I'm not always like this, it's something I've become.
Title: Masks
Pairing: Simon/Celty...
Rating: R - NC-17, doesn't really go into detail, but better safe than sorry.
Word Count: 489
Summary: It's something of a comfort, knowing there are monsters like yourself in the world.
Disclaimer: I have no idea where this sprung from. None at all. Don't judge me.
He's always known what she is, the woman who comes to the restaurant but never eats. He's known since the first time he saw her, flying by, cloaked in black, as if a part of the night itself. It's in her every movement, from the way she rides to the angle at which the helmet tilts when there's something she doesn't understand.
The Black Rider is like him, Simon knows. A killer pretending not to be. Neither of them are very good at it, not with his habit of intervening when things (Shizuo, gangs) get out of hand, not with her line of work and the number of uneasy faces he sees when she passes. He acts a fool, all brawn and no brains. She wears that helmet, and takes flight over fight when it's an option. Different methods, but all to the same end.
Simon feigns ignorance when she comes by Russia Sushi alone for the first time, just a few minutes before he gets off work. She lies, acts like she's only there to say hello, maybe exchange a few rumors. But, again, he knows what brought her there. The attraction of power to power, how deep that instinct runs.
They're in his apartment, tangled together on his bed. Celty seems so small like this, pressed up against him, pale and slender and looking like she'll break at the slightest touch. But she isn't so fragile, so he doesn't force gentleness on her, not while she's moving like some sort of wildcat, sinuous and deadly. The marks she leaves on him will last much longer than the ones he gives her, after all, and though he's more than her match in strength she makes up for it with a sort of slippery flexibility and speed that he has no hopes of keeping up with.
He makes up for her silence with a steady stream of Russian, up until the end. It's obvious that she doesn't understand him, but the heavy rumble of his voice keeps her from slipping back into her facade, keeps her writhing and bucking and bruising them both. It keeps her from remembering that these are things that the normal Celty, the one who lives with Shinra and calms Ikebukuro's strongest man, would never do. So he talks about her, about things he knows and things he thinks he knows.
It's as much a fight as it is sex, really. They've lost count of who's pinned (to the bed, the wall, the floor-) more times, who's trapped the longest. Simon has all the bruises in the end, all the lasting damage, but he doesn't mind. Because when it's over, when it's done, they both feel better for it. Grateful for the chance to drop their masks, to be the vicious creatures they really are, the monsters. So they can carry on with life as usual, after, comfortably wrapped up in their falsehoods and denials.
Pairing: Simon/Celty...
Rating: R - NC-17, doesn't really go into detail, but better safe than sorry.
Word Count: 489
Summary: It's something of a comfort, knowing there are monsters like yourself in the world.
Disclaimer: I have no idea where this sprung from. None at all. Don't judge me.
He's always known what she is, the woman who comes to the restaurant but never eats. He's known since the first time he saw her, flying by, cloaked in black, as if a part of the night itself. It's in her every movement, from the way she rides to the angle at which the helmet tilts when there's something she doesn't understand.
The Black Rider is like him, Simon knows. A killer pretending not to be. Neither of them are very good at it, not with his habit of intervening when things (Shizuo, gangs) get out of hand, not with her line of work and the number of uneasy faces he sees when she passes. He acts a fool, all brawn and no brains. She wears that helmet, and takes flight over fight when it's an option. Different methods, but all to the same end.
Simon feigns ignorance when she comes by Russia Sushi alone for the first time, just a few minutes before he gets off work. She lies, acts like she's only there to say hello, maybe exchange a few rumors. But, again, he knows what brought her there. The attraction of power to power, how deep that instinct runs.
They're in his apartment, tangled together on his bed. Celty seems so small like this, pressed up against him, pale and slender and looking like she'll break at the slightest touch. But she isn't so fragile, so he doesn't force gentleness on her, not while she's moving like some sort of wildcat, sinuous and deadly. The marks she leaves on him will last much longer than the ones he gives her, after all, and though he's more than her match in strength she makes up for it with a sort of slippery flexibility and speed that he has no hopes of keeping up with.
He makes up for her silence with a steady stream of Russian, up until the end. It's obvious that she doesn't understand him, but the heavy rumble of his voice keeps her from slipping back into her facade, keeps her writhing and bucking and bruising them both. It keeps her from remembering that these are things that the normal Celty, the one who lives with Shinra and calms Ikebukuro's strongest man, would never do. So he talks about her, about things he knows and things he thinks he knows.
It's as much a fight as it is sex, really. They've lost count of who's pinned (to the bed, the wall, the floor-) more times, who's trapped the longest. Simon has all the bruises in the end, all the lasting damage, but he doesn't mind. Because when it's over, when it's done, they both feel better for it. Grateful for the chance to drop their masks, to be the vicious creatures they really are, the monsters. So they can carry on with life as usual, after, comfortably wrapped up in their falsehoods and denials.