisms are greatly appreciated! -Dance

Flawed:

His lips were hot, soft, wet, on hers, urgent, passionate, and she responded in kind, pressing herself to him, relishing in the feel of his arms wrapped protectively around her in an embrace of contentment and pure, unadulterated affection that she never wanted to be free of.

Her skin, smooth, pale, warm, was pressed against his own, sending jolts of awareness mixed with anticipation and sensation thrilling throughout his body, one of his hands slowly sliding underneath the silky fabric of her shirt, gently rubbing at the bare, slender expanse of her back, and she shivered with delight, pressing her lips to his again with redoubled ferocity and ardor.

He was the object of her absolute, unyielding affections, and undoubtedly she was of his, and she gave a slow, long moan of satisfaction mingled with desire, before pulling back, albeit hesitantly, and gazing into the eyes of the one whom she loved with all her heart-

Only to meet the shadowy, tinged pupils of someone else.

Vaguely, she wondered how she could have possibly gotten herself into the current situation as she studied him, taking in the insipid pallor of his skin that was too pale to be attractive, appraising his eyes that were too faint and empty to be endearing, considering his onyx, sable hair that was too long to be desirable and too short to be striking. She never could understand how someone could be so hopelessly… flawed.

With a start, she realized that he was looking at her oddly, and just managed to catch the words spoken in his quiet, unmemorable voice.

"What's wrong?"

Quickly, she shook her head and pulled him towards her again. "Nothing."

The embrace began once more, and she forced the vision of the one whom she really loved into her mind, and the belief that it was him she was kissing, that it was his arms that were wrapped around her waist rather than those of the boy who currently held her. She groaned softly as his lips caressed her collar bone, and the hand that kissed her naked back began to slowly lift the hem of her shirt so she could feel the soft material of the bed beneath them before starting suddenly, pulling away from him and hugging herself with her arms.


He looked at her, slightly confused and yet so understanding, comprehending perfectly the indecision that was so clearly apparent in her mind. He had seen this hesitancy in almost everyone whom had used him, and had long since accepted it. However, courtesy dictated that he played his part, and he tried his best to ensure that his words were soft.

"What is it?"

The torn, self-loathing gaze that met his eyes clove a crevasse deep into his heart, one that joined the other deep gouges and scars that crisscrossed his core, before he forced the sudden feeling of hurt deep down, burying it beneath his countless shields as he listened to her frail, delicate voice speak.

"You… you d-don't want this… do you?"

He nearly snorted with cynicism. So she was attempting to make him believe that this was not what he wanted. "Do you think I would still be here if I did not?"

"But… I… I-"

"Don't worry." His voice was soft, controlled, carefully monitored so as to not reveal the true depth of the agony that her unspoken yet obvious feelings had evoked in his heart. "Just pretend… that I'm him."

The words tasted so bitter to him, as he gazed with his imperfect eyes upon her radiant face that every fiber of his being longed to look upon him with the love that she didn't feel for him. Something inside him broke for the final time as he uttered the sentence, and for a moment, he bowed his head in shame, self-loathing, and utter melancholy before meeting her gaze again. "Just pretend that I'm him…"

Her face was set-she needed no more convincing then. With a hiss of desire, her lips met his again and he was lost in the sweetness of her embrace, her heady, intoxicating scent filling his nostrils and setting his mind alight as his flesh caressed hers, tainting it with the blemished, imperfect tone of his skin, and he slipped his hand underneath her skirt, stroking higher, ever so slightly higher, at the junction beneath her legs, invigorated by the intensity of her moans of pleasure and anticipation. Somehow, he didn't mind anymore. He didn't have any tears left.


It was pleasant, and there was almost no pain. Possibly as perfect as sex came and went, except of course it was not the one whom she desired who brought her over the edge. But it was him in her mind, albeit not in person, and she was content momentarily.

Sighing, she lay, accepting and limp in his arms as he slept, his still lips pressed lightly against the nape of her neck, listening to him breathe, feeling his body rise and fall with each inhale and exhale. She turned in his arms carefully, slowly, so as not to wake him, and gazed upon his slumbering form carefully, her hazel eyes unblinking and uncertain as she watched him sleep.

He seemed so much more at ease, so much more content and innocent as he slept, his features set in the most serene and innocent of expressions so much that, momentarily, she yearned to feel the temporary ease and safety that he experienced.

Slowly, with a decisive sigh, she delicately extricated herself from the embrace of his arms, and fumbled in the dark for her discarded clothes, shivering slightly from the cold of the air conditioning, donning her garments and gathering her handbag before slipping into her shoes.

Looking into the mirror in the gloom, she saw herself, a scared, pale ghost of a girl whom had re-donned her armor, rewoven her shields around herself, before heading towards the hotel room door.

Despite herself, she cast a final look in the direction of the bed, watching his peaceful, idyllically slumbering form, and inclined her head gently before turning away and closing the door behind her.

She knew he loved her.

But how could she love someone so… flawed?


He tried to open his eyes before he remembered.

It didn't work.

With a jaded sense of déjà vu, he opened his eyes and sat up in the bed, the sheets cold and uncomfortable around his bare form as he flicked a casual, hesitant look at the space on the bed beside him, already knowing what he would see.

Empty sheets.

Slowly, he shuffled to sit on the side of the bed, shivering slightly as the chill of the room embraced his skin fully, and sat still for a moment, staring at the floor in silence.

The memories of the night before flooded his mind, taunting and tormenting him, and for a moment, he could almost feel her deliciously smooth skin against his own, her lips against his. He felt so hopeless. He felt so broken.

He felt so… used. But it was nothing new.

But in the end, it was him whom had started it all, as he always did, and his heart was already too shattered to be unable to bear the hurt.

Slowly, he lowered his gaze unto the pale underside of his arms, watching his flawed, imperfect flesh bathed in the dim glow of the moon from the night outside, and wiped away a single tear from his coarse, pastel cheek that he promised himself wasn't there. He thought he didn't have any tears left.

But in the end, maybe he had one left after all.