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Meg (meganmasters) wrote in payline,

His hands were on her body, his grip too tight, and, for the first time in a very long time, she felt actual fear. She was afraid of him. Despite his words, his reassurances, despite the fact that he was angry at her for putting herself at risk, when she looked up at him, all she could see was the righteous angel, ready to smite. Ready to throw her in the fire and walk across her prone form. She wanted to punch him. And she wanted to kiss him. And, more than anything, she wanted to not be standing there, feeling the way his ragged breathing pushed his chest against hers, or the way his thumb trailed across her collarbone.

“I don’t need you to save me, Clarence,” she almost purred. “I’m a big girl and I take care of my own messes. Self sufficient demon.” Something flickered in her eyes. An understanding that had always been between them, but went unspoken. She was a demon. And whether he was an angel, or simply a man, she would always be a demon. They could fight, and they could fuck, but whatever else happened, there would be no happily ever after to their story. There couldn’t be. She just wasn’t built for it. Every part of her that could have cared about him, that maybe should have cared had been burned out of her long ago. And yet...there she stood. Hating him. Wanting him. And it was going to kill them both.

“I wish I’d never met you.” Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt. “You should have killed me in Carthage.” Quick as a snake, her hand shot up between them and wrapped around the back of his neck, dragging her down to meet her. There was too much. Too much of everything. Her teeth raked across his lower lip, her fingers dug into his neck with bruising force, and her hand dragged at the front of his shirt hard enough that she heard the seams begin to rip. Weak...so very weak. She knew what needed to happen. She needed to walk about that door and never come back, before whatever it was that they were doing destroyed them both. And instead, she pressed herself closer, desperate to feel…something. Anything. Anything that might beat back the encroaching darkness that followed at her heels. The darkness that made up her soul.