Author's Note: No, I haven't made a sudden conversion into Hao/Jeanne. Neither have I abandoned You're Mine; this is just a one shot. And there was something about the quote that gave me images, and then I needed to write them down. And then I needed to post it on for opinions. So enjoy as much as you can.
No, this is not a lemon. I considered writing one, and discarded it – might write the prequel to this in the future, but for now I'll just leave it at the aftermath of one. That's why it's PG-13, as opposed to being utterly R.
Be warned: this is an aftermath to a lemon. It's going to stay at the PG-13 level, but if you're uncomfortable with such things, move on and along. I'm trying to play with new themes.
Disclaimer: If I owned Shaman King, Hao's name would have never been translated into Zeke, which I spent much of my time spelling 'Zique'.
By Moonlight:
"Ill-met by Moonlight, proud Titania."
-- Oberon, A Midsummer Night's Dream, William Shakespeare.
She moved idly, restlessly, like the purposeless ripples within water; curling into herself before abruptly sighing and shifting again beneath the covers. Like a child, she raised her head, allowing strands of faded silk to stream down her back in a luxuriant river of silver – not unlike the moonlight that flooded through the window, inundating their room with a light that was worse than a spoken truth. She could ignore words – had always ignored them when they did not suit her purpose. But she could not ignore what they exposed to her view.
Tousled black locks – black as the devil's heart, or what tattered pieces remain of it – tumbled wistfully about the covers, rivulets of obsidian that stained the bed's pristine whiteness. They seemed to pulse sluggishly with the vibrant life within him, a life that had already dipped into darkness, and found it to his liking. And yet, and yet…
A gentle push of her fingers was sufficient to roll him over, his lips sensuously half-parted in the semblance of slumber. His bare chest had been transformed into a vision of nacreous pearl in the gloom, all chiseled ivory with elegant touches of alabaster. He seemed less human than a wax doll, and were it not for the winding, slow pulse of a heart beneath her fingers, she would have doubted his ability to be human at all.
Uneasily, watching his features lose their trademark cruelty beneath the kindness of moonlight, she found the old adage drifting through her thoughts: Evil never sleeps…
"Iron Maiden Jeanne, what are you doing?" A cruelly sharp gaze, tempered by languid amusement, though undulled by the peace of slumber.
…and Virtue must be ever vigilant.
He had sat up, leaning back against two slender arms, more powerful now than ever he had appeared, even when he had been dressed. Nakedness might have discomfited some, but he appeared wholly at ease with his own. The pretense at sleep had tousled his locks ever more than before, and were it not for the twist of cruelty that slanted his mouth into an adult sensuality, he might have appeared entirely childish, as his twin often did.
Her cheeks flushed brightly with the remembrance of what that mouth had been doing prior to her slumber – or would have, if she had not taken great care to ensure against it. Levelly, with something akin to contempt, she looked at him, fighting back the recent memories that threatened to overwhelm her.
"Ah… in a silent mood, I see." His voice was a brazen mockery, blazing with the unsubtle pride of youth. He could be restrained if he liked, underhanded and insinuating, but he was hardly trying now. "Or have you simply lost your voice due to what we did earlier?" Finely coal-black eyes scrutinized her with cool amusement. "Certainly you were… vocal enough at the time. I had hardly anticipated so much energy in you."
Carefully, she ignored his words; so much of him was to be ignored. It was difficult, at times, to remind herself that this sensual creature was her enemy, of deep and darkly destructive urges that had to be contained before they annihilated too much. But she had always managed.
"You were never sleeping, were you?" She said it with the chiming voice of a child that was always her tone – it seemed as though she had forgotten how old she was, lost and encased in one moment behind that iron sheath – the moment when she had promised herself to God.
And in a way, she was closer to Him now than ever, having lost the one thing that bound her still to humiliation and godlessness. And to the one person that she had sworn to bring down in the name of the Lord, as well!
The Good Lord truly led His shepherds a merry chase.
"Of course not." Arrogance forced him to bend, pliantly, shifting to lie upon his stomach, mouth dangerously close as his eyes fixed upon her. "Iron Maiden, I may not be many things that you desire me to be, but I am not a fool – and have never been. You would kill me in a second, had you the chance, in order to purify the world for your silly religion." His own slender, capable hands detached her now unresisting fingers from the hypnotic pulse of his heart, though his gaze never abandoned hers. Lightly, he brought it to his lips, brushing the surface lightly, as he might sip at a goblet of wine.
"One could say that all those who oppose the Lord are fools." She said softly, but nevertheless, allowed a slender, lilywhite hand to caress his hair. In sunlight, it appeared a fine, warm sienna; like some odd mulled wine, warmed and chilled by turns. But under moonlight, where everything was either light or dark, it was a seductive darkness that swayed, calling the shadowed parts of the human heart to its source, charming them with a child's eyes and an open smile.
He caught at her hand lightly, playfully, an undeniable smirk dancing across his features. "Oh really?" He breathed, sitting up with an abrupt gesture devoid of the feline grace she had come to expect from him. "Some would say the same of me; that all who oppose me are fools beyond those who disobey your Lord." Was the replying murmur, spoken quietly, and with a bland sweetness that had to be double-edged. Casually tucking an errant strand of silver behind her ear in a gesture that was almost tender, he kissed her.
It was less of a lover's embrace than a silent claim of possession, a quiet assertion that she was his, belonged to him, and would always remain his in a sense where she could never fully belong to the X-Laws. It stirred something within her, from the dark, murky depths that she had thought sealed away ages and ages past. The seamy side, the physical side of her that ached for his touch, for the moment upon the brink of fulfillment where she rode the cresting wave into ecstasy.
She became aware that his mouth was still on hers, that it was probing deeper and deeper, and she was quickly losing all traces of herself to him, dissolving into a sea that was composed ultimately of the world's greatest evil.
"No," she whispered against his mouth, struggling feebly, like a butterfly caught within a net. There was no weakness in her denial; she had power enough to force him to let her go, and both knew it, even as they knew that if he'd truly wanted her, no power could have forced him back. But he did not – the battle was waged within her mind alone. No fragment of him took part in it; only the element of him that glittered with craft and guile. The portion of him that she wanted, not for the X-Laws, but for herself. "No. Only once; once is enough."
"Enough?" He responded, laughing quietly with a restrained touch of malice. His eyes glimmered in the darkness, tiny jewels from which no light seemed to escape. "Enough for whom? Jeanne-sama…" He murmured again, and she was down, his calm features drowning out all other thoughts and visions, "You always torture yourself for the sake of others. Surely, after all this time, it's time for a little indulgence…"
She did not reply – could not, buried as she was beneath a thousand memories of pain beyond all things. And in lieu of her reply, he took her silence as consent.
He eclipsed the moonlight that had fallen through her window like an angel's feather. And now, drowning deep in darkness, she knew.
There were no angels, no shafts of moonlight slanting through the velvet curtains she had taken such care to draw together. There was only him, his lips on hers, his hands sliding expertly through a quicksilver river… and darkness.
Author's Note: Not the best ending, I admit.. Ah well; tell me what I could have done better? Drop a review in my 'box.