К сожалению, в английском не сильна, поэтому выкладываю оригинал. Если кто-нибудь возьмется перевести, буду весьма признательна
Author: luxuria_oceanus
Written for: prompt_in_a_box
Round #6, Prompt #10: "If that's what you want."
Word Count: 2,232 (According to MW)
Genre: Angst and light Smut. Someone SHOOT me now!
Rating: NC-17 (it wasn’t even supposed to BE NC-17, but it’s not that hardcore)
Warnings: Sex, sort of exhibitionist too (that’s what happens when you do it against a see through shop door)
Fandom: The Tarot Café
Pairing: Pamela/Belus with a tiny angsty hint of Pamela/Ash
Summary: Pamela receives a midnight visit from the man who broke her heart, only to be followed by the man who insists on mending it.
Timeline: After the conclusion of Tarot Café (the 7th volume) so spoilers for everything is obvious, since I wrote it so that if anyone doesn't know the fandom, at least gets to know/understand the main points of what is going (and went) on.
Author's Note: Wow, now this is a pairing I never thought I’d write for. Not because I don’t like it, trust me, I do; I just never thought I’d write for them, y’know? Plus, the fact I lent the series to my friend when I wrote it kind of made me feel I was writing some things wrong, but oh well, worth a try! I’m happy with it (hell, Pamela/Belus smut? Of course I’m happy!)
(ссылка на ресурс)
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читать дальшеPamela presses another chocolate piece to her tongue, savoring the only taste that has never grown old in spite of the hundred of years that have passed.
The café is closed, but not locked and the day has passed by uneventfully, yet something about today is different... something in the air. Maybe it’s a warning—not for danger, but something else.
She could have read her own fortune, asked of the cards what the wind could not voice, but she found herself too cowardly for this and decided to let whatever is coming arrive in a surprise box.
What’s the worst that could happen? Her death? That’d be a gift.
The bells of the front door echo in the room and she doesn’t need to look up, knowing what kind of costumers the night brings her.
“I hear you take special customers after midnight.”
It’s his voice—not the words—that makes her look up, that musical voice so soft and alluring. It forces her to remember him differently than the constant image that still plagues her nightmares, the bloody corpse she once held in her arms.
“Ash,” the whisper escapes her throat, but she knows it hadn’t been loud enough to be heard by him. She clears her throat, shuffling her deck and keeping her eyes on the table.
“And what makes you think you’re special?” There is an air of detachment in her voice, but she knows it’s ready to crack at any moment.
She knows there isn’t anything special about him anymore. He is no longer a dragon, but a human; Belus had had no choice but to give him that, his part of the contract and in turn, Pamela had been forsaken to a life of immortality because she didn’t fulfill her side of the contract. She could not be responsible for Ash’s death, not again.
She could not kill him, not then, even though justice demanded it to be so. Wouldn’t it have been fair? She had just found out that he had given her away to a demon as a chess piece by signing a contract that forfeited his dragon heart and promised the first drops of blood to Pamela, forsaking her to a life of immortality while he roamed free as a mortal, away from her.
And all that time, she thought he had died to protect her, because he loved her, and she spent many agonizing years trying to find a way to kill herself so she could join him. That’s what led her to the contract that would end her life in exchange for beads from Belial’s necklace. The fact that Ash’s soul held the final bead meant she had to choose.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
Ash had fooled her, cursed her and set her aside. She had spent her life believing he loved her, knowing she loved him, thinking she was responsible for his death and living immortality trying to find a way to join him in death. Wouldn’t it have been justice?
Perhaps… but not for her.
“I heard you can answer questions others might not be able to answer, questions that don’t even exist yet.” He sits across from her and she is so tempted to search his eyes, to see whether they recognize her more than they usually did. To him she is probably just a ghost, someone that awakens feelings of guilt and regret, but nothing that triggers any memories, just feelings.
“You don’t strike me as the type of person who believes in this sort of thing,” she breathes, remembering a fact he told him long ago.
“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?”
She almost smiles, a cynical smile, because she knows that it actually does and probably could. She finally looks at him, his perfect auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, making his face look more angelic in the dim light of the café.
“Let’s see, shall we?”
She draws the first card, unsurprised by the result, “Something about your past is troubling you, it’s reaching out, are you sure you want to open the door?”
He says nothing and she keeps her gaze on the table, not wanting to see the answer in his eyes. She draws another card and it hurts more than the first.
“You don’t want to open the door,” she sighs, “You wish it wouldn’t exist, that your life could be lived without the weight of what you’re carrying.”
“Tell me how to be rid of it,” he finally speaks and his words bring her eyes to him with clear alarm.
‘You want to know how to kill me,’ she almost asks, but instead draws another card. She smiles, ‘Of course, human emotions are so new to him.’
“You can’t. Emotions can’t be erased, only dealt with, and this one runs deep. Do you see this card? It means that the weight that you carry is your own doing, your own actions, and no one can take responsibility for it but you.”
He says nothing, but searches her eyes, making her feel exposed to one of the many mind tricks he had once subjected her to.
“Thank you,” he stands from his chair, pushing his hand in his pockets.
“Please—it’s on the house, part of the ‘special’ customers package.”
He says nothing, simply stares at her for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, before he finally heads for the door.
“You never did answer my question,” she almost kicks herself for asking, but she knows she’d hate herself later for not trying, “What makes you think you’re special?”
“My dreams, they make no sense to me, yet feel so real, and you... you’re in every one.” He doesn’t look back as he says this, leaving his words behind as he finally exits the café.
Pamela is left with only a lump in her throat and a constant pain in her heart.
‘He remembers.’
“Pamela?” She hears his voice behind her, concern and something else... guilt, such a popular feeling these days.
“Belus, how many times do I have to tell you? Stay out of the room when I’m with a customer,” she presses her fingertips against her temple, taming the migraine that threatens to come.
“He didn’t see me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she takes a stand, walking behind the counter to make herself some hot chocolate. “What was he doing here, Belus?” She can’t help the accusation that is laced in her tone.
He hears it very well, “How should I know?”
He leans on the counter across from her, strands of his blonde hair falling softly on his forehead, making her recall of a night when her hands were intertwined in them... before she knew who he really was, what he really was. Belial, the dark prince who condemned her mother’s soul while taking her own.
“Because it’s always you,” she rolls her eyes at him as he reaches under the counter for another empty cup and pours himself some hot chocolate out of habit.
He smiles before bringing it to his lips, “You’ve always been the only one to see through me.”
“A talent I’d gladly give away, trust me,” she mutters, closing her eyes as she brings her own cup to her lips before setting it down. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you sending him dreams of me? Of us?” She tries to keep herself calm. It wouldn’t do any good to throw him her drink. One, it would be a damn good waste, and lastly, it wouldn’t cause him much harm.
“The truth?”
“Are you capable of it?”
His lips twitch into a smile, but only for a second, before he answers. “I wanted to know... if he could love you in this form.”
The answer takes her by surprise and she’s too shocked to speak, so he goes on.
“If by letting him know all he did to you and all you did for him, maybe now that he can love, he would finally see in you what... what I see in you. But I underestimated his own love for himself,” he sighs, almost amused by the fact, but Pamela is not amused. If anything, her heart seems to be breaking even more, if that is even possible.
“Erase his memories of me, all of them, in this life and the last. No sick experiment of yours is worth reliving those memories,” she pours the left over chocolate in the sink, to avoid using it as a weapon.
“If that's what you want,” she hears him whisper.
“Yes, that’s what I want.” She throws him a cross look, anger flashing in her eyes and she notices that his face is blank, void of all emotion.
What is he thinking?
“I’m sorry. I simply wanted to give you a chance at happiness.”
She blinks and then laughs, though what she’s thinking is not in any shape or form, amusing.
“Give me a chance at happiness? I think you destroyed that happiness when you came into my life so there’s no point on trying to redeem yourself now.”
She walks to the front door, ready to lock the shop once and for all when she hears his voice inches away from her, feeling his breath on her neck.
“Do you want me to leave?”
To that, she has no answer. She simply stands there, frozen, the lock already turned and in place. She knew he could leave without using the front door if he wanted.
No, she doesn’t want Belus to leave, but she wishes... She wishes Belial would never have existed. Belus she could learn to forgive, to accept, but Belial she cannot forgive. How cruel it is to know that they are both one and the same.
He turns her around, pinning her shoulders to the door and she lifts her chin defiantly at him, glaring into his eyes with the same intensity he seems to be burying into hers.
He leans in and she turns her face, refusing to let him do this, so he presses his cheek against hers and breathes her in, making her knees go weak. She tries to push him off, does a really good job on the first try, but it only makes him seize her arms and pin them above her head.
“Let me go,” she squirms against his body because now he’s close, too close, and she hates that she wants him to be that close.
“Not until you tell me to go away,” he whispers into her ear, his lips pressed against her earlobe, making her body betray her every thought.
“Go away,” she growls.
He adds, “And make me believe it.”
He keeps one hand above her head, in perfect control of her arms, while the other ventures down her right arm, caressing every part of her skin until settling itself on her hip and a moan betrays her lips before she can stop it.
He turns her head to face him and she knows her eyes are telling him more than she wants him to know, so that when his hand travels inside her skirt, he is not surprised by his find.
She bites her lip, squirming again and moving her legs to keep his hand there, but he pulls it out and presses it on his lips with a smile she sees as cruel.
“I told you I’d never let you go,” he whispers, and she remembers.
Oh, she remembers.
She doesn’t know how her arms came to land around his shoulders or how her legs were pulled around his waist, but all she does know is that if anyone were to pass by the café at that very moment they would see her naked ass planted against the see through door, pinned by the man who’s carrying her firmly in his arms.
He is as tender as she remembers, exploring each corner of her skin with his lips and fingertips, letting his member rest inside her before pulling out and pushing in, never in a hurry, always patient to a fault.
Her breathing comes with whimpers when she feels that she can’t wait any longer, that the feel of him simply filling her isn’t enough and she wants more, so much more.
The bells on the door begin to ring out of control and it almost sounds like the door is going to break against them so she keeps her hold tighter around him, feeling herself at the edge of a knife, quite literally, when the spasms begin to overtake her body.
He calls her name before taking her to the floor with him and she slides away from him, breathing hard and positively spent from a night that she’s sure to regret in the morning.
She curls up on the floor, torn between laughing and crying, perhaps a mixture of both.
“Pamela?” His voice is always so tender to her and it shouldn’t be. The demon that destroyed her life shouldn’t be allowed that kind of affection for her.
“Go away,” she whispers, her eyes closed and she pushes her skirt back down, trying to cover the mound of flesh he’s already seen.
And she hears him leave, making the tears easier to come.
This time, he believed her, and she wonders if he’d be coming back.
Does she want him to?
Author: luxuria_oceanus
Written for: prompt_in_a_box
Round #6, Prompt #10: "If that's what you want."
Word Count: 2,232 (According to MW)
Genre: Angst and light Smut. Someone SHOOT me now!
Rating: NC-17 (it wasn’t even supposed to BE NC-17, but it’s not that hardcore)
Warnings: Sex, sort of exhibitionist too (that’s what happens when you do it against a see through shop door)
Fandom: The Tarot Café
Pairing: Pamela/Belus with a tiny angsty hint of Pamela/Ash
Summary: Pamela receives a midnight visit from the man who broke her heart, only to be followed by the man who insists on mending it.
Timeline: After the conclusion of Tarot Café (the 7th volume) so spoilers for everything is obvious, since I wrote it so that if anyone doesn't know the fandom, at least gets to know/understand the main points of what is going (and went) on.
Author's Note: Wow, now this is a pairing I never thought I’d write for. Not because I don’t like it, trust me, I do; I just never thought I’d write for them, y’know? Plus, the fact I lent the series to my friend when I wrote it kind of made me feel I was writing some things wrong, but oh well, worth a try! I’m happy with it (hell, Pamela/Belus smut? Of course I’m happy!)
(ссылка на ресурс)
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читать дальшеPamela presses another chocolate piece to her tongue, savoring the only taste that has never grown old in spite of the hundred of years that have passed.
The café is closed, but not locked and the day has passed by uneventfully, yet something about today is different... something in the air. Maybe it’s a warning—not for danger, but something else.
She could have read her own fortune, asked of the cards what the wind could not voice, but she found herself too cowardly for this and decided to let whatever is coming arrive in a surprise box.
What’s the worst that could happen? Her death? That’d be a gift.
The bells of the front door echo in the room and she doesn’t need to look up, knowing what kind of costumers the night brings her.
“I hear you take special customers after midnight.”
It’s his voice—not the words—that makes her look up, that musical voice so soft and alluring. It forces her to remember him differently than the constant image that still plagues her nightmares, the bloody corpse she once held in her arms.
“Ash,” the whisper escapes her throat, but she knows it hadn’t been loud enough to be heard by him. She clears her throat, shuffling her deck and keeping her eyes on the table.
“And what makes you think you’re special?” There is an air of detachment in her voice, but she knows it’s ready to crack at any moment.
She knows there isn’t anything special about him anymore. He is no longer a dragon, but a human; Belus had had no choice but to give him that, his part of the contract and in turn, Pamela had been forsaken to a life of immortality because she didn’t fulfill her side of the contract. She could not be responsible for Ash’s death, not again.
She could not kill him, not then, even though justice demanded it to be so. Wouldn’t it have been fair? She had just found out that he had given her away to a demon as a chess piece by signing a contract that forfeited his dragon heart and promised the first drops of blood to Pamela, forsaking her to a life of immortality while he roamed free as a mortal, away from her.
And all that time, she thought he had died to protect her, because he loved her, and she spent many agonizing years trying to find a way to kill herself so she could join him. That’s what led her to the contract that would end her life in exchange for beads from Belial’s necklace. The fact that Ash’s soul held the final bead meant she had to choose.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
Ash had fooled her, cursed her and set her aside. She had spent her life believing he loved her, knowing she loved him, thinking she was responsible for his death and living immortality trying to find a way to join him in death. Wouldn’t it have been justice?
Perhaps… but not for her.
“I heard you can answer questions others might not be able to answer, questions that don’t even exist yet.” He sits across from her and she is so tempted to search his eyes, to see whether they recognize her more than they usually did. To him she is probably just a ghost, someone that awakens feelings of guilt and regret, but nothing that triggers any memories, just feelings.
“You don’t strike me as the type of person who believes in this sort of thing,” she breathes, remembering a fact he told him long ago.
“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?”
She almost smiles, a cynical smile, because she knows that it actually does and probably could. She finally looks at him, his perfect auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, making his face look more angelic in the dim light of the café.
“Let’s see, shall we?”
She draws the first card, unsurprised by the result, “Something about your past is troubling you, it’s reaching out, are you sure you want to open the door?”
He says nothing and she keeps her gaze on the table, not wanting to see the answer in his eyes. She draws another card and it hurts more than the first.
“You don’t want to open the door,” she sighs, “You wish it wouldn’t exist, that your life could be lived without the weight of what you’re carrying.”
“Tell me how to be rid of it,” he finally speaks and his words bring her eyes to him with clear alarm.
‘You want to know how to kill me,’ she almost asks, but instead draws another card. She smiles, ‘Of course, human emotions are so new to him.’
“You can’t. Emotions can’t be erased, only dealt with, and this one runs deep. Do you see this card? It means that the weight that you carry is your own doing, your own actions, and no one can take responsibility for it but you.”
He says nothing, but searches her eyes, making her feel exposed to one of the many mind tricks he had once subjected her to.
“Thank you,” he stands from his chair, pushing his hand in his pockets.
“Please—it’s on the house, part of the ‘special’ customers package.”
He says nothing, simply stares at her for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, before he finally heads for the door.
“You never did answer my question,” she almost kicks herself for asking, but she knows she’d hate herself later for not trying, “What makes you think you’re special?”
“My dreams, they make no sense to me, yet feel so real, and you... you’re in every one.” He doesn’t look back as he says this, leaving his words behind as he finally exits the café.
Pamela is left with only a lump in her throat and a constant pain in her heart.
‘He remembers.’
“Pamela?” She hears his voice behind her, concern and something else... guilt, such a popular feeling these days.
“Belus, how many times do I have to tell you? Stay out of the room when I’m with a customer,” she presses her fingertips against her temple, taming the migraine that threatens to come.
“He didn’t see me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she takes a stand, walking behind the counter to make herself some hot chocolate. “What was he doing here, Belus?” She can’t help the accusation that is laced in her tone.
He hears it very well, “How should I know?”
He leans on the counter across from her, strands of his blonde hair falling softly on his forehead, making her recall of a night when her hands were intertwined in them... before she knew who he really was, what he really was. Belial, the dark prince who condemned her mother’s soul while taking her own.
“Because it’s always you,” she rolls her eyes at him as he reaches under the counter for another empty cup and pours himself some hot chocolate out of habit.
He smiles before bringing it to his lips, “You’ve always been the only one to see through me.”
“A talent I’d gladly give away, trust me,” she mutters, closing her eyes as she brings her own cup to her lips before setting it down. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you sending him dreams of me? Of us?” She tries to keep herself calm. It wouldn’t do any good to throw him her drink. One, it would be a damn good waste, and lastly, it wouldn’t cause him much harm.
“The truth?”
“Are you capable of it?”
His lips twitch into a smile, but only for a second, before he answers. “I wanted to know... if he could love you in this form.”
The answer takes her by surprise and she’s too shocked to speak, so he goes on.
“If by letting him know all he did to you and all you did for him, maybe now that he can love, he would finally see in you what... what I see in you. But I underestimated his own love for himself,” he sighs, almost amused by the fact, but Pamela is not amused. If anything, her heart seems to be breaking even more, if that is even possible.
“Erase his memories of me, all of them, in this life and the last. No sick experiment of yours is worth reliving those memories,” she pours the left over chocolate in the sink, to avoid using it as a weapon.
“If that's what you want,” she hears him whisper.
“Yes, that’s what I want.” She throws him a cross look, anger flashing in her eyes and she notices that his face is blank, void of all emotion.
What is he thinking?
“I’m sorry. I simply wanted to give you a chance at happiness.”
She blinks and then laughs, though what she’s thinking is not in any shape or form, amusing.
“Give me a chance at happiness? I think you destroyed that happiness when you came into my life so there’s no point on trying to redeem yourself now.”
She walks to the front door, ready to lock the shop once and for all when she hears his voice inches away from her, feeling his breath on her neck.
“Do you want me to leave?”
To that, she has no answer. She simply stands there, frozen, the lock already turned and in place. She knew he could leave without using the front door if he wanted.
No, she doesn’t want Belus to leave, but she wishes... She wishes Belial would never have existed. Belus she could learn to forgive, to accept, but Belial she cannot forgive. How cruel it is to know that they are both one and the same.
He turns her around, pinning her shoulders to the door and she lifts her chin defiantly at him, glaring into his eyes with the same intensity he seems to be burying into hers.
He leans in and she turns her face, refusing to let him do this, so he presses his cheek against hers and breathes her in, making her knees go weak. She tries to push him off, does a really good job on the first try, but it only makes him seize her arms and pin them above her head.
“Let me go,” she squirms against his body because now he’s close, too close, and she hates that she wants him to be that close.
“Not until you tell me to go away,” he whispers into her ear, his lips pressed against her earlobe, making her body betray her every thought.
“Go away,” she growls.
He adds, “And make me believe it.”
He keeps one hand above her head, in perfect control of her arms, while the other ventures down her right arm, caressing every part of her skin until settling itself on her hip and a moan betrays her lips before she can stop it.
He turns her head to face him and she knows her eyes are telling him more than she wants him to know, so that when his hand travels inside her skirt, he is not surprised by his find.
She bites her lip, squirming again and moving her legs to keep his hand there, but he pulls it out and presses it on his lips with a smile she sees as cruel.
“I told you I’d never let you go,” he whispers, and she remembers.
Oh, she remembers.
She doesn’t know how her arms came to land around his shoulders or how her legs were pulled around his waist, but all she does know is that if anyone were to pass by the café at that very moment they would see her naked ass planted against the see through door, pinned by the man who’s carrying her firmly in his arms.
He is as tender as she remembers, exploring each corner of her skin with his lips and fingertips, letting his member rest inside her before pulling out and pushing in, never in a hurry, always patient to a fault.
Her breathing comes with whimpers when she feels that she can’t wait any longer, that the feel of him simply filling her isn’t enough and she wants more, so much more.
The bells on the door begin to ring out of control and it almost sounds like the door is going to break against them so she keeps her hold tighter around him, feeling herself at the edge of a knife, quite literally, when the spasms begin to overtake her body.
He calls her name before taking her to the floor with him and she slides away from him, breathing hard and positively spent from a night that she’s sure to regret in the morning.
She curls up on the floor, torn between laughing and crying, perhaps a mixture of both.
“Pamela?” His voice is always so tender to her and it shouldn’t be. The demon that destroyed her life shouldn’t be allowed that kind of affection for her.
“Go away,” she whispers, her eyes closed and she pushes her skirt back down, trying to cover the mound of flesh he’s already seen.
And she hears him leave, making the tears easier to come.
This time, he believed her, and she wonders if he’d be coming back.
Does she want him to?
@темы: Белус - князь Пандемониума, фанфикшен, Памела
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21.01.2011 в 11:09