Categories > Original > Drama0 Reviews
Anne Rice Fan Fiction This is a pairing that came from both a role play and from a love of two characters that you know had something more than was written in the book(s). Pandora, one of Rice's...
Within the temple, all chanting and chorusing had grown silent. The worshippers were passed out, scattered about on the floor as if the god had grown tired of their company, for now, and like a messy child, left out his playthings until he decided to return. Glancing about, she kept the cloak near her thin form, unable to locate the god. Once more, the logic of her mind called the idea moronic. There was no true reason for her to be here - yet she had come. She folded herself inwardly, allowing the god to appear unnoticed.
He strode forward, the epitome of all that should be named deity. She did not see his radience; though her face was hidden, he knew who it was. No one could stay away for long. No one could abstain from that which was godlike. He came close to her, drawing her hood back with his hands before she could protest or even speak. Such beauty should never be hidden, as should be spoken of this woman, a goddess in her own right. Fingers twined in her cloak, she startled, eyes wide and staring at this apparition. He leaned forward in greeting as he had before, hands pulling at the cloak, pulling her closer. He kissed her chastely, a small offering meant to make the receiver long for more. She stood, eyes closed, lips pursed as though she had tasted of that most perfect wine and was savoring the last traces before they faded as well.
"I knew you would return," he whispered, releasing his grip on her cloak, allowing her a step back. Making whatever happened next her own choice. A goddess is something to be worshipped, not caged. He watched her let her arms, those splendid arms, fall to her sides, now hidden by the cloak. His eyes trailed back to her face. She returned the gesture, though her eyes never left the handsome profile. She nodded in agreement of his statement, as if she knew it to be divine truth as well. But she made no move forward, and for a time they stood like two statues, each transfixed by the other. Then she spoke.
"But I will not stay - he needs me, I shouldn't even be - " The god cut her off with one finger to his lips, knowing what she would say. For he was a god, and gods knew all, or at least what was of importance. She stepped towards him, closing the space between them, her logic bidding her to do otherwise. But she was not ruled by her logic, not as her lover was; no, she was ruled by her heart. And her heart was a vicious dictator in these kinds of issues. She stepped forward, rising up on tip-toe, returning his greeting in full. Her hands rested on his golden hips, giving herself balance.
He smiled into the kiss before returning it, satisfied with so chaste an offering. He took her hands from his waist, bending to his knees, drawing her down with him. She needed no encouragement. She knelt before him, and he before her. Again, they simply watched each other before she moved one hand to his face, fingers lightly tracing along the jawline, palm cupping his cheek. He leaned into the caress, his dark eyes never leaving her face. She moved the hand down from his cheek, along his neck, past the pulse - so alive for one so dead - down to rest open palmed against his abdomen.
Then he moved his hand as if to mimic the motion, but instead moved a stray lock of curly brown hair from her face, tucking it gently back into the magnificent crown so blasphemously tied behind her head. He tucked his hand behind her head, drawing her closer to him, lips meeting again in something more than before. She returned the kiss with a passion to match his own, her hand on his stomach the only thing keeping them from fully embracing. He bit into her kiss, fangs nicking one lip, drawing forth the wine of the body. He broke the kiss, drawing back, hand wrapping itself around her wrist and moving her hand away, pulling her closer, leaning forward and gently licking away the blood welling on her lips.
Still holding her wrist, he latched onto her lips, sucking the crimson liquid from her mouth. She moved her free hand to her throat, unclasping the cloak and letting it fall in a pile of black cloth around her on the floor. Then she gently pushed on his chest, meaning to make him move back. It was then he remembered who she was - this was a goddess, not one of his followers, not one of the obscene mass whom he could drain dry and throw away on whim. He gently moved back, bringing her wrist to his lips and kissing it, feeling the pulse there, watching her face with his dark eyes.
She smiled, moving closer towards him, lips caressing his cheek, fingers tracing his jaw. He released her wrist, fingers gliding up her arms, exploring the smooth, white flesh. She moved both hands to hold his head, kissing him fully, moving from his lips, along the cheek, down the jaw. Her hands led themselves to his shoulders, grasping for stability. She kissed down his throat, making one move to lick over his throbbing pulse. He moved his head aside, hands lightly resting on her back, feeling the flesh underneath the thin cloth. She breathed over the skin, making him shudder; she grazed her teeth lightly over that smooth skin, hearing the blood flowing beneath it, so close to her mouth.
She bit down, fangs sliding so easily into that flawless skin, bringing forth his succulent blood; but of course, it wasn't his, it was the blood of his followers - she could feel their memories seeping into her mind. Most were of being here in the temple, worshipping and paying homage to the god. And then - faint, so very faint - the god's own memories. She pored over them like any rich text, valued them and locked away the knowledge of his mortal existance into her mind. She drank deep of him, hands grasping his shoulders with a fierce grip, her mind lost in the thrill and pleasure of feeding. The god moved his hands over her back, through that lucious hair, moaning softly as the goddess fed from him.
It seemed an eternity had passed when she removed her fangs from his skin, licking the wound closed, kissing slowly and gently back to his lips. She kissed him again, hands holding his head, and for a moment, the fleeting thought of staying in the temple - though it would be a monotonous existance - becoming a goddess in more than just word, crossed her mind. Her logic spoke against it, and so did her heart - she was needed elsewhere. Her heart belonged elsewhere. She drew back, hands still holding his head, his own meshed in her hair, and she slowly shook her head. Her hands moved down his chest again, pushing against him, her face turned away so he wouldn't see the want in her eyes that threatened to posses her and rob her both of her mind and her heart.
He released her from his grasp, his dark eyes watching her movements. She began to rise, turning back to him for one last chaste kiss. She stood, the god kneeling before her. His dark eyes searching for why she wouldn't stay - surely that fool she called her love could not be more important than he, the god. She tied the clasps of her cloak around her throat, the curly brown hair falling about her face to hide her thoughts. She turned and began to walk away from him, through the sea of bodies that littered the temple floor. She had reached the door, laying one hand on the door jam when she heard his voice.
"It was your choice; always your choice." She turned back to look at him - still on his knees, the god and the goddess seperated by an ocean. She nodded - of course it was her choice, in her mind it seemed right. Then she turned away, for the last time, and stepped through the door; down the steps that had brought her ever closer to the temple; now along the path that would take her to the ice.