Just bits of a fic I'm writing.
Disclaimer: I do not own Darksiders or any of the characters.
Love and Justice however, are mine.
She brushed her fingertips along the cartilage mask that hid her Rider's face. No, she wouldn't say that it hid her beloved's face; it was as much a part of him as his scythes or his stallion. She adored the mask near to the extent of which she adored him. It had become a symbol of who he was, and many beings saw that face in their nightmares.
He was the Rider of Death.
He had been given many names, yet his favorite by far was given to him by his twin; his love: the Rider of Justice. They had loved one another since creation, and that love had blossomed when the original scythe had been split into two equal parts; one half to be carried by Death, the other by Justice.
The Pale Rider laid an armored hand upon her fingers. Even though his mouth was not visible, the warmth reflected in his fiery eyes hinted that he was smiling. The Reaper hardly smiled, save for in her presence.
The one who saved him.
“You always thought it was Love. You always believed that it was my brother's wife who I pursued and that you were just a casualty.”
He took her in his arms, pulling her to him as if afraid she would perish from existence.
“You couldn't have been more wrong...” His voice was broken. How he had long awaited this moment. “My Justice...”
She laid on her stomach, as she was known for doing when he took her to bed. He was never sure why she did it, but he was convinced that it was simply another way for her to entice him.
He brushed his hand along the curve of her back. Stroking her, he relished the feel of her soft flesh beneath his calloused hands. Unable to resist any longer, he leaned over and kissed her.
Justice sighed happily as he kissed a trail up her back. As he paused at her shoulder she leaned to one side, welcoming his lips to the arch of her neck. A look of utter confusion crossed her face after moments passed and he refused to indulge her.
Which was just the reaction he was wanting. He leaned down and nibbled on her ear; something he knew she was not fond of. He felt her feminine rage before she took her next breath.
“Death!” she squealed. She would have propped herself up and given him what for had he not counteracted her by laying on top of her. Oh how she loved the feel of his bare chest against her. She sank further into the plush bedding as he slowly bore his entire weight upon her and she submitted to him.
“You know I hate that,” she pouted. Her flushed features and smoldering eyes hinted that she was not as disgruntled as she let on.
The Pale Rider's head drooped down to the arch of his beloved's neck and caressed his angular cheek against her. “Yes...” he taunted. “I know.”
Nothing could arouse her very soul like the rough sensuality of his voice. She leaned against him, supporting her head on his broad shoulder. Somewhere off in the distant the crow she so doted on squawked, but she didn't take notice. She was lost in the ablaze eyes of her heart's desire.