She closed her eyes and fought off despair when he touched her, when his hands trailed over her body and beneath the flimsy white linen which was her only ineffective protection against him. She clamped her lips tightly shut when she would have cried out, or perhaps just cried, and the only sounds to escape her were muffled whimpers.
She hated the way her body seized up and shuddered with his fingers inside her; perhaps that shameful pleasure was balanced out by the way it always hurt, always, when he pressed inside and stretched her as far as she could go and thrust again and again until he was done. There was nothing in that for her except for the sense of violation she felt afterwards, of being used with not even the shameful pleasure to comfort her.
But she never fought him. She stood still when he began to touch her and did not run. She grabbed at his arms for support when he was inside her and did not cry.
And when he was done, and breathing hard, he would ease slowly down beside her and stroke her hair, and sometimes he would speak in rusty words.
"My first time with a woman," he said, or, "I always wanted to be with him," he said.
Or, "The things I never remembered, when I was whole..."
Then he would tell her stories, words that no other was allowed to hear; these were her bedtime stories. She listened to them mutedly, ignoring his hands and the stickiness inside her, leaking out of her, and she would take them into herself and store them away. Perhaps they would be useful. Perhaps not.
She liked having things to remember, even if they weren't hers.
He always spoke about his Somebody as though they were one and the same: when Xigbar told her about humorous incidents or Vexen related some bit of knowledge he had learned, they always said, "I remember when Braig..." or "Even read in a book once..." But in the quiet after climax, those stories were always about him, never about another person that he had once been.
He told her his plan for attaining Kingdom Hearts, told her that he wasn't sure who they would be when they had hearts, told her that she was just like him, just like Roxas, that they three were all kin, really...
And after the stories, he would stare off into the night unseeing when another man would have wept.
Later, Marluxia would tell her, "Help me and you will have meaning; and if you resist--" and she would say mutedly, "I will help you." There was no need for threats with her. She knew, better than anyone, that giving in was far better than struggling when there is no hope of escaping.
And there were so many things to learn from her dominators when they faltered.
Xemnas/Namine: "Bedtime Stories" (not kidsafe)
She hated the way her body seized up and shuddered with his fingers inside her; perhaps that shameful pleasure was balanced out by the way it always hurt, always, when he pressed inside and stretched her as far as she could go and thrust again and again until he was done. There was nothing in that for her except for the sense of violation she felt afterwards, of being used with not even the shameful pleasure to comfort her.
But she never fought him. She stood still when he began to touch her and did not run. She grabbed at his arms for support when he was inside her and did not cry.
And when he was done, and breathing hard, he would ease slowly down beside her and stroke her hair, and sometimes he would speak in rusty words.
"My first time with a woman," he said, or, "I always wanted to be with him," he said.
Or, "The things I never remembered, when I was whole..."
Then he would tell her stories, words that no other was allowed to hear; these were her bedtime stories. She listened to them mutedly, ignoring his hands and the stickiness inside her, leaking out of her, and she would take them into herself and store them away. Perhaps they would be useful. Perhaps not.
She liked having things to remember, even if they weren't hers.
He always spoke about his Somebody as though they were one and the same: when Xigbar told her about humorous incidents or Vexen related some bit of knowledge he had learned, they always said, "I remember when Braig..." or "Even read in a book once..." But in the quiet after climax, those stories were always about him, never about another person that he had once been.
He told her his plan for attaining Kingdom Hearts, told her that he wasn't sure who they would be when they had hearts, told her that she was just like him, just like Roxas, that they three were all kin, really...
And after the stories, he would stare off into the night unseeing when another man would have wept.
Later, Marluxia would tell her, "Help me and you will have meaning; and if you resist--" and she would say mutedly, "I will help you." There was no need for threats with her. She knew, better than anyone, that giving in was far better than struggling when there is no hope of escaping.
And there were so many things to learn from her dominators when they faltered.