Prompt: 1sentence Themes: Set Five--Epsilon
Warnings: Angst, sexual content, dub-con, little bits of almost-fluff scattered about.
Rating: Light R
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.
Summary: He is gentle with her sometimes—combing his fingers through light blonde hair as he curls his body around hers and hums some wordless melody
Comments: Totally stole the themeset. XD I couldn’t resist. Some are in chronological order and some are not. You will understand when you read. Title is from a song by Evans Blue: “Eclipsed”.
She watches him every time he crosses the room—notes that he is sometimes slow and graceful (like this is some deadly ballet), and she notices that he is sometimes anything but slow; sometimes he is practically upon her before she can blink, his wicked smile stealing the breath in her lungs, and part of her always wonders how, but the majority of her thinks assassin and that explains it all, really.
The first time he sees her (alone), she looks surprisingly calm—cool and collected, and he smiles to himself and wonders how he can make her look anything but.
“She looks like a child,” Naminé hears Axel tell Marluxia, but Marluxia’s eyes are on her, and she knows that the innocence found within her own wide blue eyes will not deter him—not for even an instant.
He steals her first kiss from trembling (though unyielding) lips, and he likes the way she shudders and turns away as he tells her that it will not be her last.
“This feels wrong,” she tells Marluxia as his lips traverse the pale column of her throat, and she feels the low rumble of his chuckle as it escapes and tickles at her skin, making her shiver; he doesn’t stop—but truth be told, she never really expected him to.
He is gentle with her sometimes—combing his fingers through light blonde hair as he curls his body around hers and hums some wordless melody… and he does this on purpose, because the way she almost immediately tenses in preparation for a touch that is far less gentle pleases him immeasurably.
“Just one more, precious,” he constantly tells her, but it’s never just one more with Marluxia—‘just one more’ of anything never seems to be enough.
‘One’ always becomes ‘a thousand’—a thousand kisses, a thousand touches, a thousand wordless gasps stolen from her throat, a thousand pushes and pulls, a thousand rapidly-purpling bite marks, and a thousand pink lines on her no-longer-flawless skin… (and it’s still not enough).
She has heard stories of a King from a distant land with a kind heart; she has heard of his effort to fill all of the worlds with Light and to keep the Darkness at bay—but he is not recognized here, for this is a place where Nothingness itself reigns supreme (and she knows that Marluxia is all too ready to have his shot at a seat on that throne).
He’s learned where to touch and kiss to make her whimper (her neck, the small swell of her breasts, behind her ear, along her belly and her inner thighs)—he’s learned, too, how to bite and dig his nails into those very same places just enough to make her scream, and he must admit… he likes doing that best of all.
The first time Marluxia takes her, it’s all a blur: fingers and lips and tongue (and sometimes teeth) warm on her body, between her thighs, and then there’s pain and then an altogether different sensation; she remembers calling out his name at the end and knows that if she had a heart, she’d hate herself later for doing so.
He feels different parts of the mattress sink in when she moves (no doubt, she’s trying to slip away because she thinks that he is sleeping), and Marluxia reaches out, curling fingers around her wrist as he breathes, “Wait,” and even though he isn’t surprised when she does, it makes him smile (just slightly) all the same.
“Will you hate me when you have a heart?” Marluxia asks her, and Naminé bravely (and tremulously) replies with, “Will you love me when you have a heart?”, and his answering smile tells her nothing.
He gives her commands that are thinly-veiled behind the illusion of choice (“You may do what pleases you, my precious”), and she falls for it every time—comes to him like a puppy looking for a treat, though the ‘treats’ that he gives her are those which he makes sure he can enjoy, as well.
He holds her sometimes (more frequently now)—slides his arms around her in the darkness and pulls her close, and it’s the sound of his breathing that lulls her to sleep, because there is no heart within his chest to beat in the slow, steady rhythm of a makeshift lullaby.
“I need you because your powers will prove of use to me, and you need me because I’ll offer you food and shelter and warmth,” he tells her, and the thought that the two of them might need each other for entirely different reasons later on down the line does not cross his mind—at least, not right now.
She finds it rather disturbing how sometimes (even when she closes her eyes), he is all that she can see.
“Pay attention, my little princess,” Marluxia instructs as they wander his garden together—as he introduces her to all of the different types of flowers he has growing there, “because there might be a pop quiz later;” and even though he says it lightly, he makes sure that the words are filled with dark promise, nonetheless.
Naminé sometimes wonders what Marluxia was like before—when he had a heart and a soul, and she thinks that she can see small glimpses of who he once was mostly when he tends to his garden, his touch careful and almost loving; it’s a shock to the system when she realizes that he touches her like that sometimes, too.
Every once in a while, he will simply sit and watch her as she works: he’ll watch as she touches crayon and pencil to paper with careful precision, and when he watches, she always holds the finished product up for him to see—it’s as though she’s silently asking for approval (he thinks of scribbled houses on ‘mommy’s’ refrigerator), and he always gives it to her (whether it is in the form of a smile or a nod or lips against lips, crushing and possessive).
She promised herself from the beginning that she would not let Marluxia play her for a fool, though she breaks that promise every single day: every single time she says ‘yes’ and every single time she arches underneath him and every single time she smiles for him and every single time she cuddles in close to him just because.
His lips say that he isn’t mad when he finds her in a room that she isn’t supposed to be in (he can’t be angry with her since he doesn’t have a heart), though he makes certain that his hands (jerking, pulling, leaving bruises) and his teeth (biting and breaking through skin) and his hips (shoving—and harder when her cries are not those of pleasure) tell her otherwise later that night.
“I’ll never understand what you see in that child,” Larxene says scathingly (like something somewhere burns), and Naminé starts when she feels his fingers brushing against her cheek and hears him reply, “No, you never will.”
He knows that she’d like to believe in fairy-tale endings: happily ever after and forever and always, and all that… but he also knows – as she touches his lips with fingertips that are trembling – that she’s smart enough to understand that all Nobodies really have is now.
Shadows and moonlight play over his bare skin as he sleeps, and she tries not to think, beautiful, but she fails and the word enters her mind anyway.
One of his precious flowers – the chrysanthemum – is dying, which is normal this time of year, though he notes with some shadow of amusement that she bids it farewell anyway—and shortly thereafter, he tells her not to fret, for it will be there again for her to wave ‘hello’ to come Spring.
She used to try to hide from him underneath her covers, but somewhere along the way, something changed, because now when he takes her into his room (which has windows), she finds herself dragging the covers up over the both of them and burying her face against his chest in order to hide from the sunlight streaming in.
He doesn’t want gold or silver—merely a heart and the Organization (under his control, of course) and her, and he doesn’t think that’s too much to ask for, really.
She walks along beside him in his garden, not quite holding his hand, and she wonders when it was that she stopped feeling so small and alone and afraid in his presence and started feeling almost safe instead.
The first thing Marluxia thinks upon encountering her for the first time is that she looks like a ghost: pale and hollow, eyes carefully lowered and cheeks sunken in; his second thought is this: I wonder how she’d look flushed… or bleeding….
He reads to her—always fairy-tales about princesses and tall towers and dragons and knights and princes… all things that she really knows nothing about, but he makes them sound amazing, anyway.
Marluxia tells her that she’s the prettiest flower in his garden as he presses against her and forces her back, knowing that the thorns of his roses are prickling her skin, and when she tries to argue, he only tells her that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and smiles as she blushes and bleeds (just a little—only a little, and never enough to stain her pretty dress).
He talks sometimes of a hero Keyblade-bearer, and she thinks that it’s part of a story—even when he tells her that said hero is coming to Castle Oblivion, it doesn’t truly faze her, because she knows that she was never a princess meant to be rescued in the first place.
Naminé sings now and then (he knows it’s always when she thinks that he isn’t listening), and he never tells her that he listens, but he always, always does.
It happens suddenly: one moment she is drawing as usual, and in the next moment, he’s touching the small of her back and telling her that the hero he spoke of before is here, in the Castle—and now is when her work truly begins.
“Can I stop now?” she asks – asks it for the boy whose memories she’s ripping apart, and asks it for the one whom the boy thinks is his lost friend (but is only a fake) – and his eyes narrow at her concern, and he gives the only answer he finds appropriate: “No.”
With every stairwell Sora ascends, he loses a real memory and gains a faux one, and Naminé wishes that she could make him turn away—go back down the stairs and out of the Castle, but Marluxia is there to remind her (lips against the shell of her ear, making her body react still): “Time always goes forward my little flower, never back.”
“Think of it as washing his memory clean and remaking it into something better than it was,” Marluxia tells Naminé, though he knows that it offers her no comfort whatsoever.
She bites at her the inside of her mouth until it’s torn and bleeding (and knows that he tastes the blood there)—she’s literally biting her response back (“Unlike us, he actually has a heart that can break”), because she’s certain that her words would only fall on deaf ears at this point, anyway.
He asks her if she remembers anything about her past – because she’s never told him anything about her life before all of this – and she looks at him solemnly and replies that the first thing she remembers is the biting cold, and the second thing she remembers is Marluxia shielding her from the wind.
Marluxia explains to her that power is one of those things that one can never have enough of, and when she quietly asks what else one cannot have enough of, he smiles knowingly at her and her breath hitches as his fingers tease along her thigh, and he says: “Well, one can never have enough of this, either….”
He’s beginning to believe that this Keyblade-bearer (this better, real version of Number Thirteen) is more of a bother – a burden – than anything else, because with every memory that Naminé destroys and re-creates, it seems that she grows further and further away from him, and that’s something that he genuinely never intended.
When he’s at his worst, he’ll tell her that the only god in this castle is him, and then he’ll force her onto her knees, where she will perform falsified ‘worship’.
Four walls surround her and keep her false hero away, and that’s exactly how he wants to keep it—he wants Sora close but not that close; wants him almost, but never actually touching her, because all of that pale beauty is his, and his alone (never will he let her belong to some child who knows nothing).
At night, he lets her see him bare, defenseless, vulnerable (though part of him still screams aggression and madness and rage), and part of her wonders if anyone else has seen him this way: when he reaches for her, pulls her close, she somehow knows that her answer is no.
Marluxia can see that some part of her is breaking and withdrawing as this continues, but he keeps pushing her, driving her forward, because he knows that all of this will be over soon—he’ll have his victory and he’ll have her, and all will be right in his world.
“This might kill him,” Naminé says, though she knows that that is not something Marluxia hasn’t already considered—knows that he has no concern at all for this boy from the realm of Light, who is currently searching for the friend that he lost within the Darkness.
He called her ‘precious’ to begin with simply as a mere mockery of an affectionate term—he calls her that now simply because she is.
There are different types of hunger, she knows: there is hunger born of lust and hunger born of the desire for power, and she sees both versions there in his eyes when he looks at her—sees them even when his eyes are closed, sees them in the way his body moves and in the way he touches her.
In the end, when all of it is over, she doesn’t know which she believes the least: the fact that Marluxia is gone, or the fact that she feels more alone and cold and lost and afraid without him than she ever felt when she was by his side.
I cannot even express in words how much I love writing these two. It’s kind of pathetic. *LOL*
Any lines that particularly stood out to you, dear readers?