If Ever

An Epic in 500 Words
Author: Kita
Rating: R
Summary: Five drabbles on the theme of Buffy and Angel, loss, pain, and smut, taking place during Passions, The Prom, I Will Remember You, Forever, and Chosen, respectively.
A/N: Thanks to Lynne & TKP for their help. All mistakes are mine. Feedback and concrit all welcome.

i. Dragon

Tiny, still, and golden; in sleep she could be the damsel.

His shadow stains her black.

One hand on his dick, while the other holds a charcoal, he captures her (forever) in the illusion of helplessness. He wants to tear her open with his teeth, to eat her by pieces, to swallow her, cunt to heart. She would take so very long to die.

Some day, she’ll lift her magic sword to slay him; that’s what heroes do.

He wipes his dirty hands on her sheets, leaves the finished sketch beside her curled fist.

He signs it, “all my love.”

ii. Knight

They crown her, finally, hailing her with pretty words and an umbrella. She’s still smiling when she comes to him, dressed in the colors of innocence. Her hair falls in bursts of sunshine around her face.

She drops to her knees in front of him.

(it won’t be perfect, you’re leaving, just one more time, Angel, please.)

Tomorrow, he’ll serve: foot soldier, general, warrior in her charge.

Tonight, she takes him to the back of her throat, without breathing, without tears.

When she kisses him afterward, she tastes like wax. Her stockings are torn, her pink dress ringed with mud.

iii. Fool

There are only two condoms in the office desk drawer.

She rides him, slow and soundless, cups his balls in one small hand. Makes him beg.

He kneels behind her, tugs her ass high into the air, holds her open with his thumbs. Stabs deep inside, slides all the way out, until those glass-fragile noises she makes get him off, too fast.

She loses one gold earring in the tangle of his sheets.

(He’ll look for it tomorrow morning. It will be gone.)

When she wakes him, this time he goes down on her. Even her thighs are wet.

iv. Magician

She sees him without turning around, slips her hand into his. It’s always been so.

They sit underneath their tree. She looks too young and too old, and his tongue is coated in promises he can’t keep.

Her mouth on his makes his cock leap in his pants. He wants to lick her tears, splay her out, fuck her sorrows into the dirt of her mother’s grave.

(He’ll be far away when she dies, chasing another princess' affections. He will miss her funeral.)

He rocks her in his lap until sunrise, comforting her with everything he is but the truth.

v. King

She reeks of the other: old cigarettes and new regret; they’re being watched while they kiss. Her nails dig into his neck; she presses her soft little belly against his hard on.

She takes his gift and dismisses him with a smile. Gives him back a promise as shining and empty as the grail.

Lancelot dies in his place.

He rebuilds his fallen kingdom, raises an army out of echoes, chases a dragon he hopes will kill him.

He will bury his broad sword in its neck instead, only to find that none of this has made him her king.


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