title: Death By Exposure
author: windsor blue
pairing/characters: Lust and Greed
rating: NC-17ish, smut, language
warnings: spoilers for the end of the series
notes: Inside Lust's head while she's sealed. Continuation from Chicory.
word count: 507
I get tired sometimes in my head-prison - tired like old bones, bleached and leached and laid against a backdrop of yesterdays. Sumptuous yesterdays that sit on velvet and damask, that seem all the more beautiful in their age - the sorts of yesterdays that are far too vivid to have ever really happened.
"Not really so different," Greed says, "Than from when you were alive." His fingers are trailing, up and back, between my breasts, and his pointed black claw-fingernails suddenly remind me of frostbite, of flesh burned dead from cold and rotting on the bone - flesh that needs to be cut off in order to save the rest. His touch is like death by exposure, and I like it.
"What's not so different?" I ask.
"You being a prisoner in your own head." His hand shifts, fingertips scraping, and then he's cupping my breast in his palm. "There's always been more to you than you'd let most people see, hasn't there? Even when you were human. Even when you were with him." Claw-trails draw little shivers down my belly, and when his fingers slip inside me, they're still sharp and cold. Not even my cunt can make them warm. "He loved you more than he loved life itself, and yet you still hid little bits of yourself from him."
He doesn't ask why, but his fingers are fucking the question - the accusation - into me, and for no good reason I give him an answer. "He loved his version of me too much. Had I shown him all the things I held inside my head, it would have broken his heart."
Third finger, fourth - hard and harder - the kind of cold that can cauterize a wound, and I spread my legs to take it deeper. "What makes you say that?" Greed asks. "Was he really so fragile?"
"He wasn't fragile, but I could have broken him." My hips are moving to keep up with his pace, and my body-memory gets lost in the phantom of what orgasms were like, but here in my head-prison an orgasm seems inconsequential. "He fell in love with my face."
Greed withdraws his fingers from me and paints my belly with wet black claws. "If he'd known your mind - all of it - maybe he wouldn't have tried to bring you back from the dead. Maybe he wouldn't have turned you into this."
I pull him onto me, spread my legs more and tip my hips just so and his cock is just as cold as the rest of him. "That's highly likely."
There's no exertion while he fucks me - no sweat, no work - he fucks me like he always has, like it's as natural as the breath we used to draw. His fingers trace my cheek, and he smiles, and his smile is too warm for his cold face, cold fingers, cold cock and cold eyes. "Been sealed your whole life, gorgeous. Ain't that sad? You've been sealed your whole damned life."