after.midnight // v.naked
FANDOM: Witchblade: The Series
FEEDBACK: But of course.
SUMMARY: A late night rendezvous a la Sara and Nottingham.
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Top Cow and TNT. I'm just playing in their sandbox.
NOTE: I told myself I wasn't going to do this, but I'm a slave to my obsessions and Sara and Ian happen to be one of them. My first Witchblade fic. I'm sure it will not be my last.
She can feel him, the power of his essence surrounds her, and she knows he's there, in the shadows, always watching, ever patient. She finds peace in his presence, something deep inside telling her that he will never hurt her, that her trust is safe with him. But the part of her that is the hunter, the part of her that fights for justice, for good, knows better. Knows that he is the enemy, and trusting him will lead her to her death.
It is that part of her, the more substantial part, that makes her turn around, her eyes searching the night, alert and ready for battle. She feels him stronger now, with each step he takes toward her, and all peace is shattered as other emotions rush to the fore.
Fear. Power. Lust. Anger. Need.
There's a rush of heat from the Witchblade and then the memories come, unbidden and unwanted, just like her dreams.
///The warmth of fire. His skin slick against hers. Her fingers running through his hair. His lips, on the place where her pulse races just below her ear, the line of her jaw, and, finally, her lips. The chill of cold steel, screams of agony, shouts of victory. The familiar feel of him inside her, them becoming one. Cries of ecstasy, his and hers. The rightness of that feeling, more powerful than anything else. Rivers of blood, coating the steel blade in the deep color of red. The look in his eyes as he takes all that she has to give, her passion, her body, her life. The feeling in her heart when he gives her all of him in return.///
His touch, light and fleeting, on her cheek chases away the past, startling her into the starkness of reality. He stands just inches from her, his eyes intent on hers, and she knows that she did not disappear into the past alone.
"What the hell is going on?" she asks, her voice breathless but edged with a mix of anger, confusion, and frustration. "What are they trying to tell me?"
The dreams have been coming with more frequency, every time she accesses the power of the Witchblade. Images from times long past, knights in armor, masses of people screaming for her death, the heat of the flames as they engulfed her body, the sound of her voice crying out in pain. Every night brings a different scene, different memories of a thousand pasts, but one thing remains the same, constant and unchanging. Always the two of them. Always together. Always.
Even when she dreams of them in the here and now.
"Don't fight them, Sara," he says softly, his voice low and hypnotic. "They teach you what you need to know."
But she doesn't want to learn, doesn't want the burden of the power that she wields. She doesn't want to want him, doesn't want the knowledge that what she feels for him is as much a part of her as the ancient bracelet she wears on her wrist.
"It's destiny, Sara," he says, and she closes her eyes, feeling the warmth of his lips against her cheek, hears his softly spoken words both in the present and the past. "And no matter how hard you try, you can't fight destiny."
She feels the phantom touch of his lips against hers, remembers the very real feel of his kiss in the distant past, and then he's gone, as swiftly and as silently as he arrived, leaving her standing alone in the darkness, contemplating her destiny.