We made love while the guns fired. While the world exploded around us. Your hands were rough, and abrasive on my smooth skin. My nails dug into you and the blood flowed like Niagara Falls. Fistfuls of hair, and the red silhouette of handprints. The moaning became indistinguishable from the cries of pain that surrounded us.
We made love through the knife slaughters. While jugular arteries were slashed. I kept my hands on your throat with enough pressure to be certain you felt them there. You thrust with enough force to be certain you hit soft tissue. Moist sweat, and teeth marks. Absorbed into the process of creating life while surrounded by the process of taking life.
We made love during the amputations. While limb joints were torn clear from their sockets. I provoked you until you pinned me down. You pinned me down until I imploded on a plain of aggressive instinct. Burning muscles, and heaving chests. With violent force and a final gasping breath, we collapsed into a heap of organs and bodily fluids.
And then, as reality caved in through the orgasmic haze, I realized...
in ecstacy, I had killed them all.
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