Like Twisted Metal in Your Mouth
Hurricanes are Gentle
LIKE TWISTED METAL IN YOUR MOUTH
“Love casts itself upon people who, apart from sex, would be hateful contemptible, and even abhorrent to us…” (Schopenhauer)
It’s something everyone has experienced at some point in one form or another. Sometimes it’s warm and illuminating, sometimes, it’s like a cold shower, a shock to the system. For you, however, it hits like a runway concrete truck. The moment of clarity. The terrible moment in time in which we become acutely aware of the true nature of our circumstance. The true scope of our situation. It never fails to be a humbling experience, though more often than not, wakes us to a reality we were ill prepared to face.
You inhale deep and breathe the fire out your lungs. You knew under normal circumstances she would throw a fit if she knew you were smoking in her boutique. But the stench of sweat and lust clung to the air more thickly than any cigarette smoke ever could. You could smoke a thousand packs and it wouldn’t rid the room of the single most overpowering smell smoldering inside your nostrils.
Shame
You lay in the massive bed staring at the intricate well decorated ceiling. Her body was pressed against your side enjoying the warmth your form offered her. But it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. At the moment you it only felt wrong…parasitic. You were there to keep her bed warm. Nothing more.
It felt like years you pined after the seamstresses with the royal violet locks. She was, in your mind, perfect. Charming, Generous, Caring, Drop-dead gorgeous…
…Manipulative, an inner voice reminded.
You took another drag on the cigarette.
It was a regrettable, the way her previous relationship ended. If you could really call it a relationship to begin with…
You hated to admit there was a small part of you that celebrated the…distancing between Rarity and Spike. You liked him honestly. He was a good man. Honest, loyal, carefree and boyish. But your mind was clouded by your infatuation with Rarity. In your mind she could do no wrong. And you instinctively vilified the younger man.
In the end he was just as much a victim as you. You saw her string him along like a dog on a leash time and time again. A flirtatious wink or a subtle teasing phrase and she’d have him digging for gems until his fingers bled. He was a convenience for her. You had no doubt she cared for him to some extent. But to say she wasn’t taking advantage of the drake would be a flat out lie and you knew it.
If anything you were jealous of him. She had the poor fellow in her thrall for years. At least he had enough spine to break the spell.
You couldn’t claim as much.
She was using you.
You knew it.
The worst part was that you had done nothing to stop it. You knew what was happening as she drew you to her room, as she pushed you onto the cushioned sheets of her bed, as her lips pressed against yours. They were soft and delicate, just as your fantasies had always implied.
They didn’t taste like honey or berries. No electricity flew between you… they tasted like nothing. Just...nothing.
~~~~~
You had been working for the seamstress for almost two years now. You were handy enough with a needle and thread, but it was Rarity who masterminded the designs. Your talents were focused more on marketing and accounting than true fashion. Although Rarity was a talented businesswoman in her own right, her expanding empire of boutiques required the inclusion of additional hands.
“Welcome to the Coursel- Spike!” She perked up as the draconian man strode inside the storefront. The seamstress beamed as she practically bounced from her desk toward him. The once small boyish teen had grown into a fine young man. From the muttered words you gathered from the ladies around town, he was quite the catch.
“....Hey Rarity…” Spike replied hesitantly, catching your ear. It was the tone of voice reserved for doctors delivering unwelcome news.
She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, making the drake blush and frown.
She clasped his hand in hers and began to lead him through the boutique. “I’m positively thrilled you’re here, darling. There are a few small favors I needed-”
“Rarity,” he interrupted, causing the woman to stop in her tracks at his tone.
She looked the young man up and down, curiously. “Whatever is the matter, dear?”
“We need to talk…” his voice was flat and serious, he turned reached over and flipped the Open sign to Closed.
Rarity cast an awkward glance around the boutique, her eyes desperately meeting yours for a fraction of a second. “W-What about, Spike?” Her voice becoming more frantic by the word.
Spike sighed. “...About us,” he said fatally.
That was all the justification you needed to extract yourself from the situation, finding it the perfect time to get up from your desk and retreat out the back for a much deserved smoke break. Rarity cast conspicuous glances as you fled the scene, knowing full well the shitstorm that was about to erupt.
You could hear the raised voices as you puffed on the cigarette, doing your best to understand and quell the swirling emotions in your stomach. You knew what was happening. You felt a very shameful nugget of excitement. Could this be your chance? Would the newly single Rarity finally notice your attraction? It would hurt for a time, you were certain. The wounds left by Spike would heal and when they did, you would be there. You allowed yourself to bask in your fantasy until the ember from the cigarette burned the shit out of your finger, causing you to swear and stomp out the offending butt.
You cast an attentive ear out and still overheard the two. The hot, angry, words were muffled but they were reason enough to light another cigarette and wait it out. It wasn’t your place to interfere.
The sound of the front door chime caught your attention. Spike strolled around the boutique, pausing when he saw you leaning against the railing. You shared a short unspoken conversation that only two men could understand. He shook his head, and you nodded understandingly. He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders, and carried on his way.
~~~~~
Your mind locked the little rational voice away and you submitted to her in every possible way. She wanted it rough, you were rough. Her teasing phrases were hollow but you heeded them like they were the word of God. With every thrust, every kiss, every touch you announced your love for her, using everything but words. Obedient in the perfect sense of the word.
She responded only reflexivley. You were a toy, little more than a conveniently love-sick puppy.
The whole time some small hopeful part your mind told you that some part of this was real. That maybe, just maybe, her lust had sprung from some seedling of affection.
It was a desperate lie your heart kept telling itself. From the soft feeling of her breath on your neck to the stinging pain of her nails digging into your back.
You were a means to an end, a device through which she achieved a chemical high that mimicked the feeling she had in her once happy relationship.
If you hadn’t been there she could have lured any man into her chambers. The beauty would have no trouble doing so.
Maybe that would have been better. Some lucky bloke wins a night with one of Ponyville’s most eligible bachelorettes, you’re spared this mental torture. At this point it seems like a win all around.
Her grip tightens around your chest and her soft cheek nuzzles your form affectionately. Delicate unintelligible murmurs escape her lips. In another time the sight would have filled your stomach with butterflies. Now all you can feel is pain lancing through your heart. You know somewhere deep in her dream state, it isn’t you she is pressed against.
It started off so naturally you might have actually mistaken it for a drunken one night stand. You offered to take her to the bar to get her mind off things. You almost dared to get excited when she agreed. It wasn’t a date. You actually had no intention of acting on your feelings. You merely hoped to see her break from the rut pitiful self loathing she had been wallowing in. You had no intention of making any sort of move on the beautiful girl. Someone who just had her heart broken.
Though it was no one’s fault but her own…
The voice in your head reminded once again. You wished it would stop. You wished you could just live in a happy blissful ignorant world where Rarity suddenly returned all the feelings you skillfully suppressed over the years. You wished it could have been real.
But it wasn’t…
You took her to a neutral little bar, doing your best to try and distract her or maybe even make her smile. God how you wished you could just get her to smile. She did her best to throw down as much mind numbing gut-rot liquor she could stand. Drinking like she’d just missed the last shuttle off a dying planet.
You tried not to let how heartbroken she was get to you. It was true. She led the young drake on for so long. So certain that he couldn’t possibly ever lose interest in her. So confident that she had all the time in the world to play the field, to weigh her options, knowing that he would be there to fall back on. So positive was she that right under her nose the hatchling grew into a fine young drake. When she was finally ready to claim Spike… he had already grown up, and he had grown up without her. A dog can only bark up the same unwavering tree for so long. She was clearly not used to rejection. The mascara streaks across her perfect cheeks were proof enough of that.
You hated him. You loved him for leaving Rarity. You hated him for hurting her. You loathed him for having the courage to get over her, to say ‘No’ to the toxic mare.
He was stronger than you…
When she angrily slammed her empty glass against the table, grabbing you by the tie and dragging you to the exit. The door to her boutique knocked open as she pushed you inside.
Don’t…
The casual observer would likely take it as casual rough play. But her movements were utilitarian, mechanical, she escorted you back to her place with the same level of interest as a postal worker delivering boxes.
Please don’t…
She slammed her lips against yours. Jamming her tongue into your mouth like one would turn the keys to start a car. There was no emotion behind the act. It was merely a necessary precursor. She needed it. You were the closest warm body.
You can stop it right now!
She was just proving something to herself. She needed to feel desired… worshiped. So clouded was you mind with lust and anger and alcohol that you gave in to any demand, any whim. The voice that screamed reason at you was nothing more than a whisper. It was lost in the confusion as your baser self took control. Bold direct and without restraint. The night divulged into flashes of heated breath, friction, lips, teeth, and sweat.
~~~~~
She murmured again in her sleep. The wonderful state of unconsciousness unfortunately eluded you. Your eyes wandered down to her form once more. You saw only the top of her bold violet locks while her head was buried into your chest. The soft silken sheets draped over her slender form made her almost seem vulnerable.
Maybe you were too eager to blame. She had no way of knowing how you really felt about her. To her it could have been two consenting adults enjoying a night together. Would she have still taken you to bed if she knew how genuine your interest in her was?
…She would have counted on it…
You winced at the thought. You mind still struggling to free the woman of any blame. She ‘loved you’ about as much as the vibrator she kept hidden away under the mattress.
So this was it, huh? This was unrequited love? This was what all those songs and tragic plays were written about?
To be honest it didn’t feel very grand. There was no great tragedy here. All of your feelings felt very small, and petty. This wasn’t something that deserved attention or ballads. It was something to be ashamed of. To be buried and never exhumed. Something you wished dearly you could forget and never remember.
But you couldn’t forget. You couldn’t feel the lingering sensation of her honeyed lips on yours, there was no taste of blood in your mouth. No tongue covered in ashes. It was nothing. You almost wished for something, anything. You wanted her to love you, to be the one that her eyes lit up for. You wanted her to hate you, to tell you to leave and never come back, you wanted her to hurt you, like she had hurt Spike. At least then you would have something to feel. But she wouldn’t. She was a drug. She would take you around the sun and back, while killing you from the inside out. She was there now like heroin in your veins, and she wasn’t leaving any time soon.
The first rays of light peeked beyond the horizon startling you from your thoughts. With the fashionista still sleeping soundly you carefully pulled away, much to her unconscious displeasure. You were certain of nothing about the nature of your…newly revised relationship with Rarity. But one thing you were certain of… it would be best if you were gone before she woke.
You dressed silently as possible. You turned out the door, purposefully not looking back at the mare you left in the bed sheets as you silently shut the door behind you.
You made the short walk home. Doing your best to think of nothing. Not thinking was wonderful. Not thinking about the mare that didn’t love you. Not thinking about -leaving town. Not wondering how long heart-ache lasted. Your shoulders slumped, almost laughing at yourself.
Yep…wallow in it. That’s the thing to do.
You unlocked your door, stepping inside. You shut the door behind you and locked it, jiggling the handle to ensure nothing was coming in behind you.
You removed your shirt. The one that smelled like her perfume. The one with the collar stained with her lipstick. You let it fall on the floor.
Bed…
It was the first comforting thought you’d had all night.
You stopped by the telephone. Staring at it for the briefest of moments before pulling the cord from the device as a precautionary measure. It wasn’t that you were afraid she’d call you. You were certain she would. No. It wasn’t the call that frightened you. It was really more of the question. When she did call…
Would you be able to refuse her?
Author's Note
Just for fun. I don't get a chance to write "real" very often. Not really canon to anything. I was curious to see if I could write a story kinda counter intuitive to most sex focused storied. Not happy love sex. Painful regret sex. Just a literary experiment.
Take it for what it is.
