He slowed time for her.  He prolonged the feel of the kill.  She could relish in the resistance that her victims’ neck or chest gave as she dug into them.  She could watch the blood spurting from their arteries as she tore their hearts out.  The crimson would slowly float through the air, eventually coming to rest on the ground, her cheek, her clothes…

“I think that’s enough for now,” Luxord yawned after drawing out Larxene’s seventh kill of the evening.  He too was covered in blood, and he frowned as a few drops fell from his hair and onto his forehead.  “I’d rather like a bath tonight.”

Larxene snorted in response, wiping her weapons clean on the pants of the dead teenager in front of her.  She opened a portal and stepped through, not bothering to see if Luxord was following.

“Sure we can’t do one more?” she said as she removed her coat and tossed it onto her dresser.

“Honestly?” he replied.  She disappeared into her closet.

“Why not?”  It was a pout.  He could hear it in her tone.

He leaned back on her bed, not caring that the blood of several victims was seeping from his coat and into her sheets.  “I just don’t have the heart for it.”

Her head popped out of the closet and she frowned at him.  A bolt of lightening struck his chest and he jumped from the bed.

“I sleep there, you know.”  She vanished back into the closet once more.

Luxord stretched, rubbing his chest thoughtfully.  “I should get rid of these bloody clothes then, huh?”

There was a murmur of agreement from the closet.  Luxord smirked and tossed his coat with hers before stopping time and waltzing into the closet.

The smaller room was dark except for a faint glow that came from a jar containing what looked like fireflies—lightening bugs, he though, almost losing his concentration at the thought of a new trick.  He regained himself and glanced around.

There was Larxene, shirt half-on as she changed, her belt undone and her boots kicked aside.

Time returned to her as he let one hand flutter across her stomach, the other trapping her arms in her shirt above her head.  A jolt of surprised lightening went through her, shocking his hand, but he continued tracing her ribs.

“Pig,” she said through clenched teeth, but she didn’t fight as his hand moved softly up and down her stomach or as his mouth kissed her neck.  His fingertips let trails of crimson blood on her, painting her while they slowly worked downwards toward the top of her pants.

“Your room or mine?” he whispered between kisses.

“No use messing up yours when you’ve already half-destroyed mine,” she replied, shuddering as his teeth grazed her ear.

Time went neither backwards nor forwards during these revelries.  It was stopped completely for the two of them, though it seemed to go too fast.  As they lay together, covered in their own sweat and the blood of others, they had all the time in the world at their disposal.

But, as we all know, time changes everything.