Unconventional.

Surrounded by walls of black. She shivers, he whispers. His words tease her tantalisingly.

Hot; cold. She gasps. He licks. The wind cuts at her neck. Then she touches, coaxing his tossing and turning and lip biting and oh, the torturous pleasure.

A cry,

a beg.

She sucks at his skin and  delicately caresses him where he's senstive. He inhales sharply; his hand travelling lower...

"Oh God!" a religious sin. Lips part to steal air from air and then collide to kiss furiously. Why is this happening?

The question hangs above the writhing forms like a guillotine, glinting angrily as they possess one another. Consumed in lust, they toss all doubts aside, for this is all about the dark pleasure, the power, about who's stronger and who's weaker.

Lust; a facade or a necessity?

But it is hatred, pure unadultered hatred that is the driving force that pushes one body against another, that forces and wrenches the cries of sex and pleasure and pleading from them.

Pleading; the sinful pleasing. Surrendering; nobody is.

Their eyes burn into each other, their hips burning scaldingly hot as flesh grinds against flesh. They give their bodies and souls in release, holding up their hands in half-serious surrender.

Hot, white flash.

These two people dare to defy society's rules; to defy one another's expectations. They aren't meant to be together. They're poles apart. Why is this happening?

And they so pay for it. Because they spiral in, head first into the abyss.

Then reality hits.

Badly.