Setting: FFX, post-Zanarkand
Theme + Number: Marked #35
Warnings: Spoilers. Violence. Sex. Violent sex?
Summary: Contemplating Auron's scars
Lulu had always felt a certain nostalgia for Auron's scars. It wasn't only her admiration for him as a consummate warrior. He was so secretive, so transient: they were a mark of memory, a lasting record of where he had been and who he was, the story he did not tell. More, they were a visible symbol of his frailty, fallibility, humanity. The legendary hero was neither invulnerable nor immune to life's buffets.
She loved the naked humility of his drooping eyelid: an intimate moment of horror and pain stamped on his face for anyone to see. Auron communicated mostly in deeds, not words. She kissed it often.
Now, however, the mage had seen the hand that dealt him those scars, and she wanted to deny them as fiercely as she loved them. Yunalesca had put that line down his weathered face and claimed his eye, his very life. Would that Lulu could burn away every last trace of her! But that would be to become her, molding his surfaces like a traveler etching self-glorifying initials into an ancient oak on whom she had no claim.
And yet Lulu knew herself a hypocrite as her nails scored his shoulders. She bit. She clawed his back. She bared her throat, willing Auron to lose control enough to leave a permanent white rind of tooth-marks marring her pearly skin. She worked her most intoxicating magic on his flesh, body clamped around his and stroking him, her whole being bent on the sensual task of making the taciturn guardian cry out with more passion than he had during his fatal lunge at Yunalesca.
As much as Lulu wished he were free, deep down, she yearned for some outward sign that she had left a mark on his soul.