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"Fractured"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Dubcon, Implied Major Character Death.
Very dark. Pairings: ???/??? Summary: I do not seek forgiveness, or salvation.
Survival is my God, instinct is my drive, hunger is my damnation. "Chapter 4: Incubus " I survive on it, thrive on it. Need it, need him to give me life. He is the sun to my moon, the stars to my empty void. He breathes into me and forces this blackened, cancerous heart to beat again. He bears the marks of my attentions. From red, to black, to purple, to sickly yellow. He says nothing about them, but as time goes on, I see the light that used to shine in his eyes turn dull and lifeless. Lifeless like I used to be. Instead, that light shines in my eyes. It’s too late for him now. He’s my vice, my drug. I can’t stop...I can never stop. To do so would destroy me as surely as I’m destroying him. The purity that resides within him bleeds into me and it’s like I’m flying, soaring among a cloudless sky. The clarity with which I see, the lightness with which I’ve come to be...it is not my own. It was stolen from the one I hold in my possession. The one who will die at my hands because I’m too addicted to this feeling, addicted to life. Clinging desperately to an existence which seems perpetually elusive, like wisps of smoke that slip between my fingers. So I continue on as I always do, rolling him onto his belly beneath me. He goes where I take him, lassitude rendering his body pliant. My own little puppet whose strings I not only control, but have created of my own volition. He hasn’t been the same since I took the one he loved, but he must understand that it’s simply what I do. I know he does. He's a smart one. I can see the pity in his eyes even while he’s pinned beneath me with his legs hooked over my shoulders. It enrages me so I fuck him harder and harder until the pity turns to pain. Because anything in this God-forsaken world is better than pity. He whimpers into the pillow as I push inside him, the fourth time I’ve taken him on this night. His body accepts the intrusion. He’s learned. He’s learned to go with it. He knows he has no say. No place to go, no one to take him in. I’m all he’s got. It's a cruel, but necessary part of the grand design. His thighs open wider to accommodate the press of my hips and he allows himself to be plundered. He no longer has any fight left in him. I took that from him, too. I smother my growl of pleasure into the back of his head and pant into hair that’s matted and slightly oily. It’s time for me to bathe him again. Something I admit I don’t always remember to do. His body flexes beneath mine and the result is a delicious ripple that caresses my manhood in a heady squeeze. It’s the sign I’ve been waiting for since the moment I first entered him. The sign that he’s finally beginning to enjoy it. Encouraged, I lean up and clamp my fingers tight around his arms, pinning the fragile limbs to the mattress. I dig into him, hard and deep, my gaze dropping to devour the exquisite vision of our joining. That pale glimpse of my cock in the murky darkness before it disappears inside him again. He squirms and whines in frustration, his mind and body at war with each other. He doesn’t want to come. He never does, but he’s helpless against the press of my cock, to the sinful rapture of being fucked. I know the exact moment he gives into it, surrendering himself to the inevitable. His body goes lax but for the rise and fall of his hips as he seeks stimulation to the place he craves it most. And who am I to deny him? The only reason he’s here is because of the pleasure he brings me. The life he sacrifices so that I can exist. As he climaxes with a stuttering cry, a whimper of defeat, another piece of him breaks off and I do not hesitate to consume it as I have every piece of him he’s already lost. He weeps into the pillow, knowing any attempt to reclaim it is fruitless. It’s already lost to him. It’s already a part of me. I know it won’t be long now before it’s his visage that I see in my reflection. I push harder, jarring his body across the bed as I seek to consume as much of him as I can. I can feel the braid of my vessel sticking to the sweaty skin on my back. I can picture the curl of its lips when the pleasure climbs to its soaring peak and shrinks down into an infinite point in its groin before it blows outward in every direction, a supernovae of demonic rapture confined within the flesh of a human. He cries as I lay across him, pinning him beneath my weight, but I pay it no heed. It is nothing new. My pet is weak, feeble as they all are despite their delusions of grandeur. It’s not until they come face to face with something greater than themselves that they realize they are not at the top of the food chain. For a species such as this, it's a very long way to fall. In all honestly, I don’t even remember what I really look like anymore. I’ve wandered the Earth for so long, have taken on so many forms that I cannot recall my real face when I gaze into a mirror. I see only the faces of my conquests. My vessels. The flesh, blood, and bone of mankind and when this body expires, I will wear a new one. When this human beneath me has nothing left to give, I will dispose of him and capture another. I will obliterate everyone and everything they love until they are beholden to me and only me. And then I will suck them dry until they are empty voids, obsolete to a creature such as myself who only exists to consume. It's the circle of life, after all. I am a locust. A demon. It’s what I do. It’s what I am. There is no creature alive that doesn’t seek its own preservation by any means necessary and I am no different. I was created to consume, to devour. To destroy. It is not within my abilities to feel compassion. It is a useless endeavor and one that will lead to obliteration. A ceasing of existence. And ceasing to exist is something I will not do. My human is quiet now and I lift my head just enough to see him in the fading gray light outside the window. He is so young, so beautiful. I wrap the end of a flaxen curl around my finger and it does not warrant a response. Not even a flinch, or twitch. He is spent which is just as well. He must preserve what little energy he has left until the moment I need him again. I stand from the bed, leaving his nude body sprawled across the rumpled black comforter. His alabaster skin, even paler now than it was in the beginning makes a stunningly stark contrast against the endless dark of the bed cover and I realize that the parallel is far more literal than it seems. He’s a sacrificial lamb caught in the gaping maw of an event horizon. Soon, he will be pulled in by its gravity, lost to the world he once knew and cherished. What happens to him after that is not my concern. Will he reunite with the love I took from him? Will he simply cease to exist? It does not matter. That is not my department and if I allow myself to care, it would be to my own detriment, lead to my eventual demise. I leave him where he is, knowing he will not run, and head to the bathroom to tend to my vessel’s biological needs. My human eyes ache when I flip the light on and I blink the tears away as they adjust. Such primitive eyes, so blind, so different than my original ones. My reflection stares back at me. Rather, not mine, but that of my current vessel. He appears perfectly benign despite the entity that lives beneath the golden skin and layers of sinew. It's not just a man. It's a wolf in sheep's clothing. The eyes are still the same deep blue they’ve been since I first took on this body, but tonight is the night I finally begin to notice the first outwardly physical change. It starts at the top of my head and I grab the braid that lays against my back, pulling it around to get a better look. Threaded within the chestnut brown is a long streak of gold, identical to the color that crowns my current pet’s head. It won’t be long now. Soon, the rest will match. The braid will disappear, replaced by luxurious sun-lit waves that will curl around my ears and forehead. Soon, my eyes will pale, resembling that of a sunny sky on a summer day. The shape of my face, the size of my body, the tinder and resonance of my voice will shift and transform until I look and sound indistinguishable to the young man passed out in my bed. Once the transformation is complete, my prey, having served his purpose, will die. I do not know what my next vessel will look like, nor the vessel after that. It doesn’t matter. After so long, it becomes immaterial, irrelevant. Taking on the forms of my prey is simply a consequence. An evolutionary mutation that has enabled my survival. Until then, I will assume this form until I drain my pet, and assume his form until I drain the next. In the end, that’s all any of us really do. Divide, conquer, consume every possible resource, and then move on to greener pastures. I’ve learned not to question it. There are no answers to be found. No whys, or hows. It’s life. It’s the drive to live another day, no matter how miserable and pointless the existence.
~ * ~ Chapter 5 |
