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 Posted: Tue Nov 20, 2012 5:18 pm
He hated having her close, more than anything else. It was one thing to hate her from afar, to let the rage twist and coil, let it build and seethe. Keep it like a pet on a chain. Close, so ******** close, it became something else, something darker, something twined with need and want while never losing the vein of loathing.
The grip on her tightened viciously as she spoke, every word awful, prickling and vicious. As she called him William he wanted to close the distance again, kiss her but this time do more than bite her lips. That name belonged only to people allowed to speak it, people who had earned it. On her lips it was tainted and mocking. "That b***h was a paid whore, and yet she wasn't half as depraved as you. You are everything I hate about women."
Everything he hated and everything he wanted to break.
He froze as she pressed her lips to his neck, goosebumps rippling across his skin at such a vile reminder of how he'd been at her mercy, such a violatory transgression. His neck didn't belong to her, it would never belong to her, it wasn't hers to touch. He should have punched her for that, should have thrown her off him. No. No a thousand times. But he couldn't, he was frozen and he didn't understand. Everything about her mocked him, danced across his boundaries and pushed him, pushed him so far he felt he might snap any moment.
And yet he didn't. And it was that inaction that hurt. Betrayed everyone who trusted him. His body yearned for this, his twisted black instincts yearned too, to be drawn out and broken.
But always there was that other self. The quiet, cold and bleeding half. The one that said no more.
And went unheard.
When he spoke his voice was quiet but no less vicious, every word a careful snarl.
"You say there's nothing weak about you. But there is. There will always ******** be. There was that crack, that ******** hairline break that shattered you like so much glass from that little girl you were before. You think you are a woman now. Strong and vicious and immortal."
He gave her the most intense brilliant blue glare - hair unkempt from her hands, pupils dilated.
"But you aren't. You are a ******** broken doll. Held together and nothing more. Men made you and it will be a man who ******** brings you down in the end."
There was a patience in the tense way he held himself, every muscle taut and controlled, like a tiger crouched in the grass, waiting for the moment to move, waiting for that exposed throat.
"This isn't for you. You repulse me." He let his hands roam - not gently. "This is anticipation."
"I want..." he trailed off in a shallow breath. "I want to see you shatter again for me. And I will."
A wavering moment of uncertainty that found itself suddenly tempered by a mental shift, black feathers in the dark. A sense of disdain. He was better than this.
Control. He swore for Rin's sake he'd never lose it again. His mother was dead and gone, he had other people now. People who he could still protect. He stood up sharply, without warning, if she wasn't quick enough sending her spilling to the floor.
"But not ********> He stood before her, unphased, radiating confidence he didn't feel. "Because it's not you I need to do it."
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Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2012 9:30 am
There was a part of her that felt nearly victorious. Every moment that he'd kept her close, allowed her to touch him, to press against him had been one more little triumph as far as Sasha was concerned. For a moment she believed she almost had him - that instant where she'd pressed her lips to his neck and he hadn't pulled away - and Sasha felt the thrill thrum through her. The pressure of his body against hers, his hands along the curves of her body, the harsh tone of voice: everything had her convinced that she'd won this battle, that he would be broken and destroyed beneath her feet. She could feel the goosebumps against her lips, and more than that there was a deep-seated satisfaction that he hadn't pulled away, he hadn't slapped her.
She would own him. He was magnificent, putrid hate, red hot rage, black soul. The urge to level everything he stood for was almost overwhelming. As Sasha's snapping blue gaze met his head-on, she heard his words. Everything he said sank in, deep and abrasive - but nothing really mattered, not so long as he kept her close, allowed her touch.
It was so easy to focus all of her anger, her hate, he disgust on this man - because he allowed it, reciprocated it.
It wasn't until he stood that something seemed to snap. Sasha tumbled to the floor, an odd look of disbelief etched across her face. It remained for the briefest moment - and then it was gone, replaced by something foul and ugly and furious.
How dare he.
Part of her was rational - the part of her that still sought acceptance, the part of her that still wanted to please, wanted to obey. Small as it was, deftly hidden so deep that it was easy to forget that it existed - it surged to the forefront of her mind.
Where is your dignity? Let him go. This is ridiculous. This isn't you - this isn't us. Just let him go, let him go, let him go.
That little, sane piece of her was crushed, taken to heel, dominated - swept under a rug.
The other part of her was a rage-infested, furiously vile black riptide that pulled away all remnants of common sense, of control, of rational thought.
"You hate what I do to you - yes, what I do. You hate that I can bring you so close to giving in." She seethed, hissing words filled with venomous hate. Each word she spat was roughly spoken, her voice deep and dark and filled with such blinding rage. Sasha rose to her feet, features contorted. No poise. No control.
Pure, vile hate.
"You act so high and mighty now, so in control. And yet," her eyes dropped down, a pointed look given to his waist before she lifted her eyes once more, sparking and spitting, "you aren't ******** man enough to take. Your words mean nothing - because your body speaks for itself."
Her breath was heavy, teeth bared. How dare he deny this. Each small victory that she'd felt before was diminishing by the second - for now, at least.
"You're a ******** boy playing a man's game."
Sasha's nostrils flared.
"Get out."
The last word erupted on a scream as fury ripped through her. Nona's totem flashed dangerously at her neck, almost shimmering with silver-violet violence.
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Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2012 10:42 am
Rep had watched the scene before him replay too many times over the years, tenuous dignity rejected on a bedroom floor. In his world the men always had the control, there'd been nothing his mum could do if they decided not to pay, if they decided to deride her weaknesses instead. And here he was, somehow in that same position, the one who had said no, even though he wanted to give in so badly his instincts sung with desire.
Narrowing his gaze he savoured her every toxic word - at least at first. The temptation was there to deny her accusations that it was her who affected him, that she was the one who brought him close to the edge, to try and explain that her body held no interest to him, that it was that aching longing to possess her, own her, destroy what he hated and rebuild as he saw fit that drove him instead.
Her gaze dragged across his body felt as violatory as her touch and he all but held his breath as she lingered at his waist, blushing vividly and against his will, a reaction that only made him all the more furious, guilt a heavy weight in his gut. For just an instant, he teetered on the edge of slipping, spiralling to a place where he would lose it completely with no choice but to try and shut her up whatever it took.
But somehow, whether it was the lingering steely watchfulness of Tracey in his mind holding his self control, or whether it was something else entirely, he managed to keep himself in check. He let himself mentally dwell on what he'd like to do to her, the hateful, the forbidden things - but to resist the drive to turn it into actions. She was no longer upon him, to resist was simpler, here he could breathe, no longer suffocated by her nearness.
The accusation he wasn't man enough to take her almost made him laugh, he'd seen a lot of people pass through his house. As far as he was concerned, the men paid, the ones who didn't were the pathetic boys. He knew the value of a whore, and that was what here and now, he considered her. The payment she demanded, in her twisted game was everything he held dear, his soul and his relationship, and that was a price he was entirely unwilling to pay. He was no boy.
"I don't want you. Just like they didn't want you either." he shrugged, even as Nona's totem flashed, outwardly unconcerned but well aware that the time to do as she demanded had long passed. Escalation just seemed to be inevitable where they were concerned.
He edged to the door, refusing to turn his back on her for even a moment - testament of his grudging respect of her prowess. When he was near enough to make his exit he blew her a mocking little kiss, the lazy smirk that accompanied it contrary to everything else - heart racing, danger still etched in the tension of his body, dancing on the razor edge of a fight, breathless, flustered, terrified.
"You will NEVER know how just how much man I am." he purred, before finally making his exit, carefully unhurried.
Until he got out of line of sight anyway.
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Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2012 1:33 pm
As soon as he left, as soon as the door clicked behind him, Sasha became a woman unhinged.
Sasha let out a guttural, animalistic scream.
She hated, hated him. Not because of the way he talked to her, or the way he treated her. Not because of the fear he evoked when he was wielding Tracey, or because of how he'd tripped her, stolen her flute, landed her in the infirmary. She didn't hate him for any of these things - these were only a prelude to what they'd become.
Sasha hated him because he'd denied her. She couldn't fathom, couldn't rationalize why she felt the way that she did. Even Nona throbbed and pulsed at the back of her mind, white hot and blinding and so very, very needy.
Sasha hated him, and she wanted him. That dangerous edge, she craved it. He was held apart from Wash, separate from the precious little fragile thing she'd nurtured with the giving, warm, unassuming Moon. This was darker, dangerous, taboo, malicious. She wanted that dark fathomless piece of him he'd very nearly given in to. She needed it. She wanted to make him lose control, she needed to see him give in to her - and he'd denied her.
The moment the door shut she was reaching for a small teacup that rested on the nearby desk. It flew towards the door with lightning speed, splintering into a million tiny shards that rained down on the carpet. A small saucer followed, shattering as it collided with the door. The lamp followed, a small cup filled with pens and pencils. Three books from the library.
As the dust settled, Sasha forced a semblance of control over herself. She dabbed at her damp brow with a handkerchief before tucking it away. She straightened her hair. Straightened her clothes. Ignoring the mess on the floor, she let the base of the door shove the debris aside as she opened it.
A few moments later she was slipping into Wash's room. Soon enough her troubles were lost in the rhythmic shift of bodies and the subtle whisper of sheets on skin.
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