Blissful Deceit


Summary: Sometimes the truth doesn't measure up
Rating: R
Story Notes: Futurefic
Disclaimer: Property of others
Site:Consummate Love

Her fingers trailed light, absentminded circles over his bare chest as the ocean breeze blew in the open shutters, cooling the hot air and their hotter bodies. This moment was just another manifestation of sameness . . . of comforting habit . . . of soothing routine . . . that they both craved. Their lives were defined by twisted sheets, tangled bodies, sunny climes, escapes, and lies.

"Lie to me," she said, her voice low and unintentionally sexy in its post-coital drowsiness as her head lay in the crook of his arm, her long hair tangled around both of them.

He was silent for a moment, considering the options.

"He once told me that just the thought of being able to lie with you like this after making love to you put his soul in danger."

She purred in approval, and snuggled in closer despite the heat.

The sun reflected brightly off of the rolling waves that lapped up against them as they lay head-to-head on the wet sand, their bodies a deep bronze color from countless other days just like this one. The roar of the ocean was the only sound that rang in their ears for hours, but she wasn't startled when she heard his voice break the loud silence.

"Lie to me," he demanded, and she could feel his voice reverberate into her skull, the vibrations combining with the water lapping against her to create a delicately nuanced symphony in her ears.

"He said that even when he was starving and going insane at the bottom of the ocean, he knew it would be you who saved him," she said, and smiled in happiness when she heard his contented sigh blend into the other sounds in her head.

He watched her as she picked up a tangerine from the vendor's cart and squeezed it gently to check its ripeness.

She pulled the rind away from the succulent fruit, ripped it into quarters, and bit into the flesh, her perfectly white teeth a sharp contrast against the glistening orange. Juice squirted from her mouth and dribbled, unchecked, down her chin and her giggle attracted the attention of the vendor, who gave the small blonde woman wearing a bikini top and sarong a smile of appreciation before waving away the money that the man who was with her was offering.

They continued their stroll through the bustling marketplace, the tangerine slowly disappearing into her mouth until all that was left was the lingering smell of fresh citrus that puffed out with her breath. When she made an abrupt stop, her gaze intently fixed on something in the distance, it took him a moment to identify the cause of her fading smile. Then he saw them, the crying girl holding tightly to the arm of the dark, handsome man who was resolutely walking away, his face refusing to betray his emotions. And then the young man was free of her grasp, and the girl crumbled to the dirt below her, oblivious to the throng of people around her.

Her eyes met his, a silent plea emanating from their grey-green depths.

"He said he was a fool for ever leaving you," he lied as he lifted his hand to her face, cupped her chin, and brushed his thumb softly over her sticky sweet lips before leaning in to taste her.

She licked her lips when he was done, and reached over to fit her small hand inside his as they continued walking, stepping absently around the quivering body of the girl who still knelt in the dirt of the street, long after the young man was gone.

Vampires, demons, unholy creatures of the night . . . they were everywhere and the fight was never over. They fought back-to-back in the crowded alley behind the reggae club where they had danced and drank late into the night. They were still dancing, but this time it was with death and destruction and destiny.

She staked the last vamp in front of her and turned to see him lying on the ground, trapped and choking beneath one very large vampire. When the grip on his throat vanished, when the air rush backed into him, and before the dust finished settling, he leapt to his feet and roared with rage.

"Lie to me," he snapped, grabbing her roughly by the arms and pulling her flush against his tense, hard body.

She knew what made his face cloud over in anger, knew his insecurity, and knew that it was unfounded. Still, she gave him what he needed.

"He told me that you were his best fighter, that your research skills were matched by your fighting skills and that he always felt more confident when you were battling by his side. He trusted you with his life."

He attacked her lips with his own, pulling at them roughly with his teeth until she opened her mouth to him. He was hungry for her and her lies.

The rain poured from the weeping sky in sheets of wet, cooling freshness as he sat in a chair in their cottage, an ancient book open in his hands. The smell of the rain combined with the musty fragrance of the book and he inhaled deeply, strangely comforted by the smells that reminded him of his youth when memories of his youth weren't comforting at all.

He glanced down to where she sat on the floor between his legs, and silently watched her watch the rain fall on the sand and combine with the roiling waves until the sky and ocean disappeared into each other as they met on the horizon.

"Lie to me?" she whispered, and he wonders why he had to wait for her to ask. Gently closing the book and setting it aside, he slid down the edge of the chair until he was seated on the floor behind her. He reached forward and brushed her hair back from her ear before leaning in to murmur her favorite lie.

"He loved it when it rained. He said it reminded him of the best night of his life."

She leaned back against him in response, snuggling her head under his chin. He doesn't have to see her face to know that her frown has relaxed, or that the haunted look has left her eyes.

"He's found us again," she sighed, her glossy pink lips turning down into a slight frown.

He didn't have to ask who had found them, or how she knew. She could always feel him . . . a tingle low in her spine, a sharp pull at her heart, and the connection had only grown stronger over the years. Jealousy bubbled up into his throat and he could taste the envy, but as usual, he couldn't really identify what he resented-that she could feel him as though they were eternally connected in some unbreakable way, or that he himself couldn't feel him the same way. He didn't tell her, though . . . he never told her.

"I'd like to see the Riviera," he said instead.

She nodded, absently as though she didn't really hear what he said. "Hurry," she commanded, her voice rising slightly in panic.

They were gone before sunset, their meager belongings quickly packed into two suitcases, and this was comforting in its sameness too.

He always came after them . . . their own obsession stalking them, a ghost who offered them a reality.

They preferred the lies.