agentorange: (Default)
[personal profile] agentorange
Title: Circe
Rating: R (just barely)
Words: 900
Note: Naughty words and "adult situations".



"Circe, baby, what's wrong? Talk to Daddy."

They were lying together in Roman's bed. The covers were up and the lights were off and Circe was giving Roman the silent treatment, the ungrateful bitch. No one loved her but him not these days with her face as scarred as his. He knew it was fate that had brought them together at Janus, and fate again that marred them with masks. He had resigned himself to fate, embracing it and making it work for him. Circe...Circe sulked. She refused the new beginning afforded by her metamorphosis.

Roman rolled over and stroked her bare arm. She was giving him the cold shoulder, quite literally too in the damp air. He pulled the cover over her and scooted closer to warm her.

"Look, sweetheart, don't listen to what those schmucks say. You're more beautiful than you ever were. You're beautiful to me and I'm the only one whose opinion matters."

He touched her mask gently, comforting her. She wouldn't go without the mask, even in the dark, even in bed with him. She was too ashamed to let anyone see her true face. Roman indulged her whims. He gave her everything she could have asked for. Though she'd grown distant toward him, she was still his love. He told her so every day.

He touched her hair and he thought he heard her sigh in resignation. Nights seemed to be the hardest for her. When she thought he was sleeping, he'd hear her softly sobbing, though she never admitted it. She didn't say much these days, so he did the talking for her. She seemed to like the arrangement. He didn't mind.

He wanted to kiss her cheek to reassure her, but even if he had lips, she would have shied away, so instead, he pulled her close in a protective embrace. She fit into his arms just as before. That hadn't changed much. But she wasn't enthusiastic about anything anymore. Her face made her feel ugly and unwanted, despite Roman's protestations that his dick had no eyes. She usually yielded to him, though. He supposed their sex life hadn't changed much either.

He ran a hand over her taut model's body, feeling his cock twitch. She didn't protest. Encouraged, he shifted atop her. He buried his face in her hair as he rubbed his erection against her pelvis. He knew the dark served to hide his face just as much as hers. She could fantasize they were both unmarked and beautiful again. He was ok with this.

"I need you, Circe," he whispered desperately, aching to feel her tight around him.

She gave her silent assent. She was chilly against him, even under the covers, but soon she warmed up. Roman was emboldened by this. He ground himself against her with more enthusiasm.

"Oh, Circe, honey," he panted into her smooth neck.

He thought of the times when their lovemaking had been loud and almost riotous. They used to retire during lunch breaks to the apartment suite Roman had built right at the office, emerging later with tousled hair and rumpled clothes, much to the dismay of the rest of the employees. They used to laugh thinking of the horrified faces their coworkers must have had to hear their screams of ecstasy. It used to turn them both on. Now their coupling was quiet, reserved in a way, like they'd aged fifty years and were in their dotage, fearful of cracking a hip from any vigorous activity. Roman was more gentle with Circe now. He knew it'd be easy to break her irreparably.

So he pumped his hips carefully, listening in the dark for any sign of fatigue. He stroked her hair lovingly, even though he wished she'd let him touch her face.

"Come for me, baby," he urged.

He wanted his princess to be happy. She never smiled anymore. The mask smiled for her, but it wasn't the same. She was limp in his arms. He tried to steady himself, hoping to hold out for her.

"Come on, Circe," he growled, his irritation rising. "I can't wait much longer."

Circe ignored him, disinterested. His fingers curled in her hair. He was vaguely aware he'd ripped her hair out in a clump. He had the keen desire to bash in her skull. Instead, he pushed himself against her roughly, his hips jerking erratically as he neared climax. He missed the way she used to scream at the height of an orgasm. He used to tease her that she wanted everyone to know they were fucking. He used to masturbate to her screams, still did. Circe didn't scream anymore.

"You frigid bitch," Roman hissed into her ear. He felt his balls clench. "You fucking cunt."

He came on her stomach with a groan. Circe used to say his groans made her wet. He would call her a liar and demand proof, which she eagerly provided, guiding his hand between her legs. Nothing made her wet now.

Roman flopped back on the bed. He turned away from her, denying the selfish bitch the post-coital cuddles he knew she wanted but would never ask for. Circe didn't ask for anything these days. He found he preferred her this way. He closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The mannequin in the bed next to him stared at the ceiling with glassy, unseeing eyes.
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