Okay. I had a whole other ending planned for this chapter. But it really took on a life of it's own. It's done in a slightly different style from the rest. I'm sorry for not updating. But...it was just so hard to write. I was tempted to mark it complete last chapter, but...

I like how this turned out...kinda. I mean, I'm not fully satisfied with it. Still, I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer.

This chapter is dedicated to Kurai I. Sage, for sticking with me from the beginning on my long and wonderful journey to complete this fic. Thanks!

Other then that, enjoy. Oh, and go watch the movie Felidae on youtube. Best. Fucking. Movie. Ever.

A Mix of Both (AMB, AMoB.) is Qzil's second completed fic. Her final words on it are:

"HOT FUCKING DAMN! IT'S TWO A.M. AND I'M STILL UP FINISHING THIS STUPID FUCKING NOTE! IT'S FINALLY FUCKING OVER AND I CAN SLEEP!"

Thank you and goodnight. Many happy trails to you shippers. This story has slightly swayed me to ikarishipping. So much, in fact, that I might even continue my contestshipping fic. ;)

--

She stares into the mirror, panting heavily from what she has just done. A bit of blood stains her cheek, her fresh cut still dribbling the crimson liquid. Glancing in the mirror, she sees the back of a certain black-haired boy.

After she had finally given into Paul, he had just stared at her, his face shocked. After a few moments, he had just walked out the door. No hitting, no pleading, no sex.

Nothing.

She hadn't even see him try to win his final badge from Volkner. Ah, well, she would see him at the Sinnoh League. Still, it was months away, and three months had already passed since their final session.

She had been growing desperate for a touch, for the feel of something inside her, for the blood in her mouth and on her fingers.

It had taken her three weeks, but she coaxed Ash into bed. Then she wondered why she had.

It was horrible.

Not the actual sex, no, that wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was all just...painless.

It was sweet and nice and slow. But he had refused to hit her, refused to hurt her in any way. It just wasn't the same without the hurt, the blood, and the pounding pain inside her. Even the cut on her cheek was when she had knocked her head on the door, and a piece of loose wood had sliced her.

That was the only pain she'd had in months, and she was sure that was all she would have for a while.

Ash liked her, and she felt bad hurting him. He had tried for her, but that wasn't enough. It just wasn't what she'd had with Paul. It just wasn't what she wanted.

"I'm sorry."

Not just for Ash. But for her.

And for him.

--

She walked along the beach in Sunnyshore, trying to clear her head of thoughts. After the whole thing with Ash, she had left the Pokemon League and come to the city where they'd had their last encounter, trying to figure something out. Or, maybe, just to be alone. Sill, the ocean washing over her feet didn't give that much comfort.

"Dawn, what are you doing here?"

A masculine voice, with just the hint of a sneer in it. She knows that voice.

Paul's voice.

She smiles. How nice it was to hear that voice again. How nice it was to know that he was near her. She closes her eyes, absorbing the sound of his voice, memorizing the pattern of his footsteps. A hand touches her shoulder and she whirls around.

He dangles a key in front of her face. She smiles and slips her hand into his. Without a word he leads her to the motel room.

"I missed you."

A forgiving statement. One to make her want him.

It works.

He slams her into the wall as soon as he shuts the door. Pain ripples through her back, sharp and sweet.

Pain. Pleasure. Lips. Bruising. Pumping. Groans. Screams. Wails. Purrs. Slamming. Noise. Blood. Pleasure. Pain. Falling.

Ecstacy.

--

Dawn woke up the next morning in the hotel room, surprised to see that Paul was sitting right next to her in the bed. This was the first time she should remember them waking up together.

Being it was the first time, she had no idea what to do.

She mutters something, pulling the covers further over her chest.

"Dawn, I think we should travel together. Call your stupid boy-toy and tell him that.

And order. Not a suggestion, an order.

It makes her smile. She finally knows the answer.

Is it love?

...Yes.

Not the love that makes you want to protect the other from danger. Not the kind of love where you're tender with your partner. Not the kind of love where you bring the other home to see a parent or your family. Not the kind of love that can produce children or a family life.

But it's love, in it's own twisted way.

The feeling of needing each other. The feeling of missing someone when they're apart. The feeling of wanting to do things to that person that you can never do to anyone else. To want to push them down and bruise their lips. To want to devour their body with your own.

Love.

A twisted and broken form of love. A love where control can swing from both sides, where it can hang; the spidersilk thread can twirl and twist and knot. Never faltering, never stopping.

Unbreakable.