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Grave Victory	By : Storyseeker Category: +G through L > G.I. Joe Views: 2777 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own G.I. Joe, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Fragmenting
- 1
One Shot: Fragmenting

Clutching; writhing, she buried her face in his throat, swallowing his scent, marking her skin with his sweat. Marking his with her tears. Claiming him beyond all chance of separation ever again. They’d been at it for hours, coupling with a desperation that was animal-like, leaving them both wrung and spent, laying insensible against each other, only to begin again, soft and fearful before building once more. Her pale skin was marred violet and red, each tattoo matching the breadth and shape of his large hands. His was marked likewise, and showing as well the more feminine violence of blooded furrows, and savage dark teeth imprints set in his arm. It was as if they each sought punishment and atonement, as well as connection.

Now, as she came a final time in a kind of trembling ripple, the pleasure long since shifted beyond numbness and into an aching torture, they settled gradually into stillness, his breath hoarse and raspy, and his body spent beyond any further release of his own, and hers that hiccupping sup that follows catharsis.

She lay under him in a wet and heated tangle, her shoulders jerking periodically in supplication. Her eyes closed as she turned her mouth towards his cheek, pressing her lips against his skin. She could imagine that the texture was different-That the flesh was warmer there where they’d marked him; Heated from within by the sorcery they’d used to reanimate his shell, sorcery that had reunited his spirit with flesh, the sorcery that had bent that spirit into something other than him. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet. Couldn’t look at that face.

Because now, the mask was no longer something he wore to cover his features. The mask was now his very face, turning it into something unrecognizable and unnatural to her, in a way that fire or blade had never been able to do. Did they use magic to do it? Or was it the tap, tap, tap of bamboo ink into dead, cold, barely rotting flesh?

The thought, unbidden, brought a keening moan to her throat, held back with pressed lips and a fresh wash of tears, and with it a wave of nausea that sent her fumbling for the edge of the bed. Snake Eyes shifted with her, sliding his body to the side, and threading his fingers through her hair to support her head as she dry heaved and sobbed and hyperventilated. He lowered his own head against her shoulder blade, burying his face in a gesture of equal surrender.

“’’M going crazy…” her whisper was distorted and unrecognizable as her voice. “God. I’m going crazy.”

The words started from a place inside her, where they’d been held for days, kept in check while she’d gone through the hourly motions of rank. “You were dead, Snake Eyes. Dead…” now, in his arms, her body spent, her mind taxed from too many weeks keyed to capacity the words began to leak out, “…dead.”

“Dead, dead, dead,” her barely audible voice took on an oddly rhythmic cadence, “the end. We know that. We know it.”

If he had a response he didn’t make a move to share it. For once perhaps, his incapacity for speech was a gift. She was not so lucky. “Cold. Dead. Gone. We knew the risks. Flint knew it. Said so.”

“The end.”

“O-only not the end…. So I must be crazy, right?”

Her muscles trembled as she tapped the mattress weakly with a fist. “Gone. Gone. Gone. GONE!”
He turned her, pulling her into his lap, holding her to his chest as her voice rasped in building hysteria.

“You were gone!”

‘N…they took you! Stole you! Made you! Into…”

She gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth, sniffling noisily against his chest. Soon a sob erupted, and she shook and cried in his arms. It was only gradually that she realized he too was crying; A voiceless lisp of sound as he rocked her back and forth. It made her cry harder, the palm of her hand striking his forearm, beating against the banded red glyph on his arm that had defined him longer than she’d known him. Once it was a mystery- a part of a whole. Now? Now it was something vile.

“What did they DO to you!” Her voice squeaked between rigid fingers, “Why didn’t they leave you dea….” she stopped, her eyes round with horror. Her fingers were digging into the flesh of his arm again and again in an unconscious effort to annihilate the mark.

“No…no…no…I don’t mean it…”

But she did. She meant it as furiously as she meant that she never wanted him to leave her side again.
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Grave Victory