Fic: In Seeking Truth

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My second offering, only a short one I’m afraid.

Title:  In Seeking Truth
Author: bearfacedcheek
Feedback:  Well Yeah. Obviously.

A/N If not for April, well anyone who’s read my un-beta-ed fic can tell you it’s not pretty

It is a fact. A fact she clings to with the desperate strength of a drowning man, that a statement repeated often enough will become truth. That under the torturous erosion of reiteration a lie can transform into a truth so indisputable that even the liar themselves must believe it.

This must be fact because if it is not then truth, like the subversive villain it is, will be free to unleash its destructiveness on her carefully constructed castle of lies.

Her body trembles with pleasure as he touches her, practiced fingers skimming, now light now rough across her skin, making her squirm and writhe beneath him. Mindless animal she is, driven by the basest of urges, the most sordid desires.

His touch turns soft and reverent and his mouth glides gently across her throat. Worshipful. “Buffy” his lips brush her ear. “Buffy” her collar-bone. “Buffy” her breast. She is his rosary, his penance and his hope.

It won’t do, it cannot be tolerated. If she allows him to enchant her with his sweetness then she will loose sight of her truth. And in a lightening fast movement of her unnaturally powerful body she has him beneath her and her movements are harsh and punishing, each angry thrust of her pelvis jarring and painful. Her nails rake across his chest, drawing blood. He’s a kinky son-of-a-bitch and he can’t resist the agonising pleasure of her punishment.

The back of her hand hits his face hard enough to split the ivory skin and he comes hard. He’s weak. She has the power here. He wants to make love slow and gentle but she can force his release with the brute strength of her calling.

His eyes are pained and resentful, swirling accusing pools of blue. The numbness of resurrection fades, as it always does when he gazes into her, and the onslaught of emotion is beyond the bearing of it. Anger, regret, twisted desire and worst of all a creeping warmth that if allowed to build will ignite a fire in the dried up tinder heart.

And fire burns, it consumes and destroys and it leaves nothing but ash. Not long ago she had welcomed the burning had danced until a different kind of fire ignited in her veins but he had quelled the flames and now she does not want to burn. She does not want to be ash again.

But it’s okay because she has a weapon with which to fight the flames. Her face twist into an ugly mask of granite hard disdain and she moves a little closer to her truth. “I hate you”

……………………………………………………

He believes, he must believe else he’ll go mad, that there are only so many times that a lie can be spoken before it crumbles before the inexorable advancing of truth. That even believing that lie will not save you, eventually, from the inescapable realisation of truth.

He believes that each time a lie is spoken, whether it is aloud or silent in the liars heart, that it becomes more and more brittle until one day it will snap upon the liar’s tongue and they will have no choice but acknowledge the truth.

She trembles in his arms as he breaths her name into her salt sweet skin. “Buffy.” She has taught him with harsh blows and harsher words that he must not say the words that wait always just behind his lips: “I love you” terrifies her and he understands that, he wont push now. Truth is truth and it will out. He has time. He can wait. And in the meantime her name, breathed soft against her breast, is declaration enough.

Too much perhaps because she has him pinned down now and her Cobra eyes bore venomous resentment into his. Pleasure chases pain along the bloodied path of her nails and he, pathetic wanker that he is, can do nothing but jerk his hips and spurt dead cum into her fiery womb. He finds no satisfaction in it.

He sees the lie forming in her eyes just as he feels the bruise forming on his cheek and he would smile if it were safe to do so. Inside he greets the lie like and old friend because yes it is brittle as dead wood and cannot hold her weight for long. She speaks and he moves a little closer to his truth. “I hate you”

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/24039.html

bearfacedcheek

bearfacedcheek