Rev 22:20 [Rev 4:20 Mix] - Puscifier

"If I've got to sin to see you again

then I'm gonna lie, lie, lie"

Lucien led Katiana to the chapel in a highly aroused yet silent state. He was focused on his goal and
feeling better than he had in a long time. Finally, Eden was where she belonged and the chaos she
inspired within him had been set back in order. Finally, he had her in check and no longer did he find
himself engaged in a never ending battle of wills. He had lost his patience with her, with the game
they'd been playing. Furthermore, he knew he had the woman beside him to thank for it. If Katiana
hadn't come to his room, if she hadn't stayed, things would be as they ever were, but she had, and he
suddenly saw more potential for his future endeavors than ever. His only regret was that he hadn't seen
who she was sooner. He firmly believed that behind every successful man was a strong woman and
given the way she handled the situation with Eden, she was quickly proving to him that she could
possibly be that woman. Things had changed so quickly that it was mind-boggling, but Lucien thrived
under such conditions. No longer would he be caught up in his own changeability. Katiana was proving
to have a stabilizing effect on him, which he whole heartedly welcomed.

Inside the chapel, Lucien released her hand and approached the altar. It was shorter than the average
altar because at the time it had been built, the average human was much shorter than they were in
modern nights. He leapt up on it and paced the length of it, his heavily booted feet thudding against
stone, as Katiana stood beside it watching him. He stopped in the center of the altar and turned to face
the fifteen foot tall crucifix. He held his arms out and crossed his ankles, smiling ruefully at the icon
before him. "All I need is a fucking crown," he said, glancing over at her. Turning his attention back to
the cross, he quoted, "I wear this crown of shit, upon my liar's head." Lucien smirked, dropped his arms
and began pacing again. He looked very much like the lion Edward had compared him to, the king of
beasts pacing in his cage. But Lucien wasn't caged anymore. Katiana had released the predator cat into
the wild, and he was carving out his territory one bloody block at a time, beginning with Eden.

He spoke as he paced. "Did you know that 'Jesus Christ' is a title?" he asked. "Originally, his name
wasn't Jesus Christ, he was called 'the Christ' and it was a position within his religious faction. Just like
Satan, actually. Originally, Satan was 'ha Satan' and it was a title as well, the office of some holy angel,
whose job it was to play god's adversary. Some monk in some monastery somewhere, while copying
over the Torah or some such book fucked up and wrote 'Satan', and thus our Adversary was born." He
stopped and looked down at her. "Obviously, their proofreaders and editors weren't worth a shit."

His eyes on her, he walked to the end of the altar, crouched, placing his hand next to his foot, and
dropped onto the floor. He strode to her, a defiant look in his eye but his face expressionless. He
grabbed her by the back of her head and pulled her to him, kissing her in a fashion that was nearly
obscene, given their surroundings. She responded exactly as he'd known she would, all but melting
against him and returning his kiss with equal fervor and he was hard pressed to pull away. Eventually,
he pried himself from her and took several steps back, climbed back on the altar and sat on the end of it
with his feet dangling off the side. Watching her with a dark fire burning in the depths of his golden
eyes, he said, “I have no doubt that he was a real man, and that Mary Magdalene was his whore.” He
gave her a lazy, irreverent smile. "Take off your clothes," he said in a tone that would accept no
argument. "Show Hay-Zeus what he's missing.. And give him a reason to get up off that cross."

He watched as Katiana, in silence, did as he'd demanded, because he was nothing if not a demanding
fuck, holding his gaze the entire time. When she stood before him naked as the day she was born, his
eyes raked lecherously over her. He studied her for a while, his eyes growing darker and hungrier with
every inch they surveyed. He committed every line, every curve to memory and pushed himself off the
altar, walking to her again. He circled her, taking in the sight before him, and reached out, trailing his
fingers over the soft skin that beckoned to him. He stepped up behind her, reaching around and placing
his hand possessively over her throat, his free arm wrapped around her waist, as he pressed his nose
into her hair and inhaled her scent. He kissed her neck and shoulder, then slid his tongue over her flesh
to her ear lobe. Pressing his lips to her ear, he whispered, " I am he that liveth, and was dead; and,
behold, I am alive for evermore, and have the keys of hell and of death."

The hand at her waist slid over her, finding a home between her legs as he pulled her tighter against
him. She could feel his arousal pressed against her through the coarse denim of his jeans. He closed his
eyes, hearing her gasp, and lowered his head so his lips rested against her shoulder. She turned her
head, pressing her forehead against his neck, her own eyes closing as well and whispered his name.
"Tell me you want me," he said quietly. When she did, he thought about Viktor. He knew she loved
him, and that hadn't been an issue before, but now, suddenly, he was feeling the need to eradicate
those particular emotions from her. He wanted to erase Viktor's memory from her.. and perhaps
Edward's as well. But he wouldn't. At least, not until it became problematic. He knew she'd be
comparing him to them every step of the way, and that didn't bother him. Comparing him to anyone
other than Crucho or Damien was a fruitless endeavor.

He held her long enough to bring her passion close to the boiling point, pulled his hand away and
whispered, "Get on that altar." He watched her walk, the catlike grace that every woman of her race
seemed to naturally possess. He called her Katiana because it was who she was to him. Kat was who'd
she become, but he didn't feel she was truly that person. Katiana is who she'd been running from, who
she needed to reclaim. It was also more exotic, and to deny herself that, in his eyes, was unacceptable.
He knew that caught between the girl she'd been and the woman she'd become was the woman that
had been stolen from her and somewhere between those names, she would find her again. Then, and
only then, would she truly come into herself. When she was ready for him, he approached her.

She was seated, leaning on one hand, with her legs together to the side and her ankles crossed. Her
dark hair cascaded around her face and over her shoulders, her dark eyes smoldering with every bit of
the passion he was feeling, which, alone, was enough to set his blood on fire. She watched him intently
as he walked over and leapt onto the altar. He dropped to one knee and leaned over her, placing his
hand on her shoulder and pushed her onto her back. Leaning back on his heel, he grabbed her ankle
and spread her legs, then took his position kneeling between her thighs. They stared at each other in
silence for a long moment as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it onto the floor.

He didn't doubt what he was about to do for one second, didn't doubt that she wanted it as much as he
did. He smiled, leaned down and kissed her and lowered his body onto hers, pinning her hands over her
head with one hand as he freed himself with the other. He knew, even before he entered her, what it
would be like, how it would feel. Taking her here, for the first time, under the Cross on the altar in the
chapel was an act rife with symbology he had never actively intended, but which he would be exploring
later. When he took her, her eyes flew open and fell on the visage of the Savior who seemed to be
watching them with rapt attention. Her body arched against him and he growled softly in her ear. Here,
on the altar, it was as though he were offering her up as some kind of sacrifice, and he was, in a sense.
But he wasn't making an offering to some Christian or even Pagan or Neo-Pagan god, but to his own
ambition, to the godhead within. Lucien was a king and he was claiming his queen.

Where Edward was tender and loving, Damien was rough and demanding and Viktor was a little of both,
Lucien ran the spectrum from violent to caring. He was all over the map and it all depended on mood
and partner. Here, now, with Katiana, he took his time at first, because he had nothing but. He took her
to the brink, over and over, just to pull her back, denying her the most basic and primal of needs before
finally pushing her over the edge. And when he finally gave her what she needed, the sound of their
passion filled the empty chapel and echoed off the stone walls. Her nails dug into his back and
shoulders as his dug into her hips. He didn't give her the time to recover before rising to his knees and
pulling her up with him, holding her against him.

She bit into him and he grabbed a handful of her hair in response. It went on, because stamina was
something Lucien had in spades, for longer than either of them knew. When it was over, they collapsed
back onto the altar. He stared into her eyes for a few minutes before sitting up and sliding off the altar
to the floor. He walked over and picked up his shirt, pulling it back over his head and fixing his pants.
Katiana followed suit. He leaned back against the altar, watching her dress. "What I said about you not
belonging to me?" When she nodded, he continued, "Forget I ever said that." He pushed himself away
from the altar, walked over to her and took her by the hand, leading her toward the chapel doors. He
stopped, cast one last glance back at the Crucifix, raised his middle finger in the air and said, "How's that
for a Second Coming, bitch?" He turned and led Kat through the doors.