Imagine
By: Eromi
eros@s... & immicolia@h...


Pairing: Andrew/Warren

Spoilers: late season 6

Rating: NC-17 (violent sex)

Summary: Love comes in blades and blood.

Disclaimer: All characters within belong to LGJ (Lord
God Joss) and Co. We just enjoy playing with them, and
putting them through various forms of hell.

Feedback: Feed the Egos. You know you want to.

We're back, we're still minor character obsessed, and
we're writing under a single name now. All fear the
Eromi!

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Hard to imagine someone who skin was that soft could
be that evil. Not that I had more than a few rare
chances to actually touch him. He always does the
touching. The digging. The cutting. Eyes so blank
as he works and the first time I wondered what might
have been going through his mind as he did... this.

Now I don't want to know. I don't need to know.

The hard pinch of the first cut is always surprising,
a new place every night. But, I've learned to hold it
in, or cry out if that's what he wants. Always what he
wants. I have know to get into it if he gets bored,
when to cry, when to shout, and when to grunt.

Not that I would need to. Seems that he knows how to
make me do all of that on his own.

He gets off on it, hard long before we ever touch
sexually, his type of foreplay perhaps. Oh god it
feels like the blade goes so deep but I don't ever
bleed to death, or loose anything worth having. I
don't move save for the opening and clenching of my
fist, to help the blood flow advance, because he's
crazy about the blood. The more there is the more he's
in love with me.

Sometimes, in these dizzy wistful hopeless moments I
can almost imagine that I see it. Love, glittering
somewhere behind the ice in his eyes as his fingertips
dip into the blood. Painting my skin. Lazy patterns
drawn with a firm touch. It's an illusion of course.
All of it. But it's nice to imagine. Nice to hope,
to dream, to want.

And then…to forget. That feeling that I honestly think
I'm addicted to. To know that when its all over I
won't remember this. I would be free of it. I won't
even remember wanting to not remember and that lets me
smile when he's not looking and trying to decide which
tool to use next. He's so careful most of the time,
and delicate, and I know he loves me because if he
didn't he wouldn't be so easy. Sometimes. Sometimes...
not all the time though. I never remember exactly
what it is that he does. But every time I look into
his eyes there's this phantom flash of pain. Sense
memory too strong to be erased. And I cringe but I
crave it and I'm drawn to it. Moth to flame. It'll
destroy me someday. Someday he'll slip. Cut too
deep. Cut something important. And that'll be that.
It won't be on purpose. He loves me. But accidents
happen.

And I still don't care.

I've learned to enjoy, that pain and…the thought of
him slipping. I tempt it sometimes and I see the smile
on his face when I jump into the blade. He loves me
alright. When he bites my lip, my neck and right below
my belly I know it. When he tears the flesh he speaks
the truth. When I want to scream, I know the truth.

This is love. This is bliss. This is everything I've
ever wanted. To be accepted and craved and desired
like this. Maybe not quite like this, but this works
for me now. The pain always so fresh and new and
intense every time. Love and trust and trust
destroyed and cut wide open to bleed before him.
Everything he wants. Everything I want. One of those
things simply meant to be.

And I want this to be new every time, which is the
main reason I have the memory cleansing and healing. I
don't think Jon knows that the memory swipe isn't
complete. When he enters me. When he comes. And when
he rips out. He doesn't know the love of the first
cut, that irritating tickle beneath the skin, the love
I feel when he kisses me. Or that moment. That
simple quiet moment when it's all over. Before I'm
pushed aside. When he's simply to tired to cast me
away just yet and he holds me. My blood staining his
skin, matted in his hair. Binding us in the most
primal of unions. So perfect and quiet and wonderful
before I'm shoved to the floor and the chill of the
air bites into my skin.

He used to walk with me to Jon's room. Help me. Now
he just rolls over and lets me limp there on my own.

But all that is so far away right now. Right now
there's only the cuts. Cut after cut after cut. Here
and there and shallow and sweet kisses of metal on
flesh. Sometimes followed by his lips but not often.
Not that it matters. And I play my part, gasp and
choke and sob, all to make him smile and cut me more.
Let the blood and muscle air out and its my bliss
again. There's always a sigh in my gasp, a moan in my
cries, because I need this, want this as much as he
does, maybe a bit more.

And it's my blood that lubricates him. Eases his way
inside me. Not the best, but better than nothing at
all. It still hurts but it's that hurt that he needs
to cause. The hurt that I need to feel. And the cuts
still come. Sometimes digging in when he thrusts.
Twist of the metal in a fleshy part of my arm. Where
it won't do too much damage. He knows. He's studied
human anatomy carefully. He knows where he can cut
and dig without doing permanent damage. And those
extra jolts of intense pain are ecstasy. For both of
us.

Its enough for me to see the look of pleasure in his
eyes to make me shiver and the pain to make my body
shudder, to make my skin crawl with bumps, for me to
scream and grunt and push myself against him oh so
deep. Faster and I become the sounds of flesh slapping
loudly, of bones cracking to accommodate, of being
made love to. Of being fucked raw, soul and body.

And that last brutal thrust and that final stab come
as one. Metal in my shoulder. Him in me. Blood and
come and everything blending and melding into one
intense soul shattering moment of pain. Of bliss. Of
pure love. And there's nothing more than the sound of
him panting. Forehead pressed to mine. Eyes still
blank. Emotionless.

But I imagine that I see love.

And if I imagine it hard enough, I do see it. I see it
in the way he gently kisses me then pulls out the
knife and his cock. Its there, but he won't admit it.
But one day he won't be able to stop it from spilling
out. I don't need words to prove it. I have his marks
and his come in me. He has my blood inside of him. We
share it and I know he loves me.

And that's all I need.

~end~