So This is Forever

A/N: Thank you Angy and Xero Sky, for reviewing. I reward reviews with new chapters, so this one's for you guys! Keep it up. And for all of you that would like to review, please tell what you favorite parts of the chapter are and provide any constructive criticism that you might have. I love to hear feedback, so send your thoughts my way. Thanks again, on with the show!











Bejita tells me that he is going mad. That he dreams of me and the stars and loneliness. Says he can’t remember if it was his dream or mine. He grabs ahold of me, digs his fingers into my skin till blood drips down the length of my arms and I thank god for it, for this closeness. His touch after days of separation. Curling fingers find their way under my skin and they burn like that blue fire that left us behind and those black eyes of his, black like mine, look into me with fear and desperation and uncertainty and need, need, need and I see myself reflected inside of them, reflected back at me and wonder if he sees himself in my eyes or if he sees me and he asks me, tears in those eyes now and they make it so that I can no longer see the depth of his eyes at all, only my reflection staring back at me, and it asks, asks me if we were ever different, ever separate, asks me if we are in fact the same, one whole and this was all a mistake and I open my mouth, full of the answer there, but stop when I find that Bejita is gone and I can only see myself in him, so stupid, naïve, confused, and always searching, searching, searching and the words choked in my throat, blocked the air from my lungs, smothered me until I found my mouth wrapped around his, sucking at those lips for air, for clarity, for an end to all this.



But after hours entwined, tangled and sweaty in each others arms, where satisfaction should have brought on contented sleep, there is only an empty silence echoing around us, each aware of the other’s frustrated, restless need yet too consumed by our own to care. At last Bejita will push me away from him and stand, putting a distance between us that hurts at the moment his skin peels away from mine. Pulls clothes over the glistening surface of his skin, hands covering his face as he falls back onto the bed, balancing on its edge, trying to keep his distance from me but unable to go far. Shivers in the cool air of the room.



I move, listening to the papery rustling of the sheets, and press a hand on his back, feeling the heat there, the strength in the muscles that twitch and then press back against my touch, cunning rooted deep within every vein and sinew and bone. A desperate sort of whine pierces the silence, full of yearning and regret and need that will never be fulfilled. I don’t know who made it.



“Stop,” Bejita rasps, voice heavy and thick with emotion, yet he does not move away from my touch, pressing harder against the palm of my hand and I slide it down his back, delighting in the way his muscles dip, tracing my fingers lightly on the ridges of his spine, “Don’t. Just…don’t.”



My fingers come to rest on the edge of his training pants and I slip my hand inside effortlessly, pulling myself closer, sliding my legs around to either side of him to press my bare feet against the cold floor, pressing my naked chest against his back as I find the furry little nub that remains of his tail. I trace the edges of it before giving it a gentle rub and Bejita arcs back against me, the back of his head pressing against my shoulder and I smell the thick scent of his hair as he moans, shudders.



“Stop it,” he gasps, even as he presses his hips back to meet the pressure of my fingers and I cannot help but give a sad little smile against the softness of his hair. I reach around and caress his chest before finding an erect nipple, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger. “Don’t touch m---ah!”



My head dips down to kiss his neck, smelling his sweat, and I nip at the sensitive skin lightly, holding him against me as he pants and whimpers. Close my eyes, giving in to this closeness, the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him. I feel old memories swell inside of me like a tide, full of blood and rage and power. And for I single second I don’t know anything else but sweat and Bejita’s hands gripping my naked thighs, cutting the skin with a sharp, pleasant sort of pain, the smoky scent of his hair clouding every other smell.



And then I am on my back, shoved roughly against the yielding mattress, which creaks and bends under the force of our weight. Bejita is above me, straddling my waist, eyes all fiery and piercing, the way I’ve always preferred them to be. Muscled legs clamp around my waist, ankles locking in front of mine, spreading them. He leans over me, strong hands holding my wrists to either side of my face and for a moment I am in awe of him, of the very power contained within his small, aggressive body.



“Why?”



I blink, confused. And he’s staring at me, holding me away from him as I struggle against his grip, those hard fingers digging into the soft flesh of my wrists with merciless force. They curl against my veins and I wish that they would break the skin to caress the nerves there, make me bleed out everything that I am until he is all that is left.



But he doesn’t. Just stares down at me and that look has come back into his eyes, the one that makes his face look thinner, the cold, detached part of him giving way to something else. Something desperate and unlike him.



“Kakarroto,” he whispers, as if afraid that his voice may break the thin line of our sanity. “Why are we doing this?”



I let my head fall back against the mattress, defeated and tired of fighting for this. Tired of fighting against it. Yet Bejita will never stop and I know that it is because of his hate for me and the bitter frustration that comes from needing me. Before the Kai’s earrings Bejita would have blown a hole through my stomach if I so much as dared to kiss him. I can only imagine the torment of needing my presence, needing my touch, needing me inside of him when he still holds such a loathing for me that no physical closeness could ever overcome.



He hates me. He needs me. There could be nothing worse.



“Why do we keep doing this?” It’s almost as if he’s begging me, pleading for an answer so that he might feel fulfilled. Expecting me to explain it to him because I have always had the answers, always had the power, the ability to make everything right. “It’s not enough. It’s never enough.”



I shake my head, unable to give him an answer, and one of his tears splashes against my cheek, trailing down my face as if it were my own. Soon my lips are wet and I lick the moisture from them with a thirsty tongue, savoring the taste of salt. The taste of Bejita.



The hands around my wrists shake and his head is bowed with defeat, no longer waiting for an answer, yet still holding me there, afraid to let me go. But I can’t hold it back any longer, this need that consumes us both, and as his legs relax around mine I thrust my hips forward to grind against him. A moan forces its way from his throat and his eyes close as he throws his head back, bucking against my growing erection. I push against the grip of his hands and they give way, having lost all the will they once held.



I sit up, pulling him close to me, keeping him there in my lap as I tear at the remains of his clothes, frenzied by the sounds escaping Bejita’s mouth, thin lips parted with the sensation of my hands, face twisting and contorting with every touch.



At last I have torn the pants from his body and my hands grab at the smooth flesh of his ass with urgency, squeezing and caressing the muscled curves of him. He leans forward and bites my ear, drawing blood and a cry of pain from me as he commands me to get inside of him. And with that I obediently draw him down on top of my throbbing hardness, one hand gripping his slender waist, while the other spreads him, guiding myself inside. He gasps, clawing at my shoulders as he arches back against the intrusion, still sore from the session we had only moments ago. I wait for him and he slowly begins to rock back and forth, lifting himself up only the impale himself once again, eyes shut, eyebrows drawn down at a severe angle, teeth clenched together. The image of him shocks me, his beautiful face transformed to such a grim look of determination that one might have guessed that his body was moving of its own volition and there was nothing he could do but endure the vile actions it committed. The shock of it nearly cools the growing heat in my veins and if it weren’t for the constant friction of him, those slender hips thrusting with a desperate sort of searching, I very well might have withered inside of him.



But in that moment Bejita finds what he was searching for and the hard lines of his face melt into an expression of utter bliss as he thrusts himself down on top of me once again, pushing me against that place deep inside of him that has the power to break the barriers between us and in that moment, watching him move with an instinctual sort of rhythm, gasping and moaning as the color rises in his cheeks, I am overcome by raw sensation once again, lost to everything except naked skin and sweat and motion and a rising tide of pleasure that turns into a wave, carrying with it everything that I’ve lost, everything that I have needed since I was ripped away from him, forced to be one cold and lonely person in a world that has always demanded too much of me. A strangled cry escapes me as the dam breaks, spilling everything that I am and I feel Bejita wash over me in a crashing tidal wave, piercing my senses and in that single moment it all rushes back, that cold cruelty, blood on my hands, anger and restlessness and power so great that sometimes I cannot contain it, and the knowledge that I am something great, something that feels no empathy, no pity, no need for anyone else. And then it all fades away, dripping off of me like sweat, drifting into memory and suddenly I am cold and I feel the vulnerability that consumes me, full of too much feeling, confusion and hurt and loneliness and I open my eyes and see Bejita there, outside of me when he should have been a part of me and his eyes meet mine in that instant and we see the disappointment echoing in each others eyes, the emptiness that was for a single second filled only to be drained once again. And I feel the memory of that wholeness, a ripple in the back of my mind and I try to hold on to it, hold it close as I held him, but it slips from my fingers like smoke and it’s not enough. Those dark eyes of his narrow, piercing me with blame and I at once feel guilty, treacherous.



You’re right, Bejita.



It’s never enough.