All the normal disclaimers apply:

I own no rights to anything Hex-related. I know this, you know this, please don't sue me for trying to play a bit. Just a bit of fun...

This story is racy- if that bothers you, don't read it.

This story also features a lesbian having sex with a man, and if that bothers you, don't read it. I know it's nonsensical, I know it's out of character, you don't need to correct me.

The One That Makes Me Scream, a Hex fanfic

I ran away from Cassie and took off down an alley- a little, narrow, poky place, the sort you see in movies and you just know that the character who walked in there is a breath away from being raped, robbed, and left for dead- and you figure they deserve it because, really, who runs into an alley like that? But I just ran down it until I somehow got a pebble in my shoe and decided, sod it, I'll stop and get it out.

I leaned against the wall, certain that whatever part of me touched it was now dirty, took off my boot and shook it out. But then the tears claimed me more completely and I stopped caring about the alley, the boot, or anything. I stood there and just bawled, like a silly girl whose heart was broken. Which mine was, even as part of me was thinking that I got what I deserved, because what else could happen when you love someone who is selfish above all else, someone who only has time for you when no one else has time for them? Stupid, silly, prat of a girl.

"I see you."

The voice came from the darkness, from a place where, I was certain, no one had been a moment ago. Don't bad guys spontaneously show up when damsels are in distress? It was as if I'd willed him into existence by being the moron crying girl who ran from a fight and into a dank alleyway. I should have been terrified, and my body did spurn itself into "fight or flight" mode, blood racing, heart pounding, nerves on edge. But something about the voice failed to set off the normal alarms in my head. No tell-tale local accent, no geezer burr- something more languid, lilting about it. The voice was gentle, like a caress. My body was telling me to run away, but I decided to ignore it and stay to hear more. I didn't realize at the time that the decision was so conscious, but I was left with plenty of time for consideration in the days to follow.

"D'ya want a prize for that? I am standing five feet away from you. Congratulations, your eyes work!"

"No, Thelma, I mean that I really see you..."

The fact that he knew my name was another indicator that running away was what any half-wit would do. I, on the other hand, am a no-wit and stayed where I was. The fact that he seemed to be gliding over the cobblestones toward me should have made me scream in alarm, instead I was merely fascinated. He approached me and I moved backward slightly, but there was the brick wall behind me and it felt so dirty that I stood just in front of it.

He was right in front of me, so close that if we both took deep breaths at the same time our chests would touch. The white shirt under his black jacket seemed to gleam in the dim light, and his eyes were almost doing the same thing- I couldn't see what color they were, but could tell that they were pale. He had a cigarette in one hand, and as he brought it to his lips his arm brushed against my chest. I felt a jolt of pure sexual arousal and almost fell over- I had never felt anything like that in response to a man, and it was the most alarming part of our already strange encounter. Who in the hell was this guy?

"I've been watching you. I see the people at your school wander around you, never addressing you except to express their scorn and I nearly can't stand it. They are like maggots that are crawling over sapphires and rubies- they can't understand what they can't consume so they dismiss it, never knowing the treasure within their grasp, unable to see the beauty of that which they dismiss. I wonder how you can stand to be so surrounded by fools and idiots, when you so clearly deserve better. I also puzzle as to why you waste affection on so unwilling a recipient as your roommate."

For the first time I note his breathing- it is slow, deliberate, and seems as if the breaths are spaced too far apart. I did not learn until later that a creature who never had to bother with breathing before finds it somewhat tedious to do so, even when in human form. His eyes bore into mine, and I read there a malevolence, restlessness, and detachment, alongside something like hunger.

He cast the cigarette aside and moved toward me- which, at the distance he started, meant that he pushed up against me until I was sandwiched between them. He lifted a hand to my neck- every movement having the same deliberate speed as his breathing- when one is a creature of eternity, why bother to hurry?- and I wondered if he was going to strangle me, but he merely let the hand rest there, squeezing gently, then letting go, as if flexing his grasp to test it, or to remind me that he could keep on squeezing until the breath drained from me. He brought his face so close to mine that I thought he would kiss me but instead whispered in my ear.

"They are lower life forms, and so is she, you know. They are not worthy to so much as speak your name, yet they presume to act as if they were your betters? Can they not see you for who and what you are? You are like the angel sent to Sodom, unrecognized by those who would harm such a creature, who would attempt to destroy its perfection in order to understand it, to not be shamed by its mere existence.

"You are the figure of beauty and grace, of light and darkness existing together, but always separate in the sound of your very breath. You are the perfection which must be misunderstood lest its very nature become corrupted. You are Eve- first woman, every woman, always a goddess disguised as mortal. And you hold my black heart in your hands like velvet nothingness..."

It was as if he cast a spell- and I could feel it, but I didn't want to fight it. I wanted to give in, so I did. For half a moment I believed his words, the tone with which he spoke, the admiration and tenderness there. I forgot Cassie, and everyone else, and I stood in the darkness, readily welcoming the poison he poured in my ear. I stopped thinking of the fact that he was a man and that I'd never, ever wanted one of those sexually. For the first time in my life a man was causing a deep arousal to burn within me, and I couldn't be bothered to question it. I only wanted more, I only wanted to believe.

I had an instantaneous vision of him lifting my skirt, ripping off my pants, lifting my leg and sinking deep inside me, right there, against that wall, in that alley. I saw the whole thing in an instant and it took my breath away, I wanted it so badly. I wanted him to go where no man had gone before- and the idea terrified me. Why in the name of the Queen Mother's knickers did I desperately want this stranger to fuck me?

"I can, you know."

"Sorry, what?" The idea had only consumed my thoughts for half a moment, but I found the return to reality jarring and had to shake my head to clear it.

"I was saying that I could do this."

And it happened- he wrapped a hand around my thigh and picked up my leg, which obligingly locked around his waist. He was so much taller, it should have been awkward but it wasn't; it was the single most arousing thing anyone had ever done in my life, possibly in the history of time itself. He pressed forward and I was reminded that I'd eschewed pants when getting ready to go out, and there existed between our relevant bits only his trousers. I could feel them against my ever-expanding skin, against the evidence of how ready I was for him, despite myself. He leaned into me, rubbing against me until I almost couldn't bear it.

I felt my body respond in a way it never had ever done in the presence of or at the thought of a man- I arched toward him, closing any remaining distance, pushing off of the wall at my back. He grabbed my hand, held it over my head, and leaned in to kiss my neck. I gasped and began to move against him in earnest, not caring that I was a wanton slut, a suddenly heterosexual one, who was gyrating against a complete stranger in a seedy alley. The kiss on my neck turned into a lick, which became a nibble, and he trailed up to my ear.

I've never been one for ear kissing, licking, or nibbling, but everything he did was something I'd never liked before but suddenly couldn't live without having more.

"I could pretend to force you, if you'd rather..." All of his sentences trailed off somewhere, as if waiting for me to finish them, as if they needed me to respond, to acknowledge them in order to make them real.

"Please, sir- I want some more." Yes, Thelma, perfect time for a Dickens joke, way to gauge the moment. But he stopped the nibbling and I could feel the breath of his chuckle. He raised his head enough to look into my face, still smiling, but looking all the more dangerous for that.

"Say it, then. Say it, Thelma."

Any reservations were destroyed by the sound of my name on his lips- the name I always hated, rendered the most seductive sound in the world. I easily freed the arm he was holding and took hold of him by the neck, desperate and hungry enough to put it into words.

"Fuck me."

I wasn't expecting him to pick me up- no one picks me up, it's just not a feasible thing- but he did it and even held on to me as I wobbled a bit in surprise. Effortlessly, he held me aloft and my other leg wrapped around his waist. He braced me slightly against the wall as he unzipped his trousers, and then lowered me onto him, his cock slipping just as effortlessly into me. I kissed him, moaning and all but screaming into his mouth as his tongue penetrated me as well, and he set the pace, going not only faster but harder, and I didn't really have to do anything but enjoy the sensation of being well and truly fucked in a frenzy that was animal-like. I dug my nails into his neck as I held on to him, and he took my wrist, slamming it into the wall so hard that it hurt, so much that I saw stars, but still fucking me. Just as I got the impression that I was like some great big masturbatory toy, that I might not have an identity anymore, he'd fucked it away and the thing is, I didn't mind because what else was he to me but that very thing and he then he sank his face into my chest, biting and sucking, and saying something over and over. He let go of my wrist and used his hand to free my breast from the dress and my bra beneath it and desperately set teeth and mouth over and about the nipple, sending me over the edge into a delirium, into the strongest orgasm I'd ever known, coming from an untouched place inside, and from my cunt, and my breast, and his teeth and the ache in my wrist and I wondered if light was shooting out of my mouth it was so earth-shatteringly good and then he came too, could feel the increasing urgency and groans and words were coming out of him, brushing against my skin and then he was finished and I was, too and in that instant of a sudden pause I realized that the words he'd been saying, that he still whispered under his breath like an incantation, were my name. Just my name... like a prayer from his lips to my skin and in that instant I lost the will to fight against anything and everything ever again, unless it was something that ever would stand between me and him, and that godforsaken sense of completion being followed by the sound of my name, a sound like a sacrament.

And that was that. I was his. We disentangled ourselves, arranged ourselves, and he took my hand. I didn't realize he lead me right back to the school, to a strange hidden room. I didn't care, when the room had a bed. I would never have believed that a man could be so good at giving a woman head, but he was. I would never have believed that I would ever believe honeyed compliments pouring from a man's mouth as he gazed up from between my legs, but I did. I wouldn't have believed that when he explained that I had to go to that giant, odd chair and sit on it so he could tie me up, and that I would be killed, I would. But I did. The only explanation for why would have to be that I was- still am- extremely stupid. And tired.

He tied me to the chair and then he knelt before me, eyes never leaving mine, pressing his forehead gently to mine. And even as I sat there, I felt stupid for believing him, but I did and I still do.

"I wish it could be you, Thelma. I wish you were the one. But you are not of the right line. And it's idiotic to ask you to believe a word I say, but I haven't lied to you. She is not worthy of you, and neither am I because I have to be mated with her. My child must have her blood, or my Nephilim will not be freed. And to make that happen, I will have to feign attraction to her that I do not feel. I will have to say terrible things, and do terrible things. I have to. But if I had my way, I would take you and we would leave this place. We could always be together..."

The insane thing about all of this nonsense? I still believe him. I still believed him when he stabbed me. I still believe it every time I see him, especially when I see him with her- he stabs me again and again and I feel a sense of betrayal that would take away my breath if I had any left, and instead spreads like ice pouring into me. But he's right- we have our parts to play, and so we do. She is none the wiser. Besides, I might only be imagining that sometimes his eyes lock on mine and he's saying the words again and again, "I wish it could be you..."