|harukami (harukami) wrote,|
@ 2007-12-10 22:17:00
|Entry tags:||digital devil saga|
[fic] Digital Devil Saga, "King of the Dance"
King of the Dance
Digital Devil Saga 2
Not safe for work.
...A lot came together to bunny me hard for this fic. Like the fact that the optional boss Shiva was extremely well portrayed in aspect, and that made me remember that Shiva Nataraja carries Agni in his hand, and THAT made me remember that Ardha, Seraph's demon form, is a short form for Ardhanari, who is the hermaphrodite/androgynous deity form which is Shiva and Shakti combined, and then it all went to hell and I wrote porn. XD
It's not exactly that they have more time than they did before; naturally, they have less, as that is how time moves and the sun has nearly finished devouring the earth. However, time here moves slower, takes its time to advance, and so although their time is short, they are taking it slowly.
(The part of her which is Serph agrees when she points this out, silently and only inside herself, slightly desperate; she's grateful, and the feeling warms her heart.)
There is so much wrong here, so much solar data held which should be released and allowed to become One again, instead of trapped in confused and overwhelmed individuals, so she does the best she can to track them down and destroy them, let it free to cycle again. Still, when she has slain Shiva Nataraja, she finds tears tracking their way down her face. She wants to dance, and lets her feet touch the ground, uncertainly; the rock is rough under their bare texture.
"Of course you do," Shroedinger says from by her ankles; his tail twitches, then curls around his paws. "If Shiva cannot dance on the back of ignorance, who can?"
It is ego, Seraph thinks, to believe that they might; still, Serph inside her encourages Sera gently, though she feels he doesn't know yet what a dance is, and she shakes at her daring, slides a foot forward, lifts her left leg and holds it crooked before her before she starts to move.
The dance seems to start at the base of her spine and unfurl upwards, so that her body isn't driven by the feet as she's come to expect but instead she feels as though she's dancing around a wire that runs through the middle of her, electric and burning. It lights her chest aflame, makes her head ache, brings heaviness into her labia and makes her penis swell. Her cheeks are burning at the thought of the others watching her -- with her eyes open, she can see them doing so -- but once she has begun it seems impossible to stop; there's a rhythm to it.
Still, something's wrong. She drives her right hand outward, fingers together and palm facing the wall next to her, and still cannot quite feel it; her left reaches out, grasps towards the air, falters as she spins and can't find the next step beyond creation. Forced to rely on her feet, she feels herself stumble.
Heat catches her left hand.
She is upright again before she has a chance to fall and suddenly things are right; her hand closes around his convulsively. It is terrifying, holding him like this; she can feel all of his rage, his desire to end it all, his helpless anger, his need, and it rages through her leaving both parts of herself stunned; it feels like she's got a live brand in her hand, and the images that flash through her are of Agni with his heads thrown back, beating his chest; she gasps, kicks her leg up, spins around him.
"I've got you," he mutters at her.
"Yes," she says, and slows her dance, lets him guide her back so she can find the floor, and from there, lift off again, feet not touching; he doesn't let go of her hand, though, and stares at her with his eyes smoldering.
"All right," she hears Argilla say somewhere very far away right then. "Let's give them some privacy."
Seraph mouths "Heat" without saying the name aloud, and with a flash of pain that centers in her chest.
"Sera," he says. And then, awkwardly, "Serph," and she knows what's coming -- they know, though Serph at least had never been here before. But history will repeat -- history will always repeat until it can be escaped from, and she thinks, abruptly, helplessly, Heat wants to stay here; he's shaken free from the worst of his resentment, but his needs and wants aren't gone, only expressed differently.
She turns her face up.
When Heat kisses Seraph, he does so without any gentleness because Heat has never learned any gentleness; the kiss is rough, teeth and jabbing tongue, need and desperation, destruction turned upside down to offer its belly to them to do with as they see fit, because he himself doesn't know what to do with it. Together they shake, and draw closer inside Seraph's heart for comfort, and then together Seraph wraps her arms around Heat's shoulders and kisses back.
It's an awkward thing, but it sparks, draws Seraph's distant arousal forward in her mind and makes her moan against Heat. Heat lets out a tangible shiver at the sound, drags Seraph even more tightly against him.
"I need you," Heat says.
"I know," Seraph says.
They make love on the ground, with Heat's weight forcing Seraph to actually touch down and not float above it; though the rough stone doesn't hurt, exactly. It does hurt when Heat enters her, when he pushes into her female parts without delicacy or care, and stares down at her with aroused and helpless desperation at the noise of pain that escapes her.
It's Serph who guides their fingers up, touches Heat's lips. "It's all right," Sera says. "We're all right."
Heat nods, awkward and flushed and embarrassed, and Seraph moves, experimentally, slides up around Heat's penis and arches her back so her own male parts press up against Heat's belly. It feels good; she moans, wraps her arms around Heat's broad shoulders as best she can. "I-it's good," she says, and feels embarrassed for the stammer. "You can... it's all right, move."
So he does, and if it seems like he can't hold himself back, it's probably because he can't. He moves rough and hard and fast, grinding her down and back, and she hooks her legs around his hips, presses her heels into his thighs and digs her fingernails into his back, almost clawing at him as she tries to find a purchase. She can taste her pulse in her throat.
"Sera," Heat mutters at her, and she feels her eyes open wide, isn't sure for a moment what the feeling welling up behind the arousal is -- acceptance, hurt, relief? and then Heat's eyes are widening as well, meeting hers, and he says, "Serph. Both of you. I--"
It's Sera who covers his mouth this time. "I, I know," she says, shaking, on the edge, and drives herself up around him, digs the nails of her other hand hard into his shoulders, comes with such a shattering rush that around them the ground glows violet and lotuses blossom, and she flushes with embarrassment even as her hips jerk through the last shaking pulses and her penis smears come on his stomach, but she doesn't think Heat's noticed; his eyes are focussed on her face.
When he comes, it looks like he's in pain, and she can't stop herself from trying to comfort him, rubs his shoulders gently and feels blood smear under her palm. "It's all right," she says. "It's all right now."
And it is; it must be. She feels ready for anything, even God.