prompt: tache; buckled; galactico; reserved

They had sex once.

She had been yelling at him, about something he couldn't even remember. She was angry with him for ignoring her for so long. She wanted him to listen to her and pay attention to her. She was there to help him, and all he cared about was getting his fix. He lived and struggled to breath through every waking minute just to get that one moment of true satisfaction, and the more he didn't get it the less in this world he seemed.

She had been stomping her foot, and had tears frustration oozing out of her pores when suddenly he put his hand to her throat and shoved her hard against the wall. Her shrill complaints came to an immediate end and she stared at him with wide eyes, wary and reserved. The pressure squeezed at her pulse point and she was still; she knew she was in a dangerous situation.

And she liked it.

He leaned in closer to her, smelling the fear on her skin, and shivered. This little tache of his may be the end of their relationship. The promise of what he could do to her body exhilarated him, and once again he was so close to getting what he wanted. He stared into her eyes and she could see the raw hunger in them. Their desires were so minimally incompatible, but finally she had what she wanted-- All of his attention was on her. He rested his face in the crook of her shoulder, never once loosening his grip on her throat. He breathed in deeply and her knees buckled, forcing more pressure on her neck. She trembled in his grasp and she WANTED.

He wanted to rip her skin apart, wanted to dig his fingers into her flesh and pull her apart. To have this willing body at the end of his fingertips made his blood sing and he pressed his body against hers. His grip tightened and she gasped, hands flying up to hold limply to his wrists. She did not push away, but she struggled for breath against his body. It was impossible to hold back the soft whimpers that rushed out under his treatment of her body. It was beyond terrifying to be at the mercy of this glactico; she knew he would never hesitate to kill her and the danger excited her.

As had happened many times before, He was unable to bring himself to do more than loom threateningly above her. He wanted to rip her apart and play in her blood, but once again it felt wrong. Not her, not this body. He growled in frustration and shook in fury and slammed her against the wall once. He WANTED and he NEEDED and he HATED and he wanted to hurt her. He kicked her legs apart, and she was held up by his fingers around her throat alone. She trembled and shook as his nails dug into her flesh and he bit into her shoulder as his free hand undid the tie of her soft pajama bottoms. He bit her hard as he ripped away her clothing and she could feel herself crying but it was more of frustration and need than sadness. Her senses were heightened by the danger, her stomach quivered as she tried to breath while dealing with the onslaught of sensation. Her leg was lifted and he shoved into her and he squeezed her throat and he drove into her over and over again.

She never reached completion. Her head swam from the lack of oxygen reaching her brain, and her nerves tingled with every touch. He finally removed his hand from her throat, and the air came rushing back in, overwhelming her and threatening to maker her pass out. Pulling her up by her thighs for better access, he replaced his fingers with his mouth tearing at the column of flesh. He wanted to rip her throat out but he couldn't. Eventually his motions stuttered and stilled and he pulled out of her quaking body.

He dropped her; she hit her head on the wall and slumped down to crouch half-naked on the floor. They stared at each other for a few moments, his gaze blank and hers full of emotion. She felt dirty and used and her nerves still thrummed, heart still beat fast. She could still feel him inside of her and the physical evidence of his presence was quickly cooling and sliding down her thigh. He turned, straightening his clothes, and walked away from her and out of the house. The door slamming shut felt like it closed over her lungs in a very physical way, and she was left alone to deal with the aftermath of his impulse and spontaneity.