Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima

Warnings:

Dark. Dark. Dark.

Sexual content.

Self-harm.

(Just a note, let's pretend that Jellal and Erza didn't escape the Tower of Heaven. That shiz with Ultear didn't happen, they're just slaves.)

Born to Die

"Sometimes I think you and I… we were born to die."

I've heard it so many times I believe him. Sitting outside on the topmost ledge of the Tower of Heaven, I look down, down, down at the roiling ocean. It's ablaze, lit up by the setting sun. Crashing into the rocks, the spray is set to glittering gold. When the droplets reach their climax, the colour changes to the darkest red, the red of blood. The ocean… when I look at it, I see pain and freedom, I see the memories it holds, the lives its taken. That water and its inky depths… It's a world of tears, half of them ours. It's a world of beauty I want to look at forever, because beyond its long, stretching borders is the unknown, a world where people laugh instead of cry. At its bottom is peace.

We don't have much time until we have to go in or risk getting caught, but we pretend. We pretend that sitting high on the Tower of Heaven's mossy concrete is better than what it is. We pretend that we belong here in the open, not in our dank cell, counting the legs on millipedes when we're not breaking our backs. We pretend that the salty sea breeze doesn't burn our legs, our faces.

In Jellal's hand is a long, thin cigarette, rolled by Jensen, one of the guards. The man took pity on him years ago and sneaks him a smoke every now and then, then turns his head while Jellal and I creep out of our cell. As long as we come back, he doesn't mind. As for the smoking, I don't think Jellal actually likes it, but the rebellion it offers… yes. When he takes a deep inhale I lean over and find his mouth, breathing in his exhale. It's less harsh. To be honest, I don't like it either, but this way I get to feel his mouth on mine. The inhale turns to a kiss, saccharine. When he finally moves away I breathe out. The smoke comes out as a long, thin stream of grey.

"Do you think about it?" Jellal brushes the corner of his mouth, wicking away moisture as he turns from me and finds the horizon.

I bite my lip. I know what he means. Do I think about freedom? Not the kind that has us unchained from our bonds, but the kind that has us sinking to the bottom of the ocean, dead amongst the pea clams and crabs because the only true freedom for the Tower of Heaven slaves is death, and the only way to feel at peace is to take it for ourselves. "I think about how scared I am."

He looks at me, hazel eyes boring into mine. "You wouldn't have to be afraid, Erza. I would be right there with you."

He's always with me. I know he'd never leave, but I'm still scared. Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of death. I lean over and find his cheek with my hand. "Are you that brave?" Or is it cowardly? I used to know the distinction whenever my brain would fill with these thoughts, but years of whips and chains and tears and pain have led me here. It's a dark ledge upon which we teeter. Jellal is the most daring, leaning so far over the metaphoric side that my heart is always in my throat when we're out here. He talks a lot about death. Again, I used to think it was all talk. I don't know what to think anymore.

"If you're here with me, I can do anything." He kisses me, slowly at first, coaxing a response from my lips before he slides his tongue over mine.

Sometimes I think he's a little insane. Sometimes I think I'm there with him. Especially when he kisses me. Everything becomes blurred. I forget. I forget why I'm afraid. I forget that the ocean is cold. He makes it seem so welcoming. We were born to die.

He leans his body over mine, planting his palm on the salt-pocked concrete beside my hip. His skin is warm even though the air is frigid. I wrap my arms around his neck and draw him near, eager, hungry for this. It's a risk we're both willing to take. In seconds my back is against the concrete and he's over top of me, forearms resting against the ledge, knees between my legs. His free hand is in my hair; his mouth is on my jaw. I would close my eyes, but this time feels different. I want to see everything, savor it.

The clothing they give us in the Tower of Heaven isn't much. I've never dressed myself in those rags and thought, 'I feel beautiful,' but Jellal has made me believe it. He tells me every chance he gets, whispers it in my ear, risking punishment as he's passing me by, he leaves me notes scratched into the dust in our cell, he touches me absently, a caress on the arm, a grasping of fingers, tucking my hair behind my ear, so I'm ashamed of nothing when he grabs my shabby clothing then starts to haul it down over my hips. That, and he's seen me this way before.

A small piece of concrete falls over the edge and finds its way to the ocean. Seeing that, does my heart beat quickly? Absolutely. The ledge we're on is narrow and small, yet it feels perfect because we're always one step away from disaster; shouldn't we embrace it at every turn?

Jellal has dropped his cigarette in favour of pulling down my rag-like pants. To get them off he leans back too far and almost goes over the edge. I grab his forearm hard and hold him still. He doesn't look like he's frightened. He's focused. He readjusts and finally gets me free. My pants find a home somewhere beside me. The wind tugs at the thin fabric, just like it tugs on my hair. It pulls them over the edge and they're gone, swallowed up by the ocean so many feet below. I don't watch it happen because I'm sitting up and lifting my arms over my head so Jellal can give my shirt the same treatment.

I know I'm too skinny, sharp where other, free women are soft, gaunt from missed meals, scarred from lashes whenever I dare to talk back, but he still looks at me reverently. He finds my collarbone and kisses it, then my breasts.

Not wanting to be the only one exposed, I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it high over his head. The wind blows hard and tears it from my fingers so it joins my pants somewhere below. Jellal is fitter than I am, worked harder by the slavers because they see he's bigger, taller, wider, stronger. It also means he gets extra rations. He's still skinny, wiry muscle and tendons, but he looks healthier, at least in my opinion.

Throwing caution aside, I kiss his chest while I find the elastic hem of his pants and pull them down around his thighs. He's erect and throbbing. Its not the first time I've seen him just like this, but it's the first time I intend on taking him into myself. Using sure hands, I massage his length from the base all the way to the tip and back again, slow just as he likes. The concrete must be hard on his knees but he doesn't complain; he leans in and kisses my mouth again, bringing our bodies brushing together.

I let myself ease back and bring him with me. What started out as slow, methodical touches quickly escalates. He's grabbing my breasts, plucking at the tips, he's rubbing his erection against me. My hand is forced out from between our bodies; I find his back instead, tracing his spine all the way down to his behind. I squeeze. He loops his arm under my knee and squeezes my thigh back. the wind is really whipping by us now. There is a storm on the horizon and its blowing in fast. I wonder if I'll get a chance to kiss him in the pouring rain.

Or not. Everything is moving fast now, us included. He grabs himself and positions at my opening. He finds my eyes and I look at him while he pushes inside. There is pain, it's dull and aching way down low in my belly, but there is also pleasure when he starts rocking his hips. I arch up to meet him. Our movements are uncoordinated. Beginners, us both, but what we lack in skill we make up for in desperation. I know Jellal feels it, too, the pressing need to do everything all at once, to wring whatever enjoyment we can out of this moment, because it is about to go up in smoke.

I lock my legs around his waist like I saw one of the female guards do to a slave. Now I understand why she was so insistent; I never want Jellal to be further than an inch from me. He buries himself in me again and kisses my lips. It's wet, his saliva collecting at the corner of my mouth. I don't care. I squeeze his ribs; he releases my leg so he can tuck his arms beneath my back, curling them so he's actually holding my shoulders, keeping me in place. The wind pulls at us. My hair acts like a fiery shroud.

Jellal whispers my name. He's started to shake and so have I. Pressure builds through me. He changes his angle just slightly and pleasure rolls over my skin. I sob too loudly. Jellal grunts into my mouth. His fingers flex. His teeth find my lip; it hurts, but it also helps bring me to orgasm. Seconds later he's coming, too. His body pulses, he swears, the words muffled and frantic. I dig my nails into the skin at his back. He doesn't flinch; he and I, we're used to the pain.

He collapses against me and then just breathes. His breath is hot against my neck. The first large drop of rain leaves the sky and lands on my forearm. It's cold. The sun is just barely peaking over the horizon. It looks like a large red eye staring through the gathering clouds.

"Erza…"

There is a commotion inside, raising voices, yelling. They know we're not in our cell.

"There is no freedom in this world," he whispers.

He's wrong. Heart hammering, I kiss his temple and ask, "What do you think the ocean will taste like?"

He stills, then says, "Tears."

I look over his shoulder and can't hinder my erratic breathing. I ask, "Are you scared?"

He brushes his lips over my collarbone. "No."

I am.

More voices shout inside. Someone yells, then chokes wetly. Maybe Jensen, because he was supposed to be watching our cell.

Jellal stands, pulling me up, too. We're so close to the edge my toes curl over the already degrading concrete. The ocean down below is a riot of colour, sound. The waves crash again and again into the tower, white-capped and wrathful.

I clutch his hand and cup his cheek, frozen. Though it was my idea, Jellal knows I won't take the first step. Holding me tightly around the waist, he puts my back to the ocean so I only have to look at the sky, at him.

"Kiss me before we go."

I do. Our feet leave the concrete. His mouth and the air pulling at my hair like a lover's fingers, the roaring ocean and the pounding rain sing the way to freedom.

A/N: I have to give credit to Lana Del Rey's 'Born to Die'. Merci!

Sid Vicious. Merci. Romeo and Juliet (this is not hardly as romantic as that, but…) merci!

I wasn't even going to post this. I don't know. Bleh. I also don't know why I've been on first person POV one-shots lately.

Anyway.

I'm writing another Jerza fic. It's called the Monster and the Man. It's strange, I'll give it that. Dark, I'll give it that too. If you liked this, give it a chance. It's not quite as dark as this. Or… maybe it is, in different ways. But I really do love it.