Slipping

By Allegra

Warning: This contains sexual content. Nothing too graphic. Just exploring a darker take on their relationship, some time down the line. I'll stop talking now, you saw the M rating.

It wasn't that he didn't love her— God knows that was a lie. He loved her so much he thought that he'd rather the moon and stars wither and die than see any harm come to her. The feeling was tinged with that little darkness, but it was so innocent. He sometimes dreamed about kissing her, feeling the glow of her warmth on him; but he dared go no farther than that, even in his own fantasies.

He never would have done this.

"Allen," Lenalee muttered above him. He glanced up at her. She called his name more often now, half the time without anything to say. Just to see if he would respond. She shifted, eliciting a sharp breath from Allen that mingled with a curious noise from the back of her throat. He wanted to capture it, to rip it from her and hold it in his hands like a caged bird.

These midnight sessions took some sort of toll on both of them, but neither was willing to stop. They both needed the feeling. Lenalee required reassurance that he was still there; a mental presence to moan her name and a physical presence that she could feel inside her. Allen required the heat that melted through his numbness, the twinge of emotion he felt deep inside his chest when his name slipped past her lips. It was animalistic and largely physical, but it was something. It scraped against his wounds when he couldn't feel anything anymore.

Lenalee bobbed up and down, letting out small mewls and sighs at each descent. Allen moved with her, letting his hands ride over the flawless skin moving above and around him. Her breathy moan echoed in his ears when he thrust up to meet her. He wanted to go deeper— he wanted to disappear inside her.

"Allen—" her sigh was cut off by a quiet gasp as he grasped her wrist and turned to press a kiss against the inside of her elbow. His lips felt cold and rough against the sensitive skin. Her breathing resumed as his hands found more traditional holds, brushing the side of her breast and settling against her hips. She arched her back, eyes fluttering shut as his grip tightened, pushing bruises into her skin. Allen watched her chest heave, and felt her pull him over the edge with her.

Neither one screamed.

She lay next to him, eyes towards the ceiling. He was almost afraid to touch her.

"Allen."

She had so many different ways of saying his name. A soft mutter in the night, a concerned inquiry, a panicked cry in the heat of battle— not that he was sent on missions much, anymore. Lavi had jokingly referred to him as the Human Ferry, grudgingly switching to Human Ship after more than one snide remark was made at Allen's expense. It was apt; aside from ferrying various groups to different destinations, he hadn't been far from Headquarters in months. Lenalee would not be beside him now if she was not capable of pulling a considerable amount of strings, as sister of the Main Branch's supervisor and prime candidate for housing the Heart. Not that their reports were terribly honest. It was hard to say what, or how much others knew. Allen found that he did not care.

"Allen?" This time, a terrified question.

"Yes, Lenalee?" he answered softly. Beside him, she relaxed.

"Are you feeling alright?" she questioned. Allen turned his head to hide his grimace.

"I'm fine." He felt her hand press against his side and considered himself obligated to face her. His cursed eye twinged, but he ignored it; that had been easier, lately. Her eyes were clouded with uncertainty, as they usually were when she was with him, but he said nothing; somehow, smiling had become harder, lately. It used to come so easily to him. He was a Clown, he was meant to perform. He was a Gentleman, he was meant to keep her happy. He was… ?

"You keep changing," Lenalee stated sadly, stroking her fingers through white and untidy hair. Allen struggled to decide whether or not he liked it.

"I don't want you to worry about me."

Lenalee's smile was small, and she looked away from him as she spoke. "I don't know how not to."

That was fair. It made him want to grab her and start the ritual all over again. To press her against him and force out every little insecurity so that he could see it all tumble around them. To force the smile to bubble up and meet him, even as the world fell down.

"Do you not worry for yourself?" he forced out. Her expression was blank and uncomprehending.

"No," she said slowly, uncertainly; always uncertainly. Walking on eggshells as if one wrong word could kill him. She would destroy him. "Why?"

"You fear what's inside me," Allen stated, making Lenalee avert her gaze. Shamed. It was not his intended reaction. "You dislike me."

"I love you."

Allen did not see the difference.

"Are you afraid, having a piece of me inside you?"

She was clearly surprised by the question. Thoughtlessly, she shook her head. "No." Lenalee turned to lie on her side, facing him more completely. "I just," her hand traveled from his sternum to his navel, and then back again. "I don't want to lose you."

He felt sick. Smiling for her made him tired, comforting her made him nauseous. But nothing felt quite right anymore, so he did it anyway.

"I don't want you to reassure me." The smile died on his lips.

"Then what is it that you want?" he asked, voice devoid of any inflection. It sounded like a challenge, anyway.

"I want you to tell me what you want. I want to know what you're thinking, what I can do."

She yelped as he flipped her on her back, hovering over her.

"Do you?" he asked, filling the question with a vaguely condescending air. She nodded, hesitantly. He smiled. It did not reach his eyes, and it did not try to comfort her. "Do… you?"

Lenalee was silent. Allen shifted closer to her, tracing the contour of her cheek. His skin was hot against hers beneath the rumpled sheets, but his fingers left a cold trail behind them. A shiver rippled through her, and Allen leaned into it.

"I want, to feel you. I want to disappear, I want to dominate you, to pluck every little worry out of your eyes and taste them. I want—" Without warning, he was inside of her, "— to hold you, to escape, to kiss you under the light. I want to—" her breath caught as he plunged in, accentuating his words with thrusts, "to destroy, to build; I want to swallow you."

Allen trailed off, panting harshly. The quick breaths were a welcome respite from his psychobabble. He brushed his nose against her ear, pressing his lips against the skin just above her lobe. "Are you afraid of me?"

Allen saw the lie forming on her lips. He wanted to smother it, to crush his lips against hers and devour the words. We wanted to leave her lips red.

"A little," she admitted, catching him off guard. He always forgot that she could surprise him, when nothing else did anymore. "I'm not… I'm still glad, to know." Lenalee struggled for words, and Allen felt wrong, but everything felt a little wrong, and he couldn't pull himself away or push himself farther in. Instead, he pressed his lips against her cheek in a clumsy kiss. She seemed to abandon whatever words she was trying to say.

"I'm sorry," for nothing and for everything. He still didn't move away from her. She didn't seem to mind, and he couldn't tell if she felt the intangible discomfort too, but damn if she wasn't the only beautiful thing left on this earth.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was hot and wet, and not entirely nice. Her response was eager, as always, and Allen knew that Lenalee would do anything he asked of her because she was just so desperate. So bent on saving him, so determined to protect something that was no longer there. Perhaps the Gentleman in him would have been bothered by it. Perhaps the Noah in him would have taken advantage of it. The Clown only watched solemnly, as everything fell apart.

"I love you, Lenalee." She sighed contentedly beneath him, losing herself in tainted ecstasy. He said it again and again, murmuring the words against her neck and into her hair, as if it was enough to hold him there. As if things had become any simpler once they started saying it, as if their bare words were any better than the hidden glances. She wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him closer, and somehow the embrace managed to momentarily outshine his building release; it was an anchor.

And he never would have done this before, but it's all he has now. She's the only thing worth keeping.

AN: I really needed to get this out of my system before continuing any of my other DGM fics. This was heavily inspired by The Path and The Walker by Asking foR lifE, which did everything here first and better. Check it out. And don't tell her about this rape of her masterpiece.

Gah I cannot believe I wrote this *is embarrassed* And I thought Those Nights was bad. I guess this could kind of work as a sequel to that, if you're feeling pessimistic, but I'd rather not think of it that way. No more dark Allen, I swear!