I want to thank ADF for being SO kickass and bringin' two crazy girls like Megan and I together. Without that place this fic would have never happened. Thanks to dawnmarie dreaming for creating the campfire that started it all. Sorry for the hijack girlie.
So much adoration to our lovey beta Diana Wolfskill for her hard work and strong stomach. "Gollum=sex. Learn it. Live it. Embrace the sweet truth of it." Thanks for keeping me on the straight and narrow bb! And to kisvakondok for pre-reading and supporting us!
Finally, my TOTAL and utter love to Pinballwizard92 for being the sick and crazyass other half of my mind and heart. If Gollum is the mac to your cheese, can I at least be the milk? ALSO this fic is on her profile too, so head on over there and give her some love as well.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight/Lord of the Rings or any of it's characters. No copyright infringement is intended.
Disclaimer2: This fanfic may induce-SERIOUSLY-hysterical bouts of uncontrollable laughing . . . or puking. You've been warned.
Enjoy! (or not)
Lord of HIS Ring
The doe was fast. Luckily for me, I was faster.
Her scent unleashed the monster in me and any semblance of my human nature left me. I crouched, sprung, darted, and leapt after my prey. When I caught her, the monster in me tore through her thick brown coat seeking my sustenance. The throbbing of her frantic heart was music to my hungry ears as the rich red velvet coated my tongue. All too quickly, the tremble slowed as her blood coursed through my undead body.
Finishing my meal— just an appetizer really—I tossed the limp corpse aside and took in my surroundings.
Rain, fresh and inviting, always helped me clear my head. The light squish of mud and the lighter crush of gravel under my feet encouraged me to keep going, looking for my next brutality . . . my next victim. I needed to hunt. This forest, so different from others, seemed entirely deserted now. No life anywhere, no animals, no humans—not even any elves or those damn unbearable pixies around to help sate my hunger. The land was foreign to me. I found myself wondering just how far I had chased the doe. My now-golden eyes scanned the lush greenery of the unknown forest around me looking for any landmark. The Misty Mountains in the back were the only thing I recognized, but this deep into the brush left me lost.
Babbling water reached my heightened hearing and my bronze head turned in that direction. Prey was always easier to find near a source of water. When I opened my airway to pull in the smell of the water, my senses were flooded. A smell so tantalizing that it put hundreds of mountain lions to shame lingered in the direction of the water— a scent of fish, blood and strange body odor. I had to find the source of that scent . . . and I had to claim it.
My feet pounded into the floor; my speed impressive as I pushed the 5mph mark. I pushed my pride in myself to the back of my mind, filed away for later when I could give myself a good pat on the . . . err . . . back. Moss-covered branches whipped across my body as I ran in the direction of the water, toward that mouthwatering fragrance. The sun shined dimly through the trees; I knew one would be able to see me sparkling. Like diamonds . . . or beautiful shards of glass. I smiled a knowing smile.
Closer and closer I drew towards the scent. Every single nerve in my marble body was tingling from the anticipation of finding its source . . . and conquering it. Each time I smelled it I felt refreshed—and strangely enough—aroused. My Frequent Flyer, a rod raring to reel in that fish, pushed against my britches uncomfortably; I could actually hear it!
I had to have it.
Salivating at the mouth, drool covered my face and shirt. I swiped my sleeve across my chin absently. I sucked back as much of my excess drool as possible, nearly choking in the process.
When I arrived at the strongest point of the smell, I was at an embankment by a small stream. The stream went on for about a mile and was a river more to the north. Trees hugged the stream in all directions. Among mud, pebbles and muck at my feet were countless remains of fish bones forming a trail that led to the right of me. The scent was coming from that very direction tenfold.
A lascivious growl curled in my chest as my mouth salivated for that scent. The trail led to an entrance to a small cave of sorts, hidden by undergrowth. It was much smaller than my near six-foot height and I had to duck to peer into it. But before I could continue into the cave, I was stopped dead in my tracks when a small being emerged from the shadows.
I stood at the edge of the stream by that cave looking out in awe as I saw what appeared to be a mutated, hobbit like creature sitting on a rock, repeatedly smacking a fish to the floor. I delighted in watching his tight skin move across his strong, defined back. Each bump I counted in his spine made my breathing hitch just a little bit more. Ping. My volatile, angry, rage-filled reeling hard on was, well . . . just that hard. So eager to make its escape, I felt it undoing my zipper.
I was startled out of my ogling when he let out a piercing screech. He hobbled around in a circle as if he was dancing around a fire while I watched, entranced. Who actually does that anyway?"We gotss the fisheses my preciousss, to eatss."
I watched in amazement as he bit the fishes head clean off. How I envied that fish, to have his thin grey lips wrapped around it. I was so angry I could spit. How dare that fish . . . that . . . that . . . bastarding fish!
His shiny, fishy, bluey, orby, orbingtons shot up to meet my own. His gaze penetrated my very soul, and yet I couldn't bring myself to look away. How does one look away from perfection? His eyes bugged out, making him that much more attractive. As if it were even possible.
"Theys is watching us-es." His perfectly non-existent lips pulled back. He was baring his teeth at me—so sexy! I needed him. He needed to understand how much I wanted him, but how do you convey such a burning desire to somebody—or something—that's just so clearly out of your league?
Like a horny, lovesick idiot, I spoke the first words that came to my mind. "Hello . . . my name is Edward Cullen. Sorry I didn't get to introduce myself before . . . ." I drifted off but my mind finished the sentence for me, because I couldn't. You were just too perfect; I forgot to speak and the saliva—venom—building like my desire for you would have probably choked me. And now I'm babbling.
It was then, lost in my own thoughts, that I realized I couldn't read his mind. Nothing had ever been so refreshing. The silence alone of this amazing creature's mind was enough to captivate me completely.
I appraised the vision in front of me. There was something incredibly dazzling about the small creature and when my stare caught his very wide, bluey—almost iridescent—eyes I was left with a lump in my throat.
That was when the scent hit me again. Stale . . . rotten . . . fish . . . earth . . . perspiration . . . mouthwatering. My eyes raked over his contorted form, his protruding bones, his practically hairless body . . . his loincloth. I couldn't stop the reaction that stirred in me harder; the way my eyes blackened from a different hunger; the way venom pulled in my mouth—at oceanic amounts; the clenching of muscles that hadn't tightened in years.
He stalked his way towards me, each slap of his foot against the wet stone went like a jolt to my frequent flying reel. His scent intensified the closer he got, the more I had to fight the temptation to jump him. "Whats is it you wantss from us-es?" the small creature hissed, his dark lips a striking contrast to his sallow skin.
My stomach dropped; my marble heart cracked a little. "Us?" was my choked response. I felt my dead cold skin heat. Who was this "we," this "us"? Was there another he belonged to? Did I have competition? Why did it anger me so much that he wasn't alone?
His silent gaze steadied on mine; he didn't even think me worth his words. I would never again be caressed by his voice. Dejected, I turned around to walk away. "What is it yous wantses from us-es?" His hand had shot out and grabbed my arm, effectively stopping me from moving. Contact with him made me bold, stronger . . . and horny as fuck. "You."
That one word hung in the air. His mouth hung agape as he tried to process what I'd said. "Yous can haves we if you answers riddleses. Oh, yeses yous can."
"What about riddles?"
"We gives vampireses what hes wants if you win riddleses," he hissed again, more like a bronchial hack. That hiss caused me to hiss in answer. My reaction to him was confusing me. It was almost as if a fog of lust clouded all my senses, my thoughts, my reasons. There was only him. I nodded along in my agreement.
"Fine . . . I'll play your game." I'll play any game you want, I thought but didn't speak out loud.
The most dazzling smile broke out across his asymmetrical face—long angular jaw but crescent head. Those sharp six teeth were . . . everything. I felt a tightening in my chest, a sensation I had never felt in all my life.
He stood taller then, but still didn't reach past my waist. Perfect height. He beckoned me down to his level, his long, strong, calloused fingers signaling me to where I wanted to be. When that long crablike claw circled around my back so that he could talk to me I felt a new warmth radiate through me, like a fire. A fire for him. And when his stale fish breath wafted across my face that was now inches from him in my hunched position I knew what that clenching in my chest was from earlier.
About three things I was absolutely certain. First, brown perspiration and rotten, stale fish scent drove me wild with desire. Second, there was a part of him—and I didn't know how dominant or just how big, I mean look at those feet, that part may be—that I really wanted to be a part of me too. Third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.
"Alive without breath,
As cold as death;
Never thirsty, ever drinking,
All in mail never clinking."
I stared into his abnormally large eyes as I pondered his riddle. My heart sped as I racked my brain for the answer. What could this possibly be? The answer hit me like stale fish. "Vampires," I told him. His big eyes twitched and he snarled a bit before asking me for a riddle in return.
"Thirty white horses on a red hill,
First they champ,
Then they stamp,
Then they stand still"
His excitement as he answered my riddle bounced off the trees and rocks around us. I decided I liked watching his excitement. I wondered if he always cackled in that way that made his nose snort and phlegm curl in this throat when he was excited.
When instead of telling me another riddle he asked for one, I decided now was as good a time as any to find out where I stood with him.
"What do I get if I win this game . . . if I have a riddle you can't answer?" He did that snort, cackle, phlegm thing that had me grasping at the trees around me to keep from devouring him immediately.
"We gives anything." My smile couldn't have been more radiant.
"Anything?" I asked, hoping it wasn't just my fantasies talking.
"Yess, it's got to ask uss a question, my preciouss, yes, yess, yess. Jusst one more question to guess, yes, oh yess."
His excitement was like a drug to me, and I wondered what I could possibly ask him that he wouldn't know the answer to. And as that reality hit me, I didn't want to ask him a question he wouldn't know the answer to; I needed to ask him a question he should know the answer to.
"What have I got in my . . . pocket?"
I licked my lips and eagerly waited for his answer.
I didn't think those moist, bulging, seductive pale blue eyes could widen, but they did, anxiously darting around looking for an escape. I happily realized that he didn't know the answer. I needed to show him that Edward Cullen was a man of his word and a deal was a deal. To help him along I jutted out my hips hoping that he would see just what I had for him before I took a step towards him, my eyes never leaving his as I lifted one hand to tentatively stroke his cheek.
Before he could answer, I shifted from under his arm and pulled his large head into my hands, my gaze penetrating his.
My hands caressed the contours of his face, tracing the thick frown over his wide-set eyes where his eyebrows should have been. It was so arousing, more than I ever expected, that he didn't have eyebrows. They were overrated anyway, just like skin pigmentation. His pointed ears and nose drove me wild. I wondered—NO, I needed to know, what else was pointed.
He leaned into my exploring fingers, slight drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth, his wide mouth. I was stirring for him already . . . .
I ran my fingers through his flowing locks, that weren't so much flowing as tangled, stringy and coarse, my face edging closer to his. I needed something, to feel something. To feel more. His hungry lips against my own. Skin against skin, stone against leather.
Agonizingly slow his lips met mine, our breaths mingling as he sighed into my mouth. My tongue probed through the gaps of those maddening six sharpened teeth. The electricity that shot through my body as it fought and succumbed succinctly to his was sending tremors of the purest pleasure down my awakening body.
His taste was completely his own: a unique blend of raw fish, brown perspiration, cave water, and mouth rot.
A taste that saturated my senses. A taste that consumed me. A taste that drove me mad. And when his panting breaths, so heavy and asthmatic that the ground actually shook with our forbidden desire, blew—sticky, humid . . . mucosal—across my wanton face I knew I was his.
It wasn't the crab claws for hands that were wrapped around my head or the frail, wobbly—practically dislocated—knee that pressed against my groin that did the trick. No, it was when my fingers traced down his defined and scaly chest and a few barnacles caught in my nails that I moaned loudly for more.
My hands continued to rake his nipppleless chest, a wonderful pinging noise serenaded my ears every time my fingers grazed his ribs. It was refreshing to weigh over triple what your partner weighed. He was so fragile and it was stimulating in every way, but the barnacles really drove me over the edge. I ground myself into him, my arousal no longer tame. His flexible legs went everywhere with my increasingly harsh thrusts. Passion, desire, lust . . . need controlled my actions and my body was magnetized to his.
My head dipped down as I licked off some of the barnacles, no longer able to NOT taste them. Savoring each prick and salty chip, I rolled them around on my tongue—my barnacle scraper. How could I ever refer to it as anything else now?
A light sheen of brown perspiration coated his body making him look surreally beautiful in the moonlight. Hours had passed without my notice; I was too entranced by him to take note of anything but him: the drool, the barnacles, the protruding bones . . . the other protrusion.
For more than one hundred years I've been a virgin but I just knew I would lose it tonight to this stunning, mutated, hobbit-like creature. Every cell in my undead body surged and sung with life . . . excitement . . . anticipation.
But it was a silent thought that scared me.
Would he be gentle with me? I had never known another's touch, but his touch . . . . I wondered about his past relationships. Would I match up?
I knew, from the worn knees, cracking lips, and glazed over eyes that he had known far more caresses than he was letting on. Who could refuse him? The taste alone of the brown perspiration mixed with raw fish was enough to drive anyone mad with uncontrollable lust. To a vampire, it was downright crippling.
And it brought me to my knees, for him.
I pulled him closer, my lips skating across the jagged ribs, barnacles, and stray grey hair that got stuck between my teeth. Lips, teeth, tongue. I worked his abdomen with every part of my heaving mouth that was near it. His shrill shrieks showed me just how much he enjoyed it. And that cackling phlegm snort of excitement returned causing my toes to curl in pleasure. I pleased him.
Another wiry hair stuck in my teeth. I made a mental not to save it, a memento.
My fingers itched towards his thong-like loincloth. My mind was still plagued with questions. Would he still want me in the morning? Would he think I was just using him? Was he just using me? Did he think I was moving too fast?
My hands faltered. I took a deep breath and pushed one hand into his clothing, shocked at what I felt both physically and mentally.
It was obvious he sensed my hesitation, my trepidation.
He whispered two words and I was his, all my fear dissipating. "Myyy PRECIOUSSS."
Those words, his reassurance of his want for me, pushed me past my limits and doubt. There would be no turning back now.
And with trembling hands, but from anticipation because he quelled all doubt in me, I undid his loincloth, his hip bone practically stabbing in contortion. And what sprang free dazzled me past any extreme imaginable. It crowded my senses and fogged my world. And yet, in that moment, everything suddenly made sense. The clouds . . . mist . . . parted.
He was elongated, slimly, scaly, almost transparent, large . . . powerful like the conger eel. And he was mine. His smell, the liquid arousal, more profound once he was unleashed crashed over me. My mouth salivated, his mouth salivated. A trail of his drool ran down his chest in front of me, down the barnacles, and down his eel. I wanted that drool to mix with my own. I needed it to.
His eel was so hard it was practically slithering! Green pre-mucus coated it; I licked my lips in anticipation. I needed him in my mouth now. Enveloping him it felt like I was holding some of that uber-sexy wet look hair gel I use in my mouth, it felt perfect. It was perfect.
I began to bob my head, sporadically humming Somewhere Over the Rainbow as I took in more of his seventeen-inch eel. Hoping to impress him with my immaculate oral skills and lack of a gag reflex, I took all of him in—the entire amazing, slimy, pungent length of him.
He began thrusting violently into my mouth. When he was on the edge, he screamed words that made my heart soar; he loved me for sure.
"LETS. WE. CUM. IN. YOUR. MOUTH. VAMPIREBITCHSES."
As if I could deny him anything!
I was his vampire bitch. I was his everything and he was my life now. Our love, that I felt radiate over me more than the slithering eel or the slurping drool or the crusty barnacles, was eternal.
When he exploded his love into my wanton mouth it was too much, the thick mucosal embodiment of what I meant to him overflowed from the edges of my lips until I had to pull away. He was too powerful, his spasms were too strong and he was just TOO full of that delicious green mucus. And I watched in abject fascination as his eel-longated member twitched about and sprayed everywhere, like a hose really.
My frequent flying rod twitched in my pants at the torrential display, seeking out the fish it longed most to reel in.
A frown plastered across my face; so much of him was going to waste. But still he exploded and I was amazed and even more aroused than I had ever been before.
"Mine," I growled as the desire and green spray cascaded over me.
Taking full advantage of my 3mph vampire speed, I crawled over to him and made sure not one more drop was wasted, silently cursing myself for forgetting my jar that morning.
He started running his fingers through my hair. As I looked up at him I saw his forked tongue peek out and lick his lips. I wished I was those lips, or any of his body parts really. To be that close to him. To be in him. My lust still consumed me. I ran my hands up and down his legs relishing in the feel of his soft leg hair. So much of him was soft. I couldn't help but wonder what brought him here, to this different forest.
But I knew the "whys" didn't matter. What mattered was that he was here, with me, now. What mattered was that he wanted me just as much as I wanted him, and that his green mucus sprayed for me and me alone. It sprayed because of me.
As his hacking, asthmatic breaths slowed to normal, his crab-clawed hand raked through my bronze locks, petting me adoringly. Before he dropped to his wobbly, practically dislocated knees, he again spoke to me lovingly.
"We wants it, we needss it."
Yes, my thoughts screamed.
His calloused hands ran down my bare chest, pushing me into the muck and twigs near his embankment on the side of this magical stream that marked the beginning of all my dreams come true. I panted in unnecessary breaths. Heaving for him.
As he made his way down my body, the trail of drool washed over me and in its warmth I felt alive. I would gladly swim in a pool of his mucus, I literally was. Leaning back, I focused on the top of his wide, leathery, splotched head as he made his way to where I needed him most.
Frantically, he began to unbutton my pants. My body trembled as he unzipped the fly, finally freeing my straining Frequent Flyer, before removing my pants completely. I would need a loin cloth, I suspected; I'd get hot in the forest. Maybe he'd make me one.
I groaned as I snapped back to attention, my frequent flyer—my rod that searched out its fish; in the rising sun sparkled majestically, my reel at full attention, the same one that had just been covered in a bucket worth of his saliva. Green: the same color as my eyes. He was clearly sending me a message. Again the hours slipped past us because time didn't matter in his company.
"So bright . . . sso beautiful . . . ah, Preciouss," he hissed against my pelvis and his praise caused me to thrust up toward him. My heart swelled with pride.
His mouth wide: I could see individual beads of spit dripping down off his midnight black teeth. He was a walking Colgate advert. I longed for those beads of spit to be on my face, the taste of raw fish and him should be bottled and sold like Viagra. I couldn't help the small sigh that escaped me . . . he was my own personal Viagra.
The drool lapped around me as he took me into his wide, dark mouth. He had a predatory glint in his eyes as he engulfed my frequent flying reel in his mouth. Swirling and licking, he took more of me with each sharp movement of his head. The sound of those six sharp teeth scraping against my sparkling marble echoed off the peaks of the mountains around us, louder than nails across a chalkboard . . . better. The jagged edges as they stammered across, piercing me in the way that spikes deflate tires, was sending me over the edge. His teeth biting down, it was like he was trying to nom nom nom me right off down there!
Bucking up into his face, I felt his arthritic, crab-like claws force my hips back down. I clutched at the twigs around my head, my body arching off the ground.
Taking his mouth in mine, the taste of my frequent flying reel that he brought with him on his tongue was beyond erotic. It felt amazing—my barnacle scraper against his serpent's tongue. I had to swallow quickly to avoid choking on all the excess mucus from his excitement and my venom swirled, caressing our tongues in this primal love dance. Though I could think of no better death than from choking on his mucus.
Soon he made his way back to my frequent flying reel and the vibrations of his hissing cackles mixed with the bobbing phlegm was enough to push that final teeter in the right direction.
He swallowed all of me down, but the glitter from my love for him caked his lips, my mark. When he tried to wipe it with his forearm, he only spread the sparkle more—you can NEVER get that stuff off—and I saw his eyes darken in carnal desire.
I was on edge, and I knew just what I needed, by the primal look in his eyes I knew it was what he needed too: him inside me, filling me. I shuddered as images of myself bent as he pounded into me, my body full of his mucus, flashed before my wanton mind. Full of our mutual love.
"I need you, now." My words came out as a whine of desperation. He slowly licked his lips, taunting me. Well two could play at that game.
Diving at him, we both ended up sliding through our mucus before my mouth pressed firmly against his. Lying there on the ground passionately kissing him, I knew I was the luckiest vampire in existence. How could I not be—I'm straddling this creature I don't deserve!
I knew that the high elves wouldn't accept our relationship, so we'd have to leave. I knew Carlisle would never understand. But Alice must have seen this coming. No, I couldn't go back home. We'd go somewhere, just him and I, that wouldn't make us uncomfortable about expressing our love for each other. We'd go to Butlins.
I smiled my perfectly straight, absolutely not crooked grin, as his hands caressed the flesh of my tushy. I desperately wiggled my tush against him, moaning as I felt the eel's head probe me. Faster than I ever thought possible for a non-immortal he flipped me onto my stomach and I felt that succulent eel slither into me. I clawed at the pebbles, mud, twigs . . . anything under me.
"Moreses," he hissed as he violently thrust into me, the power making my whole body jolt forward. I groaned, absently worrying about whether I sounded stupid to this clearly experienced Adonis. I felt guilty; he'd been doing all the work. Tentatively moving my hips, I pushed myself further into him, no longer able to contain the guttural moan that escaped me.
"Give it to usss raw and w-r-r-riggling; you keep nasty chipses," he hissed. God, I loved it when he talked dirty to me. My moan crashed around me.
Each time he thrust into me my body jolted forward, the grip he had to keep on my hips to his liking, keeping us connected, made the whole thing so much more sensual. I could feel his brown tinged perspiration coating my body. His excessive bodily waste only enhanced all the other feelings. The heat, the sounds, the smell, the taste . . . everything.
And soon my moans were mixing with his asthmatic hisses to create the sweetest symphony and his thrusting was pushing me into the slick still green mucus and drool covered soil. It was a bath of our desire.
He wasn't riding me—he was driving me. Driving me towards the best orgasm of my life, driving me towards what looked suspiciously like a tree. Digging the heels of my hands into the ground, he continued to pound remorselessly into me. My Frequent Flyer drove at full attention against my stomach and the sensations of it were too much. I had to capture it. One hand stroking my reel, I turned my head to kiss him. Would his unique taste ever get old, I wondered and doubted. My body began to shudder. I felt the line coiling and the tension building in my frequent flying rod. I knew I was so close. His hissing pants were increasing, and it almost sounded like a sputtering diesel engine. But I knew he was just as worked up as I was and when his crablike claws bore into my hips with his trusts and his six sharp teeth bit into my pushed up tush I saw stars. It took one final thing to push me over the edge: the feel of him spasming in delight—ecstasy. As I exploded, I turned my head and saw him soaring and then so was I. It was like a shaken bottle of a carbonated beverage that just burst.
I went flying into the stream and again that mouthwatering eel spurted and twitched around, spraying green mucosal goodness all over the place. It was raining. I tilted my head back and caught streams of his juice on my barnacle scraper. As a matter of fact I caught a couple barnacles too.
My eyes clenched tightly, as his name tore from my chest. A roar of sheer passion filled my chest for this accepting, beautiful creature.
Four hours later, when the spraying finally ceased, I went to lie next to where he had collapsed on the bank. My hand ran through those luscious locks as I confessed my undying love for him.
"Before you, stunning, barnacle-crusted, mutated, hobbit-like creature, my life was like a moonless night. Very dark, but there were stars—points of light and reason . . . . And then you shot across my sky like a meteor. Suddenly everything was on fire; there was brilliancy, there was beauty."
Time again passed by in a blur as I watched those huge pale bluey eyes gaze at me from where he was lying with his head against my waist.
I smiled down at him. "If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."
He looked up and stirred in my grip. I knew he was only trying to get closer to me.
"I always say too much when I'm talking to you — that's one of the problems. Your number was up the first time I saw you," I laughed. He growled and wiggled more against me. My reaction to him was immediate. But he quickly pulled away.
"Preciouss." The use of my nickname brought a smile to my face.
I pushed up on my elbows and looked at him. "Where are you going?"
"Fishses. We hungry," he hissed. And this time he was right: we were hungry. But probably not for the same thing. Only he could quench my desires now. I smiled and lay back down as I listened to the sounds of his massive feet paddling through the stream. He loved his fish, and what made him happy only made me happy as well.
"Sneaking? Ssneaking? Vampire is always sso polite. Smeagol showss them secret ways that nobody elsse could find, and they ssay 'sneak!' Sneak? Very nice friend. Oh, yess, my preciouss. Very nice, very nice," I heard him hiss again.
My smile grew. I lifted my head to ask him, "Smeagol is that your na—"
Panic instantly marred my features; I knew he was too good to be true. Quicker than a blink, I shot up and looked out into the starry night for any sign of him, but he was nowhere to be found.
He couldn't leave me; he had no right. "Why would you leave me? Don't you see what we have? This is special. What we make together is special. You can't take away my forever," I cried out into the dark, praying that he would hear me and return. Praying that this was some sort of mistake.
But he was gone. Heat and despair rose in my chest and brought me to my knees. Not even the amazing scent was left behind.
In that exact moment, my heart broke; it clenched and shattered for its loss and I curled into the remains of his green mucus and drool, covering my body in all that I had left of him.
I had been used. There was no other way of putting it. I was used by a virginity-stealing whore, a barnacle-crusted, mucosal Adonis. Who, as it turned out, was just along for the ride.
And as time passed, blank pages of time that were only marked but the months on top, I knew what I must do.
There was no point in living without him.
WOW! You're still with me!
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