#themischiefchronicles

[caswaim]

"A Tender Moment" [Language, Scenes of a Sexual Nature]

by C.A. Swaim, 2012

For a moment, Shane just lay on her back and looked up at the ceiling. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, a light sheen of sweat causing her to shiver as the air ghosted over her body. She rolled to her right, trapping her arms beneath her as she lay on her stomach and gazed over at the man beside her.

His black and blue hair was disheveled, plastered to his face and neck with sweat. His chest, too, rose and fell with deep breaths, and his skin shone. When he felt her eyes on him, he turned his head to look at her, half a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“We’ve been married a year, why the fuck didn’t we do that sooner?” asked Shane with a cheeky grin. They both knew the for real, no fun reason why, but at the moment that didn’t matter in the least. 

Kiyoshi laughed, and Shane admired the roll of his Adam’s apple as the sound fell from his lips. Unable to resist, she released one hand from beneath her and ran her palm across his chest. Her fingertips felt the strength of the muscle, the taunt feel of the skin. In response he rolled to his side, wrapping one arm around her waist to pull their bodies together. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then put his own forehead against hers.

Shane smiled, feeling the flutter of happiness overtaking her mind. She hadn’t felt this euphoric in a long time, and she couldn’t describe the feeling as anything other than what it was: Love. When she looked in his eyes, she saw it. She felt it when he kissed her, his lips moving passionately against her own. The protection she felt when his strong arms were around her, it was nothing like she had ever felt before. She could submit to this man – she could trust him.

He chuckled, his hand moving to cup her face and direct her eyes to look into his. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, but she did not feel the probing sensation in her mind that indicated he was using his natural born power to read her mind. He only wanted to know if she wanted him to know.

She felt so grateful in that moment, and the only way she felt she could express it was to lean forward and kiss him. She lingered there for a long time, completely engulfed in the feeling of how his lips conformed to hers, how her nerves danced when his fingers brushed across her bare skin, and the warmth of skin – it was intoxicating.

“I think,” she purred in his ear, “I would like to fuck you.” She smirked.

Kiyoshi smirked as well, their moment of tenderness easily erased by a feeling of primal lust. Without warning, he gripped her biceps and rolled her onto her back as he came to straddle her. She yelped in surprise and then giggled, grinning up at him.

He memorized how she looked in this moment – her blonde hair splayed over the mattress like strands of gold, her red eyes twinkling with mischief. Her long canines glinted in the light of the lamps, adding an edge to her smirk.

And he felt a surge of true love.

[caswaim]

"First Summoning of Judas"

by C.A. Swaim, 2012

As she laid in the dark, curled up on the disheveled bed like an aborted babe, a realization dawned on her. Her body cried out in pain as she reached a hand to the open wound on her neck. It came back slick with blood. For a moment she admired the substance, her life substance; it was darker than any other species’ blood, and was so thin it was nearly water – she needed to feed.

Three years. That’s how long she’d been at the mercy of Sadakuno Frey. The neck wound which bled so profusely now had been originally made that first night he came to her room. She was only thirteen then, and so naïve; she had fancied herself in love with him!

She closed her eyes and saw flashes – his body forcing hers against the door, the tearing of fabric, the excruciating pain, his teeth tearing away the skin of her neck, marking her as his, the humiliation from such a violation had been more than her mind could handle. The mark was nearly as big as a tea saucer, corded and disfigured, and every time she saw it the memories of that night threatened to overwhelm her.

When she opened her eyes they were glowing with hatred, but unlike any other time before, she showed determination now.

Clenching her teeth until she thought they would crack, she pushed herself onto her hands and knees. She inched and crawled her way to the floor, and immediately wished she’d stayed on the bed. The non-sanded wood planks were rough and cold, but she believed it would work better down here.

She dug deep into her mind for her young memories. She was eleven when all of Thomas’s careful training paid off: she successfully summoned her first demon. Granted, it had been a lesser shade from the surface of Inferno, and she hadn’t done it since, but she knew she could.

She wiped her hand along her neck, hissing as her skin came in contact with the laceration, and then smeared the collected blood across the floor. She let the splinters dig into her palm – she barely felt them now. Turning her wrist to face her, she sunk her fangs into the white skin. Blood flowed freely into her mouth and she could taste the coppery-sweet tang. She turned her wrist and clenched her fingers, forcing the blood to drip and trickle onto the floor.

Then she began to whisper: “Beschwören um mir einen schaduw der meine zu helfen kann.” (Summon to me a shade that can assist my need.) The environment changed instantaneously. The air became thick and heavy with the smell of musk, brimstone, and charred flesh. “Demon!” she cried, “Fordere ich Sie!” (I summon you!) and energy exploded from the blood stained floor. Everything became dark, and then she watched as a shiny, slick oil grew outward like a wave from her blood offering. It jumped, curled, and writhed underneath her like the surface of the sun – if it were black sludge.

[caswaim]

SHANEfight

by C.A. Swaim, 2012

The scene was absolutely chaotic.

Aeolus stood at the helm of his ship, bleating out phrases like “My beautiful ship!” and other mournful endearments. His hands were raised dramatically above his head. Down below, there was a fight between forty something men and Shane occurring. She and Aeolus’s crew held their own against a ship of pirates that had pulled up next to their vessel in the night. The sun shone brightly overheard now, but Shane was still clad in only boots and a slip, now torn and covered with dirt and blood. She didn’t seem to notice, however, as she brandished her two swords toward the largest and strongest of the pirate crew. He towered over her a good foot and a half, but that didn’t scare her. Not even the sword he fought with, which was made with a massively heavy blade. She could only guess at how much it weighed.

She broke her gaze from the behemoth’s face as a smaller pirate whirled close to her, attempting to catch her off guard with a backslash. She tossed one sword into her other hand, holding both hilts with an iron-vice grip as she used her now-free hand to grip the pirate’s wrist and twisted his arm upward around his back at an awkward, hopefully very painful, angle. He yelped in surprise as Shane wasted no time and drove both her blades through his back. She used the flat of her foot to push his gurgling body off and then turned back to the giant, her face splattered with blood and a sick smirk on her face.

“You ready to dance?”