Valentines in the Dregs


And so he had found her when he returned. And he had wept and trembled and balanced himself neatly between anger and self-loathing. He had abandoned her when she had needed him. He knew she had been a druggie. He had known that.

"I'm so fucking sorry," he muttered pitifully into the wall. And he truly was. Most people would have screamed at the victim, would have cursed them for their weakness, but this is only because most people are unworthy scum. Well that and most people didn't really get the people lost in the Dregs. When rock bottom is not just near, but sometimes a little up, the desire for escapism is more understandable, more forgivable.

Hell, James had given into it today as well. She had needed him and he had run off to his cocoon routine and his shitty little job. He had escaped as much as she had. Sure there were the justifications, but those were always a superficial balm. He had the spectre of homelessness and he could only guess what darkness of the soul made the white liquid irresistible for her. But these things could have been resisted if he had tried, if they had helped each other instead of slipping back into their cold little lonely worlds.

He thought about what he had just thought. He needed her, didn't he? She didn't flee his unfortunate aura. She wasn't the prisoner to the superficial that everyone else was and besides, she made him feel wanted; feel needed, like his existence actually mattered. And he had just abandoned her to the paralyzing hopelessness of the Dregs.

He looked over hopelessly. The drug had worn off. She was looking at him, her lip trembling pitifully. He turned away helplessly. They both wanted to say it, "I'm so sorry. I failed you," but they couldn't. If they said it, it became true. If they said it, they truly had failed the other. Still it needed to be said. Cause if they didn't say it how could the other ever forgive them for it. The seconds took hours.

Eventually James stood up and fought with his lips. If he could only say it, then he could forgive himself for abandoning her. He could have hope of having meaning on Valentine's Day. He could have hope for a future. He could prove himself worthy of being needed, of being used. But he couldn't. Despondent, he moved to walk away.

The grip had been like a steel grip. Desperation and despair had seen to that. It had pressed against his wrist and had wrenched him around, forcing him to face her again. And tears streaming down her face she had leapt into his arms and kissed him violently.

It was not a beautiful kiss. It was not a tender kiss. It was not an erotic kiss. It was however a heavy kiss. It was weighted with a thousand desperate emotions and meanings and mostly with desperation. It said all that they couldn't and begged forgiveness. It wasn't a TV climax kiss. Those are light insubstantial kisses. This was a kiss that required the eyes to be streaming with tears. Overall, it's one of the rarest, most honest kisses around.

In another more utopia inclined world, James returned the kiss with even more honesty and passion. He certainly wouldn't have sat there like an idiot as his brain tried to process the sheer shock of finally being kissed. In reality, James had grown utterly used to having everyone treat him with derision. A kiss was in a realm he hadn't contemplated since he had last bothered trying.

Unfortunately, that left Lizzie standing there with a one-sided kiss. Her heart began to shatter and the tendrils began to extend once more.

"I," he moved to speak and then looked into her face. "You," he added pitifully. He broke into a huge grin and grabbed her into the biggest hug he could give. He felt a knee go sharply into his groin, but he didn't care. Tears were streaming down his face. Tears were streaming down her face. They didn't want to let go. So they didn't.

Sure in TV land, this is the point the clothes go into the fire and the happily ever after begins after maybe a zany misunderstanding once baby time comes around. But reality as we stress again and again, isn't as neat.

They cried themselves to sleep, still holding onto each other tight on the mattress, still fully clothed. And with new dawn came a new day, a new beginning. And it was even fitting that it was Valentine's Day.

James felt the first rays of this wonderful day on his face at around dawn. He couldn't feel the warmth of her body in his arms anymore, but that was only natural. People tossed and turned at night. One can't hope to retain such an intense bond over the unconsciousness of sleep. He rolled over without opening his eyes, but she wasn't there either. He began to worry, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Morning, sleepy head," the voice trilled above him. Something was wrong about it. Since when did Lizzie trill? He snapped up and turned around in record speed. The muzzle of a gun was pressed firmly into his forehead.

"Happy Valentine's Day, faggot," the all too familiar thug trilled.

"What did you do to her," James growled. The Beast had returned and was baying for blood.

"Nothing, nothing. Her father just picked her up. He had been worried sick, you see," the thug muttered gleefully. "He had been especially disgusted that she found herself in such a 'pit.' I mean, even for a crack whore this is quite the rock bottom." James gave him another impotent growl. "But he wanted someone keep an eye on the trash, make sure it didn't try to follow her home. Luckily, I was all too willing to help. C'mon cocksucker, let's see you try something now."

The gun was literally pressing into his skull. If he messed up, his brains would be an avant-garde pattern three feet back. But, something was wrong. Something important. What was it? It clicked. The trigger that had made her so desperate for her bag and the white escape it contained. It had been home. It had been...

He swore to himself. He had failed to be her White Knight once before. He wouldn't do it a second time. He let the Beast get full control, dropped himself into the category of worthless and he was ready to go. The gun went off loudly, an action altogether too common in that particular building. It however went off a few inches to the right, the bullet cutting a deep groove across his skull, but not penetrating. The blood began to curl down to James's eye, but the Beast didn't need his full sight. It leapt onto the thug and began to pummel.

It was only be the grace of God and what James didn't know that the thug wasn't pummeled all the way to death. "Where the fuck is her home, you utter reprobate?" The words weren't so much words as one long drawn out growl. Sometimes the White Knight is also a demon. "Answer me or I swear you'll scream every time you see a curtain pole."

"Ack, I don't know. I swear. Please don't kill me."

"Then who's her father?"

"I don't know. He just pays me to do a couple of odd jobs. The last one was to find the wench and bring her home. She stole something big, he said. A blank Valentine."

"Valentine Blanc," James muttered to himself. "Wait, white Valentine. You mean, the drugs in the fucking bear?"

"I don't fucking know, you dumb shit. I'm hired muscle. I fetch people, break legs, and sometimes I take a little pleasure on the side. You know, business."

We assure you that the thug eventually did wake up again. It was even before James got back. However, he did decide to get a new job quite suddenly and the people did whisper about the knuckle shaped dents in his skull.

James meanwhile was running through the uncaring mobs of the city, trying desperately to remember the address on the driver's license and where in the city it was. He was beating his head frantically as he ran, which is probably why he ran smack dab into the man on the ladder removing the cherub from its display spot. It had a fat cigar in its mouth to be cheeky.

It caused him to stop and he caught a snippet from a television the bored cashier was watching on the counter.

"Next Tuesday on a very special Valentine's episode of Timothy and the Merry Merriness, Charlie will get involved with a Germanic prostitute who may know that he's secretly an alien from Pluto. Could this be true love or Government Spying? Also this Saturday, comes the tender miniseries 'Lovers in Dystopialand.' Can true love survive minor inconvenience in a world where everyone else seems to get royally fucked over? Tune in to find out."

Something was trying to tell him something, but he had no time to waste on these eerily familiar distractions, he needed to find...A gaggle of brightly colored college students trampled over him. The colors twirled and spun over his dazed head and as it swung into focus, all he could see was Carl Jung on a camel, advertising new Psycamel cigarettes.

Wait, Psycamel. His mind flashed to the driver's license. 1331 Sicanel Dr. He felt odd for a second. Was the Universe apologizing to him or setting him up again? He shook his head angrily. He had no time to waste on this crap. He needed to run and play the White Knight before the first person who cared about him was lost forever to the darkness.

Meanwhile, in the world of Leslie Waters, she was in the thrall of The Memory.

"Ah, you are waking up, Elizabeth, dear," Roger Waters said happily.

No, not again, she thought desperately. Not The Memory. No, she escaped it. She was with James. She had her White Knight. The darkness could not seize her.

"You're such a naughty little girl aren't you, Elizabeth? You took all of daddy's moneymakers. And you even used half of them. How ever will you repay daddy?"

No, she screamed in her head. Not in reality, never again. Not The Memory. It can't happen again.

"Oh, but I'll call it a Valentine's gift if you give me one in return. Cause Daddy needs his lovely Valentine." She felt his hand on her breast, kneading it and screamed.

She slipped into The Memory. Mom had just died, but with Dad she could keep strong. She trusted Daddy to be her anchor, to keep her safe. But she had stumbled into the garage and found how Daddy made his living. He had been so angry and she looked so much like her mother and Daddy had been so twisted. Just a pinprick, just a little to make her more responsive, to make her buck harder. It had hurt so much and then came more hurt. Daddy's tastes became more and more violent and slowly she had become used to the drug. Then Daddy began sharing her to his clients. And then... and then...

And now it was happening all again. She had escaped Daddy's Garage. She had escaped The Memory. She had even learned how to use the drug to shut out what had happened here, force it into the shadows. Now, it was here again, it was all building again and her White Knight was gone, probably killed.

Her clothes were gone. She knew that for a fact and she could feel hands caressing her, polluting her with darkness. She whimpered inside. Help me, James, she said. God, help me.

"Who the fuck are you," her father screamed angrily. Elizabeth opened her eyes. James was standing by a broken door, his eyes wild with rage, walking forward with the slow purposeful stride of a wolf.

"You sick little fuck. No wonder she's a druggie," James growled. "No wonder she kicks if you so much as touch her."

"Listen, kid," Roger said slowly. He was used to being on top of the hierarchy, far away from the more physical elements of his drug operation. James was worrying him. "Let's not be hasty. Is she really worth all this? I know you're broke. I can set you up for life. I'm talking mansions, girls on each arm, the whole works."

James continued approaching.

"Um...please don't kill me," Roger pleaded as the Beast pulled him up by the collar.

"Why should I," James growled. There was no reason why he shouldn't end it now, dispel the creature where Lizzie could see it. Assure her The Memory couldn't attack her anymore. But...he stopped. If he slipped to that, would he still be a White Knight? Or would he just be another demon, something to fear when the tendrils of darkness snaked out? "Perhaps not, but I'll be damned if I see you walk around free."

He went against the wall hard, but it still took three thrusts to really knock him out. Luckily the ropes that had tied down Lizzie could easily be converted to constrain the sick patriarch.

An anonymous phone call from the house quickly brought the cops. The bears filled with heroin, the video library compiled of "Daddy's Instructions to Lizzie," and an unerased message on the machine asking if the disappearance of a key witness to a drug kingpin trial had gone of okay had caused a feeding frenzy. The departments had fought to see what would be tried first and hardest. Eventually, he found his own Daddy in prison who gave him his own Memory.

And for the couple, they were walking home. They didn't speak at all, but their arms were wrapped tightly around each other's shoulder. His shirt and jacket were clothing her body. It said all that needed to be said, but people always need to add something in these situations. There is some primordial urge to say the obvious, the banal, to somehow wash away the excitement, the horror, and the surrealism of reality.

"You saved me."

"Yeah," James replied happily. "Happy Valentine's Day."

The distance between them decreased by another microscopic degree and remained there until they got back to the Dregs. There was much that remained unspoken, but it still seemed to hang in the air.

The clothes got abandoned at the front door. Neither was particularly attractive naked. Lizzie was unhealthily thin and in the places, clothes hid, old scars and bruises. Her breasts were small and slightly askew with too much rough bondage. Her arm still bared the tract marks of her former escapism and her eyes still had the hollow rims though old innocence flowed once again through the pupils.

And James wasn't much better. Besides the aura, his body was a mass testament to the two days of Hell he had just survived. The healing cuts and bumps and swollen bruises and bandages combined with his unshaven face and large body to look unseemly like a genuine pirate of old. Not the ones seen in bad romance novels, but rather the ones that Admirals fired on first and sifted the wreckage later.

Still there are many levels of attraction and in truth physical is the weakest of all of them. They came together awkwardly despite everything. One after all was still a virgin and the other still carried the weight of a million Bad Memories. Knowing this, it was practically passionate.

They kissed slowly and softly, just holding each other and feeling the warmth of each other's lips. Savoring each moment of life, each moment escaping from escapism. A tongue flitted daringly from one mouth to the other, neither was sure who did it, but the other quickly reciprocated. The tongues collided and darted around each other awkwardly but gently. There were mistakes of technique, but these were okay.

Ever so gently, James brought his hand to cup one of her breasts. He didn't slump down though he did feel her knee rise up instinctively.

"I could-"

"No, it's okay," she interrupted, holding his hand in place. "It's okay if it's you."

Softly he toyed with the soft flesh. His technique was horrid, totally without rhythm, and entirely in the realm of random squeezes and turns. But her nipples hardened all the same and her moan came earnestly. Slowly, he lowered himself and began kissing down towards her cleavage. His tongue technique was slightly better, but it was the gentleness and devotion that was truly powering it on. He tentatively licked a nipple and felt her shudder.

He continued downwards and then paused as he reached the pubes. He looked up questioningly and hesitantly she nodded. He kissed her pubes and her leg didn't swing into his sack. He kissed one of her folds and again her leg didn't connect. He kissed up higher, where there was a small bump. This time her leg did move, but only to shudder. He licked gently around the strange bump, encircling it and sometimes flicking across it. This produced a series of earnest moans and curses from Lizzie.

He continued on softly, encircling and sometimes tracing his tongue downwards along the folds and between them. He naturally missed her g-spot by miles, but it was okay. With the care and his attention to the clit, she was approaching a decent orgasm nonetheless. He flicked harder along the clit, letting his tongue run all over it, only periodically pausing to spit away the pubic hairs that got caught on it.

It happened very unceremoniously. There was no warning or style and certainly no zaniness. She just cursed, pushed on the back of his head, shuddered a few times then nearly fell onto the ground. James was too busy making sure he caught her to worry about things like multiple orgasms or cleaning up the juices.

He chuckled and kissed her, but she furrowed her lips, spat out one of her own hairs and then rubbed her own tongue. He did the same out of embarrassment.

"Um," he muttered hesitantly.

She paused for a moment and then slowly nodded, though she closed her eyes tightly. Slowly, deliberately slowly James began to enter.

Now, many of particular tastes are interrupting us again and asking why she did not "return the favor." Why she did not lick gently and hesitantly along the head and shaft showing all the care and devotion that he had showed her. Why she did not suck to completion, exclaiming in surprise as the hot milky shower covered her face. Why he did not help her clean it off after admiring her submissive splendor.

There are distinct reasons for this. First, reality doesn't always include the steps we have grown accustomed to. People skip things, people invent, people do whatever they do. Second, James did not hate Lizzie. He knew far too well that this was an activity closely related to The Memory and she was only doing this out of genuine love for him. To match himself in anyway to The Memory was utterly unthinkable to him. Third, even if he had insisted, Lizzie would be unable to perform the deed. In fact, it wasn't until their marriage in another two years on another Valentine's Day that she was finally able to do it...for a single second before screaming. It truly was memorable.

Now back to the insertion. It was exaggeratedly slow. James was being more than a little careful as he pushed and Lizzie couldn't help but cringe and hold her eyes tight as it entered into her, but eventually it was fully in. They stayed like this for a while, Lizzie getting comfortable with the invader and James consoling her.

Eventually she opened her eyes, smiled, and kissed him gently. He began to move his hips. It was overly gentle at first until the last of Lizzie's flinches fled into the darkness. After only a little hesitation he moved to increase the pace. While he increased, he did so slowly, moving deliberately and carefully and constantly watching her face for sign of conflict. He was also concentrating on not spending himself too early. He was determined not to make a fool of himself on his first time. He wanted her to believe it could be pleasurable for her too.

Eventually as he began to worry that it might be too soon, she began to softly moan. He increased the pace a bit, but not enough to scare her. Her moans began to increase and still rang with the sweet tang of earnest. He increased again, focusing constantly on holding out as long as he could. She began to move with him, her body beginning to thaw to the feeling of genuine pleasure.

The moans increased and the movements became more synchronized, more fluid, more passionate, more daring, more trusting. A smile began to spread over James's face as a few tears began to flow with it. Lizzie began to knead her own breasts playfully. Her face was slowly beginning to capture more and more of the essence of the Old Lizzie on the license. She moaned harder and begun to swear.

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byLucifer_Carroll© 23 comments/ 44832 views/ 12 favorites

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