eternity_dreams: (kh dreaming to wake)
eternity_dreams ([personal profile] eternity_dreams) wrote in [community profile] veiledallegory2011-11-30 12:08 am

Stylized Adoration.

Title: Stylized Adoration.
Fandom: Original.
Warnings: Severe.
Word Count: 1238.
Characters: It's a spoiler, actually. Highlight once you've read it once: A twenty something man living at home and his seven year old sister.
Notes: It was in my head and wouldn't go away.

Summary: There are needs within the human mind, wants within the human heart. Both are produced and given to all--and you decide which you follow, and which you turn away.

And then, sometimes, it's not a choice.

He loved her.

He loved every aspect of her. She accepted him. Was constantly there for him. Her smile came as sunlight in a world of darkness. The soft brush of her hair against his arm was breathtaking, a shine against the shadows. And the feel of her skin against his, as she lay coiled in his arms, smiling up at him in perfect trust…. He needed nothing else. Would never need anything more than her, for as long as he lived. This was an absolute truth, an enduring belief, a complete fact. A world of perfection encased in a form that he loved.

It has to be understood. He loved her. This was a pure and selfish love, a love that transcended all boundaries. He would do anything for her, be anything that she wanted, give her whatever she desired. She was his heart, his life and light, and he would bend worlds to offer her on hand and knee whatever gave her joy.

Her smile was light and hope. Her eyes bright gems in the midst of darkness. And her laugh…. Her laugh was sweet bells ringing in heaven. He saw angels when she laughed, dancing at the edges of her vision. He loved her.

He loved her. He adored her. He would do anything for her. But she didn’t see it.

She didn’t see him waiting there, offering up everything on hand and foot. Brushing her hair patiently until it shone, gentled to a lamb’s softness. Taking her small hand as they walked to the park nearby. Watching her swing with absolute fondness and perfect acceptance. He would allow her her every whim, and she saw nothing more of it than a natural response.

He lay awake at night with the knowledge that her room was two doors down, that she was curled in a bed too big for her, arms clutched around the bear he had won for her, and he wanted to tear that bear out of her arms, shred it until its stuffing became blood and tears, because it was allowed that sweet, sweet hold, and he could only watch on the outskirts.

He could only watch. Only watch as she looked past him, and saw him not as he needed, watch as she laughed in regard to others and not only to him, watched as she tagged another in a game and ran away, hair flowing. Hair that he had brushed to a shine, that tangled in a worthless game in which he was left out in. She didn’t even know that she was closing him out, bit by bit. That she was denying him the only thing he needed in life by her innocence. By her ignorance of his feelings. By her pure arrogance of his loyalty.

She was absolutely correct. He was devoted, completely loyal, and would never stray. Never ever stray.

But she would.

She would grow and age, and she would see others in the way she wouldn’t see him. She would laugh for them, eyes sparkling in a way he would not see, and she would go away. Leave as he did not when schooling ended, vanish and escape this house and never return. No, not as she had been. What he loved would vanish, disappear and end, and he would be left alone. Left wanting for eternity.

But she was here now, his now, and nothing would change that. Nothing would shift that complete truth. He loved her. Perfectly and absolutely. Immensely and unconditionally, with everything that he was. With everything that he had been and all that he would become. He loved her. And for the time being, she was his. Only and completely. Perfectly and absolutely. Immensely and unconditionally, be it that the conditions were his own. She was his, everything that she was belonged to him, and he. He loved her. This must be understood. He loved her.

He loved the way she didn’t wake when he crept past her nightlight. He loved the way her eyes fluttered when he stood over her, still as a shadow. He loved how she rubbed her eyes and loved up at him questioningly when he sat beside her. He loved how she didn’t question his presence, how she trusted him with all of her.

He loved the way her eyes widened when his hand slipped over her mouth, covering half of her face easily, as he shoving her back down into her pillow. He loved how confused she seemed when he fumbled with her blankets and nightshirt, how it didn’t register still that she was anything but safe.

Because he loved her. He would never hurt her. He loved her. With everything he had.

And he did. With everything he had.

He loved the tight feel of her. He loved the slickness that came soon enough. He loved that they shared that blood, that it ran in his veins as well. He loved the way she shuddered and shook, the way she cried silently without a word. He loved the feel of her tears over his hand. He loved the way she had sobbed brokenly before her voice went out. He loved how her tiny bed bounced harshly under the force of his thrusts. He loved how her body seemed to move rag doll like in response to those motions.

He loved how when he came, it was like glimpsing heaven, skirting hell, finding paradise.

Because he loved her. He loved her more than anything. And he knew she loved him, too.

He visited her in the hospital for weeks, brought her flowers and candies and toys and smiled lovingly. Her throat was crushed, she couldn’t speak, but there was no reason that she couldn’t see, wouldn’t open her eyes. He prayed every day for her to get over whatever had taken her vision. So he could look into her eyes again, and see warmth and light.

The night she came back was the first night he slept easily, comforted by the knowledge that she was home. He loved her. Completely and absolutely, a method of perfection. And he could sleep securely in the knowledge that everything was right in the world.

His dreams gave him what was desired, because his eyes opened to darkness and her standing next to his bed. There existed surprise, then adoration, and he reached for her, felt her small body and shapeless form and knew happiness, desired that perfection. He drew her down to him, smothered his face in her hair and inhaled that sweet scent of soap and earth, lacking any musk that was given with age. She was pure, perfect, and he loved her.

He loved her as she relaxed in his grip. He loved her as she shifted to reach something. He loved her as she moved again, let his grasp loosen to allow her to adjust how she wanted.

And he was only surprised when she brought the kitchen knife down into the soft flesh of his belly. When she didn’t pause for a reaction, only pulled it out to do it again. She was too small, her force was too little to do any damage in the swing. She had to go for quantity rather than quality, and she had spent weeks contemplating this.

There was blood on his sheets. There had been blood on hers.

He loved that they had shared that blood, that it ran in her veins as well.