Soul Purpose

"give me your lust, and your sorrow..."

Doesn't get much better then this, Alex thought as he sprawled out and sighed. The bed creaked, the mattress sagged and the blankets scratched even through his t-shirt, but he didn't need to be comfortable. Not when he was clean, and well-fed...even with the horrible bed, he was almost content.

Only thing I need now is to be well-fucked, he thought as he caught a trace of Marita's scent on the still, hot air.

She had a familiar smell, one that he found almost...insanely arousing after having spent so many months in a cell packed so full that he didn't even have the room to get hard, let alone jack off.

Of course, his fellow inmates hadn't seemed bothered by the lack of space. They'd all been quite...active...but he'd been left alone. Despite being one-armed and malnourished, he'd been dangerous--the other inmates had sensed that, and kept their distance.

Hadn't bothered him any. They had all carried the musky smell of decay and deprivation, with the bitter underlying aroma that comes from never washing off built-up grime and dirt. He'd never smelled anything worse in his life, was only too glad to keep as much distance between them and him as the crowded confines allowed.

But there's no need for distance from her, he thought, and shifted as blood pooled in his groin.

Her skin carried a musky scent too, but it was...clean and most assuredly female. Somehow a little dangerous...the scent of a predator, he had thought when he first met her, but he liked it, preferred it.

She had been a sleek, dangerous woman when he met her, his favorite kind. The only kind he had any use for at all, really.

When he'd seen her last, however, dangerous had faded into desperate...

Forget that now, he told himself. No matter to you if she died, and hey--she didn't. She looks...fully recovered. Looks cold and hard but there's heat just under the surface--

Alex shifted again, drawn into memory. He hadn't thought about her in a long time, but could remember how tight her body was, how wet. How fine her skin was. How it seemed so delicate but never bruised when he put his hands on her...no matter how rough he was. No matter how rough she asked him to be.

She always came harder when it was rough, he thought. With a fierce little moan and incredibly powerful contractions...she just splintered when she came. He loved it.

Alex closed his eyes and imagined pinning her beneath him, spreading her thighs with his, and then plunging deep inside her, right down into the places that had always begged for him, even when she was pretending to fight him off.

She'd probably try to fight if I touched her right now, he thought. But it wouldn't last, it never did. She'd be wet in just a few seconds, and then, when he started to thrust, she'd start to cling like velvet...

His eyes opened again and he stared up, into the shadows. Spider webs clung to the corners, the ceiling, and Alex would've bet that there were at least a dozen furry little arachnids watching him. He smiled and turned his head, looking for Marita.

Late afternoon light filtered in through the window, and Marita had gravitated towards the moment they entered the dingy little room. The panes were narrow and the glass was dirty, but she still gleamed in the dim light, and he began to throb more powerfully, to need--

Not need, he thought. Never need, that's never come into this kind of thing. Want...this is all want...

And he wanted to take some of the gleam off her, to muss her hair and ruin that trim little suit. He *wanted* to make her dirty--

"How did you manage to survive, Marita?" he asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He hoped he could make her angry, hurt her. She was always more fun when she was busy hating him. "You looked like fucking hell, last I saw you."

She didn't respond. To his surprise, she didn't even stiffen.

"Now...you look pretty good for a woman who barely escaped death," he continued, pushing, wanting some kind of response. Silence and passivity just weren't...satisfying.

This time he got what he wanted, but not in the way he was expecting. She didn't turn, didn't look at him, still didn't seem to tighten up. She just stood, straight and motionless and said, "You're wrong, Alex. So wrong."

He let his eyes trail down her body, lingering on her ass, the curve of her hips and the long, slim length of her legs. "How am I wrong, Marita?" he asked.

"I didn't barely escape death; I *did* die." She moved for the first time, pressing her hand to the window, then clenching it, making a fist. She pounded the glass, once, and then slowly dropped her arm.

"They brought me back again and again," she murmured quietly, "and they took more from me every time...until there was nothing left."

It was as dramatic a statement as any soap opera queen could have made, in spite of the fact that she said it all calmly, coolly, without a lot of emotion or emphasis. Alex rolled his eyes and slowly rose, crossing the room to stand just behind her.

"Such melodrama," he whispered in her ear, watching as little wisps of hair danced lightly with his breath. "How long did you have to practice saying that to get it so perfect?"

Marita turned her head and met his gaze. Her eyes were completely empty and chillingly cold, but Alex didn't look away. He was used to that emptiness, that chill; it was there every time he looked in the mirror. And he was pretty damned sure that there was something there behind those eyes, something that was...missing...in him.

"No," she said. "This isn't an act. They did leave me with my life after they took everything else, but now I wish they hadn't. Now I wish that they'd killed me."

"Liar," he murmured. "You want revenge. You want it so much you can taste it. I can taste it too...can almost imagine its sweetness."

"I'm empty, Alex. Everything's gone. Even the need for vengeance."

Alex tilted his head back and laughed. "Oh, that's rich. There's hate right there at the surface, Marita, don't even try to deny it. And where there's hatred, there's some kind of desire...and where there's desire, there's at least a thousand other things." He shook his head, disgusted. They were just wasting time discussing the finer points of her emotions, and it really couldn't have mattered less to him...

He took a step closer, pressed his body against her. His body didn't care about discussion or the fact that her eyes were beginning to darken and chill further. Didn't even care about the fact that her skin was cold despite the stifling humidity of the room, the warmth of her suit, the heat he was trying to generate between them.

My mind doesn't care either, he reminded himself, and ground his body against hers.

"If you're really feeling empty..." he whispered in her ear, "I could give you something. Something to fill you up. I haven't been with a woman in months, so I could probably give you a whole lot of whatever it is you're trying to pretend you don't want."

"Wait till we get back to the States," she said coldly, before turning away from him. "Give it to a whore."

Alex laughed again, huskily. "You're as good a whore as any streetwalker in America, Marita. Why should I wait?" He crowded back against her, pressing her body between his and the window, rubbing against her. His body hardened more as he felt her skin begin to warm, and he thought for a moment that he would lose his control right there. But he clenched his teeth and held on, then let out a long breath.

"My fellow inmates figured out what you are," he whispered. "And they weren't exactly the brightest crew. Did you understand any of what they were saying to you? Did you know that they were telling you..." He moved even closer, wrapping his arm across her stomach and pressing his lips against her neck, just below her ear. "Did you know they were telling you to get down on your knees and suck? That all you needed to do was bend over and they'd take you till you passed out beneath them? Did you hear the way they talked about you?"

That got him the reaction he wanted--her spine stiffened sharply, even as she shuddered with obvious revulsion, and he chuckled. She was sure to be hating him now...

Slowly, giving her time to object, he pulled her skirt up, bunching it around her waist. The windowsill was pretty high--probably digging into her stomach a little as he pressed his weight against her--and the crowd below was bustling in the late afternoon heat, too busy to look up at them, but it was still a huge thrill...

He met her gaze in the almost mirrorlike surface of the window and bared his teeth in a false smile, then reached around and unzipped the fly of the jeans she had supplied him with earlier. When he had freed himself, he worked her nylons and her thin silk underwear down, slowly, tracing her skin with just the tips of his fingers, waiting for her to object to his touch. But she didn't say anything.

Then he rubbed his cock against her soft skin, enjoying it, waiting. She swallowed, closed her eyes, but still remained silent. So he slipped a hand around her and pressed his fingers up, between her thighs, close to the center but not...quite...touching it.

"Say something, Marita," he whispered. "Come on. You know I'm not going to hurt you...unless you want me to..." He pushed his hand up and she spread her legs a little, just enough.

She was wet. Totally soaked, thick with liquid.

Surprised, Alex froze, but then he chuckled deep in his chest. "Feels like you do want it," he said before sliding his hand free. He trailed his fingers up, spreading her moisture along the curve of her neck and then licked it up slowly. Then he pressed himself against her even more firmly...

"The body lives," she said coldly, but her breath caught. Alex sank his teeth into her neck, feeling her pulse pound. Victory, he thought, and pushed his fingers back inside her.

"The body...wants to fuck," he murmured in her ear before taking her lobe between his teeth and biting down, gently at first and then more firmly when she held her breath for a second.

"And it doesn't bother you that they took my soul?" she asked, and he met her gaze again in the glass.

"You've still got a soul, Marita," he said harshly. "Stop fucking whining. They took a lot from you...They took a lot from me too. They've taken from everyone; you're no different."

"I feel different," she replied, and then moved, as if she was going to back away--but he pinned her more firmly against the glass and curled his fingers...pressing...pressing...

Her eyes slid shut and her throat worked convulsively. He smiled and rolled his hips up against her. Widening his stance, he slipped his fingers out of her and trailed them across his burning skin, covering his heat with her thick warmth. Alex closed his eyes for a second, savoring...

And then he pressed the head of his cock against her and thrust forward, torturing himself by moving slowly, breaching her inch by painfully slow inch.

She moved, dropping her forehead against the glass and pressing her hands to the wall. Her legs spread a little further and he sank in deeper, all the way, touching bottom and holding there while she moaned, low and deep.

"Do you miss your soul?" he asked through gritted teeth, thrusting hard. She didn't say anything, just rolled her forehead against the glass and pushed back. So he pulled away from her, almost completely. "Do...you...miss your soul?" he asked again.

"Yes," she hissed. "You fucking bastard, yes, I miss it."

Alex clenched his jaw, fighting against the need to thrust, to tear in and pound her right through the glass. "I stopped missing mine," he said harshly. "That's how I know I lost it." He gave in and bucked back against her, listening as she moaned, watching her breath fog against the window as she jolted against him.

"I miss...mine..." she panted the words, over and over again, so he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tight against him. Sweat glued them together, soaked his shirt, scented the air...but he didn't care. He was enjoying it too much.

So good, he thought. As good as I remember, better--

But she kept whispering, even when he rotated his hips against her and pushed as high, as hard as he could go, sealing them together, touching her womb. He growled, sick of talking, sick of debating her soul or lack thereof.

"Shut up," he ordered her, then lowered his hand, spreading her open. He pinched her clit and held on tight as she bucked madly against him. "Shut up," he repeated, "and come."

It didn't surprise him that she did as ordered, that she tilted her head back with a long, low sigh and gave in. As soon as she began to convulse, he thrust harder, faster, pounding until the glass in the window rattled...and he broke.

Letting his body relax, he rested against her back. His chest was hot, his shirt soaked with sweat, and he was uncomfortably aware of her blouse, her skirt where it was bunched up around her hips. He could have sworn that he felt every strand of linen in her suit...

If he'd had enough energy, anyway. As it was, he could barely keep himself upright while he waited for his pulse to even out and his muscles to stop quivering.

"Feel alive now? Feel your soul?" he asked when he could breathe again.

"I hate you." Her voice was calm and detached but her skin was finally warm where it was bare against his. And when he met her gaze in the mirrored glass of the window, it was fire-hot, searing. So he just laughed before stepping back, his softening flesh protesting the move, the friction, by hardening teasingly.

"I hate you too," he told her before pulling her away from the window and drawing the thin curtains closed. She turned to face him then as he began to strip, and he swelled further under her stare.

He smiled at her in the near darkness. "I hate you, too," he repeated. "But you're an incredible fuck. And if the Cancerman sent you to come and fetch me from this little corner of Hell, he must trust you. You must have something he wants to use. I'd love to figure out what it is..."

She stared at him and he laughed. "How about this," he said, mind running quickly through a hundred different scenarios and options. "Let's hate each other and fuck and go crazy--and then take over. Get a little of Their power. It'll make us both feel better--"

"We tried all of that before, Alex, and look where it got me--"

He fisted his cock in his hand and pumped slowly, drawing her attention down. She won't be led by sex this time, he realized, noting how her eyes were hot but calm; her guard was still up. But lust had never hurt...

"So this time, we'll be smarter," he said. "We'll plan better. We'll want it more."

"You'll kill me when you have what *you* want," she murmured, looking back into his eyes.

"Oh, no, Marita," he murmured. "Not me. *He'll* kill you, no doubt about that...as soon as you've outlived your usefulness to him, you'll be worthless. You'll be dead. Unless, of course--maybe he'll give you back to Them. Who knows?"

She paled quickly, and he knew--just *knew*--that he was going to get what he wanted. Whatever he wanted.

"I'd never give you to Them," he said silkily, taking a step toward her. "I won't give up the best sex I've had in years." That much was actually true--he wasn't sure that he'd let her share the power, but he wouldn't kill her...

"You left me to die," she said, her bitterness very evident

"And now I'm asking you to help me kill the ones who hurt you." He shrugged and went to sit on the bed. He hated the rough material of the spread but loved the way the smell of sex hung heavy in the air, the way his cock was pounding, the way his mouth was watering with the desire to taste her.

"I'll even let you hurt me," he murmured, and smiled. "If you want to, you can try to fuck me to death."

Marita finally moved then, smoothing her skirt back down over her hips but not bothering with her nylons and the thin strip of silk that had masqueraded as underwear. But instead of coming to him, she turned away. Moved to the window, reopened the curtains and went back to her vigil.

Alex shrugged again and lay down, idly stroking himself. She can ignore me all she wants, he thought, studying the cobwebs in the corners. But she knows it as well as I do...it'll take no effort for me to get her exactly where I want her, exactly where I like her best. She wants to be avenged, wants to be part of my little coup...

He closed his eyes and cleared her from his mind, focusing on the idea of killing the Cancerman, of finally taking what he wanted, what he had meant all along to have.

Oh yeah, he thought before drifting off into sleep and what he hoped would be vivid dreams of triumph. It doesn't get much better than this...

This was fun, and I think I should do it more often. :) What do you think? My mailbox is open to comments... Thanks for reading!