Human Frailty
By Misty Flores
Rating: R for sexual situations
Teaser: Despite his change - Michael's still deceptively human.
Genre: Underworld, Michael/Selene
--
She had always imagined he would be a passive lover.
Gentle. Soft. Giving, with grunts of pleasure and whispers of ecstasy, trailing kisses of worship along her alabaster skin.
Selene had died pure - an untouched virgin suicide at the hands, the teeth, the mouth of Viktor.
Never in her undead existence had she imagined coming alive the way she did now.
Selene was cold - a murderer. She harbored no love in her heart, and she never gave more than she took. In every sense, she was a vampire, sucking the life out of the man who whispered words against her mouth, bled for her, breathed for her.
It was no surprise that in the beginning, it was he that reached for her, him that begged, him that closed his eyes with gutted groans as he sank deep within her.
He was entirely, predictably human then - unsure of what the change meant to him, clinging to her in his phantom professions of unspoken love, palms gripping her hips until he bruised with his amazing strength, asking to take her maiden-hood long after she had any right to call herself a maid.
In the emptiness of her heart, she had allowed it. Selene harbored no love in her heart, and as a result, was left with an undeniable chill that resided in her - and it occurred to her that this may have been the reason she had never taken a vampire lover. It would never be more than cold bodies rutting like the dogs they hunted down.
Michael was all heat and scorch. From his burning brown eyes to his tanned skin. The night she had finally allowed him to take possession of her, he had been warm from the sun, and when he entered, she could smell the warmth on him. The urge to taste the rays on his lips, contain the heat, was what made her concede. Her eyes closed as she breathed in the sun in his bronze skin, tongue swirling over his jugular, teeth scraping teasingly.
It would have been so easy then, to sink into him, drown in his warm blood and bury herself in it, much like the way he was buried in her. Michael would have never noticed. Lost in his sensation - his human need to FEEL, he arched hips and buried himself further, wrapping arms around her slender hips and groaning the words just as her mouth opened, fangs dripping with want-
"-Love you-"
She harbored no love in her heart, but she did not bite him. Her mouth closed, and she shut her eyes, rolling her hips against him as she pressed her closed mouth against his shoulder instead, pushing closer as he pumped harder, driving himself into her with such vigilance she could only hold on, mind spinning.
She never reached for him. When they slept, it was he that held her to him, spooning around her, engulfing into her coldness with his heat - never letting go.
She tolerated it. The warmth was new and the heat almost too much, but it was new enough to comfort her. And while he slept, she kept her eyes open, staring straight ahead as Michael breathed deeply, pushing his chest into her naked back, so much like a lycan, so much like a human.
The feral part of the wolf that resided in his cursed existence almost never made an appearance. Michael was new to this world - new to vampirism and blood lust and the changes of the moon. His new master, the dark lantern of the night, he often tried to deny. It was because of that he often left her sleeping, stepping forth into the daylight and soaking himself in the sun, as if by absorbing it all he could forget who he truly was - what he had become. Desperately trying to play human - desperate to be normal and not an abomination.
Mingled fights, blood soaked battles, there was never enough time, never enough moments of peace - and Selene was used to it. It was her way - she was a warrior. She was a murderer. She harbored no love in her heart.
But he brought in the sun, and every night, sometimes twice, he would reach for her, bury himself into her, increasingly strong arms holding tight to her and uttering one lonely howl as he continued to take what she gave.
It was then she began to realize Michael had tricked her. Because she began to crave. She began to need.
No longer would she lie awake, simply tolerating his presence against her back, but she now reached behind her, opening eyes with a sense of sudden chill when he was gone, unable to sleep until she was assured of his presence behind her, until the even breath of the hybrid spread moist tufts on her shoulders.
She would pull his arms further around her, sometimes go as far as to kiss his fingers, and close her eyes.
The first night she did not find him, she did not move. She was frigid, cold. There was no warmth, no sun, and no Micheal.
Selene harbored no love in her heart, but when he finally came, offered no explanation, only slipped behind her, smelling of a world that no longer welcome him, of humans, she took him the only way she knew how.
It was she that reached for him that night, she who begged with unspoken words as she threw her head back against the sheets when he spread her legs wide, tasted her, took from her promises and whispers and his feral need for possession.
Still trembling after her own climax, she embraced his kiss, felt his heat scorch his mark, as he pumped hard and steady and her own fear broke her barriers.
Perhaps it was the fear. Perhaps it was the smell of humanity that she could not give him and he so terribly craved.
Lips trailed from his mouth to his jaw, tongue moistening his rough skin, until she worshiped the softness of his neck. Fangs appeared, and with the prick of skin, his life exploded into her mouth, rushing into her, copper Lycan-Vampire blood that tasted so incredibly sweet.
His gasp of pain, she almost never heard - she took without asking, branded him with her kiss, rougher, angrier, than the first time her bite had brought him to life.
It wasn't until her own mind became dizzy, her climax rushed her over the precipice again, that she realized, with two stabs of pain, he had bitten her back.
Michael, human-spirited Michael, sank long, angry fangs into her pure white skin, dripping red over their sheets as he sloppily sucked on her, took what she took, always pumping, burying her into the mattress with guttural animal groans that she felt in her very soul.
Clawing into his back, she held him there, wrapping a hand around the nape of his neck, fingers burying furiously into his hair, hips arching to meet his angry thrusts, blood dripping over his skin from her messy mouth, sweet nectar pouring in that she could never stop drinking.
With a growl and a push, teeth scraped and tore at flesh, and suddenly she rolled, astride, pinning him to the mattress with palms on his shoulders, looking down on a man with gleaming back eyes, a ragged and bloody wound on his neck, blood splattered over the sheets.
She gasped now, heavy breaths she supposed she must have picked up from him, as she wiped at her own mouth, came away with sticky redness. His gaze was riveted to her mouth. Palm wrapping around hers, he brought it to his lips, sucking his blood off her fingers, cleaning her.
It started his hips rolling as she gasped, head thrown back and body shifting, keeping him buried in her. He arched, clawed hands over her breasts and down, down, between her legs and - GOD-
She awoke sometime later to find the sheets a spotless white, her neck healed and wiped clean, alone.
The door creaked, and there was Michael, shirtless, dripping wet water on the floor.
She said nothing as he came forward, hesitant, unsure.
"I've never done that before," he said finally.
Selene said nothing, shifting as he settled down next to her.
On his neck was a scar - the telltale mark of the first bite she had given him. She fingered it, fingers feeling the rhythm, the pulse of him.
"Selene... I don't..." He was always so unsure - a human trait he had not washed himself of. "What did that mean - what did we do?"
Her eyes met his for only a second, before the sheet fell away from her body, and she glanced about them, up at him. "Would it frighten you if I told you I didn't know?"
"Yeah. It would."
Of course it would. She was his guide, his caretaker in this world. And yet...
His palm, large and heavy, cupped her jaw, spread over her neck, fingering a tiny welt that made her close her eyes, exhale an unneeded breath raggedly.
A pathetically human trait.
"It scares me," he whispered finally, eyes focused on that tiny scar. "It scares me that I did this to you. That I wanted to do this to you. That even now..."
He trailed off, breathless, glancing away.
She stilled his fingers with her own palm, moving his attention back to her with a press of her hand. "What?"
"I want to do it again," he said gruffly.
His hand fell away.
Selene remained stubbornly quiet. To tell him would be damning - because her own actions, her own fangs that ached to taste his blood - it would infer more than what she meant, because Selene harbored no love in her heart.
But he trembled, this hybrid abomination that she herself created, a man who did not yet know how to be the beast that was manifesting it's true nature - demons of the night battling with the passion for the day.
Keeping her hands to herself, she felt her tone go flat, monotone. "You have a beasts' nature, Michael. Werewolves and vampires alike express an instinctive need to brand a mate. Lycans especially require that possession. Your bite was instinctive - it was simply your nature. You cannot hurt me, Michael. You needn't be ashamed."
He was silent for a moment. "You hate that side of me, don't you?" he asked quietly. "You hate that wolf-"
"No," she snapped suddenly, eyes snapping back to stare into his eyes. "I hate no part of you. Understand that."
With that, she pushed off the sheet, swung her legs to the other side of the bed, fully prepared to take her place in the shower when he brought up when she had desperately been hoping he would not say.
"You bit me first."
"Yes," she answered stiffly. "I'm aware of that."
A strong grip caught hers, closing fingers around her fists, forcing her back to him, straight into his gaze.
"Selene..."
He wanted something from her. He wanted her to give when she only took.
But he had taken, too. And he had allowed it.
Dammit. She had nearly begged for it.
And now, frightened, vulnerable, she begged again.
"You cannot make me say it," she whispered tersely. "I can not."
"What if I need you to?"
"Why?" she demanded.
He said nothing, did nothing, but stared up at her with soulful eyes, eyes of a human trapped in the body of a hybrid - an animal vampire who had tasted her and now regretted it.
He wanted his love human. His passion human.
She was not human. She could not give it.
Anger fueled her response, as she yanked away, and snarled, "Ask me again in a few hundred years."
She left him on the bed, favoring the shower that still reeked of him, flooding her senses with more Michael than she was quite prepared to face.
She was so saturated with him, she never felt him until the arms encircled her, until a face buried into her neck, sending a warm, throaty gasp into her skin, making her tremble, crumble against him.
He said nothing, did nothing, but encircled her into him, naked body pressed tightly against her, warmth flooding her skin.
It was she that spoke, begging and pleading.
"You can not ask me to be what I am not," she whispered, eyes closed, never looking. "I have not been human for two hundred years. I don't remember how."
He said nothing, held his lips close to her skin, hovering over the ugly welt, white and marked with his own teeth.
"I don't want human," he whispered. "From the moment I saw you, all I've ever wanted was you. It never mattered if you were a vampire, Selene - but what matters is that you love me."
"I harbor no love inside my heart," she said breathlessly, eyes closing against the showering drops of water. Her sentence was hollow, lost it meaning as she reached behind her and held him to her, clutching him as if she could hold him there forever.
Fangs scraped against her skin, and she shuddered erratically. "Fine," he said flatly. "I'll ask again in a few hundred years."
Her eyes opened, and without meaning to, she found herself turning in his arms, taking in the sun kissed skin, the deceptively human form of Michael.
He held her loosely, allowing her to spread fingers over his nose, his lips, down his chin to his neck, where her mark still painted a scratched red welt.
It was because of him she begged. Because of him she could no longer stand the cold, could no longer sleep without his warmth behind her. Because of him, she grew ever frightened of a future alone, and it was because of him that the burst of happiness slipped into her, against her will, scorching her into his side.
She kissed him, a human kiss that she knew would later be followed by that of a vampire - because she was ever unsure, too afraid that which she had marked would be taken away from her - by humans, by Death Dealers, werewolves, the ongoing war they were hiding from.
She would mark him again... soon. And he would mark her. She would make sure of it.
She was a vampire. She harbored no love in her heart.
And still...
Pulling from his embrace, she gently scratched his scalp, pushing bangs from his forehead.
"Ask me again in fifty."
FIN
By Misty Flores
Rating: R for sexual situations
Teaser: Despite his change - Michael's still deceptively human.
Genre: Underworld, Michael/Selene
--
She had always imagined he would be a passive lover.
Gentle. Soft. Giving, with grunts of pleasure and whispers of ecstasy, trailing kisses of worship along her alabaster skin.
Selene had died pure - an untouched virgin suicide at the hands, the teeth, the mouth of Viktor.
Never in her undead existence had she imagined coming alive the way she did now.
Selene was cold - a murderer. She harbored no love in her heart, and she never gave more than she took. In every sense, she was a vampire, sucking the life out of the man who whispered words against her mouth, bled for her, breathed for her.
It was no surprise that in the beginning, it was he that reached for her, him that begged, him that closed his eyes with gutted groans as he sank deep within her.
He was entirely, predictably human then - unsure of what the change meant to him, clinging to her in his phantom professions of unspoken love, palms gripping her hips until he bruised with his amazing strength, asking to take her maiden-hood long after she had any right to call herself a maid.
In the emptiness of her heart, she had allowed it. Selene harbored no love in her heart, and as a result, was left with an undeniable chill that resided in her - and it occurred to her that this may have been the reason she had never taken a vampire lover. It would never be more than cold bodies rutting like the dogs they hunted down.
Michael was all heat and scorch. From his burning brown eyes to his tanned skin. The night she had finally allowed him to take possession of her, he had been warm from the sun, and when he entered, she could smell the warmth on him. The urge to taste the rays on his lips, contain the heat, was what made her concede. Her eyes closed as she breathed in the sun in his bronze skin, tongue swirling over his jugular, teeth scraping teasingly.
It would have been so easy then, to sink into him, drown in his warm blood and bury herself in it, much like the way he was buried in her. Michael would have never noticed. Lost in his sensation - his human need to FEEL, he arched hips and buried himself further, wrapping arms around her slender hips and groaning the words just as her mouth opened, fangs dripping with want-
"-Love you-"
She harbored no love in her heart, but she did not bite him. Her mouth closed, and she shut her eyes, rolling her hips against him as she pressed her closed mouth against his shoulder instead, pushing closer as he pumped harder, driving himself into her with such vigilance she could only hold on, mind spinning.
She never reached for him. When they slept, it was he that held her to him, spooning around her, engulfing into her coldness with his heat - never letting go.
She tolerated it. The warmth was new and the heat almost too much, but it was new enough to comfort her. And while he slept, she kept her eyes open, staring straight ahead as Michael breathed deeply, pushing his chest into her naked back, so much like a lycan, so much like a human.
The feral part of the wolf that resided in his cursed existence almost never made an appearance. Michael was new to this world - new to vampirism and blood lust and the changes of the moon. His new master, the dark lantern of the night, he often tried to deny. It was because of that he often left her sleeping, stepping forth into the daylight and soaking himself in the sun, as if by absorbing it all he could forget who he truly was - what he had become. Desperately trying to play human - desperate to be normal and not an abomination.
Mingled fights, blood soaked battles, there was never enough time, never enough moments of peace - and Selene was used to it. It was her way - she was a warrior. She was a murderer. She harbored no love in her heart.
But he brought in the sun, and every night, sometimes twice, he would reach for her, bury himself into her, increasingly strong arms holding tight to her and uttering one lonely howl as he continued to take what she gave.
It was then she began to realize Michael had tricked her. Because she began to crave. She began to need.
No longer would she lie awake, simply tolerating his presence against her back, but she now reached behind her, opening eyes with a sense of sudden chill when he was gone, unable to sleep until she was assured of his presence behind her, until the even breath of the hybrid spread moist tufts on her shoulders.
She would pull his arms further around her, sometimes go as far as to kiss his fingers, and close her eyes.
The first night she did not find him, she did not move. She was frigid, cold. There was no warmth, no sun, and no Micheal.
Selene harbored no love in her heart, but when he finally came, offered no explanation, only slipped behind her, smelling of a world that no longer welcome him, of humans, she took him the only way she knew how.
It was she that reached for him that night, she who begged with unspoken words as she threw her head back against the sheets when he spread her legs wide, tasted her, took from her promises and whispers and his feral need for possession.
Still trembling after her own climax, she embraced his kiss, felt his heat scorch his mark, as he pumped hard and steady and her own fear broke her barriers.
Perhaps it was the fear. Perhaps it was the smell of humanity that she could not give him and he so terribly craved.
Lips trailed from his mouth to his jaw, tongue moistening his rough skin, until she worshiped the softness of his neck. Fangs appeared, and with the prick of skin, his life exploded into her mouth, rushing into her, copper Lycan-Vampire blood that tasted so incredibly sweet.
His gasp of pain, she almost never heard - she took without asking, branded him with her kiss, rougher, angrier, than the first time her bite had brought him to life.
It wasn't until her own mind became dizzy, her climax rushed her over the precipice again, that she realized, with two stabs of pain, he had bitten her back.
Michael, human-spirited Michael, sank long, angry fangs into her pure white skin, dripping red over their sheets as he sloppily sucked on her, took what she took, always pumping, burying her into the mattress with guttural animal groans that she felt in her very soul.
Clawing into his back, she held him there, wrapping a hand around the nape of his neck, fingers burying furiously into his hair, hips arching to meet his angry thrusts, blood dripping over his skin from her messy mouth, sweet nectar pouring in that she could never stop drinking.
With a growl and a push, teeth scraped and tore at flesh, and suddenly she rolled, astride, pinning him to the mattress with palms on his shoulders, looking down on a man with gleaming back eyes, a ragged and bloody wound on his neck, blood splattered over the sheets.
She gasped now, heavy breaths she supposed she must have picked up from him, as she wiped at her own mouth, came away with sticky redness. His gaze was riveted to her mouth. Palm wrapping around hers, he brought it to his lips, sucking his blood off her fingers, cleaning her.
It started his hips rolling as she gasped, head thrown back and body shifting, keeping him buried in her. He arched, clawed hands over her breasts and down, down, between her legs and - GOD-
She awoke sometime later to find the sheets a spotless white, her neck healed and wiped clean, alone.
The door creaked, and there was Michael, shirtless, dripping wet water on the floor.
She said nothing as he came forward, hesitant, unsure.
"I've never done that before," he said finally.
Selene said nothing, shifting as he settled down next to her.
On his neck was a scar - the telltale mark of the first bite she had given him. She fingered it, fingers feeling the rhythm, the pulse of him.
"Selene... I don't..." He was always so unsure - a human trait he had not washed himself of. "What did that mean - what did we do?"
Her eyes met his for only a second, before the sheet fell away from her body, and she glanced about them, up at him. "Would it frighten you if I told you I didn't know?"
"Yeah. It would."
Of course it would. She was his guide, his caretaker in this world. And yet...
His palm, large and heavy, cupped her jaw, spread over her neck, fingering a tiny welt that made her close her eyes, exhale an unneeded breath raggedly.
A pathetically human trait.
"It scares me," he whispered finally, eyes focused on that tiny scar. "It scares me that I did this to you. That I wanted to do this to you. That even now..."
He trailed off, breathless, glancing away.
She stilled his fingers with her own palm, moving his attention back to her with a press of her hand. "What?"
"I want to do it again," he said gruffly.
His hand fell away.
Selene remained stubbornly quiet. To tell him would be damning - because her own actions, her own fangs that ached to taste his blood - it would infer more than what she meant, because Selene harbored no love in her heart.
But he trembled, this hybrid abomination that she herself created, a man who did not yet know how to be the beast that was manifesting it's true nature - demons of the night battling with the passion for the day.
Keeping her hands to herself, she felt her tone go flat, monotone. "You have a beasts' nature, Michael. Werewolves and vampires alike express an instinctive need to brand a mate. Lycans especially require that possession. Your bite was instinctive - it was simply your nature. You cannot hurt me, Michael. You needn't be ashamed."
He was silent for a moment. "You hate that side of me, don't you?" he asked quietly. "You hate that wolf-"
"No," she snapped suddenly, eyes snapping back to stare into his eyes. "I hate no part of you. Understand that."
With that, she pushed off the sheet, swung her legs to the other side of the bed, fully prepared to take her place in the shower when he brought up when she had desperately been hoping he would not say.
"You bit me first."
"Yes," she answered stiffly. "I'm aware of that."
A strong grip caught hers, closing fingers around her fists, forcing her back to him, straight into his gaze.
"Selene..."
He wanted something from her. He wanted her to give when she only took.
But he had taken, too. And he had allowed it.
Dammit. She had nearly begged for it.
And now, frightened, vulnerable, she begged again.
"You cannot make me say it," she whispered tersely. "I can not."
"What if I need you to?"
"Why?" she demanded.
He said nothing, did nothing, but stared up at her with soulful eyes, eyes of a human trapped in the body of a hybrid - an animal vampire who had tasted her and now regretted it.
He wanted his love human. His passion human.
She was not human. She could not give it.
Anger fueled her response, as she yanked away, and snarled, "Ask me again in a few hundred years."
She left him on the bed, favoring the shower that still reeked of him, flooding her senses with more Michael than she was quite prepared to face.
She was so saturated with him, she never felt him until the arms encircled her, until a face buried into her neck, sending a warm, throaty gasp into her skin, making her tremble, crumble against him.
He said nothing, did nothing, but encircled her into him, naked body pressed tightly against her, warmth flooding her skin.
It was she that spoke, begging and pleading.
"You can not ask me to be what I am not," she whispered, eyes closed, never looking. "I have not been human for two hundred years. I don't remember how."
He said nothing, held his lips close to her skin, hovering over the ugly welt, white and marked with his own teeth.
"I don't want human," he whispered. "From the moment I saw you, all I've ever wanted was you. It never mattered if you were a vampire, Selene - but what matters is that you love me."
"I harbor no love inside my heart," she said breathlessly, eyes closing against the showering drops of water. Her sentence was hollow, lost it meaning as she reached behind her and held him to her, clutching him as if she could hold him there forever.
Fangs scraped against her skin, and she shuddered erratically. "Fine," he said flatly. "I'll ask again in a few hundred years."
Her eyes opened, and without meaning to, she found herself turning in his arms, taking in the sun kissed skin, the deceptively human form of Michael.
He held her loosely, allowing her to spread fingers over his nose, his lips, down his chin to his neck, where her mark still painted a scratched red welt.
It was because of him she begged. Because of him she could no longer stand the cold, could no longer sleep without his warmth behind her. Because of him, she grew ever frightened of a future alone, and it was because of him that the burst of happiness slipped into her, against her will, scorching her into his side.
She kissed him, a human kiss that she knew would later be followed by that of a vampire - because she was ever unsure, too afraid that which she had marked would be taken away from her - by humans, by Death Dealers, werewolves, the ongoing war they were hiding from.
She would mark him again... soon. And he would mark her. She would make sure of it.
She was a vampire. She harbored no love in her heart.
And still...
Pulling from his embrace, she gently scratched his scalp, pushing bangs from his forehead.
"Ask me again in fifty."
FIN