He sweats and pants above my smaller form as it sways with the movement of his rhythm. His muscular frame encompasses the expanse of my chest, brushing defined body against soft skin.
Every night I am offered to the Hero as due compensation. The Hero, who has above all mortal men, slayed the evil that shadowed our world and brought temporary peace to its children.
My body is the least that could be given for such valiant efforts.
It is always the same routine. There are no words when he enters my living quarters. Every day, just before the sun sets over the fiery mountains of our motherland, he visits with the same demeanor.
- A man who knows he is being paid a dept. A man willing to accept that his consolation is given willingly, but not with genuine reciprocation.
A first, it begins as he glides across the room, placing a soft embrace around my body as a greeting. He is gentle and kind; the last remnants of an unlived adolescence peak through the surface of his stoic appearance.
Without words, I fall into the motions. We are but a reflection of lovers, intertwining with ease as we find our roles, splayed over feather mounds and animal hides. Our body's grow feverish and ready appropriately, but our eye's remain empty of passion.
I allow him his restitution, sighing at the feel of his body. A breath of air slides from his lips and he begins to indulge what is rightfully his.
I become the submissive object of my Hero's pleasure. Twisting and meeting the tide with calculative intention, using months of gained knowledge as arsenal to worthwhile the undeniable sacrifice it took to be him.
In a darkening, stoney room bathed in twilight, he pushes himself into my shivering form.
And it dwindles down to this pathetic conclusion of our forever destined incarnates.
After the battle has settled and the light returned – after mind numbing years of death and destruction and painful hope – it is here the broken souls of fate find themselves.
Huddled together to pick up the pieces of their shattered youth. Unable to fill the shell of the human that once resided in this sack of skin and bones.
We are nothing but objects of dynamics to the Goddesses. Playing pieces in time that have lost their right to be anything other than legendary embodiments of their assigned virtues.
Am I but the legend's mistress? Eternally accommodating the process of mediating conditions. Over and over again, for each and every timeline.
It is only when the etched-in anguish - of cognitive torment and physical endurance - seep into his actions, that my body reacts to this dance of desperation.
In his embrace, I feel the terror of a boy who made due with the world he was thrown into. His aura pulses of violence and panic that melds into hatred and dread and all the terrible things his fate has dragged him into.
His animosity towards me hungers him to be unforgiving - as he requires me to understand what he's done for me. I lust for the twinge of nerves he afflicts when his hands and body become vices of punishment.
I am acutely aware of every bit of skin, wanting him to consume my essence. His forcefulness causes me to whimper - a melody he relishes. The excitement it causes him feeds mine in a dizzying rush.
The compulsive might of the act spirals upward in a beautiful sick meld of intentions. His leering assault synchronizes with a primal energy that engulfs us both, imploring physical needs to viciously seek a means to an end.
It is my fault. It is all my fault. This sweet misery is my pitiful atonement for stealing the sincerity of a pure heart.
He continues the onslaught for the purpose of eliciting the sounds he needs to hear from my quivering lips. I greedily oblige, assisting the abuse and falling into the haze of erotic aggression.
It is at the peak of this frenzy that we feel the epicenter of all that has been snatched from our spirits. All the rage and disappointment burns us into an ecstatic fit, tensing our bodies until the curve of bliss tapers out.
His slick body relaxes, falling over my own like a heavy blanket, warming my cold existence. I urge his head to rest on my breasts, fingering through his golden hair affectionately.
I bring my mouth to his forehead, ever so tenderly placing puckered lips onto salty skin. We shift into each others arms, fighting for oxygen.
It is now that I grow soft and assured that not all is blackened with the soot of evil's bane. He breaths short breaths upon my naked skin and I find it endearing. Perhaps I can find an inkling of solace in providing temporary alleviation to my Hero's reality.
After all, he is simply a boy reaching to be held. Searching for a sliver of assurance after all the moments he needed it the most have passed.
I wonder if, in some sad, deflated way, this is my love for the Hero. If what is left of me could be considered a sympathetic nurturing.
When we've caught our composure, and the daze of our climaxes are gone, he recoils back into the husk of a damaged soul who has seen the horrors of the earth.
He doesn't look me in the eyes when he extracts himself and begins to dress. I turn my gaze towards the horizon, staring off as to disengage myself from the world at hand.
I feel his presence retract itself and find the door. He shuts it with a heavy thud, and I am to lay there – bare and frozen in apathetic self destruction.
Tomorrow he'll be back, and we will continue grasping for a semblance of deliverance. I close my eyes and retreat into myself, waiting to wait.
This is the fate of fate fulfilled.
Thank's for reading. If you enjoyed this snippet, you may like my original content. Two ongoing first person stories. Eclipse- Era of the Beast, and Living on Earth. Ta! - JM http://jayemma.wix.com/fiction
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