Rating: NC-17 for mucho bad language and a tiny dash of slash
Where You'd Been
Why did I fuck her?
To start with, because it wasn't difficult.
It was never going to *be* difficult.
We're both demons, after all; well, she's an ex-demon and I'm... something different, and you know what demons are... we'd fuck anything that moves.
I'm still the demon, but subjugated; celibacy from feeding and hunting fuckin' well thrust upon me, reduced to vacuum packed swine's blood and bitin' my own arm when I'm shaggin' or wankin'... actually, there's more wankin' than shaggin' lately.
She's got her own problems.
She's human now; emasculated, trapped, powerless.
We've a lot in common, in fact... except she's so fuckin' pathetically needy.
No, that's not *why*.
I'm not sayin' it wasn't... nice, you know, the shaggin'.
It was nice... in a 'well, you'll do' kinda way.
It wasn't what I really needed, certainly not what I really *wanted* but it passed the time, drained the beast for a while, saved my wrist for a while, took away the yearning for a while...
Only for a while.
She fuckin' loved it, mind you.
She's like most demons, really; into shaggin' as a means to an end, as a means of expression, as a means of release, as a means of being in control.
She desperately needed to be in control.
Huh... she lucked out again, the stupid bint... Nobody controls me!
Do the ends justify the means?
Who the fuck knows and quite frankly, who the fuck cares? Jesus effin' Christ, I'm evil, how the bloody hell should I know?
She screamed a lot, squirmed a lot, sucked a lot... no biting, though. I could've done with some biting; it would have distracted me from her face.
Not that she's ugly, she's just... not what I had in mind.
Because, it's not *her* face I see behind my eyes in the indigo shadows of my fantasy while my hand grips my cock and I pretend that it's your hand; wanking myself stupid, wanking myself with a weary desperation brought on from yearning and unfulfilled desire and pathetic fuckin' need.
It's not her warm body, not her silky hair that smells of peaches and musk, not her deep, dark, melting chocolate eyes that are tattooed on my senses.
It's not her curves and her wetness and the space, that bloody empty space between her legs, that space that woke me from my fantasy; that made me realize that this was *her* and not what I really wanted, really *needed*.
It's none of that.
Your eyes; warm and inviting, lust-laden, teasing.
Your body; willing, cock so hard you wanna scream. Ass so tight *I* wanna scream.
Your breath; panting, sighing, whispering my name.
Your hands; stroking, gripping, probing, filling.
Your mouth; hot, wet, sucking... ohhhhh fuck, sucking as I tremble beneath you, hands knotted in your hair.
You fuckin' *wanting me*.
She said you were cold, like ice. Cold, unfeeling, automated love-making breaking her little human heart.
Oh, how fucking sad.
She loves you, you know, but the faith's gone - she *knows* you don't love her, she's not blind... pathetic, yes, but not blind.
She came to me for confirmation - confirmation that she's still desirable, confirmation that she's attractive, confirmation that she's not a lousy shag... which she's not...if you love her.
But I don't.
I love *you*.
Why do it then?
Why did I fuck her?
Because *you* fucked her.
Because *you* touched her.
Because your cock was inside her.
Because your essence is in her and your scent is on her.
It's as close to *you* as I can get.
It's as close to you as *you* will ever allow me.
Because I needed *you*.
Because I wanted *you*
Because I'd take something, *anything* to be close to you.
Because I'm fuckin' pathetic.
Because at the end of the day, Xander...
I just wanted to be where you'd been.