Categories > Anime/Manga > Weiss Kreuz
Protect Me From What I Want
0 reviewsSome say in fire, some say in ice. Crawford/Aya/Schuldig
2Ambiance
They thought he was made of ice and steel. Cold, sharp, carved. It didn't bother him, not really, because why should it? It kept them away, beyond the line, afraid of frostbite or some other unsavory torment. That was fine. He wasn't there to be their friend.
But they pretended with smiles and laughs, joked around as if he had always been one of their buddies. Mock-punched his shoulder then retreated behind the line again.
Because he was made of ice.
But the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. How could they assume that when he had so obviously lost his cool on more than one occasion? When he could feel the rage or sorrow well up?
I know what you want...
When he could wake up in the morning gulping for air, as if he'd held his breath for hours. He could feel the sweat on his skin, the flush throughout his body, the painful ache between his legs. Visions of orange-red flames and cool amber flashes. Mocking laughter, guttural snarls, long licks of lust through his mind.
What you need...
He'd only seen them once before- calm, collected, passionate, wild. What he was inside but so obvious about it, not trapped behind a mask of make believe stoicism. And at night they were there, inside, all around. Pulling, seducing, promising, reasoning.
And he did want it.
Didn't I tell you, Kitten?
He could easily resist.
They were bad. They were wrong. They were corrupt.
They were him without the pretend.
Long, lean legs wrapped around him. Strong, sure hands running over his back, over his stomach. Black and red, no white anywhere. Everything everywhere- heatmorehardeeper- perfect bliss that he hated, needed...
We'll have you eventually, you and all your faults...
He knew they would.
And he'd put up a fight, ice and steel, until the very end; just like he always did.
But they'd fight back. And sometimes, most of the time, he hoped they would win.
He was tired of being ice.
But they pretended with smiles and laughs, joked around as if he had always been one of their buddies. Mock-punched his shoulder then retreated behind the line again.
Because he was made of ice.
But the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. How could they assume that when he had so obviously lost his cool on more than one occasion? When he could feel the rage or sorrow well up?
I know what you want...
When he could wake up in the morning gulping for air, as if he'd held his breath for hours. He could feel the sweat on his skin, the flush throughout his body, the painful ache between his legs. Visions of orange-red flames and cool amber flashes. Mocking laughter, guttural snarls, long licks of lust through his mind.
What you need...
He'd only seen them once before- calm, collected, passionate, wild. What he was inside but so obvious about it, not trapped behind a mask of make believe stoicism. And at night they were there, inside, all around. Pulling, seducing, promising, reasoning.
And he did want it.
Didn't I tell you, Kitten?
He could easily resist.
They were bad. They were wrong. They were corrupt.
They were him without the pretend.
Long, lean legs wrapped around him. Strong, sure hands running over his back, over his stomach. Black and red, no white anywhere. Everything everywhere- heatmorehardeeper- perfect bliss that he hated, needed...
We'll have you eventually, you and all your faults...
He knew they would.
And he'd put up a fight, ice and steel, until the very end; just like he always did.
But they'd fight back. And sometimes, most of the time, he hoped they would win.
He was tired of being ice.
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