Theme 04: Devon - Week 4

And so we are, Sunday at last, final post for this month's theme. And I've brought something special with me: an entire whole new piece, done this week... with a sex scene. Because branching out is fun << XD

Seriously though, that's really but a tiny part of the story and fitting into character and relationship development. I must admit I really like these two together - not as a couple (because they both quite loudly say 'no' << XD), but as a dysfunctionally functional friendship unit. On the one hand you've got the hot-blooded Vampire with impeccable manners, on the other hand the pigheaded female warrior hailing from an ultra-peaceful race. ... I love this so much. XD

And an act that might tear apart most budding friendships will in fact bring these ill-assorted characters closer together...

In her three centuries of life, Sorasiehn had known quite a few men. She'd had a weakness for buff, grouchy massifs used for a night and discarded without a second glance the morn after. Rough, dangerous sex: just the way she liked it. A few bruises the next day? Proof of a night well spent. And judging from the large bruise on her left thigh and the blunt pain hammering along her right side, last night had been her kind of night. Brute. Raw. Merciless. And inebriated, as the pounding in her head suggested. The usual. Yet, something felt off. As she placed a hand at her forehead and groaned, a sharp noise like the tumble of rings made her bat-winged ears tremble and fold.

Groaning loader at the sight of bright sunlight suddenly flooding the room, Sorasiehn lowered her hand to protect her squinting eyes and look over at the person standing next to the unveiled window. Then, she grunted and laid back down, turning away from the light.

Translating 'go away' in Human seemed too much of a hassle. She knew Devon would get the point from her attitude. He might complain, or demand she get up anyway, but she knew he would eventually give up and let her be.

Surprisingly, Devon said nothing. She waited, and still he said nothing; eventually Sorasiehn stretched out an ear, waiting, expecting; she heard the loud banter of birds outside, the distant shuffle of boots and the clamour of voices, and the rapid beating of Devon's heart. Too rapid a beating. She was still lying down on her side, immobile, when Devon's audible rage took the better of him and he shattered the window with his fist.

Sorasiehn quickly assessed the situation. Her sword was nowhere to be readily seen; judging from his irrational act of vandalism, Devon might be in a state of 'hunger' -a lack of blood in a Vampire's veins that causes a state of violent madness-; with the air pouring in from the now-broken window, were he to attack, she'd be able to defend herself through magic. Therefore, there was no true cause for alarm. At worse, they'd have to pay for repairs with what little funds they currently did not have.

Exasperated, Sorasiehn grunted. "You pay for that."

"… Is that really all you're going to say?"

Sorasiehn frowned. That tone; that low, growling tone purposefully restrained. Devon was angry. Profoundly angry. And this ire was aimed solely at her.

Slowly Sorasiehn pulled herself up, covers in tow, while glancing about the room to try and find her sword: it leaned against a distant corner. And, she discovered as her gaze traveled towards Devon, her clothes were scattered all about the room. Whomever she had slept with last night was already gone, certainly scared away by the mere presence of her Vampire companion – who was now picking out shards of glass from his bleeding palm as casually as Humans'd pull out strands of grass from the soil. He was not looking at her. His ire still pounded in his chest, and in Sorasiehn's ears. She noticed, then, that his hands were shaking almost uncontrollably. The Hunger? Somehow, she doubted it: Hunger made a different sound – a steady, rhythmic pounding growing crescendo. The beating of his heart, right now, was erratic, like the motion of his hands. Sorasiehn frowned.

"Sick?"

"No, I'm not sick," Devon replied in the same restrained tone. Whatever he was going to say next, he did not. His heartbeat increased, even more erratic.

"Then, what?"

Devon kept his ire restrained but a few seconds longer. He suddenly screeched and slammed his bleeding fist into the wall's wooden panels as he whirled to face her. "Are you telling me you don't remember?!"

Remember…?

The evening before. The city of Grime, north-east Korinda. A pursuit gone awry.

Sorasiehn had tracked a band of highway robbers to their headquarters in Grime, a city notorious for being a legal transit area for slave traders. She had sensed magic in their midst – familiar magic. The magic of her people. But no Syrilae would affiliate themselves with criminals – not willingly. She'd needed to ascertain that fact, by herself: matters of the Syrilae did not concern anyone else. So she had sent Devon on an errand to secure the wider area and find themselves a resting place near the edge of town, not without complaints on his part: he always seemed to mistake her for a damsel in distress.

The robbers, however, did not. Once close enough to the headquarters' entrance for the sentries to notice the sword sheathed at her hip, they had stopped jeering at her boldness and her curves. Then, a storm broke loose at her fingertips.

What she'd discovered in the delapidated headquarters had churned her ironclad stomach. Never had she seen so many rotting corpses in one place; severed limbs with traces of teeth marks; screams of terror frozen on so many cleaved heads. The smell was horror. She'd tried not to think about what these people had endured while dying; she'd tried not to pay attention to the dim blue dust scattered across a heap of cadavers. A Syrilae had died here. Horribly. Sorasiehn ran.

Heaving by a flickering streetlight, Sorasiehn slowly regained her senses and analyzed the situation. It was impossible for neighbours, locals, city officials, to be ignorant of such a large-scale operation. Even as her magic had torn the entrance to shreds, no one had come. The city – this side of the city, had remained eerily silent. She did not even sense eyes upon her. No one acknowledged the criminals' presence, nor their defeat. She spat to herself, Humans.

And consciousness had blurred; Sorasiehn, unwilling to admit the depth of incurred mental wounds, wandered across the city until she'd reached livelier streets and faces visibly grossed out by the layers of blood she'd so casually sported. One tavern, two, more: Sorasiehn had drank herself silly, flirted, made out with several men – and, as far as she'd remember, she may have taken one or more of them in the streets. The need had been high to forget. Blue dust upon rotting corpses. Malia…

She would not remember Devon finding her sitting in the streets, her face buried against her knees, bawling her eyes out; she would not remember the care with which he'd pull her up and walk her to an abandoned house while she clung to him, drowning in her tears; she would not even remember how they'd sit side by side as Devon held her close to him, trying to appease her pain; but she would remember, as liquor'd dry and memories flooded once more her mind, what it was that she was running from.

Sorasiehn's lips were on Devon's in a heartbeat.

She had not thought about repercussions; all she had sought was comfort. And it was taken from her when Devon shoved her away from him.

What had she felt at the time? Hurt? Angry? Scorned? …Abandoned? Unacceptable. Sorasiehn had risen after him, met every flailing complaint with a seducing hand upon exposed skin. He had resisted, and she'd backed him against a wall. He had squirmed, and she had taken advantage of his unwillingness to harm her. Once her hand firmly attached to his manhood and the first moan begot, conditions had quickly changed.

Within moments, Devon's hands were upon her buttocks and he had lifted her up against him, spinning around to pin her against the wall. Their lips interlocked as Sorasiehn's hands gripped his face, her nails gliding along his cheeks, past his short unkempt hair as his lips started trailing along the rim of her neck. She let out a moan when his fangs pierced through her skin and she pulled his head tight against her, slowly leading him down to her breasts. One hand sufficed for him to keep her up; one hand is all it took to rip off her leather corset and the blouse underneath. This sudden act of violence towards her garments surprised her – during the second their gazes met, she did not recognize her companion, but saw only the mindless beast she had spared, so many years ago, despite better judgment.

Were he to try and kill her now, she would not resist.

She wondered whether he could sense her desire to die.

But Devon did not kill her, nor did he attempt to try. His freed hand ran along her back and he pulled her from the wall, holding her as he moved them towards the bed, upon which he tossed Sorasiehn before pulling all of his clothes. He crawled up between her legs and kissed her, kissed her neck, her chest, his fangs trailing along her skin and leaving their bloody mark while his hands traveled along her thighs, between her thighs, closer, closer… She winced as he ripped open her pants and struck her thigh while discarding torn cloth; and then he was upon her, and his brutal warmth comforted her. She wrapped her legs about his waist and took hold of his shoulderblades, noting to herself how small he was in comparison with every other man she'd ever had.

Amused, Sorasiehn grinned. She'd have the best night of her life.

Until the very moment when reality caught up with her at last. Remembering the events of the night before, Sorasiehn was dumbstruck. She lifted a hand upon her mouth. What had she—what had they done?

"Devon—"

"I'm sorry."

"You… …?"

Devon held his aching fist in his free hand, staring calmly through the broken window. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I… … I did ask you to stop."

Sorasiehn said nothing in return, even when Devon's eyes turned towards her, conveying his distress. She remembered he had resisted her; not the actual words used. Would she have stopped? … no. No, she wouldn't have. And despite the bruises and cuts endured, she did not regret their night together.

Why, then, did he? Because he'd hurt her? She didn't mind. Because they are, how did he ever put this?, friends? They aren't – she tolerates his presence.

Yet, as her hand reached up to her bandaged neck, Sorasiehn felt doubt cracking her ironclad armor. She had experienced something with him that never she had with another man: a bond of trust that left her speechless. There was care in his eyes, even as she absently ran her fingers along the rim of her wounded neck.

"Does it hurt? I… … tried. The bandage."

Sorasiehn took a deep breath. "Why you say stop?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Before," she said with flicking hands, "before… the day today. Why you say stop?"

Devon stared at her; he stared, assessing her words and trying to understand them. Eventually he whispered, "… you don't remember?"

Sorasiehn shook her head, wincing as her neck throbbed. "Nani. … no. Why?"

"… you really don't remember?"

An eyebrow arching, Sorasiehn observed her companion's peculiar attitude. His face was flushing. She did not understand why, and waited for an explanation he would never give.

"… never mind, Sora, it's… It isn't that important. Do you still have business in this city?"

The abrupt change of topic took her aback. "… no. We can go."

"All right. I'll er… get you something to wear. Stay here."

And he left, without another word. Sorasiehn cocked her head and wondered what that had been all about. He had been nowhere as timid the night before, as far as she remembered – at least, not after she'd pinned him against the wall and grabbed his balls: he'd been hard enough. He'd clearly wanted her as much as she'd wanted him. Where, then, did this misplaced prudery suddenly come from?

She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. No matter. His attitude changed nothing.

Eager to stretch her legs and rub the pain out of her limbs, Sorasiehn got up, flinched as her bruised leg almost gave way beneath her, and limped towards the heap of cloth that used to be her garments. She plopped herself down on the wooden floor and pulled up her blouse, holding it up by the sleeve. Ripped in half from the front. …She'd liked that blouse.

And she'd liked her companion in this destructive state. Examining the rips in her blouse she remembered scraps of details from the night before: how he'd grabbed her, pulled her up against that wall; how he'd torn the clothes from her back and ruptured her skin with his bestial teeth; how he'd thrown her on that bed and violated her. It had been exquisite.

Yet, at the same time, an image came back to her that warranted assessment. She rested her elbow on her wounded thigh, cringed, then rested her lips against her index finger as she examined the memory.

She remembered how, after the initial kiss, Devon had backed away from her, a look of horror on his face. He had spoken, but she had not comprehended the words; his attitude, however, had clearly screamed at her to leave him be. She had not stopped; she had forced herself onto him until, being but a man, he had lost grip on his self-restraint. Realizing this fact, her throat knotted and she frowned. She had violated him, not the other way around – not in the same manner. … but, why had he ever asked her to stop? Did he not like women? Evidence proved otherwise. The past proved otherwise, as she'd seen him talk to women on occasion, enjoying their company. Or was she not his type? Irrelevant.

Whatever the case, it was done. It had happened. It changed nothing to their dynamic. They were still… 'friends'. Friends. Friends. However she turned the word over in her mind, it sounded foreign. Dangerous. The last friend she'd had, the only person she had ever cared about, had been her mother.

And she'd been killed by an arrow to the throat by a Human.

Sorasiehn closed her eyes and willed the memories away. What mattered to her was that she had done another wrong; her sense of justice demanded retribution towards herself.

"Perhaps," she mumbled, the words sticking to her throat, perhaps… it is time for me to go home. And bring a 'friend'.

A friend. Sorasiehn lifted her eyes towards the ceiling. What would They be thinking of her now? What would her mother think of her, were she still alive in this life? She needed to face their judgment.

"Aberviohn… I… am coming home."