Sanctuary

By Chibi Hime

Disclaimer: Ben 10 belongs to Cartoon Network. I know you know that...just letting you know I do too.

He doesn't know who the woman in his arms is.

He doesn't know why she came back to his room. She doesn't even know who he is. She hasn't seen his face. Though, he supposes that is good. She wouldn't come back with him if she saw his face...or his hands...or any other part of him.

All in all..he's not even sure where she came from. All he knows is she's some kind of energy medium. That's all he needs to know.

Her hair is long and white. She's trim and petite. He can wrap his hands around her corseted waist. He has. Her hands wander more than his do. It does something in his head...it makes him forget for a few seconds. It makes him forget just who and what she is. It makes him forget who and what he is.

Her hands are quick. They ease up his neck. Her dainty fingers curl under his helmet and slowly start to lift it up.

Then he remembers.

He quickly grips her hands in his.

Her magenta eyes flicker impishly.

"Oh, I see...like it better with it on? So much more mysterious?" she giggles.

"Something like that. It is much better for you this way," he says simply.

No need for unnecessary gory details.

"So you say...but you know what, you just made me want to look under there twice as much," she purrs, her voice almost feline.

"You don't want to do that," he says, sure of himself.

She doesn't like that one bit.

He feels her energy spike at his impudent questioning of her judgement. She clearly doesn't like being told what to do. Slowly, he releases his grip on her hands.

This time, she reaches under his helmet and feels the dry, dead skin there before she takes his helmet off. He inhales sharply as the cool air hits his face. It has been days since he took it off. Even he can't stand the sight of himself.

He keeps his eyes open. He wants to see her reaction...he wants to see her repulsion. He wants his own sense of secret self-loathing to be justified.

There isn't much of a response from her. Her eyes widen, but only for a second. The corner of her lip twitches, but it doesn't pull back into a squeal of disgust. She maintains her composure and even seems to convey an air that indicates she expected something worse. He knows it takes every ounce of her willpower not to shrink away from him. His own mother couldn't put a single well manicured finger on him after...after his conditioned worsened. She couldn't bring herself to touch her living dead boy.

He's not sure what's worse than looking at a corpse this close, but he doesn't look too far into it. He's distracted by her. Welcomely distracted by her.

He likes a strong woman. He always has.

She's as strong as they come.

Strong like Gwen was.

She is no different...in fact...he likes her better.

She doesn't emit that sissy, pure life energy Mana nonsense. Hers is a darker energy...a self serving one. She doesn't care about the planet or her friends. She doesn't have any. He can tell. All she cares about is herself. She exudes an ridiculous amount of energy that tells him a lot about her, like a food wrapper displaying its contents and percentages to a consumer...including a few obscene things.

Correction, he likes her much better.

However...he's still not sure why she's still here.

He's not complaining.

Her hands return to where they were on his neck. They carefully move over his taut, grey skin with an ethereal grace...like they want to. Like they want to drive him mad with want and need.

"You have very pretty eyes," she says breathily, blowing hot breath on his face. She momentarily cups his cheek in her hand..

Then she shoves herself roughly against him without warning, knocking him backwards onto the bed of his room. He's taller than her and standing up, she just couldn't reach...but she'd never tell him that.

He feels her weight on top of him...feels her hands tightly grip onto a two patches of his faded hair. She crushes her plump lips down on his nonexistant ones. It pushes his mind upside down and something explodes in his ears. She wriggles and writhes against him. He can feel her through his clothes. He doesn't know how or why she's even doing this. He doesn't even know her real name and she doesn't know his. She'd better stop if she...well...he'll give her a fair warning. When she came up for air, he tried to.

"Stop...you don't...want.."

She jams her tongue into his mouth to silence him, then pulls it back.

"Yes I do. So do you. You are begging for it! Don't tell me you don't want it, Michael," she says in a way that conveys he couldn't get her to stop if he tried.

He cringes. It doesn't feel like it is his name anymore. He feels like someone...something else. But to her, he's still Michael.

Apparently, she does know his real name and that's kind of nice.

She's just full of surprises. That is nice too, in a whole other way. He can't wait to see what other surprises he is in for. He really doesn't have to wait long to find out.

She's asleep now. Her breaths are deep and satisfied. He is laying awake watching her...watching her chest rise and fall. He wore her out more than he meant to, but he doesn't mind. She'll be asleep for at least a day, recovering from the loss of energy that he carefully leeched off of her. He suspects she knew he was doing it, but chose not to say anything. She's something special, alright.

To be honest, she exhausted him too, in a different way. He's not complaining about it, though. He can't remember the last time he even...wait...yes he does, he just chooses to forget. It hurts to much. It hurts to look in the mirror and not see anything remotely like his face and have it still be him.

It was a nightmare, those weeks following the incident with the Tennysons and their low bred companion....he remembers it all too well. He degenerated with each passing day. Eyes sinking, skin drying, and hair falling out. Every day there was someone else in the mirror looking back at him. He has watched himself die and the only feeling he had was a terrible, aching hunger that tore at his insides.

It hurts to think about and to remember.

He's ashamed of himself, but he'd never admit it.

It is easier to put up a front than to wallow in despair.

He can't help but wrap his cadaver-like arms around her. He pulls her warm body close to him. He just wants to feel it a little longer, the warmth of another human being...a female human being. Her skin is soft against him. It is like sleeping with a living pillow. It is comforting, to be this close to another person. For the first time in weeks, the hunger isn't tearing him up inside. He was careful with her. He might have taken more than he meant to, but that didn't mean he wasn't careful. He didn't want her to fade like the others. He wanted her to stay with him as she was.

She is still there.

He presses his sunken face against the back of her head and inhales the scent of her hair.

Sage and Lavender with just a hint of her sweat.

Wonderful. It is the best combination of scents in the world to him right now.

He closes his eyes and drifts into darkness beside her, her scent filling his skeletal nostrils.

For a few hours he is able to forget...able to be free..to be Michael...for a few hours.