Dissolution

Disclaimer- Don't Own LB.

I have no idea how good this is. It is a spontaneous one shot, with alternative character interpretation. I don't even like this pairing, geez...I meant to write it as a prelude to Establishment, but it basically took on its own life. It was pretty experimental, with me messing around with tenses and whatnot, so yeah, bear that in mind when reading. As always, please R/R!

Dissolution


She finds him completely by accident.

The night is dark. She is used to dark nights, because they used to be the comforting prisons of her past dwellings. The dark conceals the time and place; hides away location and address and placement and pain.

Due to this, she has no idea where she is.

She doesn't care. She has been wondering so long; in stark, stinging, abrasive daylight and musky, suffocating cover of night. Freedom comes at such a steep price.

Star moves in heavy black coats, that conceal the faded white of her blouse and the dulled sparkle of her skirt. She forces the wild chaos of her hair into a tight, unnatural bun. Her ageless skin, affected by the now expired cursed blood cells, is opaque and strange in the dim light of a street lamp. She fidgets with a nail file lucratively hidden in her pocket. Its cheap and made of plastic. It snaps, cutting though skin, shedding one bulging drop of crimson blood. Human blood.

The air is cold, even for September, as the rank, heavy smell of rotting leaves infiltrate her nostrils.

It is now that she sees the car.

It is huge, long, black; it seems to elope with the shadows, stretch and engulf them in its wake.

The window winds down, and a flash of tooth is thrown her way.

He smiles at her from beneath the brim of a cowboy hat. His hair is knotted and bedraggled, tangling to his shoulders, the colour of molasses. She cannot see his eyes; the shadows from his hat grip his face in an almost demented half light. All she can see is his teeth; sharp and spiked and blindingly white, as sculpted and as beautifully cruel as polished ivory.

He beckons.

Stupidly, her feet move of their own accord, stumbling over themselves to approach this bizarre entity claiming her unwilling attention. By some power beyond her control, Star leans down, now eye level with this stranger. She can now clearly see his face; his eyes are completely black, like the behinds of two grotesque beetles. An unearthly pale hand reaches for her face; strokes her lips in feigned gentleness.

He calls her name in a smooth tenor.


His grin widens as her eyes light with amazement; she knows this man. She knows him.

She is suddenly pulled down into a harsh kiss. Alan Frog tastes of the chilling bite of compact ice; he rings of death, of the cold, stale gush of blood when it is no longer warm. She shivers, and he laughs, softly.

He invites her to enter the car.

Before hand, a smiling boy with kind blue eyes offered her a ride home. Only his definition of “home” was so very different.

A boy with even kinder eyes offered a bite to eat. His hair was curly and his manner refined, innocent, family orientated. She was selfish and sick and evil, so she accepted.

The cost she now knows.

Proving she never learns, Star accepts with a trembling nod.

They ride to a motel.

Star knows straight away it is not what it seems. The place is too quiet, too still. It is as if the dust falls too finely here, too conveniently placed. A gloved hand takes hers; blindly, she follows. She knows why he is being kind. Star is waiting for the punchline, as she waits for the punchline in all things.


The room they enter makes Star, for one manic moment, want to giggle. Its overly furnished; deep, toxic reds, luxurious, poisonous purples, and as always, black, endless, stark, colourless.

He calls her name again, smoothly, gently, almost lovingly.

She goes to him, and ignores the cooling air rolling off his skin, caressing the oxygen surrounding him into deathly stillness. She asks him about his brother. He freezes then. Growls, guttural and animalistic, in his throat.

Do not speak of him.

She asks why he is doing this. He smirks instead of smiles, his teeth suddenly seeming brighter in the cooling soothe of the moon.

Why, to grant your wish.

He takes off her coat. It is heavy and burdensome, flopping to the floor with weighted ease. He toys almost childishly with the wild springs of her hair; she fingers the greasy entrails of his. The angled edge of a monstrous nail pulls, ever so carefully, at the thin strap of her blouse down, down, down... until the rounded curves of her breasts are visible. He inhales, ever so slightly, at the sight.

Star knows it is because of the thunderous pound of her blood, skirting and reverberating in her veins, the mortal beat of a tempting, eternal drum. She closes her eyes as he leans in to nuzzle the rough skin of her neck; a hand coming to rest on her hip. Teeth tease her throat; as if welcoming the intrusion, she tilts her neck back, allowing him entrance. He growls once more, talons tightening on the soft folds of her skirt. It is a hindrance.

They lay together on the bed. She undresses him, fingers fumbling uselessly on the tiny buttons of his shirt. He watches her with bemused eyes, mouth quirking in a lazy smile. For one passing second, it is Alan, and she cannot continue. He takes over; removing his clothes with superhuman ease, as only expected. His skin is a strange, grey colour, tinged with blue, as if the touch of winter branched though his blood cells and stole the warmth from the pigments on his flesh. His face is gaunt; his body hard, solid, as smooth and as unfeeling as porcelain.

Star almost feels pity.

His touch brings with it the unnatural glamour of the undead; that ability to pleasure with mind alone. She reaches to touch him, but he stops her. The sudden shock of warmth on her leg reminds her that in some ways, he is still human.

He straddles her, and what a sight is Alan Frog. His face, sharp and strong, as always, his eyes, alive with blood-lust and just base lust. His hair hangs down from his face, tickling her cheek with its slimy strands. The intensity between them grows, and Star suddenly panics. She doesn't know why she is here; why she is doing this.

Her thoughts are shattered upon his discovery of a certain spot; she jerks and gasps, and he smiles. Upon each stroke, her legs quiver and shake; her vision blurs with a sudden pain as Alan initiates a shallow gash in his wrist. He lifts it to his mouth, and drinks. The weakening in her arm makes Star cry out; she knows this feeling, this exquisite entourage of pleasure and pain. She bucks one last time. Something hits a crescendo; he too mirrors her moans, his carnivorous mouth brimming with her blood, his eyes closing in ecstasy. Red juices drip from his bloated lips, sending crimson streaks down the tanned skin of Star's belly.

Alan pauses, observing Star's bare, panting form; from the twisted coils of her hair to the scars on the tough skin of her collar bone. Her eyes, as always, are wide and frightened and beautifully cautious, the colour of liquid honey. He touches his own wrist tentatively; his own blood, dead and motionless inside this fleshy shell of his body, had long stopped stirring. However, it can still serve one purpose. Maybe, if Star...

But her wish.

He places himself on top of her, slipping two slick fingers into her entrance. She tightens and shudders, from pleasure or pain, he does not know. Whether or not she can tell the difference any-more is a mystery to him, and maybe, even to her. His fingers curve, causing Star to groan as he hits the magic spot. He grins, and places himself in the place of the probing digits.

With each thrust, he grunts, but does not sweat. He cannot sweat, he thinks inwardly; blood from long ago denied him this ability. Star merely watches him now, though those glassy eyes of hers; they are now threatening tears; weak, human spats of moisture.

Oh god, I'm all alone.

Alan rocks her until Star, and himself, cannot take it anymore. They both hit release, and he laughs with the falsity of its presence; he feels it, but anything he produces is useless; dead and rotten to the world. Star shakes. She isn't sure if it is the aftermath of the orgasm, or the sudden heaviness weighting the room in a devilish promise. Alan is smiling that same, first smile; his eyes pulsate in bursts of intoxicating ruby, his jaw appearing to expand with two growing fangs.

“Where is your brother?” She whispers.

“I'm going to find him,” he returns in a satanic hiss, his voice deepening and contorting to reveal the demon inside. “Make him regret that he was ever born.”

Star smiles. It is small and sad and pleading.

“Oddly enough, I was looking for Edgar,” her tone is airy, as Alan bristles at Edgar's name. “For protection. For a home. But, it seems...”

Her voice breaks. She fears what is coming next, as she always has done. Even at times she would have welcomed its clammy embrace, she was only human, and therefore, a terrible, hateful coward.

“I found....you instead.”

The ivory spikes glint in the indifferent, ghastly rays of a white, soulless moon.

There is no point in pretending he cares, because he doesn't.

“Please,” she almost whimpers. “Grant my wish.”

Alan leans forward for a final kiss. Star shuts her eyes tight, and dreams about death.