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Primordial
A.N. Previously titled 'Atonement', the story content remains generally the same, however I've fixed up a few typos that have been bothering me. Enjoy and let me know what you think.
"Out of the ground I rise to grace
Nobody knows it's just a phase"
Phase-Breaking Benjamin
"Show me what it's like
To dream in black and white,
So I can leave this world tonight"
Unknown Soldier-Breaking Benjamin
How long had he known her, meeting her on a hot day under the smoldering African sun years before. She had been a newly appointed anthropologist on her first excavation, he a new soldier, eager for blood and weapons and war. She had been studying human ancestors, piecing together a bloodline with only bones to guide her. He had been trying his damnedest to kill as many descendants as he could. It was an unlikely friendship, with clashing personalities and similar temperaments. But he found solace in her, and it hadn’t taken him long to realize that he would do anything to make her his own.
She was his elemental goddess, one of nature and earth. A child of the pagan night, a seductress of the dying autumn. She was beauty personified, fire and temptation, lust and captivation simultaneously. She was that gorgeous enchantress, seducing his body, filling his mind with images of passionate embraces and ruthless sex. She made him want to claim her, keep her beneath him, naked and beautiful and wanting. A lifetime with her.
It was a much better dream than the nightmares that plagued his mind night after endless, unforgiving night.
How long had he stood there, muscles arms crossed casually over a naked, broad chest, his back rigidly straight even as he leaned against the open doorway to her room. Time had been forgotten and there was only her. Only her. Jeans grazed low on his narrow hips, his belt tossed onto his floor in his own room a lifetime ago. But that room had held no peace for him, only agonizing frustration and despair. The walls, gray in color, had closed in on him. He was alone with himself there, with his thoughts, his memories, and he could feel them, those dark nightmares that haunted him even while awake, begin to surface to plan another attack on his senses. The most cunning of strategies.
So he had left his room, the rustic wooden floor so cold in the dark night on his bare feet, yet he welcomed the biting sensation. His senses surged and the memories faded away. And he had found himself gently pushing open her door and he had stood there, still stood there, watching, keeping silent vigil. The nightmares couldn’t hurt him here and there was only peace.
He didn’t believe in many things. Beliefs were for the innocent and naïve. He didn’t believe in the Bible or the Torah; they were only books after all, and religions did nothing for him. Beliefs were dangerous. Beliefs could quickly become a death sentence if one could not control them. But he did believe in a god, and he knew, somehow, that she, his pagan goddess, was the way to salvation.
Another feminine sigh drifted sweetly across the room and another clench of his stomach at the sound. Another wave of possessiveness and another temptation to move to her, wake her up with ruthless kisses and mind-numbing sex. Another urge to make her his. God he wanted to make her scream in pleasure, glorious pleasure. Slip into her and forget. Let her moans and screams drown out those sounds that echoed in his head. Forget the nightmares, the images that taunted his brain with cruelty. The explosions, the shrapnel, the endless smell of gunpowder from freshly fired weapons. Pull the trigger, recoil, the sound of metal entering flesh. The screams of commanders giving orders and the moans of the wounded as they lay dying. In his memories, in his dreams, he liked the dead much better.
The dead didn’t scream.
He moved then, uncrossing arms that had gone stiff long ago, his legs carrying him across the room. Green eyes, deep and rich in color, stared up at him as he came to her bed, settling himself down on it, his broad back to her. Arms hardened by physical labor and warfare were held taut, his hands clasped between his knees, his back straight and rigid.
Always the warrior.
She shifted to her side, her hand absently pulling the sheet up to cover her chest. He shifted his head, looking down at her.
"Walk with me?” he asked softly, his voice deep and sensuous. She nodded and he stood, leaving her to dress.
When he saw her again, she had thrown on only a simple nightgown. Silk caressing satin skin. The black gown skimmed over tantalizing curves, golden brown waves rippling down her back. Thin sandals adorned her feet, a protection against the cold night. In the dark, even the most beautiful objects could become dangerous. A broken branch, an unseen rock. He knew her though, and he knew that as soon as her feet left the cobblestone path and encountered the emerald grass that would be cold and soft in the midnight hour, those sandals would be abandoned and she would glory in the feel of nature beneath her bare feet.
She was his elemental goddess after all.
He had slipped on sneakers and a white tee shirt, the material stretching over taut muscles. They exited through the back door, a portal to another world. The wind was frigid as it hit them; the house no longer proving protection, and he saw her smile softly. Like an image out of a story book, a long, winding path of pebbles and smooth rocks guided the way through a thick forest behind the house, eventually leading to a grove of trees deep within the mass of oak and pine. This grove was special; a bare circular spot created by nature. How often had she gone there to dwell, he wondered, alone with her thoughts and memories. She came alive in the forest, and there, in the grove, was her temple of worship. It was there that the sun shone full force, its rays caressing and touching every blade of grass, every rock. It was there where countless flowers grew together in harmony, a colorful mass combined with the rich green of the grass. It was their destination now.
His hands slipped into jean pockets, warding off the cold. She glided next to him, her steps light and knowing. She was walking the path to destiny, this goddess of the frigid night, the grove calling her home and she was a willing slave to its call.
“They tell you to forget everything," he said as he slowly walked beside her down the moonlit path. She glanced at him, emerald eyes sparkling under silver rays, but said nothing.
“The only thing that matters are you and your gun,” he continued. “You kill because it’s your duty. You kill because you have to. Pull the trigger and end the conflict. And after awhile, you start to believe that. Taking a life becomes meaningless, just another means to a political end. But they don’t tell you that you’ll lose your humanity and not even notice it. Your victims stop being human and are just your enemies. And maybe, subconsciously, you want to hurt someone. Warriors have existed for centuries, but Christ, it was nothing like this. God, Cheyenne, our technology has advanced but we’re still so fucking primitive. You’d think advancing humans would have found a way through other means. But it’s still the same. It’s still politics. Millions die for the cause of a few.”
She crossed slender arms over her chest, silent, but comforting. In her silence, he found strength. He knew she wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t condemn him.
“As bad as it sounds, I can’t find myself regretting any of it. I’m a warrior. I’ve had to do what every soldier needs to do, balance reality with the myths. You have to shut everything out. Otherwise, you second-guess yourself and you’ll die. A game between rich old men becomes a survival game for us military boys really fucking quickly. I fought because I believe our cause was just. I just never realized that the people I’ve killed aren’t to blame.”
“I found myself questioning the notion of God so many times out there. I don’t believe in religions, you know that. But when you’re in battle and you realize that the next shot could be the one to end your life, you begin to wonder if there is something else out there, something that makes sense out of all of this chaos. My faith isn’t so strong. How can it be with all I’ve seen? But one day, you come to realize your enemies aren’t so different from you. They wonder the same questions you do. They believe or don’t believe in the same concepts that you do. It’s a hard idea to swallow. They tell you that these enemies are exactly that: enemies. They aren’t people. They’re just people doing bad things and you’re being sent in to set things right. But they’re people. Fighting for a cause just like you are.”
“People like to glorify war. But I’ve been there. Even with all these thoughts running through my head, I’m a soldier and I know what I’ve seen. Nights were the worst times. That’s when the last of our humanity would seep into our minds and haunt us all. None of us ever slept. We couldn’t. The screams kept us awake. Jesus, Cheyenne, we left the battlefields and the screams wouldn’t stop, “ He paused next to a tree, his hand flat against the trunk, looking at her with intense blue eyes. “It was all in our heads, those screams. I’ve seen soldiers commit suicide because of them.”
“Oh Michael," she whispered, a slender hand reaching out to caress his angled jaw. He was so gorgeous with his dark brown hair, his crystalline blue eyes that searched and probed. He jaw was angled, his face chiseled almost aristocratically. He was a god among mortals, the warrior angel, protector of humans, much like the angel that was his namesake. He was raw, intense, masculinity in primitive form. He was sensual, the silent man whose power could never be contested. But he was in a state of confusion, of pain.
“Why do people do that to each other Cheyenne? You’re the anthropologist. Help me make sense of all of this. I fight because it’s what I was born to do, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why,” he pleaded. Her hand dropped to her side, tangling in black silk.
“Because humans are chaotic Michael,” she shrugged casually. “Think about it. We’re a supremely fucked up species. One of the first things we ever did was create religion, and really, that should have died off as soon as it began. Humans aren’t programmed to agree with one another. Formulating ideas and making them into beliefs was one of the most horrible things we ever could have done. And even though people died over this concept, we encouraged it rather than stopping it. And we created it partly because we fear chaos. We acknowledge, for example, that there are other planets, and other galaxies, but the majority of us don’t think about them because to do so means admitting we’re only tiny figures that are completely dispensable. We like to be in control. And even though we created it, religion has become obsolete. Every idea of a higher being has become null and void because we don’t need gods anymore. Because we have become the gods. To admit to error is to deny our existence as these gods. We build, we control, and we kill Michael, because even though we fear chaos, we thrive on it and can’t exist without it.”
“If we’re gods, than we’re doing a hell of a job fucking up during our reign. Wars? Famine? Human brutality?”
“Well, not technically. Greek mythology had gods interfering all the time and causing chaos. They’d start a war just to start one. Really, I can’t see a difference. We fight because we convince ourselves we have no other choice. It’s the same mentality. Start a war just to say we started, and hopefully won, a war. It doesn’t matter what gets destroyed or who dies. In the end, it’s all about bragging rights.”
“You know,” he paused, a large hand running through short, dark hair. “I was over there. I saw the carnage. I saw what the carnage does to a person. We’re not human Cheyenne. We’re monsters. I lost faith in our kind. How fucking horrible is that?”
She chuckled, and he pushed himself away from the tree, following her along the cobblestone path as she continued towards the grove, the moonlight illuminating her like the eternal goddess she was.
“Anyone who is fortunate enough to see his or her fellow mankind at their most primitive comes to the same conclusion Michael. Every time. Faith is something spoken about, not practiced. No reason to believe in it. We are not a permanent fixture. One day, nature will win and we’ll be gone forever. And with us goes all our thoughts, all our theories, all our beliefs. And that’s the sad part Michael. All our understanding. Just gone. Sometimes, the scientist in me cannot comprehend that.”
“ I never figured you for a pessimist," he said as he looked at her, a dark eyebrow raised.
“I’m not. I take the information and all the theories and that’s what I come up with. There are more extinct species than there are alive right now, did you know that? No reason to exclude humans from that. Pessimist? No. Just a realist.”
“It’s strange though. You get upset over the idea of losing scientific knowledge, but I’ve heard nothing about the loss of your own beliefs. They’d be gone as well. ”
She sighed, her head titling slightly back to gaze at the moon. “ I imagine it would be rather hard to lament something I never had to begin with.”
“You have faith in nothing?”
“I have faith in science,” she corrected. “Religion means nothing to me, other than as an academic area of study. I don’t believe in Jesus or Muhammad except as historical figures. Maybe I’m too cynical. I like to touch and see and theorize but faith? I’ve read and seen more people killing one another over a faith or belief than anything that we or Mother Nature could hit us with. We’re a slave to our beliefs and that’s dangerous.”
“And what about God?”
“ I haven’t seen what you have Michael. I don’t know what it’s like to not be able to sleep at night for fear of hearing screams that aren’t there, or not knowing when my moment might be my last. And maybe I’m too cynical, that’s true. But I do believe in a god, not a religious god, but a god all the same. I’ve been to churches, to temples, to synagogues, and to alters. I’ve read the stories, the books, and heard the beliefs. But I come out here…" she ran her hand over a passing tree trunk, loving, caressing. A goddess paying homage to nature. “ I come out here and I feel closer to a higher being than I have in any other place.”
A harsh wind coursed along the pathway, swirling around her, decaying and brittle leaves stirring from their deathbeds to sweep around slender legs. Her gown, so thin and so very black, moved with the invisible force, her golden brown hair, so wavy and thick, caressing her slender shoulders and curved neck. She looked beautiful, a goddess, lust incarnate. She was fire and passion, earth and sky. She was his salvation.
“It’s hard not to. I touch these trees, and I feel something. Complete. Whole. I’m not sure how to explain it. I watch the seasons pass, one right into another, birth, death, re-birth, and it is complete harmony. I’m out here all the time Michael. You know that. And you know what I’ve come up with?”
She looked at him then, tilting her head slightly back to meet his blue eyes with her own.
So beautiful.
“We all have to believe in something, you’re right about that, whether it’s science or a higher being or something else. But you don’t have to be part of any religion to do that. That’s only a misconception. We find what we’re looking for in different ways. Mine is out here. Agnostic I may be, but I feel harmony out here. There is a mystical beauty about the world that we don’t quite understand, a living pulse that drives all life. I feel close to something out here. It’s the only place I really do. I love religions in theory, but in practice, they present only problems. You’re looking for answers that can’t readily be explained Michael. War is hell. They weren’t kidding when that phrase was coined. But you need to find something that makes sense to you, something that gives you peace. Salvation comes in many different ways, not through just one.”
He was silent, his gaze moving from hers, focusing on the moonlit grove of trees that lie before them only a short distance away. Leaves crunched and shattered beneath soft footfalls, the scent of earth, so rich and damp and glorious heavy in the air. Intoxicating. Welcoming.
“I think I’ve already found that path actually.”
She looked at him in surprise, but remained silent, allowing him to finish.
He sighed, careful to keep his eyes from her.
“One night, I was on duty. It was cold out, and nothing happened, but I remember the sky. It was one of those skies where you look up and see nothing but stars for miles. And they were bright, flickering endlessly, and the moon was big and beautiful. It was strange that something so gorgeous could be in a land of death. Christ knows none of us on duty could think of anything but the havoc around us. But I looked up at those stars, and that moon, and I saw you. I don’t know why, your face just appeared in my mind. And suddenly, all the chaos, all the questions of life and God and duty just left my mind. And all I could see was you. It’s funny but I just felt at peace right then, like everything was alright with the world.”
He chuckled, deep and low. “God, I know that must seem crazy. It made sense in my mind, but I guess out loud it sounds pathetic and insane.”
“It doesn’t," she interrupted softly. He smiled briefly at her before realizing their location.
“We’re here,” he said, his feet leaving behind the stone path, connecting with cushioning earth. His hand sought hers, waiting patiently for her to remove her shoes, and she took it as he led her into the circle. Silver rays shone down with startling intensity, illuminating every rock, every blade of grass. Water droplets, condensation from the cold air, clung desperately to the green stalks, brushing onto bare skin as she pushed her way through the grass to the large boulder in the center. She sat on it, throwing her shoes onto the ground, forgotten and abandoned, patting the space next to her for him to do the same, but he pushed his hands into his jean pockets, standing beside her, staring off into the dark and forbidding forest.
“I thought about you a lot after that. Maybe I was testing myself to see if that night was just a once in a lifetime occurrence. But every time I saw you, the reaction was the same. Peace. A calm sensation.”
She smiled gently, her hand reaching out, resting on his lower arm, rubbing soothingly, soft fingers over such warm skin. .
“I didn’t want to think of why I felt like that whenever it came to you. But deep down, I knew.”
Long fingers left his pockets, grazed instead through short dark brown hair as he sighed heavily and her heart clenched.
“I’ve got my heart on the line here Cheyenne,” he said as he looked at her. “I may not know about God or why we do the things we do, but I know this. Thinking about you, I know that’s what got me through it all. You gave me something to live for. I never thought when I met you that you would mean more to me than any of my friends would, but here I am, telling you all of this. I don’t know why, I don’t know how. All I know is that anytime I called you over there, when we hung up, I was almost happy. Anytime I saw a picture of us together, I smiled. There were times before when all I cared about was doing my duty. Who was going to care if I died or not? I’m a soldier; it’s what soldiers do. It’s what any soldier can hope for. But then I knew I needed to get back here, get back to you. And right now I need you to say something Cheyenne because for the first time in my life I’m feeling a bit helpless, and I don’t like it. I don’t like not knowing what to do.”
She moved then, murmuring his name softly, a gentle sigh, lowering herself off of the rock, facing him, her hip resting on the boulder. Her hand reached out, cupping his jaw, her eyes so beautiful and glistening beneath the rays of the moon. He held himself so still, holding himself back. Until she moved closer. Until her hand moved, sliding from his jaw to his chest, flattened palm against a fast beating heart. His eyes closed, breathing heavily, her body so close to his. She leaned forward, kissing the angle of his jaw lightly, softly, minutely.
His control shattered.
His hands lifted, buried themselves in silken waves, holding her head as his lowered, his mouth meeting hers. Desperation, passion, igniting. And there was heat, smoldering, simmering heat rising to consume them. Her hands glided over his hard chest, taut muscles shifting and contorting beneath her fingertips as he moved, his fingers leaving her hair to travel along the curve of her slender back, pulling her as close to him as possible. She consumed him, her scent, the warmth of such silken skin, the taste of her. She was everything he dreamed of, everything he needed to survive. Heaven and earth, fire and ice. She was everything that made sense in the world, everything that made life worth living. She pulled away slightly for air, her chest heaving, her palm cupping his jaw.
“God damnit Cheyenne,” he growled, capturing her lips once more. Explosive. Intoxicating. Over powering. His stomach muscles contorted, contracting and releasing as her hand slipped beneath his thin tee shirt, fingertips skimming the hard muscles beneath. He growled deep in his throat, his kiss becoming brutal and consuming. His body burned, aching to bury himself as deep as possible into her, claiming her, taking her, making her his own. The earth disappeared, and there was only them, fusing together in flames, in fire, in love.
He need this. He needed her.
Her gown proved to be a barrier, and his hands grasped the slender straps that rested so comfortably on her shoulders. Gently, he pulled them down, anxious to feel the warm, welcoming body beneath the silk, but needing to go slow. He wanted to worship her, love her like the goddess she was. She was not as patient, tearing at his shirt. He pulled away, large hands grasping the edges of his tee shirt, lifting it over his head in one fluid motion. He kicked off his shoes next, abandoned in the grass. His mouth found her neck, kissing the soft skin, biting her gently. He traced her collarbone with his tongue, his hands tugging on her gown, lifting it up around her waist. His hands were like firebrands on her bare thighs, his long fingers rubbing the smooth flesh, lifting her effortlessly as he turned to sit her on the boulder before him. She stared up at him, emerald eyes dark and languid, her straps coasting along slender arms, held up only by her heaving, beautifully curved chest. And her gown, gathered around her waist, exposing her to him.
He moved between her legs, her hands reaching out to undo the button on his jeans. A swift tug on the zipper and he was free, her hands cupping him, stroking him, even as he kissed his way down her body. He was fire and steel in her palm. Rigid satin. He pulsed, ached; his body arched as she traced the hard length with soft fingers.
He kissed her again, his hands finding her thighs, smoothing over her backside to her gown. She removed her hands from him, allowing him to slide the gown over her head, and she was naked before him, wild, tempting, seducing. Her body arched into his as he moved forward, easing himself deeper between her legs, until she could feel that hard part of him so close to where she needed him most. His hand skimmed down her body, from neck, to swollen breast, to curved stomach, to gently rounded thigh. His mouth followed, and she moaned when his lips found a swollen nipple, sucking hard. Her hands delved into his hair, holding him to her as her head tilted back, her legs moving to wrap around his narrow waist. Sense assaulted her, granite beneath her, rough on her sensitive skin, hard, hot male between her legs, and the molten mouth teasing her. Long fingers slipped from their hold on her thigh, moving instead to that heated part of her. A quick intake of breath, a small gasp, and she felt him enter her, fingers entering and retreating, promising pleasure and cruelly denying it. He moved to her other breast even as his pace between her legs quickened. Her legs tightened around him, her hands grasped his rigid biceps. Small whimpers, gentle moans filled the silent forest. A cold breeze, unnoticed and ignored, skimmed over her skin, a direct contradiction. Fire and ice. Another tiny moan.
It wasn’t enough.
His jeans fell to his ankles, and he kicked them off. Naked now, he lifted her from the boulder, settling her instead on the cushioning ground. A slender arm slipped around his neck, fusing mouths plundered and explored as she opened her legs and he moved between them. And then he was inside her, hot and hard and filling. Another soft moan escaped her lips as he moved, urging him to move faster, harder, claiming. She closed around him so beautifully, so tightly, and he sighed in pleasure. Her hips rose to meet his, her nails raked his broad back, marring the smooth skin as she surged and thrusted toward that higher plane. The ultimate release.
It wasn’t enough.
Their bodies connecting, an ascending fire burning hotter as fueling flames consumed them. Here was madness, was being whole. There was only her beneath him, only flames, and flesh and blood. War was forgotten, the internal screams silent. There was only heavy breathing, bodies meshing, completing. He was a god surging into her, claiming her, and she was his willing goddess, receiving him, loving him, welcoming him into her.
He arched, sending himself into the very core of her, and she moved to receive him. His hands grasped her thighs, holding her open before him as he moved faster, harder, deeper. Whimpers escaped her parted lips, her back arching, her body stretching to accept all of him.
“God damnit Cheyenne. Damnit take it all baby,” he whispered into her ear, pressing her down into the soft soil with his heavy weight. His maddening strokes became longer, deeper, as he slowed his pace, allowing her to feel him. Every hard inch. Every pulsing ridge. She tightened around him, once, twice, and then she screamed, consumed by an overpowering release. Her cries echoed throughout the night, the only sound in a silent forest.
Her body languid, she could feel him, so hard, so long, and so very deep inside her. His body tightened, every sinewy muscle taut, and he hardened even more inside of her. She felt him swell, thicker, larger, and then she felt him, coming into her with a low growl of supreme male satisfaction. His sins, his confusion, his soul and love, he poured into her in molten waves of fire and heat, seeking atonement and finding forgiveness and tranquility. Emptying himself into her, receiving salvation in return.
He collapsed onto top of her, breathing heavily as he buried his face into her neck, kissing the damp flesh. She stroked his back, his sides, soothingly, placing tiny lingering kisses on his neck and shoulders. His hand found hers, entwining their fingers, bringing her hand to his lips, kissing each of her fingers.
They were silent as they lay naked on the ground, shrouded by green grass and silver moonlight. Hands drifted, lightly caressed, and mouths came together, fusing, connecting. He had her now, his goddess, and she had welcomed him, would always welcome him, offering herself to him.
The nightmares left him as he lay there with her, his body sated and his mind clear. For the first time, he felt good, buried inside her, being so close to her. She was tranquility, serenity. She offered atonement, never judging, only listening. He kissed her again, running his hands along her sides and neck to her jaw.
Salvation for the broken soldier.
Faith restored.
