A/N: Super. Long. Freaking. Chapter. Haha. The longest of any chapters! And guess what my lovies? It's all about Fionna and Marshall. Muwhaha.

A little warning, not trying to give away anything here but uh, language, just a bit, and adult themes… Nothing to scandalous I swear! I'm just really pushing the boundaries with T rating lol. Maybe I'll change that later…. You let me know! xD

Enjoy!

Btw: Sorry If there are some errors, again, super long freaking chapter.

It's a cloud of hyperventilation

A smog of breaths intertwined

There's moisture in the air

Swirling and flowing through his lungs

Smooth and yearning bodies,

Consume his sights, satisfy the bottomless hunger within

Whispered lashes and a tangle of tongues

Roused and roaming eyes,

Casting downward towards his demise

Touches exploring sensitivity

Pleasure enticing every sense

Lips skimming skin, withdrawing in

One after the other,

Excited hips and quivering finger tips

Gasps of mumbles, enamored fondling

Half hooded gazing, enchanting and misbehaving

King of deceiving eyes,

King of lingering satisfaction,

King of intimidation,

King of trickling blood,

Sucking in the red, pounding hearts

And wandering submissive slaves

Necks bent and aching

Drawing near,

Lusting and quivering in fear

Locked eyes, draining of the red inside

Your mine, your mine, your mine…

In the midst of faceless damsels

She appears, springing him up in disbelief

"What are you doing here?"

No answers, all the others watch amused,

Licking lips and mischievous smirks

There's no emotion abound her flawless face,

As she shoves him back down into place

Straddling his hips and excreting dominance

No one dared before,

Short inhales of incredulity and envy

Echoing everywhere around him

A menacing rolling of hips, finger tips splaying

Over a panting chest

Close enough to touch,

Yet she clutches his wrists

Forcefully holding them captive above his head

His dusky eyes churning aroused

Her sun kissed spiral of chaos,

The locks tickling his bare skin

Her lush lips whispering the words,

"King of vampires,

King of fears,

King of sex,

King of sneers,

Will you be so kind…?

As to meet your queen,

Prove to me,

You live up to your title."

Everywhere, she's surrounding him

Enclosing in on her prey

Encasing him, wondrous and scheming

Her caresses and her traces demeaning

A Challenging glower,

Increasing pants and movements

A newfound passion never known

Ecstasy, she and all her love…

Every other is flushed against the wall

His and hers desire and aspiration

Enough to stimulate them all…

"Fionna…Fionna…"

A hasty observation,

Her smirk adding to her complication

"What's wrong King?

Impractical that I have you hanging by a string?

Startled that I have you under my control?

Afraid I'll devour your heart and soul?

Oh my sweet king,

My little play thing,

You've met your match."

Marshall Lee wakes abruptly with a jolt, his body jerking up out of its restless slumber, his blood rubicund eyes whirling with speckles of black. His left wrist does not move along appropriately with the rest of his tensed body, and unexpectedly he's flung into a reality of confusion and mounting frustration.

Why the nightosphere was she making an appearance in my memories?

Did I just have a dream?!

Why the fuck am I feeling like a hormonal teenager right now?

I'm a thousand years old for fuck sakes!

And goddammit, why the fuck is my wrist tied up?!

"FIONNA."

But there's no rascal snoozing approximately near his right side, only an unoccupied space acquainted with sheets that grasp her warmth and fragrance. It's as if she was never there to begin with, her very essence vacant. A furrow forms in-between his brow, his gaping mouth now a firm scowl, his jaw locked and his eyes furious. His eyes explore the room, to the creaking door of the bathroom, to the bloodied floor, to the ripped shreds of her clothing. They eventually make their way back to his wrist constrained against the headrest of the bed, tied with shreds of her shirt.

A sarcastic voice echoes through the room, his voice carried with irritation, lingering and awaiting not so patiently for a not so expected response, "How very kinky of you, Fi. Didn't know you had it in you."

Unfortunately for him, his anticipation is ignored, and the response that he wanted to the whole charade is not answered. This just causes his patience to break.

As well as his confides, his arm transforming into that of a creatures, it's size and strength overwhelming to the makeshift rope. It tears with ease, releasing him completely. He musters up his tolerance for her shenanigans, already peeved with her for making an appearance in his dreams and causing him to have an uncomfortable tightness down south.

Because really, it's all her fault for the way his body reacts.

He gathers himself and lurks up over the bed, his knees bending as he hovers to the door, a mere foot above the floor, not wanting to give away his approach. He gently opens the door, his acute sense of sight perceiving her mass of curls bouncing with each rushed step. It's sunny, much to her advantage, and he mutters a series of profanities as he rushes back into the room.

Umbrella, umbrella, umbrella…

Goddamn. How can I be so disadvantaged by a burning fucking star!?

There, underneath the bed, was a dusty, ancient, and limp umbrella. His smile returns for a split second, his breath getting caught in a scoff as he quickly jerks it open. Though, he doesn't really expect the shower of dust, which adds onto being another reason to be annoyed.

Then he's soaring across the field, muttering about how he saved her life and this is the thanks he gets, whilst permitting his feet to barely skim the tips of grass. He can't go to high in the sky like usual, in fear of being boiled alive by the rays of sunlight.

The only satisfying thing about this is that he knows he's getting closer, her scent haunting and lingering through the air. He feels as if he's breathing it in and can sense it in his lungs.

He snatches a glimpse of her extensive mane, ushering up a ridiculously towering tall tree. She's springing up the branches, one of her legs not quite as functional as the other, yet she still manages to make it up, no doubt due to her years of experience.

His booming deep voice causes her to jerk her shoulders in surprise. It's full of aggravation and sarcasm, alluding to his impatience.

"Did you really think a simple cloth would restrain me?"

He's met with a bright sneer, her sapphire eyes filled with amusement, finding pleasure in his exasperated composure.

"I thought the sun would do the trick, more like it."

Marshall can't help himself but scoff, rolling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders, dismissing her efforts enable to get away from him.

"Takes more than a little beam of light, to get rid of me, Sweet Heart."

Fionna perches herself on a branch, her legs dangling in midair, her toothy smile followed by her slight rocking in her seat, about ten feet above him. He can tell she's thoroughly enjoying herself, the way she snickers and fiddles with her fair hair. Her voice is daring and too sweet to bear, as her eyes narrow and she shackles her gaze on him.

"Then come up and get me."

He grumbles; floating up a foot before the light makes an unwanted greeting with his left bare ankle, one in which his jeans had bunched up a bit in his sleep.

"AHH SHI-!"

His feet all of a sudden descent down to the earth once again with a low hiss and a curse, whilst he initiates the act of fumbling and limping, hoping on one leg.

Her laughter carries a honeyed tone to his ears, in the mist of his anger and sting.

"Hehe, this is quite a sight, oh King of Vampires!" she cries out in-between giggles. He's about to chew her ear out as he glances up to her with hard eyes, before really looking at her. She is probably the most beautiful creature he's ever laid eyes on, suspended up in that oak tree, the sunlight highlighting her hair, creating a halo around her head. She looks like the goddess of light, and he inwardly curses himself for behaving and thinking like a girl.

But while she's bellowed over laughing, she becomes unbalanced and falls, descending unprepared to encounter the tough ground. His eyes widen, his umbrella dwindling from his grasp, as he jerks forward, catching her just in time, prior to stumbling to the floor, her body making contact with his with a loud, "thump."

She's laying on top of him, gratefully blocking the sun, her forehead resting against him, her body suddenly splaying over his for protection.

Her eyes are clenched shut, hesitantly opening, followed by a cautious and out of breath, "I didn't intend to kill you."

He mutters; her body heavy on his as he musters up the strength to answer.

"You could have fooled me, now get off."

Fionna glances at him, chewing on her pink lip, an awkward laugh forced out from her mouth.

"Uh…yeah... I can't quite move or else you'll be scorched."

The realization settles in slowly, his body stiffening for a moment, and then relaxing. His eyes meet hers in an annoyed scowl, trailed by a sarcastic reply.

"I think you planned this. You just couldn't resist me Fionna. Knew it all along really."

She quirks her own smirk, mischievously recalling back to their shared night.

"More like you can't resist me. Fionna, ah, not there."

His eyes widen in horror, the smug look swept off his face completely. He stutters out an, "Uh. I-I never said that!"

She laughs, her nose slightly grazing his, her chest humming against his.

"Guess it's been so long since you've slept with someone, that no one's told you recently that you sleep talk."

His lips form into a firm line, grumbling and writhing beneath her.

"Will you just get off me?!"

More of her graceful laughter follows, it's light and feathery, a delicacy really.

His humiliated appearance evolves to that of a small smile, it forming across his face, his eyes roaming her features as she desperately tries to reach for the umbrella. He's amused by the determined expression she wears, and he quietly snickers to himself.

She stretches forward, finally reaching the umbrella with the grasp of her hand, pulling it towards their strained bodies. Her hand opens it smoothly, before slowly getting up along with him, their bodies practically intertwined, his eyes narrowing and his scowl etched upon his face, trying to avoid the light. As they finally stand, her chest to his, their noses barely brushing, they find that their eyes are locked for a moment. She swiftly looks away, her fingers barely skimming his as she passes him the umbrella. The shade suffices for a gentle breeze to pass through, her hair sweeping over her shoulder and drifting in the air.

She gradually turns towards the woods; her smile fading and a grim look taking its place; dullness returning to her eyes, her shoulders going limp underneath his gaze. She swallows, becoming particularly detached in their abruptly ending conversation and little playful dispute. Absentmindedly he reaches out, taking her hand which had been dangerously close to his anyways, and wordlessly pulls her along. She's snapped out of her haze of memories, and questions his motives outwardly and enquiringly.

"What are you doing?" She says softly, the edge to her voice somewhere tangled in between, as if she can't decide whether she should trust him.

He smirks back at her, replying vaguely, "You'll see, little Fi."

His feet march atop the grass, their trotting steps leaving imprints. She's gazing at his back, watching the way his muscles contract ever so slightly against his shirt, till her eyes observe towards his fluffy pitch black hair, and then finally to his hand grasping hers halfheartedly. She feels something deep down that almost startles her out of their physical contact, but she pushes the feeling away as best as she can. It grasps her heart in its embrace, fondling with it, leaving kisses all along the inside of her tummy. She feels slight confusion, at how being in such a close proximity to him doesn't bring fear, but a yearning that she doesn't understand.

Fionna eyes glaze over, reminiscing on memories of a pink hand, and how it used to bring her the same sort of delight. Yet maybe that was different than this, for that feeling had lingering sentiments of fear, so indescribably small that she never realized them until comparing them to this. She feels herself shrink in her shoes, the weight of this conformation scrutinizing. Who was the boy she fell in love with? When she really thinks about it, she had known all of him, yet none of him at the same time. It's as if who she loved was slowly disassembling in the breeze, riveting against the brush and flowers, swaying through the branches, and off, off, off it goes.

Who was that boy? That pink boy with that sweet tongue, his charming and gentle demeanor, his quiet and slow way of speaking that sprinkled her senses with excitement. Who was the boy that got taken advantage of so easily by a faraway queen, whom was respectable and so very lenient, yet strong towards his kingdom? The boy who kissed her lips in the wizard battles, who's dazzling smile rampaged her very core into flames, whose oblivious behavior was endearing to her in every way?

A better question that fought through her consciousness, to the brim of her eyes, was 'Who was that man?' The man that got away with everything just by the slickness of his tongue and the tantalizing arch of a brow, whom could manipulate and control every aspect of his kingdom so effortlessly, whether it waging war or getting his subjects to be lab rats for his experiments. Who was the man who never wrestled through the ice queen's clutches, but yet remained there patiently for her to show up? Who intimidated even beyond his appearance, whose temper had been exposed and scattered throughout many times, yet was ignored and tolerated?

Who was this stranger she had loved so fiercely, that she would have sacrificed herself each time just to save his life, and feel the warmth in his words and gratitude? Who was Gumball? Had she really never know him? Had she really never noticed all of the foreshadowing of his flaws? Had she gone into all of this without truthfully realizing, or did she not see because she didn't wish to see?

All these though rambled inside her aching skull, rocking her balance a bit, her hand being squeezed in an effort to help her gain back her senses. She looks back to Marshall, his sharp tooth smirk ravishing her mind and she suddenly loses all of her will to think.

He's standing still now, shoulders tall and broad, his swept hair flushed against his midnight eyes, his pale green skin covered by the umbrella's shade and protection. Her breath catches, because not only is he more than stunning upright in the midst of daylight, but also because behind him sways the petals of hundreds of tulips and daises, pink, orange, red, yellow, and white.

The colors seem to blend together, casting his appearance in a backdrop of an enthralling bright hue. He doesn't have to say anything, yet he can tell by her awe struck appearance that she's forgotten the self-intruding blandness she had been in a mere moment ago.

He can't help but let his mind linger on the thought of threading his hands in her honeydew hair, or what it would be like to lick and lavish the flavor of her flushed cheeks. They've locked eyes for more moments then they probably should, both of their minds recalling impishly about their shared kiss. His eye lids droop just a tad, barely deciding on stealing a kiss from her delectable lips. She unconsciously ponders his movements, her pulse doing flips, her cheeks flaring as she stares wide-eyed at his incoming lips, but before they meet hers in a desperate plea of want, she sidesteps him hastily, uttering a shy laugh as she scampers off into the awaiting flowers. His own eyes broaden, a little surprised at her subtle rejection, yet his trail of vision remains on her, the way her hair flutters, the curve of her ass, and her echoing giggles that flow through his acute hearing.

She looks back at him, walking backwards now further into the labyrinth of flowers, her smile still etched across her face; it's endearing and alluring beauty drawing him near. He slowly steps towards her, his crooked smirk and roguish playful tone of voice discreetly trying to tempt her closer.

"Why the hesitation?

Is that some kind of indication?

I won't deny an imputation

I'm a killer

As chilling as a thriller

A felonious distiller

I am the darkness of the night

Extinguishing your light

With a harsh bite

Stare into my demon eyes

Don't attempt to sympathize

Going against me is unwise

This feeling you're fighting

A flame I'm igniting

Isn't this exciting?

I'll rapture you girl

I'll give your life a whirl

Around and around you'll twirl

I am nirvana

And I know you wanna…"

He lingers off suggestively, smirking at himself for the decent amount of rhymes he could spill off his tongue without trying. He manages to push his luck, finding it amusing at the look of her slightly embarrassed face at his perversion. His eyes match hers again, and he feels a bit odd for wising he had his bass so he could impress her further.

Usually it's the women trying to impress him, and yet, when was the last time he let himself perform mediocre in front of an audience?

"I didn't know you could sing." She starts off slowly, curiosity peeping at the edge of her voice, her sky eyes that had been subconsciously embracing his lips with their gaze, ventures back up to encounter his eyes.

He scoffs, feeling slightly embarrassed, yet pulling it off as being cocky as he replies swiftly, "There's a lot you don't know about me-" he pauses, his gaze detaching from hers for a split moment, his hand finding its way to his shadow thick hair, gently grazing through it, as he quickly regains eye contact with her. His hands still midway flowing through his hair, his eyes are churning with amusement, and his lips are forming a devilishly handsome crooked smile, as he confidently utters, "Willing to find out?"

The breath gets caught in her lungs.

Oh sweet glob of gorgeous.

She doesn't realize she's fallen for his boyish scheme, before he clears his throat halfheartedly and teasingly, after a moment of her prolonged stare. She brushes him off, smiling her own self-righteous smirk, throwing him an 'oh-please' sort of look.

"I don't know. You don't seem that interesting to me, kind of boring, actually…" She trails off, biting back the genuine smile that threatens to leap out and run across her face. Her eyes no longer meet his, instead taking in the dozens of flowers tickling her ankles.

He was expecting a more exasperated and shy response, and has to contain himself from raising his eyebrows and having his ego kicked. He leans in close to her, his back hunching a little enable for him to completely ignore the law of personal space. He replaces his surprised look with one of smugness, as he mutters under his breath, "I'll have you know, that I am anything BUT boring."

He wants to add, 'especially in bed,' but bites it back. After his already perverted dreams, even thinking about this appealing woman in bed makes him feel inferior. God, she could make him really seem boring in bed, in comparison to her in his dreams. Marshall has to mentally punch himself for getting all teenager-boy-hormonal-horny again.

He had given up that life, for how long? Yet now all he wants is to ravish her body and make her fail to recall anything about that pink man.

She smiles, finally allowing it to surface, her pearly whites almost blinding as she says mischievously, "Sounds to me like you're trying to convince yourself that."

Before he can even muster a reply she's snaking her way from being close to his body, her heart beating a little faster than usual as she lays onto the many blossomed flowers, the disheveled petals getting entangled into her golden locks.

She's staring up into the bright sky, watching as the clouds slowly drift by, the sun seemingly to kiss her face, its rays illuminating and highlighting her seemingly never-ending tresses.

His lips are parted and he's about to rebuttal, when her loveliness consumes him fully and he's rendered the ability to even speak. His feet are a foot away from her resting head, and the shade of his umbrella barely skims the left side of her cheek.

He watches enquiringly as her once smile forms a thin line, her plush lips resembling the pink petals getting lost in her hair, and her eyes are swarmed once again with taunting thoughts. They glaze over, and he knows this expression all too well, because it is one that he has worn countless times before, when he is caught off guard by the bombardment of regret. Marshall feels a tug of sympathy, and anger and protectiveness he's not familiar with.

He consents himself to drift into his own wanderings, based solely on the girl lying before him. She's so complicated, she's like a ticking time bomb, and he begins to feel like the deactivator. This girl, this insanely beautiful human, who's capable of slaughter and revenge, whose youth has been wasted on a man too difficult and depriving for her to even comprehend. This girl, who does not even grasp how much she was and still is loved, and who now lives behind walls that she had to build up herself enable to survive. This girl, who in the mist of her agony and grief, in her rage and contentment, whom could still manage to look so beautiful lying underneath the beaming sun, who could even allure the King of all women, is someone he can't understand.

He's so increasingly interested in her, that every moment in these past two days feels like centuries, that every second with her is another pull at his heart and his mind.

This feeling is foreign, it's warm and bubbly and the more he learns about her the more he learns about himself. He's curious, and his once irritation with her reckless behavior has dissolved and has been replaced with curiosity and longing.

Maybe he's just attracted to the way she was so broken, and he was too. He was drawn in by her passion and her hurricane of emotions, the kind that were quite similar to the storm raging on in his very own soul.

Fionna notices his stare after a few minutes, but instead of mocking him she offers him a lenient and breathy voice.

"How could you live in a world so cruel, for so long, and do absolutely nothing to change it?"

She lets a bitterness edge ride through the last of her words, as she peers up to him through squinted eyes. He shakes his head, sighing and saying, "How could I change the cruel world when I don't even know how to change my cruel self?"

She's taken aback by his pure honesty and lacking sarcasm, and she observes the sky again for a moment contemplating and processing his words. He notices the passion welling up inside her as she clenches her fists, her eyes clenching shut, as she forcefully mutters, "Have you even tried?"

He slowly sits sideways beside her, careful of the sun that might boil his skin, his solemn face matching hers. He lets out a sigh, closing his eyes briefly to think up of an answer, before gently stating, "It's in my nature. I have to drink, and I have to live. There are other ways to survive that are less gruesome, but they weaken me. If I'm weak, I am not fit to rule as King to my subjects."

"So, you can't stop your ways just because you don't want to be overthrown? And lose all your precious puppets." Fionna grunts, it coming out as more of a statement then a question. Marshall tries to find her gaze, and becomes the slightest bit annoyed by the way she keeps avoiding eye contact.

"They are not puppets; we didn't ask to be what we are. Just ask your boyfriend, he'll tell you." It's heartless and meant to sting, and he's rewarded with a harsh glare and a furrow of her brow. She leans up, getting maybe too close to his face, but he dismisses it when he sees the fiery vengeance loam in her body language.

"What is that supposed to mean? You're thousands of years old. How would he know?"

She's challenging him, and he pulls off a sarcastic sneer before replying, "He's not as young as you think, sweetie. And by the way, I'm only a thousand."

Her face once filled with irritation drains, and is left with a questioning look. He notices and picks up on it immediately, his greenish calloused hand reaching out to play with a strand of her hair. She barely feels it at first, until he begins threading out an orange petal, and it sends little tickles up to her scalp. It's a sensation that she's never felt before, since she always used to stuff her hair inside her hat, away from anyone's roaming fingertips. She shivers, her lip getting caught between her teeth as she momentarily forgets where she is and who she is and what else she has to do.

"Marshall."

His fingers pause for a sly second, before feeling the strands gently being caressed around his index and thumb. He memorizes the way it shimmers and gleams against his skin color. His eyes direct themselves to her, a small grin teasing the edges of his lips as he nods briefly, "Yes, Fionna?"

Her name glides right of his tongue, just like the way the words flow so easily when he sang or rapped of whatever you call it, to her.

"He's not my boyfriend. Never was."

But that's not the words she intentionally wanted to say but they fall out of her mouth effortlessly, and she begins to feel confused as to why she had to confirm that Gumball was someone she hadn't been with before. A flash of pink reverberations through her mind, a quiver goes down her spine, and it's not from the ticklish feeling of her hair and his fingers.

She then continues hesitantly, the bitterness that once got tangled into her syllables, no longer there.

"Who is she?"

Again he pauses, his brow crinkling and his smile dropping. "Who is who?"

She rolls her eyes, distractedly pulling her face from his, now noticing fully of how close she was to the male specimen.

A butterfly kisses the inside of her tummy.

"The woman, who made you believe in love. You were so stubborn about it. Who was it…?"

He completely pulls back from her inquiring appearance, his amused expression transitioning to that of a heated one.

"It doesn't matter."

He's used to people ignoring his behavior, to have never had the guts to ask him about why he was so sad, or depressed, or remorseful. No one ever gave a damn about the Vampire King, always assuming and always dismissing. He's not used to anyone asking about how he's doing, or what his dreams and aspirations are or anything of that matter. He's especially not used to anyone asking about her.

Unfortunately Fionna is still a bit to oblivious and naive to clasp his vibe, and instead gets offended.

"So you lied. I knew someone like you would say something like that just to get me to trust you. I'm not some slut you know."

It catches him completely off guard, and for the umpteenth time he's known this girl, she's completely surprised him. She's just full of surprises, and unexpected amount of responses. He swears he hates this about her, but a very small, minuscule piece of him likes it. It almost thrills him.

Fionna furiously throws herself up, not quite forgetting about her injured leg, as she stumbles away from him, much slower then she wished. She's grumbling things like, "All men are the same," and "Fuck my leg hurts."

His flabbergasted expression is followed hastily by an angry one, once he fully realizes what she's accused him of. This thoroughly pisses him off, and everyone knows that you never, not ever, want to piss off a vampire.

It doesn't take him long to wrap his arms around her front, her limping and jumbled mess being somewhat crushed against his firm and lengthy chest. Her cry leaves her throat unexpectedly, and she squirms a bit in his embrace. In the mist of this, his hand is still clamping down onto the handle of the umbrella, his knuckles becoming a lighter green, practically white.

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO YOU LIAR!"

She's yelling and worming about in his arms, so frustrated that she could cry, (but she would never cry, ever, in this position), infuriated and not wanting to be around any liars ever again; any men, for that matter.

He tightens his hold, his own angry voice rumbling out his mouth. "You think I lied? You think I don't know what love is? You think I haven't felt the same pain you're feeling? You think Ashely wasn't real? Fuck, I wish I was lying!"

Her movements still, only for a brief second before she's moving again, her neck bent a little backwards over his shoulder, her eyes piercing up towards hers.

"You could have never felt what I feel. What I experienced was love! A man like you probably got his ego kicked when a girl he regularly fucked left him! Ha! Is that what it is?"

She was so sure of the words that left her mouth, prior to not being able to see the sincerity in his eyes that had been carried in his voice. She senses herself get majorly fearful and nervous at the way his pupils are raging ruby, so unlike the usual black.

His fangs are baring and his nose is scrunched up, and she's so very preoccupied by the way he's scowling at her, that she doesn't feel his hands rummaging up her body.

He sounds like he's growling at her, as he murmurs, "What is love, huh? Tell me, human, how it felt when he touched you?"

His hand is sliding up her (his) weathered shirt, lingering on the soft skin of her stomach, before faintly slithering against the bottom of her breasts. Her breath comes out in a sudden pant, her body stiffening at the feel of his rough finger tips splaying, his pinkie brushing the top of her belly button.

His voice and reckless behavior continues, the umbrella being thrust into her grasp, as he maneuvers his left hand down to the edge of her waist line, traveling hazardously close to her untouched curls.

"Did it scare you? Didn't you just hate the horrible way it made your stomach lurch? Is that the way love feels?"

Her breath and heart are synchronized in their quick panting and pacing, the words so desperately trying to fly out of her parted plush lips, being caged in behind white teeth. His painstakingly deliberate movements causing furious butterflies to rapture in her stomach, adding on to that single kissing one, that had been there prior. He body feels hot, so very hot, her fingers and toes curling, her quivering lips inaudibly begging for him to stop.

Stop making her feel so outrageously odd.

It feels different, different from the hurried and rushed grasps of Gumball, different from the painful pressure and violated sensation she had before.

Her body leans against his completely, her neck slightly arched back against his shoulder, and her back firmly set to his, like a puzzle piece connecting to another. Her hands that were once prying on his had dropped to her sides, her chest heaving up in down.

His lips find their way to her neck, their moist and feathery, but the way he sucks on her neck, adding pressure to the skin just underneath her earlobe is anything but gentle. His teeth nibble on the flesh, his sharp fangs grazing the unscathed skin, their little prick causing her to let out a quiet yelp. His tongue swarms out past his lips, lavishing the tender area, gently stroking it in its damp lick. He repeats this motion, until his mouth is taking her earlobe between his teeth, fiddling it with his tongue, while breathing into her ear lustfully.

"Is this what his love feels like?"

His right hand is skimming the side of her breast now, it's pale and shy surface almost exposed to the world around them. His left hand is traveling lower, and he notices with a grunt of satisfaction that she was also wearing a pair of his old jeans, which sagged low on her waist, low enough to give him freedom to roam around and tickle near her hip bones and across her upper thigh.

She's so consumed in all his movements that she forgets how to speak, her whimpers the only answer he's receiving. It feels terrifyingly- wonderful. His angry touches now linger with gentleness and kindness, just enough pressure on her neck and on her thighs to where it doesn't hurt and won't leave bruises like Gumball's. But Gumball is the last thought on her mind. As well as the fact that Marshall was a man, a royal man, fondling her and playing with her emotionally, physically, and mentally.

He's no longer as livid as he was, as expressed through his thought out touches and caresses. He feels heat too; his body quickly beginning to respond to her mewls and quivers.

This isn't right, they shouldn't be trying to find comfort in each other, but it feels so right, the way her breast fits snugly in his hand, the way he can make her forget all about the pain she feels, the way she can make him forget all about the stress and frustrations of heartbreak and being a King.

It feels right, and he knows this isn't just some headstrong and stubborn girl, that she was passionate, and thriving. His lips are brushing against hers, thirsting for something other than blood, and her fingers are trembling around the handle of the umbrella.

They stay like this, kissing, feeling, processing and forgetting together, in the center of pandemonium and endangerment they stay, anchored like the roots of a tree in the midst of a storm.

And when they finally pull away, his fingers not yet making it to her very sensitive places, yet his lips have created dozens of marks on her neck, he feels different too.

She's standing there in front of him, not too far away for she's still holding that cursed umbrella, her hair all sprayed out and petal laced, running down to the floor. Her big blue orbs caressing wonder and shyness, her (his) shirt all disheveled, as well as her (his) pants sagging down to her hipbone. Her cheeks are flushed, all the way to the tips of her ears, and he can't help but want to devour her.

He smirks, a real huge smirk sprawled out across his face, his hair tousled and wild, and his once intimidating eyes now just pitch black like a night sky with no stars in sight.

"Now tell me, do you believe me now?"

A/N: . god. Took me forever. Please please please review!?

LOL.

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