InsaneJournal

Fic: Sublimation (Soul Eater, Stein->Medusa)
Hey, guys. It's been a while. Uh. Merry Christmas, have some sadist porn?

...It's actually been so long I don't remember if I've even flailed about Soul Eater properly here. Short version: Soul Eater is awesome, both anime and manga. The story is pretty much exactly the same up through episode 36 of the anime, where it's just starting to diverge. You can read the manga here.

Soul Eater, Stein->Medusa, ~1.6k words. Not worksafe.
Warnings for glossed sex and sexualized violence. Spoilers though episode 24/chapter 22.
sublimate. 1. Psychology. to divert energy (of a sexual or other biological impulse) from its immediate goal to one of a more acceptable social, moral, or aesthetic nature or use.

Sublimation

It wasn't healthy, Stein acknowledged as he lit another cigarette. But, as always, the alternative was worse.

He couldn't focus on the screen in front of him—his heart was beating too loudly. He exhaled smoke slowly and deliberately, and took another drag. The insanity tugged at the edges of his mind, and part of him still wanted it. The part that had rejoiced in the rain of Medusa's blood, and not cared what it had cost to win—

Not win. They'd lost. Even if he'd defeated the opponent in front of him, they hadn't won. He had to keep a grasp on the wider perspective, because letting that go was the first step to madness.

But it was hard, sometimes, to remember that what had happened had been more than Medusa. He'd made that mistake to start, been too focused on her, interested in her—more interest than he'd felt in years. Nothing like what normal people would feel as interest, of course, but if her invitation had come at a different time, when his students weren't already fighting to their death... He probably wouldn't have accepted, even then. But he didn't trust himself enough to be sure of that.

Worse, it wasn't much better without Medusa around. Stein's desires were never gone, just controlled, and the madness made them spark up and fill him with want. That was dangerous without a target, but he could suppress it for now. As long as he didn't think too hard about things like the gleeful frantic victorious moment when he'd sensed the wave of madness begin and felt Medusa's body slice in half as he took the opportunity—

No. Channel the desires elsewhere, into something more normal. Imagine Medusa alive in his bed, instead of how good it had felt to kill her. Sexual desire. Something sane, if ill-advised. Like stilling the itch of his hands wanting to cut by reaching for a cigarette instead. He could tell what it was doing to him—the slight attraction he'd felt was swiftly turning to an obsession as he fed it with fantasies. But it was better to be obsessed with the woman herself than what she'd offered. It was safe enough—he'd killed her, after all.

So—imagine his hands around her waist, her body so slight and
seemingly easy to... lift. Move. Not break. Imagine he could slam her against a wall, and this
time pin her with his body instead of stitching her in place. Watch her mouth curve in invitation and not take what it really offered. Instead put a hand on her neck, feel the pulse under her skin and—tilt her head upward, kiss her hard and uncompromisingly while she clutched at him hard, sunk fingernails into his shoulders.

And now Stein was sitting at his desk with his hand down his pants like... the normal teenager he'd never been. Good—it was a decent fantasy, at least. He could feel desire and a curl of pleasure as he stroked himself, and it gave him a feeling to cling to that wasn't the hanging threat of insanity. But, rationally, it felt wrong, too unreal—it wouldn't be like that with Medusa. Couldn't be, given who they were.

Medusa was a powerful, psychopathic, sadistic witch who wanted to see him release his grip on sanity and embrace his own sadism. To imagine her compliant and delicate in his arms was a completely unrealistic fantasy. She wouldn't shy away from real violence, wouldn't rake him with nails like a cabaret girl. Even when she'd been pretending to be innocent she'd still wanted to kill him enough to strike fear through his deadened heart. Even while she'd been trying to charm him into joining her she'd still attacked without mercy.

And of course, he wouldn't shy away either, if somehow she did submit to what he wanted—a scalpel blade would hurt a lot more sharply than fingernails, too. Ah, if he could split open her chest, watch the snakes inside her writhe as she bled, see if her heart still beat normally among all that dark magic—

No.

Rather than sinking a blade into her flesh, he would sink into her himself, and feel her hot and warm and alive.

That still wasn't right—it was all twisted together, now, and Stein couldn't tell how much of the quickness of his heart was due the madness outside and how much was his own. But he was far enough gone that he couldn't help himself. But it felt good, and it was as harmless as it could be, so he let himself go, and hoped it would be enough.

***

It was the next day, when Stein finally had to get some sleep, that his plan started to backfire.

He was standing in that tunnel, again. He could feel everything just as he had—the blood soaking his hair and trickling down his face, the ache of all the wounds he'd taken, the madness coursing through him, his body shaking with laughter. It was too intense to be just a memory, but still didn't hold a candle to the way it had felt at the time. A dream, then, probably.

It was confirmed when he took a shuddering breath, heard a slight chuckle from one side of him, and turned to see Medusa standing, untouched and entirely naked, in the middle of a pool of her own blood.

He felt his grin widen. "Here for me to kill you again?"

Medusa smiled, tilting her head at him. "You'd like that." A drop of blood fell onto her, making a wet trail down her collarbone, dark against her pale skin.

Stein choked back laughter. "Yes, I would." He watched the blood drip down, following her curves to her hip, until he saw her muscles shift underneath it she stepped forward. Belatedly, he moved to ready himself for an attack, but Spirit was gone from his hand.

Suddenly she was right in front of him, as close as she'd been when they danced, still not wearing anything, still smiling at him. "You're gorgeous like this, Stein." She looped arms over his shoulders and pressed up against him, enough that he could feel the heat of her body through his clothes and the cooling blood—both his and hers—that smeared from them onto her skin. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Ah..." He was vaguely aware that, even if this was a dream, he should be doing something else. But, god, it had felt good, did feel good, so much so, to just do what he wanted—

Medusa hooked a leg around his, riding up his thigh obscenely, her whole body clinging to his like a snake seeking warmth. The laughter welled up again, and as he shifted his weight he abruptly lost his balance, stumbled backward and fell, Medusa landing firmly on top of him. He splayed out for a minute and let himself laugh, laying his arms flat in the blood that still covered the ground.

Medusa folded her legs so she was straddling him and smiled. He wanted so badly to kill her.

Before Stein really realized he'd moved he was turning his shoulders into a strike. He hit Medusa solidly in the solar plexus with the palm of his hand, all his concentration going into sending his wavelength into the blow. Her eyes widened, her body twitching, the blood on her skin writhing into different patterns as the energy sliced through her. He watched, enraptured, as her expression twisted in pain.

Then his blow was spent, and her eyes narrowed and focused on him again. "So strong!" Her voice was high, sweet, fake. Then it deepened: "But that's what I want."

"Of course." He should be afraid of her, he knew. He should pull back for another strike, no matter how little good it would do. But he was shaking, his body still quivering slightly with suppressed laughter. And Medusa just reached for him, slowly, and somehow when her hand touched his chest it touched bare skin.

Suddenly his other hand wasn't empty; his fingers closed around the handle of a scalpel. But as he did it, all of his clothes were gone, and Medusa was astride him. He watched her face contort with a different expression as she rode him, back arched in pleasure.

He could feel the ecstasy moving up his spine, and he knew it could get better, if he could just raise his hand and cut her. He could slit her throat and watch her bleed out—he knew from experience she wouldn't die so easily. He could watch her bare skin be soaked with fresh blood as she still moved, and then cut her open carefully, take his time with her death this time—

He woke up hard and gasping, the aura of insanity a heavy blanket over him. It felt hard to breathe, like the air was a viscous fluid instead of a gas—except for the swirl of air that brushed his ear as he heard a bright laugh, from too close. He whirled, but there was nothing there but the wall.

"You're too easy, Stein," Medusa's voice said clearly, and he turned again.

There was still no one there, but he couldn't help responding anyway. "And whose fault is that?"

"You were rotting of boredom here before I did anything. The only thing I did was wake you up."

"I'd prefer you didn't do so again," he said firmly into his empty laboratory, even knowing he shouldn't respond. Medusa was dead. Her voice wasn't real.

"I think we both know what you'd prefer."

Even if the echo of her laughter sounded real enough.