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The room filled with an electric tension, a palpable energy that crackles between them like a storm about to break. He moves toward her, eyes locked onto hers with a predatory gleam in their depths. She stands her ground, heart pounding in her chest, anticipating the upcoming torturous and pleasant dance.
Their lips met in a bruising kiss, teeth softly clashing, breaths mingling. He pulls her closer, his hands gripping her hips, feeling the familiar buzz of danger always accompanying their encounters. She was like poison ivy, beautiful and deadly, and he couldn’t resist the allure.
Legion’s hands roam her body, aggressive yet familiar. Rigel responds, but her mind is a whirlwind of conflict. She hates him - hates this - but her body betrays her, responding to his touch with a heat that infuriates her.
Their clothes fall away, a trail of discarded barriers left in their wake. He knows the danger. Know the price he will pay. But the pleasure is worth the pain. She is his addiction, his curse, and his doom.
As they release together, Legion feels the familiar sensation of Rigel’s body beginning to unravel all he is. She is toxic: designed to be his downfall. And he embraces it. Over and over. Their union a symphony of pleasure and pain. A dance only they can perform.
She watches, transfixed, as his flesh darkens and softens. His muscles loosen and lose their tense, chiseled definition. She cries loudly for him, calling out her growing orgasm as his abs and lap seem to melt away under her unyielding rhythm. His body literally melts to her touch. She holds him close, feeling his body tense and tremble with the effort to hold back.
Fireworks in her core, as in death, he climaxes in ways most can only dream. Another of Legion dissolves to feed his favorite star. As he goes, he moans for her—pure transcendence.
“There’s... my... girl,” he says, his voice soft and strained, pained and fragile. Yet, his eyes gleam with a satisfaction he had never shared with anyone but her.
Her bright stars for eyes illuminate his body as it begins to crumble, his grip on her waning as he slumps back onto the couch, diminishing. His flesh darkens and flakes away, leaving a trail of black ash and stain in its wake. His body breaks down under her influence and the intoxicating power of her scent. She watches, fascinated, as he withers away, a desiccated husk. His life force ebbing away under her touch. Finally, he collapses, his body reduced to a pile of ashes, and she sinks onto the couch, her sweaty skin dusted with his remains.
Exhausted from her shift and the rigorous workout, Rigel’s muscles protest with every movement. She drags herself towards the shower, leaving dark footprints in her wake. The sweat mixed with his ashes stings her skin—a painful reminder of the constricting spacesuit and the intense ‘love’ making.
The living room’s ambient lighting dims slightly in response to her movement, a feature she once marveled at but now barely registers. As she slogs forward, her bare feet sink into the temperature-regulated floor, and from a voice command, she activates the maintenance robots. Tiny metallic creatures whir to life, desperately cleaning just behind her, erasing the evidence of her passage.
A holographic notification hovers at eye level. Rigel absently waves it away, muttering, “Right.” Another reminder about her dwindling social connections, no doubt. The irony isn’t lost on her, surrounded by advanced technology, yet feeling more isolated than ever.
Passing the kitchen area, she ignores the soft hum of the food synthesizer as it prepares her pre-programmed evening meal. “Not yet,” she mumbles, her stomach growls in protest. The aroma of artificially replicated basil wafts through the air, a scent that used to excite her taste buds but now merely signals the passage of time.
The hallway leading to the bathroom is lined with dynamic wall displays, cycling through breathtaking vistas from across the Orion Spur. A glorious sunset on Verilia, the swirling storms above the mountains of Yrene, the iridescent rings of the gas giant Sirion—all sights that once filled her with wonder. Now, they’re just wallpaper, barely distinguishable from the blank walls of her childhood home. She pauses, her gaze caught by the photos in their room, snapshots of the Legion and her together through the years. She has aged. He hasn’t. Tracing the image of her younger self in their wedding photo, a soft sigh escapes her lips. Helpless, she knows she is lost. She is his, and she always will be.
As she approaches the shower, the bathroom’s AI assistant chirps a cheerful greeting. Rigel steps into the area without a word. She stands idle, and the program begins. She is still, allowing the water to cascade over her bruised body. Her skin complains as the water hits it, the ghost of his touch still lingering.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the AI’s soothing voice echoes softly. “I have adjusted the water temperature to your liking. Would you like any changes?”
“No, it’s fine.” Her voice is flat, devoid of emotion.
The AI pauses, sensing her tension. “You’ve had a long day. How about calming lavender and chamomile mist or tea to help you relax?”
“No. It’s getting late, and Keir should be home soon. I prefer a healing mist, please.” The words feel rehearsed, automatic.
As a refreshing mist envelops her, she winces. The AI continues, “You have a message from Supervisor Solis. Would you like me to read it aloud or save it for later?”
“Later.” The word comes out sharper than she intends.
“Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable, Mrs. Waldermara? Your well-being is my priority.” The AI’s voice is gentle, designed to provide comfort in a place where Rigel feels increasingly confined.
“No. Dismissed.” She closes her eyes, letting the water wash away the day’s grime, if not its memories.
Suddenly, something familiar makes her pulse quicken; it’s the sound of a piano drifting through the penthouse. The melody is hauntingly familiar—almost note for note, the same as when she had entered earlier. Her heart sinks. He’s back, so much faster than before.
ns 18.68.41.179da2
