Moonlight

Title: Though unoriginal, yes, it is Moonlight.

Author: That would be I, writer-person-thingy!

Prompt: Moon from venus_fiction's Apple a Day challenge. (link on my profile)

Genre: Horror, Angst? I really have no idea…all that bad stuff. Very dark.

Rating: The highest you can go, not entirely graphic, but you know what's going on. NA-17. I think that's what it is.

Word Count: 1433

Spoilers: Yep, yep, there are these, all four books. Okay, maybe not like, "this happens in Twilight, then New Moon, then Eclipse, then Breaking Dawn…" But you have to have read all four to know what's going on.

Summary: The demon lurks beneath; finally pushed to the edge he acts irrationally, breaking things unfixable.

Alright, would like to add that, like I said, it is dark and all that. Beware. Rape, one-sidedness…all that stuff that I find myself drawn to writing. Damn me and my morbid mind! This was originally supposed to be a fluffy fic, I swear! :(

Enjoy, please! :)

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He sits on the sidelines a while; watching the slow, rhythmic flow of her motions. He remarks how absolutely beautiful she is to her father; tells him that he will take good care of her. Tells the man that he'll be a wonderful father-in-law. Tells himself this, too, in fact.

She sways to and fro, graceful in her inelegance. She stumbles over his feet, laughing slightly as her cheeks heat and her eyes water only slightly with frustration. He only laughs, nodding and whispering such sweet, sweet words to her. Strokes her hair, a long and flowing chestnut river, down her back. Kisses her cheek so lightly she barely feels it.

Rage, jealousy, anger, betrayal; emotions so dizzying they frighten even him are flowing through his emptied veins. Face cool and calm; only revealing the necessary amount of glee; he watches on, hiding his thoughts in languages unknown to anyone but himself.

And though he tries to answer the question from the woman—his wife, rather—next to him, he cannot. His eyes have once again strayed to forbidden, sweet territory. The forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest. If only I could have a taste. Golden eyes sad and longing, he watches her head leaning on his chest, small smile on her unknowing face.

She does not know of the silent wars—all within him—that are ignited, just for her sake. Warring, father and lover, he wants her. He doesn't. He wants her. No. He can't.

But the pleas of the father fall on deaf ears as the demon—he's sure of it—breaks free, feasting on what body he can see and imagining the rest. The thin line between infatuation and obsession is blurred in his new mindset; feral and longing. He needs her. And he knows how to get her, too.

The monster smiles within him as his calm face wavers for just a millisecond. But soon it's gone and the man succumbs; getting up from his chair and smiling at the faceless woman now long behind him. The song is ending; his timing immaculate as he sweeps her into his arms with an innocent smile on his face. He hands her over, watching her go happily, ignorant of the new man residing within his father.

The monster deems it simple; the man wants the girl but is too afraid to act upon any hidden desires. The man twists the face of his once-lover, catching himself from screaming a different name at his peak. And so the monster will do what the man can't; he will take her and satisfy himself.

After all, that is what monsters do.

Explaining his want to talk to her without prying ears, she immediately agrees and latches onto his back, unknowing and ignorant. Doe eyes closed, head against his back, arms and legs wrapped around him, arms supporting her and "accidently" sliding up from her knee to her thigh, he runs. Miles away; more than she would think possible; he sets her and allows her a moment to regain herself.

But a moment is all the monster will allow. The man inside the man can only watch in horror as the girl; his love; is pinned up, high, squirming against a tree. Wrists locked above her head by his one hand, cleavage slipping out of the dress a bit more, legs parted with him in the middle, eyes wide with shock.

She is panting, adrenaline at such surprise running through her veins. Not quite believing and yet not so skeptical, she is left unknowing what to do as he leans forward; his face inches from her neck. Inhaling, he sighs; her scent nearly as beautiful as her body. And now, she's fighting his unbreakable hold; her fear permeating the air in one of the finest—intoxicating—perfumes. Surely she has felt him, by now, ready and waiting for her.

Growling low in his throat, he hikes up the dress; purposely tearing the garter in two, just to spite the man waiting for her. She is crying; salty tears staining the ivory she wears, the smell so beautiful. Hungrily—a man dying of thirst—he licks them away, leaving her cheeks stinging with the venom he has left behind. But more only flow as he allows his hands to wander; from her ankles to her knee, caressing as he twists his arm under; feeling now the silk that is the underside of her thigh, He moves around; circling his hand inward until the tips of his fingers brush cool silk framed in lace.

Growling lower, harder, he strains to keep from ripping the fabric as she whimpers; and that sound spurs him to attach his lips to hers. He forces himself inside, probing her mouth with his. Nearly moaning at her taste, his fingers dance on the fabric, before slipping under to the warm skin below.

The man inside the man is nearly sick at his own arousal to this; but the demon in control doesn't hear as he grins into the kiss—or assault, depending on the point of view, but he didn't mind that. His fingers were splaying, feeling every warm centimeter of her lower parts; his pinkie finger just touching her navel, his thumb brushing the part of her he was after. And his ring finger on the part of her he wanted so to taste, touch—but of course the ring finger is no longer called that, being that its counterpart lay glinting gold in the grass, forgotten.

And the demon is now impatient; tired of foreplay—assault, his thoughts don't register—he doesn't mind wasting the thousands he had spent as the dress is shredded, in heaps at his feet. His clothes follow; heels and shoes are all that's left, other than her offending undergarments. Although beautiful, he wasn't worried with that; he was much too busy trying to take them off while leaving them in shape, enough for something to keep and remember her by. The man inside the man cries out, trying to make the demon see reason; but there is no light in the tunnel they have fallen into. And though he wants this—more than he'd care to admit, at this point—he doesn't want her to be afraid. He is not a man purely of the body; he wants to possess her mind and heart and soul. He wants all of her, selfishly.

But the demon has found its purchase; he has simply pushed the cloth aside. He looks down; hungrily; and prepares. He feels the warmth; warm and waiting. Unwilling, but what did he care? Tears fall, trailing down her stomach, but he does not see as he looks into her eyes.

She looks up, those very eyes dark and hazy. Sadness is forefront with a pleading expression, a minute shake of her head, a plea, and he's set. She isn't ready, and he isn't ready to wait.

Plunging forward, he relishes her scream, in a sick sort of way. The panting doesn't stop as he leans, resting a moment and allowing small, quivering shockwaves to travel up his body from the apex of her thighs. And he disregards the numerous hot, heavy tears rolling down his back as loud, gasping sobs—beautiful, in their own right—leave her body in great heaves. She is trying to force him away; but weakly as she gives up her hope and realizes that what she had been fighting for was gone. Was his.

Her muscles, contracting and pulsing, warmth, that is all he feels. He hisses as he moves outward; leaving only a bit of him in so as to not miss; and pushes forward again. The heat is unbearable as he groans out loud, her name on his lips only making her cry harder. Sobs wracking her body as he moves—she dies as he feels the closest he has to alive in a long time.

And finally, it is over. He is done and spent; she is broken and cold. He pulls away, smiling, and lays her on the soft, dew misted grass at their feet. Her blood is running down his leg; hers. And he is down on his knees, lapping it up, and standing again. And all he can do is stare, as her gaze is glassy and fixed on something in the surrounding trees.

Never before, had she looked as beautiful as she did, at this moment—in the fluorescent moonlight; lips swollen, body battered, soul broken. And the demon walks away, hair glinting gold as his eyes shine a fiery red.