Seven-Lust

Warning: violence. Don't read if you're going to get me in trouble for reading it.

Ordinarily he would not be seen in such a disgusting, seedy place. A motel bed, probably filled with bedbugs, diseases.... But definitely filled with Her.

They kissed again, and he begins to lose control entirely, becoming more frenzied, hungrier. She responds in kind, growling softly and nibbling at his ears and neck. He groans with pleasure, running his hands down her soft body.

She is everything he'd ever wanted. He is entranced, unable to speak. She is biting harder now, but it just makes the pleasure all the more intense.

He falls back onto the bed, feeling warm sweat running down his bare chest, barely able to make out her form in the darkness.

Suddenly, she rises. Leaves him. He tries to pull himself upright, to speak, but finds himself unable.

It takes more effort than it should to raise one of his own hands to his throat.

What remains is a slippery, torn mess, and the room spins with pain at his own touch. He can feel her next to him, purring with pleasure. Her hand caresses his cheek lightly, and he goes into the dark with a smile on his face.

This is how he is found the next morning, when the room service finally ignores the Do Not Disturb sign on the door.

It matters little, though. Even if they had found the culprit, Lust would simply look, to them, like their single greatest desire taken human form, the essence of perfection. They would not see the bloodstained lips, the grasping fingers or dainty pointed teeth.

And besides, Lust had already moved on.

-Locke and Peter