F A N F I C T I O N > M I S C . F A N D O M S
Wildfire by Amberina
Isabel is fire. She burns, and she destroys, and she consumes. She has done all three to Liz. Liz is nothing without her now, and it's not just the way her hard nipple feels underneath her tongue. That's part of it, of course, but that's not all it is.
It's certainly not just the way little beads of sweat gather on her brow - and oh that doesn't look so good on anyone but Isabel but on her it's just . . . it makes Liz weak in the knees and damp in the crotch, and damn if she doesn't want her more than she ever thought she could want anyone.
She shouldn't want Isabel like this, she shouldn't have Isabel like this (oh she doesn't really have her that is just an illusion Liz makes up to help herself sleep at night, no one can truly say they have Isabel), and she shouldn't have allowed herself to be consumed, to be burnt, to be destroyed by Isabel, by this wildfire of a person. Isabel is a wildfire, and she has left Liz as charred ash.
But Liz has gone off track. It's not just the way ice melts when it touches her skin, little drops of water sliding down between her breasts, and it's not just the way Liz's tongue always aches to follow that trail of water. That's part of it, but that's not it completely. That's only a small fraction of why - of why - she - what is she doing anyway? What has she done?
What has Isabel done to her? (Isabel's tongue on her skin feels like the hot New Mexico sun beating down on her when she sunbathes, warm and familiar and she knows in the back of her head this is dangerous but she doesn't care enough to get up.)
And oh just like she should care about skin cancer, she should care about the fact that Isabel's not the only one destroying people. She should care, she would normally care, but it's getting so hard now. (Liz never used to sunbathe, not until Isabel.)
And just to touch Isabel is painful, Liz flinches and draws her hand back but is mesmerized by the flame, and she's like a moth, drawn to it against her will. Drawn to Isabel, against her will. (She has to tell herself it's against her will otherwise - oh she can't think about what that would mean.)
Liz tries not to think anymore. She's always been a thinker, one who liked to scientifically examine every situation, to break it down, and find an answer, but oh she can't do that with this. Those rules don't apply anymore, not with this. Not with Isabel.
Max - Max as screwed up their so-called love was - it was easy. It - she could break it down, and find an answer, and Liz did what she had to do. But with Isabel, she can't do that. With Isabel she's not sure that even if there was a clear-cut right thing to do, if she'd do it. And that scares her. Because Liz prides herself on being a good girl. Or she used to. But good girls simply don't do the things Liz has done, and where was she going with this? She can't remember anymore.
But the point is, if there was ever a point - not that everything's pointless, because that would certainly suck. But the point Liz is trying to make - well she had a point when all this started, she's sure.
What she's trying to say is it's not just the sex - oh she loves the sex, she could go on and on about the sex, the passion, the lust, the takemefuckmeburnme - no it's not just that. That's not why she keeps going back. It is, but there's more. There's the fact that she may kinda sorta maybe love Isabel. Oh she doesn't think about that much, because that would mean things she can't even comprehend right now, not with a brain as Isabel-fried as hers is now. Oh it would mean things that she just doesn't - couldn't accept. It would mean things that - well it would mean stuff. Bad stuff, and oh how she wishes Isabel was with her now.
Isabel is fire. She burns, and she destroys, and she consumes. She has done all three to Liz.