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Cowgirls and Indians	By : Lechan Category: +. to F > Chrono Crusade Views: 7910 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Chrono Crusade, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
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Disclaimer: Chrono Crusade never
has been, never will be, nor never can be mine. On account of the fact that
it’s busy belonging to Daisuke Moriyama-sama.
Oh well. T_T

Author’s Note: Yea! Congrads to my darling
Lechan-sama, who is now—officially—a high
school grad. Woot! ::throws confetti:: And so, for
her, I write this fic.

Beware of the
goings-on in my mind. That’s all I have to say.

Please enjoy. XD

X

Dime Store Novels

X

(Written by Artemis, Goddess of
the Night)

X

Rosette had never been too fond of reading. Sad, but true.
Despite her little brother’s most sincere attempts to convince her
otherwise—that “reading is great!”—the young girl
simply could not find any joy in it. What was the fun, she wondered, in
pretending to do something through a book when one could just as easily get off
their duff and do it? That was her opinion, anyway. Not to say that she disliked the idea of novels and
everything—oh, she liked it very much! Such stories kept Joshua happy,
after all. So they couldn’t be all bad.

They just weren’t for her.

At least. . . not until him.

Chrono.

Chrono and his
stories.

Oh, Chrono’s stories were
amazing. That was the only word she could find to describe them—amazing.
Full of mysterious shadows, shining heroes, beautiful maidens; all connected
and strung together by a plot as thin and strong as a thread of spider silk.
His words simply flowed, washed over
her ears like a wave on the beach: warm and soothing. He had a voice made for
weaving tales—for it brought pictures to life before her very eyes, like
magic. Surely it was magic, a magic
that only devils as strange and marvelous as he possessed.

Regardless, his stories made her hungry. And not, for the first time in her
life, for food. No, instead she was hungry for more—more shadows, more
heroes, more maidens. More action, more drama, more humor. More everything!
Finally, she understood the beauty behind these tales. Understood why so many
people, children and adults, retreated behind covers of cardboard whenever they
could sneak in a free moment or two. Though books lacked Chrono’s
warmth and sonorous tone, they contained tales almost as masterfully crafted as
his own. Who wouldn’t want to
hear them every moment of every day?

She certainly did, and she was the
world’s pickiest person! (Or, so said the other kids.)

Which was how she began reading.
Joshua, of course, was thrilled—eagerly offering her every book on his
shelf, pointing out his favorites with enthusiasm. Sure, she found most of his
favorites boring, but that didn’t stop her from loading as many as she
could carry into her arms and spending the nights she couldn’t spend with
her devil friend engrossed in the characters’ worlds. In a way, it was
nice. Even fun. And, slowly but surely, she began to realize something else
about books. Something she had been wrong about before:

There were some things one couldn’t get off of their duff and do.

Oh, sure, many of the things she could—like in that one really boring tale about the kid and dog—but,
Rosette had to admit, she’d never even come close to having the sort of
life the characters in some books had. Really, chasing down and killing evil
demons? How silly. Chrono was a demon, but he
wasn’t bad. And people with magical powers? Absurd! Joshua could heal
others, but he certainly couldn’t read minds or turn people to stone.
And—! . . .

. . . And. . .

Rosette pinked, thoughtfully twirling a strand of hair.
‘And. . .’ Curling into a
tight ball around the novel in her lap, the girl scooted closer to the candle
on the table beside her armchair—the only source of light in the darkness
of Seventh Bell. There was this other
thing that appeared in a lot of the books—something else she was sure
she’d never be able to do.

But, the thing was, she wasn’t exactly sure. . . well,
why. It didn’t seem like a bad
thing to her. All of the books portrayed it as nice. . . at least, she assumed that the people in the books
were gasping because it was nice. They asked for more a lot, anyway, like she
did with desert— and desert was nice. But it was sort of hard to tell
sometimes, on account of all of the big words. She had tried to ask about those
words, once, but when Ms. Jean saw the book and turned white—then bright
red— and snatched the novel away without another word, Rosette pretty
much figured out that she wasn’t supposed to ask about things like that.
Or climb up the bookcase and steal paperbacks off of Ms. Jean’s personal
shelf. Or read the books with the half-dressed adults on the cover.

But the thing was, she couldn’t stop.
They intrigued her. There was something about them that she found absolutely
astonishing. True, she didn’t understand some of it—and she
wasn’t quite sure what a “sweet spot” was— but they
were cute and always had happy endings (which she was a sucker for), so it
didn’t really matter.

Still. . . she was growing a tad frustrated. There were only
so many times she could glance over certain words and make up meanings for
them. Rosette was restless. . . she wanted to know what these books were really about—besides romance and
happily ever afters.

And so she went to the story-telling source. The one person she trusted enough
not to snatch the novel away from her, tell her to go to her room, and never to
touch Ms. Jean’s books again.

Chrono.

Which was how she got to where she was the next day; a
picnic basket in the crook of her arm, Ms. Jean’s novel hidden in her
apron pocket, and Joshua at home with a head cold. She felt guilty about
leaving her kid brother behind, but at the same time knew it would be easier to
ask without him there. Joshua was only interested in cowboys, Indians, and
scientifically mutated aliens. Stuff about two mouths “pressed erotically against the other,
bruised but needy; tongues greeting their partners shyly before beginning the
ancient dance of seduction” (whatever that meant) probably
wouldn’t interest him. She wondered fleetingly if it would interest Chrono.

Well, she was about to find out, wasn’t she? “Hiya, Chrono!”

The boy, who was perched gracefully on a nearby ledge of
rock, perked; his placid look of contemplation vanishing the instant he heard
her sweet voice call. A smile lit his childishly wise face, maroon eyes
softening when he glanced towards the girl, the one waving at him with lunch
and a beam.

“Good afternoon, Rosette,” he greeted, turning
around when she came racing up to meet him, a bounce in her step.
“I’m happy to see you. But where’s Joshua? Isn’t he
feeling well?”

“He’s got a slight fever,” she sighed, another stab of
sadness piercing her heart. But she pushed the thought roughly away, knowing
that her brother had been completely obsessed with a new book he’d gotten
the day before, and was probably having a wonderful time reading it right now.
“He’ll be okay by tonight.”

“Well, that’s good,” the devil murmured,
gratefully nodding his head when Rosette offered him a sandwich from her
basket. “I know how much you worry about him.”

She blushed, her tummy making funny movements that had nothing to do with
hunger. In fact, she suddenly felt anything but
hungry. . . so she put her own sandwich down and pretended to watch the sky as Chrono ate. Of course, her eyes were really on him.

Sometimes, when they were near—with or without
Joshua—her body would do funny things. Things that it only ever did
around him. Like her heart would
start pounding really fast when he smiled. Or her hands would start to sweat
when he patted her head. Once, while saving her from falling into a river,
he’d accidentally grabbed her sides too close to her chest, and her
nipples had grown hard. This confused her, but embarrassed him more. Yes, she
didn’t understand half of the things that went on inside her most of the
time. Like that period thing that had started a few months ago. Just plain
irritating. Not only did she have to wear different, uncomfortable underwear
for three days, but Chrono always acted funny around
her—sort of jerky and stiff and flushed. And he tried to breathe out of
his mouth more, too, on those days. Like there was something in the air that he
didn’t want to smell.

Not today, though. No, today was going to be perfect. She’d stopped
bleeding last week, her confidence level was high, and this time her voice
wouldn't get squeaky when she attempted to say his name. She’d make sure
of it!

“Chrono,” she then
began—careful to keep her tone light—taking a small sip from her
water bottle as the devil finished an apple, looking very peaceful while he
munched. “I’ve been. . . wondering something.”

“Hm?” The violet-haired demon blinked
inquisitively, throwing the core of his apple into the nearby woods and
beginning to lick his sticky fingers clean. “Yes, Rosette?”

Well, now of never. . . her fists clenched, head a-swirl with unexpected
questions and worries. What if Ms. Jean had taken the book from her because it
was insulting? Or because it was about something illegal? What if. . . oh, this
was stupid! It was Chrono, for goodness sakes! What
was he going to do? Lecture her? Pth!

“I’ve been reading this new book,” she informed him
matter-of-factly, drawing out the dime store novel and displaying it with a
serious expression. The devil’s eyes skimmed the cover, taking in the
refined-looking young lady in a blue silk dress and the scrappy man in the
dirty suit coat. “And there are some parts in it that I don’t get.
So I was wondering. . . could you help me? Understand them, I mean.”

Chrono paused, the tip of his
thumb still in his mouth, looking a bit taken aback. “Well, sure,”
he then agreed, flashing her that sweetly patient smile. Her heart—as
Sarah, the unofficial romantic of the orphanage, would have said—melted.
“Of course I will. I’ll help in any way that I can.”

Her resolve firmed. “Excellent,” she chirped,
scooting closer to him so that they could more easily share the pages.
“And don’t worry, this shouldn’t take long.” That said,
Rosette opened the book to its middle and began to hand it to him—but
stopped when his nervous grin reminded her of one of his previous confession.
The one where, after being harassed by Joshua for not knowing any modern
stories, he’d admitted to not knowing how to read English books.

“Oh. Sorry about that. I’ll do it.”
Problem solved.

And so she read aloud for him.

“Ahem. . . Their
bodies fit together perfect,” the girl recited, voice innocent and
yet—in some, sick, twisted way—sinfully sultry, “creating friction in all of the right
places. His lips loved hers, and her chest caressed his. Whispered nothings,
sweet and lulling, echoed through the black bedroom; their secrets hidden by a
thin veil of shadows.” Rosette paused, glimpsing in the devil’s
direction—to find that his blood-red pools had widened to the size of
oceans, blanched and slack jawed. She cocked her head, mildly bewildered. . .
but at the same time, greatly amused.

His cheeks were so bright. . . his expression so priceless. . . his whole body
quivering.

She felt powerful when she saw this—like one of the
woman in the novels. The women who always knew exactly how to do things, the
ones who seemed so smart. Rosette may not have been able to comprehend everything discussed in those
paperbacks, but she had gathered bits of it . . . and now that she saw his
face, other pieces were beginning to click into place.

Yet. . . it wasn’t enough. She wanted to know more.
Maybe, if she continued, other parts of the story would make sense. So she
flipped to a second passage and started up again: “He moved inside of her, filling her as she groaned, moaned her pleasure
into his ears. There was no one else in the world but themselves, and they
relished the feel of their togetherness, wrapped in the haze that was their own
little worl— eh?”

She cut herself off, starting in surprise as Chrono gingerly placed his hand over her mouth, trembling
and pale. His other hand reached over and closed the book, gently tugging it
from her hands and placing it beside the picnic basket.

Silence fell for a moment, echoing loudly in her ears.

“Rosette. . .” he then asked in a careful voice, one that shook
with suppressed emotions. But which emotions, that was the question. “Wh-where did you—what did you—why are you. . .
reading that?”

Rosette tilted her head, plaits swinging in the late fall breeze. Above them
the sun began to sink, clouds made of silver transforming into gold.
“Because,” she retorted quietly, hands clenching her dress and
squeezing slightly. But her mind wasn’t on his
question—“they’re kind of nice. . .”—it was on
his hand.

The hand that he’d placed so close to her face—so close that she
could pick up his personal aroma; savor it, allow it to fill her lungs. Oh, the
scent of pine and cinnamon and darkness clung to him like a second layer of
skin, intoxicating and addictive. But to simply smell it wasn’t enough.
No, the little girl wanted something else. . . and with his tanned flesh still
coated in a sprinkling of apple-flavored sugar, she knew instinctively what
that was: To taste him. To feel his warm skin beneath her tongue, like it
mentioned in the stories. Really, it was all clicking in her mind, now. It all made sense. Well, most of it. But
that didn’t matter. Only Chrono did.

All she’d have to do would be to open her
mouth—just enough for her tongue to slip through. . .

“—tte, and these sorts
of books are not fo—!” The devil, who
had, unnoticed by Rosette, been ranting for the past few minutes, silenced
himself with a choked gasp—whole body stiffening when he felt a small,
velvety tongue tickle the tips of his fingers. “R—Rosette!”
he managed, forcing the strangled words from his mouth. “Wh—what are you doing?”

Her glazed eyes, half-lidded and full of something
unfamiliar, lifted leisurely to lock with his, her delicate hands cupping
around his own; holding it in a misleadingly gentle embrace. But he knew for a
fact that now she’d latched on, she’d never let go.

“Your hands are still sticky,” she breathed,
cheeks rosy and voice silky as that teasing pink appendage darted out once
more, caressing his clawed digest with a natural grace that made his arms
shiver. How was she doing this? Was this whole thing a charade? Did she
actually understand the words of the book and now want to tease him?
How—what—why—? He needed to stop her—stop her before
she . . . she. . .

His eyelashes flickered when her tongue began to swath a
path down to his palm, tracing patterns there that tasted both sweet and salty
all at once. An addictive flavor. . . she didn’t ever want to stop. But,
eventually, she had to; when Chrono seemed to come to
his senses and abruptly pulled away, eyes flashing dangerously.
“Rosette!” he growled, breathing heavily— all traces of good
humor gone. “What on Earth are you trying to do?!”

She stared at him, mildly taken aback. Then, pushing herself to her knees, she
leaned forward; nose to nose—trapping him between her arms when he
attempted to scoot away. “I’m learning, of course,” she
whispered, voice breaking from the adrenaline rush coursing through her.
“I’m beginning to understand, Chrono. But
I’m not done yet. . . and you promised you’d help me. You
didn’t lie to me, did you?”

The boy faltered, an expression of unprecedented shock on his face.
“R—Rosette,” he managed to splutter after a moment, “yo—you don’t even know what you’re asking. . . !”

She smiled slightly, a toothy grin with half-lidded orbs that looked
frighteningly natural on her adorable face. “Actually,” Rosette
murmured, inching closer with partly open, moist lips, “I think I do. .
.”

And with that, she covered his mouth with her own, locking them so tightly
together that even air couldn’t escape—just like the book had
mentioned. It was awkward, it was hesitant; but that didn’t last long.
For Rosette was a very quick learner, and had soon deployed her tongue again:
pressing it into his warm, honey-flavored cavern. A funny feeling overtook her
when she did this, a strange need. . . to explore.

Of course, she loved exploring. She wanted to be an explorer
when she grew up, after all—well, when Joshua got better, that was. But
never before had she wanted so badly to explore another body. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know that boys
had different figures than girls. She’d taken enough bathes with her
brother to figure that out. And it wasn’t like she’d ever desired
to discover what made Joshua tick.
No, there was something different about Chrono. About
the way he felt through his leather clothing, the way his body moved.

Rosette pressed her palms against his stomach, feeling Chrono’s
muscles ripple through the fabric. After a moment she slid her nails higher,
resting them on his shoulders. They were warm and pleasantly supple, not hard
or soft. Again, she moved, allowing her fingers to dance up his collarbone and
wrap in the loose hair at the base of his neck. This must have created a
strange sensation within him—almost like the flame growing inside her own
belly—for her let out a little moan.

Her heart, again, quickened. This was just like in the book! Astonishing. . .

And, as her amazement overtook her, something else did,
too—her philosophy. Not just any philosophy, either, like the one about
hiding veggies. No. . . she was being sucked under by a more virulent opinion:

‘Instead of
reading about it— get off your duff and do it!’

It was looking like Chrono was
going to have little choice in the matter. Rosette always found a way to get
what she wanted.

Moving her lips lightly against his, the girl gasped;
surprised by the pleasurable excitement this created. A shiver ran down her
spine.

Closer, closer, some unseen voice
urged. . . Closer to what? She
wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, the voice— the voice that seemed
to come from inside her own head—was doing its job. She was closer than
before— but still not enough! She needed to find a new position. . . a
way to feel this same feeling, only stronger. Ten—no— one hundred
times stronger!

With reluctance, Rosette pulled her mouth away from the
devil’s; winded and flushed. Chrono, too, was
looking odd: his eyes a bit redder than usual, his hands—which had been
clenched pointedly at his side—beginning to shake, to move. . . inching
instinctively towards her body. Noticing this, she grabbed them roughly,
placing them on her hips.

And when she pealed her fingers away, she was happy to find that his remained
firmly in place, talons digging into the wool of her coat.

Yet, something was still missing. Her insides were screaming, a fire starting
to flame somewhere deep within—low on her body, down near the places no
one was supposed to see. But she found she didn’t care. If that was where
the burn was, didn’t it make sense to cool it off? The air was certainly
becoming colder—twilight was creeping steadily over the
land—perhaps it would help.

Shifting her legs, Rosette hitched up her long, pleated skirt, pushing the
flaps desperately out of the way. It was getting harder to move her legs—
the aching, searing sensation paralyzed her bottom half— but she moved
closer anyway, still wanting to be near. Near, near. . . how near could she be?
Closeness was what she automatically longed for, what she impulsively desired.

How close was close? Her 12 and a ½ year old mind whirled to find the
answer, but a hazy whiteness was swallowing all of her rational thought. Close,
close—that’s all she knew. Close enough to feel him. Feel him
“fill her” as the novels had said.

Close, close. . .

She couldn’t think anymore. Her brain wasn’t working—couldn’t
tell her exactly what “close” was. So instead she moved how she
thought she should: spreading her legs wide and plopping right down in his lap;
pressing herself flush to his lower stomach.

Close, close. . . She rubbed against him, gasping. Yes, that
was close.

But was it close enough? No. Never. Never close enough. However, it would do
for now. So she kissed him again—three times—, rapidly over the
lips, tightening her long limbs around the small of his back, hugging tightly.

And, to her surprise, he responded. Responded almost
instantly.

“Roseeeeetteeee. . .”
he groaned, stiffening with a muffled moan when she rubbed her center against
his abdomen a second time, his demonic eyes flashing. Hands clenching her
sides, he pulled her down—away from his stomach and directly on top of
his hardening arousal. Her eyes widened, breath hitching; but she held no fear.
And to prove this, she moved again: her short, white cotton bloomers creating
hot friction over his tight black pants. “N-no. . .” he hissed,
burying his face in the nape of her neck and squeezing his eyes shut.
“Can’t— fight instinct—run—!” But as he
spoke, his hands tightened around her forearms; helping her pump against him.

“No,” she pouted soundlessly into his pointed
ear, running her hands through his strands of purple silk. “I don’t
want to run. And I don’t want you to. . . to fight instinct. You promised
to help me. This is what I want.” To prove this, the child began to tug
on his tanned poncho, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the ground
before attacking his second layer; slipping her fingers up the hem. He
didn’t stop her. So she lingered a moment over his nipples, tweaking
playfully— before yanking that top off, too.

It was then that Rosette felt the air catch in her throat.
For in front of her, eyes out of focus and glossy locks flowing, was an angel.

Well, he must have been. He must have! Nothing and no one
else could have been so beautiful: with long, sinewy muscles running up and
down his torso, toning it magnificently; bronze blanketing those muscles
instead of skin, warm and smooth to the touch. And he shimmered—or seemed
to, anyway—a fallen spirit in the glowing starlight.

Again, Chrono froze— this
time from the unexpected chill that seemed to wake him up. At least, he began
to respond again: teeth lightly nipping her shoulder blade as his fingers
started to move. Down, down, down; down towards that place Ms. Jean had warned
her was forbidden. Well, Ms. Jean had also told her that the forest was forbidden, and look how wrong
she’d been then. In fact, most of what Ms. Jean said seemed to be
pointless.

Not wanting to remain idle, Rosette traced the shell of Chrono’s
ear with the tip of her tongue and, since he seemed to enjoy the feel, repeated
the maneuver seconds later. That same feeling of power was welling up inside of
her, mixing with the tension and inferno that boiled in the pit of her tumm—

Her sapphire pools snapped open, mouth dropping in a silent
cry as she felt something—fingers; it was his sharp, gentle
fingers!—pushing against her panties, groping for something that even she
hadn’t known was there. A little button, just within of her, that made
her yelp his name whenever he brushed it. Another reaction that appeared to
make him happy, as he began to caress the tiny knob fervently, massaging in
rapid circles that made her whole body tense up in his arms.
“Ah—ah—ah—!” Rosette puffed squeakily, arching in
his hold so that her bottom was pressed tightly to his arousal, her lips to his
lips, and the rest of her lithe form curved away.

“Ch—ro—no. . . !” Her
strangled voice snagged on something unseen, dying completely when she
commenced in dragging herself up and down his abdomen; adoring the feel of the
catching, fraying, heating fabric. That, in combination with his circles,
almost made her faint from carnality on the spot. But she wasn’t done
learning. . . there was still the rest of his body to behold.

The devil, who’s common sense had long since given way
to instinct and lust, faltered in surprise when he felt the little girl’s
hand cover his own, ceasing his assaults on her lower body. Instead, she guided
his fingers to her chest, where two little lumps had begun to form. Undoing the
top three buttons of her bright red jacket, Rosette placed his palms directly
over her peaked nipples, silently demanding that he show her what should be
done.

And he did so. With a relish.

A small grin growing on his round face, he pushed her down. Not roughly, but
suddenly enough to startle her. Back into the long, cool grass she fell,
cushioned by the moss and wildflowers that surrounded Chrono’s
cave and the clearing in which he lived. Her skirt still pushed up past her
hips, the devil pounced— rejoining their grinding hips as he felt her, his
mouth moving from her own in order to caress her breasts through her shirt. She
writhed, nails raking down his front in erotic retaliation.

He whined urgently, quivering beneath her fingertips. How
she loved the sound! Coiling tendrils of white-hot flame were encasing her,
tying tightly around her abdomen.

“Chrono. . .” she sang
softly, managing to grab a fistful of his hair when he leaned down to again
press his lips against her peaked nipples, suckling and kneading her through
the rough cloth. She thrashed, he purred. And then he swiftly tore through the
first four buttons of her blouse, revealing a smooth, milky collarbone. Oh, it
taunted him. . . he began to suck upon it greedily. “Chrono
. . .” she roughly tugged the lock of violet, yanking his head close to
her own. Their cheeks were flushed, their eyes glassy, both out of breath and
hearts beating in time. Licking her lips—only to reach out and caress
his, as well—the girl smiled her usual innocent smile, golden tendrils
falling out of her twin braids to cup her face. “Chrono,
in the books. . .” Rosette whispered, as if relaying a great secret,
“they always say. . . ‘take me’ before. . . before the parts
I read to you. So I want you to do that. Take me.”

These words seemed to awaken something within him. Take me.

But. . . but. . . but. . .

Chrono, though seemingly hesitant,
began to shake his head; as if trying to fight something deep within
himself—but when she kissed him, deep and long and passionate and
fumbling, he couldn’t resist her. This tiny child, his only light . . .
he couldn’t deny her anything she asked. And, when he tried to find anger
inside of himself for his inability to say no, he realized that he
couldn’t. There was none there to find. He wanted this. . . And he knew that was wrong.

But at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Demonic instinct was clouding his mind, desire running rampant through his
veins, love squeezing his heart. If she wanted this, he’d give it to her.
He’d do anything for her. . . she was his downfall. His greatest
weakness.

And she knew it, too.

That was why she smiled.

Spreading her dirt-stained knees out wider and lifting the
pleats of her skirt so that they covered her upper torso like a blanket— but
completely exposed her legs and underwear— Rosette rolled her body, eyes
locked with the devil’s. “Come on, Chrono,”
the little girl urged quietly, temptingly; dragging his hands down her body,
“let’s play a game together. A new game. It will be fun, I
promise.”

Chrono’s retort died on his
tongue when she released a longing mewl: her response to the sensation of his
palm pressed roughly to her heated core; permitting him to feel her moistness
through her panties. The lace decorating the edges of the bloomers sent a
longing shudder down his back, his want growing exponentially. And Rosette, in
turn, reached out and gently touched the bulge of his pants, grinning
deliciously when he doubled over with a husky, moaning gasp.

It defiantly wasn’t the sound of a hurt person. . .
Yes, everything really was making sense, now. Wonderf—

“MINE.”

“?” Her jaw dropped a bit in surprise when she
heard the soft growling from behind the curtain of his purple hair. “What
. . . ?”

His shoulder’s grew rigid. “Rooosette.
. .” he devil snarled, lifting his eyes to reveal their glowing red hue;
shining down at her through the shadows of the darkening evening. “Miiine. . .”

She blinked.

And then smirked. “. . . Heh.”

It was strange—though she knew she ought to have been
frightened by now at the very least, Rosette was still not
afraid. In fact, his sudden avariciousness towards her only whetted her lust,
making her toes curl. Moreover, it added to the adventure of the entire action:
exploring all of the moods of her demon friend.

“Yes,” she murmured in his ear when he pressed
close, their chests flush and their lowering bodies grinding. “I am
yours, Chrono. . .” The words spilled easily
from her lips, sounding nice in her ears. “I am yours.”

He grinned, fangs glittering in the moonlight—joining
their lips once more as his tongue ransacked her candy-sweet mouth, working his
hands up her thighs. Grabbing the frilly edges of her bloomers, Chrono yanked away the barrier; plummeting a finger into
her scorching depths.

“Aaaa—!” Her
muffled cry of thrill was swallowed, his tongue and fingers plunging deeper
inside of her, pumping simultaneously. The girl shook violently; the
impassioned chains in her core tightening painfully as she began to rock
against his touch, battle with his silken appendage, and allow her hot little
hands to drift past his belly. . .



Landing, once more, against his stiff erection. The fist
he’d placed against her side tightened, biting into her flesh with a
wonderful sort of agony.

She pulled her bruised lips from his, a droplet of saliva
drizzling down her chin. Their foreheads remained touching—eyes
locked— Rosette fiddling with the rim of his pants, tugging and pulling
on them until they loosened and slipped down to his knees, revealing his
manhood. Childish wonder overtook the girl’s sweaty features, reaching
out to touch it—

A strained hiss escaped Chrono at
her actions, unconsciously pressing his face to the nape of her neck and
kissing her there, swathing a hot path from her ear to her shoulder. “Rosssetteee. . .” he grunted, claws digging into her
skin when she began to gently stroke him, squeezing slightly every so often. He
thrust instinctively against her hand. “D-don’t. . .”

“Don’t what?” she questioned breathlessly, moving her head to
give his mouth better access to her throat. “Don’t start. . . or
don’t stop?” He couldn’t respond, shocked that such a
naïve child could pick up so many secrets from books; unable to form words
as she tortured him. Instead, he bit down, piercing through her flesh and
savoring the tang of her blood. She shrieked, but not from pain. Her
eyes—alive and flashing with love— gave that away.

“Stop then, I guess,”
she giggled laboriously, chest rising and falling rapidly from a lack of air.
But she wasn’t tired. . . oh, no. Now that she knew what was going on,
how the world inside the novels worked, she wanted more. Playtime was far from
over. She began to move her hand again, faster than ever, pumping against him.
“Right?”

“—!” Chrono
opened his mouth, about to scream, but at the last moment managed to silence
himself by closing down harder around her throat; eyes squeezed shut. He
couldn’t— couldn’t take much more— !

And so the devil wrenched his hands away from her body,
placing them instead over her wrists, forcing her to stop.

“?” Rosette faulted; huge, deep blue pools staring up at him, full
of innocent curious. Chrono’s dark ruby gaze,
in return, bored into her own; their foreheads brushing, noses tip to tip. A
film of sweat covered the pair, the pair hiding in the brush beneath the
magenta-navy sky. The moon and the stars twinkled down upon them; highlighting
the demon’s supernatural superiority and causing the orphan’s body
to glow like an angel’s. “What is it, Chrono?”

“. . .” He smiled slightly, incisors flashing, eyes answering for
him. The child blushed, but replied with a passionate kiss—gasping into
his mouth when he suddenly entered her body, thrusting deeply and filling her
just like the paperbacks had described. Only better. Only so much better. Because it was real— because it was her and Chrono, not some characters she knew didn’t exist.
Sure, it hurt a bit at first; and a single tear slipped down her cheek when
something within her snapped. But the devil, despite being overcome by inborn
desire, was gentle—licking away the pain and intertwining their fingers
above her head.

“Chrono. . .” she sighed, closing her
eyes to memorize the feel of him; of his arousal thrumming inside of her. He
responded softly, breathing dark, possessive words into her very soul. A sudden
wind rushed over their heads, making his free hair flutter and tickle her nose.
But despite the chill in it left in its wake, Rosette found that she was
anything but cold.

She was too busy plotting.

The demon—who was too intoxicated by the feel and the smell of the girl
beneath him—exhaled in sharp surprise when he was unexpectedly flipped
over, taking Rosette’s place in the grass. He shot her a bewildered
expression, revealing his fangs; but she simply laughed: pulling herself half
an inch away. . .

And sitting forcefully back down.

“Ah—!”

The feel forced identical groans from their lips, the
child’s dress—which had spread around them like a
sheet—hiding their actions from the world. Rosette smiled seductively,
unlatching the rest of her blouse’s snaps. Chrono’s
hands moving to grip the child’s hips, brushing against the now bare
plane of her stomach; the tantalizing view of her developing breasts hidden by
the lapels of her shirt.

And then, he mimicked the operation: lifting her slightly, only to slam her
back down.

It felt so good . . . ! Rosette whimper her desire to
continue, to go faster; running her palms across his chest and pushing off,
moving against the devil as he moved against her, their hips connecting with
enough force to wound her entire lower half. But the girl didn’t
care—instead, she threw her head back and cried out, riding the waves of
emotion that threatened to pull her under. Chrono,
too, voiced his pleasure: yelling her name into the night when he could no
longer contain himself; reaching out and pulling her close as he spilt his seed
into her womb— teeth digging into the flesh of her shoulder.

This behavior sent the orphan over the edge. “Aaaa—! Chronooo!”
Seconds later, the squeezing bands of hungry passion inside of her own abdomen
snapped with an earth-shaking roar—sending her small form into massive
convulsions of incredibly pleasure; multicolored stars dancing before her eyes.
“Eeeeaa—ah. . . !”

And then she collapsed, quaking and panting and sweaty and hot, closing her
eyes against the demon’s bare shoulder; smiling when his arms enveloped
her. Suddenly, she could hear the crickets chirping, the rush of the wind and
the rustle of the trees, as well as the soothing beat of Chrono’s
heart. The pace of which matched her own.

“Yea. . .” she giggled after savoring the peace
for a moment, voice soft and tired, snuggling closer and breathing in the
boy’s wonderful scent, “I get it now. . . I understand. Thank you, Chrono. . . love you. . .”

With that, she drifted off to sleep, content and cozy in his
embrace.

X

X

X

“You know, Chrono. .
.” Rosette smirked slightly, lying next to him in the petrified grass of
the time-frozen Orphanage’s front yard; pulling her habit over her head
as her devil worked to button his shirt, “when I woke up that next
morning, back in my room, I thought for a while that it had all been a
dream.”

Chrono reddened, fiddling with his long braid in an
embarrassed fashion. “Well, yeah,” he then snorted with a small
smile, helpfully straightening his Contractor’s cross-shaped button.
“I kind of wanted you to. . . you were only 12, Rosette.”

“12 and ½,” she corrected automatically, jamming her feet
into her boots, “And if that was the case, you shouldn’t have
bitten me so hard. It only took me two minutes in front of a mirror to figure
out it hadn’t been.”

“. . .” Chrono,
who’s magenta cheeks had darkened dramatically, hid his face against her
back; lightly wrapping his arms around her neck. “Dry up.” The
exorcist laughed.

“Oh, don’t act so guilty,” she teased,
twisting in his embrace and placing a swift kiss on his cheek.
“It’s not very becoming.”

“How can you say that?!” the demon frowned, staring up at her with
sad ruby eyes. “I practically raped you!”

“It’s not rape if you want it,” Rosette sang, poking his
ticklish side with a grin. “And if I remember correctly, I seriously
wanted it.”

The boy couldn’t help but smile, batting at her hands
in a kittenish way. “I guess. . . still, I wish we’d had a chance
to. . . uh. . . talk about it. . .” His lover’s expression saddened
slightly, remembering the events following their next meeting. Aion. . .

But just as quickly as her mood fell, it picked back up
again. “Oh well,” the nun shrugged, cheerfully straightening the
pocket watch on her chest. “It all worked out, didn’t it? And it
kept me from pestering you with questions for the next few—”

“Months,” Chrono finished with a roll of
his eyes, helping Rosette to her feet. “Or month, rather. Then Sister Kate had the bright idea to ask if
I’d ever attempted to rape you, to which you just HAD to retaliate. . .
by doing the raping yourself.”

“Ah ah ah,” Rosette shook a finger at the demon, face
stern but eyes glittering with mischief as they headed out the cement doors,
into the summer sun and towards the old car, “I repeat: it’s not
rape if you want it.”

His face, again, turned a delightful shade of cherry, but he
didn’t protest. Rosette’s smirk widened.

“Well,” she cleared her throat, stretching
languidly before slipping into the car with the devil. “All I’ve
got to say is thank God for dime store novels.” She winked at her partner
as they drove off, down the Michigan
country road. “Without them, I’d have missed out on a lot of fun.”

Dodging Chrono’s playful punch, Rosette speed
off—narrowly missing a farmhouse.

And time ticked on.
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Cowgirls and Indians

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