FIC: Twisted [Gundam 00, Graham x Marina]
Title: Twisted
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: M / R
Genre: Smut, Romance
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: Season one in its entirety.
Warnings: Sex!
Pairings: Marina Ismail x Graham Acre
Disclaimer: I hold no rights to Gundam 00 and make no profit by writing fanfiction about it. This story is entirely fictional and does not represent my personal opinion on the subject matter. If anything depicted in it goes against your laws, don’t try it at home.
Summary: Graham x Marina. ... "You know who this face belongs to, don’t you?" he whispers, his mouth hidden by black metal. "It is the face of a demon." she answers, and allows him to corrupt her, devour her. ...
Author’s Note: Call me crazy, but I really would have liked to see this...
Twisted
"Marina Ismail..."
Sunlight streams down into the United Nations parliament building, bright and clear. It illuminates the spotless hallways and chambers, casting a brilliant shine on the immaculate three-piece suits and blue-grey uniforms worn by those working there to maintain world order.
Sleek black hair bathes in the warm glow, forming a halo around a slender figure clad in sky-blue silk, while the iron features of a mask cast shadows over sun-tinted curls and a strong, virile form.
"Keep your mask on tonight." she whispers.
As she brushes past him the pressure is barely there, coincidental enough to appear casual, firm enough to let him feel the curves of her body through the thick fabric of his uniform and the folds of her modest gown. Her breath ghosts over the shell of his ear and his gloved fingers slip through her endless tresses. When heads turn and green eyes meet blue, they speak a language of their own.
"Why is this world so twisted?"
At night, in her chambers, darkness dominates. Candles flicker and incense burns in pots, filling the air with heady scents and casting their russet glow towards the walls. The many curtains have been drawn and an array of veils obscure the cavern of her bed. Their shadows dance across the floor and the ceiling as they move.
"You know who this face belongs to, don’t you?" he whispers, his mouth hidden by black metal.
They move as one, him advancing and her retreating, her eyes riveted to his, his boring into hers. It is a hypnotizing ritual, a way to cast off shackles, to shut down one part of themselves and give another free reign. Whether he wears his mask or not determines who is victorious and who will perish.
"It is the face of a demon." she answers, and allows him to corrupt her, devour her.
"I wanted to ask you..."
He looms over her and pins her down into the bed of pillows until nothing is left of their soft embrace. The hands around her wrists are like steel, trapping her arms above her head. She is at his mercy; kneeling between her spread legs, he presses down onto her lower body and grinds his hips against hers in the same movement.
The sight of him above her is mesmerizing to her. Every inch of him is hard, demanding and posessive, from the flexing muscles in his arms and his well-toned chest, to the dark planes of his mask. The halo of his golden hair is a mockery, only confirming his unholy nature.
This creature taking her is not kind or gentle, is not human, is not Graham Acre - it is a shadow born from the dark side of the heart of mankind, flowing forth from the not-light permeating the room. It takes what it wants, scraping blunt fingers along the inside of her heart and holding her down without mercy while it pillages her body.
When the black mask leans close to her face, the burning poison in his eyes trickles down her throat, setting her body on fire from the inside out.
"...should we ever meet again."
"Say my name."
Demand is in his voice and in every move he makes. He demands she acknowledge him, accept him, absorbs him.
And she does.
She raises herself and stretches as far as his hands will let her, to leave a kiss on every metal plane above her. When he pounds into her she angles her hips to anticipate his thrusts, taking him as deep inside of her as their bodies will let her. Darkness slowly fills her mind, a swirling haze of lust and greed. The greater his force and speed, the tighter the flames in her belly coil, until pleasure strikes like lightning at every thrust, paralyzing and blinding her.
His name tumbles from her lips over and over all the while, like a mantra: "Flag Phantom."
I have the answer.
Orgasm, to him, is cathartic; to her, it is surrender. She closes her eyes and embraces her demise.
The mask slips from his face and he sinks into a sea of inky black hair.
PSAN: No laughing at ‘Flag Phantom’ unless you honestly think it’s worse than ‘Red Comet’ or ‘Lightning Count’. :P
EDIT: Hell, no laughing at 'Flag Phantom', period. Save that for 'Mr Bushido'!
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: M / R
Genre: Smut, Romance
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: Season one in its entirety.
Warnings: Sex!
Pairings: Marina Ismail x Graham Acre
Disclaimer: I hold no rights to Gundam 00 and make no profit by writing fanfiction about it. This story is entirely fictional and does not represent my personal opinion on the subject matter. If anything depicted in it goes against your laws, don’t try it at home.
Summary: Graham x Marina. ... "You know who this face belongs to, don’t you?" he whispers, his mouth hidden by black metal. "It is the face of a demon." she answers, and allows him to corrupt her, devour her. ...
Author’s Note: Call me crazy, but I really would have liked to see this...
Twisted
"Marina Ismail..."
Sunlight streams down into the United Nations parliament building, bright and clear. It illuminates the spotless hallways and chambers, casting a brilliant shine on the immaculate three-piece suits and blue-grey uniforms worn by those working there to maintain world order.
Sleek black hair bathes in the warm glow, forming a halo around a slender figure clad in sky-blue silk, while the iron features of a mask cast shadows over sun-tinted curls and a strong, virile form.
"Keep your mask on tonight." she whispers.
As she brushes past him the pressure is barely there, coincidental enough to appear casual, firm enough to let him feel the curves of her body through the thick fabric of his uniform and the folds of her modest gown. Her breath ghosts over the shell of his ear and his gloved fingers slip through her endless tresses. When heads turn and green eyes meet blue, they speak a language of their own.
"Why is this world so twisted?"
At night, in her chambers, darkness dominates. Candles flicker and incense burns in pots, filling the air with heady scents and casting their russet glow towards the walls. The many curtains have been drawn and an array of veils obscure the cavern of her bed. Their shadows dance across the floor and the ceiling as they move.
"You know who this face belongs to, don’t you?" he whispers, his mouth hidden by black metal.
They move as one, him advancing and her retreating, her eyes riveted to his, his boring into hers. It is a hypnotizing ritual, a way to cast off shackles, to shut down one part of themselves and give another free reign. Whether he wears his mask or not determines who is victorious and who will perish.
"It is the face of a demon." she answers, and allows him to corrupt her, devour her.
"I wanted to ask you..."
He looms over her and pins her down into the bed of pillows until nothing is left of their soft embrace. The hands around her wrists are like steel, trapping her arms above her head. She is at his mercy; kneeling between her spread legs, he presses down onto her lower body and grinds his hips against hers in the same movement.
The sight of him above her is mesmerizing to her. Every inch of him is hard, demanding and posessive, from the flexing muscles in his arms and his well-toned chest, to the dark planes of his mask. The halo of his golden hair is a mockery, only confirming his unholy nature.
This creature taking her is not kind or gentle, is not human, is not Graham Acre - it is a shadow born from the dark side of the heart of mankind, flowing forth from the not-light permeating the room. It takes what it wants, scraping blunt fingers along the inside of her heart and holding her down without mercy while it pillages her body.
When the black mask leans close to her face, the burning poison in his eyes trickles down her throat, setting her body on fire from the inside out.
"...should we ever meet again."
"Say my name."
Demand is in his voice and in every move he makes. He demands she acknowledge him, accept him, absorbs him.
And she does.
She raises herself and stretches as far as his hands will let her, to leave a kiss on every metal plane above her. When he pounds into her she angles her hips to anticipate his thrusts, taking him as deep inside of her as their bodies will let her. Darkness slowly fills her mind, a swirling haze of lust and greed. The greater his force and speed, the tighter the flames in her belly coil, until pleasure strikes like lightning at every thrust, paralyzing and blinding her.
His name tumbles from her lips over and over all the while, like a mantra: "Flag Phantom."
I have the answer.
Orgasm, to him, is cathartic; to her, it is surrender. She closes her eyes and embraces her demise.
The mask slips from his face and he sinks into a sea of inky black hair.
PSAN: No laughing at ‘Flag Phantom’ unless you honestly think it’s worse than ‘Red Comet’ or ‘Lightning Count’. :P
EDIT: Hell, no laughing at 'Flag Phantom', period. Save that for 'Mr Bushido'!