"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
02-23-2017, 11:42 AM (This post was last modified: 02-28-2017, 12:40 AM by Kerberos.
Edit Reason: rating
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Fucking Ty. Has some shit to figure out, does he? Well that’s fine. I do too. You know, I was perfectly okay before he actually fucking looked at me, with those goddamn eyes, in his stupid gorgeous face. Not to mention his stupid sexy as hell carved up body and his obnoxiously brilliant brain and his just annoyingly perfect Ty-ness. Whatever. I knew my role, and it was to perplex and annoy the shit out of him with my not even a little bit subtle passes. Well, and to hit on his ridiculous number of dads and drive the whole family crazy, just a bit. Rile them up, get their blood up, get my heart racing at the vague death threats in their eyes. It was a whole thing, okay?
Then that bastard actually looked at me. Which I suppose was my own damn fault. I had a stroke of just absolute brilliance appealing to that insatiably curious mind of his, seducing him with talk of experiments and hypotheses, proposing we run a few tests. Never actually expected it to work. Never actually expected him to let me in.
I didn’t have a damn chance after that.
That asshole went and made me want to be...more. Dammit. Better. Maybe fix some shit I’d left broken. So when he walked away with no strings attached, to go figure out his own shit, well. I decided maybe it’d be at least not the absolute worst idea ever to do a little of the same.
Starting with Lacey.
I’ve learned a hell of a lot since I left her in a heap on the ground. I mean, I made her body sing, but I didn’t just toe the line between pleasure and agony. I fucking stomped all over it. I like to think I have a little more finesse now. So really, the only logical thing to do is to go find her and fix what I broke, right?
Right.
Well pretty Lacey did happen to mention she was from that rando island off to the northeast, didn’t she. So what the hell, I walk across the ocean waves, circling around back because it’s more fun to use the backdoor sometimes. Shakes things up, keeps people on their toes. And wouldn’t you know, I catch a familiar scent in the air not too terribly long after I arrive.
“Lacey, baby,” I croon when I lay eyes on her, slipping through the trees and out of the shadows to let the light catch and gleam off my shiny metal self. “I owe you an apology. I was a little callous last time, and I thought, especially given the season, it might be a good idea to remedy that and tend to your needs this ti--god damn, honey, who fucked up your art?” I step around her, apology forgotten entirely as disgust and horror wash over me. “Berries? Fucking berries, and leaves and flowers and shit? Oh, baby, you’re so much better than that. What kind of fucking tasteless plebeian would--ugh, you deserve the primal, visceral work of fucking art I gave you, not this floofy bullshit. What the fuck? I’m so sorry, Lacey. What a damn shame.”
She wandered aimlessly, drifting listlessly through the furthest end of the island. Far, far away from the sandbar where people might travel, and into the quiet of a dense jungle with whispering sea breezes and sleepy little birdsongs. She left behind her Irish guardian, that glint of worry in his eyes haunting her mind as she asked to be alone for a time, leaving the twins in his watchful care. Just for a time. Just until she could be free of this heavy sorrow slowly consuming her, poisoning all the moments with them that should be good and happy.
Alone and empty. Her life had been that way for so very long. Over the quiet months, she learned she was pregnant, grew and grew and experienced all these new and frightening changes on her own. Alone. Without a steady hand to hold her, without soft lies telling her everything would be ok. They were gone, all gone. They brought her here and left her. And never came back, never came to see her.
She was so alone. So ruined.
Lacey, baby, the smooth silk of a voice she knew, never thought she would hear again. Had never wanted to. She tensed, but slowly turned dull, brown eyes to him, an empty gaze over a shoulder draped in flowing brown hair. That part of his time with her had been reversed; the magician had grown it back out to something even softer and prettier than it had been before. No longer matted and tangled, no longer needing to be groomed at all. It never seemed to lay any way but perfectly, so at odds with the rest of her plain self. Plain, save for the lace.
He was speaking again, and dimly she realized her heart was racing. Of course it was. Why wouldn't it be with him here? He who did this all. No, she did this. It was her fault. She'd taunted him into it. She'd caused this all. He certainly had his own faults in it, but perhaps she'd deserved them in some way. He was the only one to have touched her, to have known her. Now, he was the only one that ever would. Ruined. Nobody had wanted her before, they certainly wouldn't want her now, after everything. There would only ever be him.
His face suddenly shifted to something between dismay and disgust as he continued, grey eyes looking over the intricate artwork he'd left on the soft curve of her hips. Her head turned to look too, though she had always avoided doing that, trying to find what had upset the artist of this wicked masterpiece. Berries, he'd said. Berries and leaves, and yes, there they were, curled and twisted within the lace he'd drawn there. Oh, she said softly, surprised, too. I hadn't noticed. Hollow and quiet. The corner of her mouth tightened briefly, just a fleeting moment of an almost-smile, before it was gone again, blank again. Pleased by the change or amused at his distress, she wasn't sure. Perhaps both.
She turned to him again, meeting that face so easily. Because she had known him too. It never crossed her mind to call for help, to scan around for some sort of savior. There was never a hero for her. And maybe she didn't need one. Maybe he meant what he said, that he came to make things right. Did that make her naive? Only if she truly believed it, she supposed, which she didn't. But she was resigned, knew the power he could hold over her, knew that within a blink she could be held in place for him. Precisely so, in just the right way.
Fear was adrenaline. Anticipation was too.
Her voice was breathy when she spoke again, though her chin lifted in that familiar defiance that never quite seemed to leave her. I think I won't like your kind of apology.
Hadn’t noticed. I snort. She hadn’t fucking noticed. Hours I’d spent perfecting my work, making sure it was just so, making sure it screamed Lacey to the whole world, and she hadn’t noticed somebody going and mucking it up with goddamn berries and flowers and godawful leaves. “Musta done a worse number on you than I realized, if you didn’t even notice somebody’d cocked up your art. Poor Lacey, love, I was so careless, wasn’t I?” I croon, tracing iron fingertips gently along the long-healed lines of her lace.
Even the goddamn berries.
Mmm, she lifts her chin, that defiant light in her eyes stirring my blood just the way it had last time. God I love that look in her eye. Something about her always seems to get me going, even now. Even after Ty. I sort of assumed I’d never want anyone else touching me after I’d been with him, would never want to taste and tease and coax anyone else’s body into those same delicious heights of ecstasy. And yet.
“I think I won’t like your kind of apology.”
That soft, breathy challenge has my pupils dilating, the corners of my lips curling slowly into a wicked grin. “Do you now, Lacey, love? Well if you want me to leave…” Those iron fingers trail along her hip, pausing to idly swirl around her hipbone before continuing along her side. “Say the word, baby.” Mmm, tracing up and down the lines of her ribcage bone by bone, taking their sweet, sweet time exploring her - but this time, I won’t hold her here.
Not unless she asks me to, anyhow.
I step closer, dragging my lips along the line of her shoulder, running the softest part of my nose up the curve of her neck to whisper in her ear, “I’ll leave if you want me to, and you’ll never see me again. Or I could stay, and we’ll see if you’re right about that, see if I can’t prove that apology’s worth accepting.” And while my lips play up here, those fingers trail south, teasing along her belly. “Tell me, pretty Lacey. What do you want?”
He crooned, so sweetly, and a shiver zipped down her spine as she held his gaze -so stupid, so bold. His iron touch was so gentle, a tender sweep along the lines he'd traced there. She was bitterly reminded how attractive he was when her response curled those lips. A hidden strike of fear flashed through her, so icy cold, but she didn't shy away from him, didn't try to escape the care he gave her as he toyed at her hip.
It felt good, and he knew it.
He continued his path along her side, so knowing, an expert, as he challenged her to turn him away. To turn from the intoxicating fire of his touch. There was a part of her that was surprised even he might want her at all, hungrily drinking in the desire swimming in those silver eyes. Could he really want her? No one else had before him, no one else would after him.
Up and down each rib, he stroked, and her skin twitched beneath the iron. Nobody was here, nobody was ever here for her. But he wanted her, he was here and showing her just how special she could feel. Even for a moment, just a fragment of time. It wasn't love, never that. But she could pretend. Let herself believe someone cared enough to want to make her feel good, to heat her to boiling and tip her over the edge.
A second assault came then; his lips on her shoulder, trailing up her neck to whisper in her ear. Her lips parted in a shallow breath, heavy lids drifting closed. "I'll leave if you want me to..." and she thought he meant it, thought he might give her the power to choose. "Or I could stay... see if I can't prove that apology's worth accepting." Promises she already knew he could fulfill, had already experienced his immense skill. He'd known her body better than she did, had known just what to do to make her want it too. To make her crave it again.
Maybe her body was betraying her like before. Maybe it was taking over her and answering him. Because she could swear he smiled against her hot skin as his lips touched her here, and his iron fingers explored elsewhere. "Tell me, pretty Lacey. What do you want?" Her breath caught in her slender throat, fighting back a guttural sound of pleasure.
Maybe it was the season. Maybe it was him. Maybe she needed to feel wanted; wanted to be touched and he was the only one that would anymore. Ruined. She shifted, barely a step closer to his chest -just to see, just to test if she was bound for him again. But she was free, she could still move, still escape this. If she wanted to.
Her eyes slowly slid open to meet his, the same amount of innocence that he may have left her with -there were no others after him, if there was any, as she reached for his jaw, traced soft lips along that curve with the lack of innocence he'd left her with. Suddenly, proving himself didn't sound like such a bad idea, if it ever had.
What do you want, he'd asked. I want you to shut the hell up.
So brave, my sweet Lacey, so bold. Those dark brown eyes of her meet mine, staring into me without flinching even though I can see the nerves skittering through her expression. That’s my girl. And nerves aren’t the only thing I see there. A spark of desire catches deep in her eyes, kindling slowly as those cool iron fingers stroke her skin. And then, with my lips pressed to her skin and iron fingers skirting ever lower along her belly, she draws in this hot, ragged breath and I can almost feel the moan building deep in her chest, fighting to break free.
That’s it, baby.
God, then that first tentative step, testing her bounds, making sure I’m true to my word. She can go if she likes; I won’t keep her here. But instead. Instead, her eyes catch mine again, and she traces her lips along my jawline, pulling a low, hungry humming sound from deep in my throat. “God, you’re so fucking hot, Lacey. As you wish.”
And I shut my damn mouth, just like she said. Why bother with words, when those convenient fingers can do the talking, trailing up her inner thighs, skirting around to toy with the underside of her tail, never quite touching where she’ll want them most, not yet. Not when there are so many other places to touch first, to stoke the fire that’s building in her eyes, in her veins. While iron fingers trace the lace along the curve of her hindquarters, dancing closer and then pulling away again, I caress her neck with the velvet of my nose, breathing in her scent, toying with hair that’s just a little too sleek and smooth and polished for my wild, raw, passionate Lacey.
Probably the same fucker that’s responsible for the damn berries, huh, babe? That’s okay. It’s my name you’ll be screaming tonight, not his.
I bite down gently on her shoulder, just a quick jolt of pain to fan the flames a little higher, chasing the pain with the heat of my tongue, a drag of my lips against her skin. Mmm, and again, trailing a line of bites and rough kisses until I reach the sensitive spot where shoulder and neck join. No bite there, just a gentle nuzzle as fingers tease closer and dance away again just before touching, trailing down her thighs instead.
I said I’d shut the hell up, but I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut. My lips make their way up to her ear again, pausing so I can trace the graceful curve with the tip of my tongue while iron fingers flirt and tease and torment. “What next, Lacey? Tell me, baby. I’m yours to command.”
He hummed from deep in his throat when she touched him, and it rattled its way through her blood. She felt almost powerful in that response to her, that she could make that sound come from him. And then what he said only made it stronger, stole her breath in surprise, in hope. God, you're so fucking hot, Lacey. Plain, dull Wallace was hot in this moment, to this man. She was wanted.
And then he shut up, like she told him to.
And that sense of power was stolen away again, helpless as cold fingers slid closer to that place that was so quickly heating for him. She already ached for more, but held so still with a thundering heart, barely breathing as his mouth teased her shoulder with a bite then a deep kiss. Then another. Her neck curled towards him, instinctively wanting to feed these feelings back to him with her own bites or kisses or both, but she was suddenly locked without air and all she could do was huff against the surface of him.
The metal came back again, and she flipped her hair over and away against her hip, naturally eager for the things he'd taught her that felt so damn good. This time for her, and not for him. This time was to make up for the that time, the breaking her in and taking her hard, pinning her body just as he wanted it.
Another bite, another kiss, and that damn iron trailed away again. She groaned, frustrated and needing. The fog in her mind was so thick, and nothing else existed but him and all these deliriously wonderful sensations. He was a master at this, at knowing her like no one else did. She wanted it to mean something, that he was the only one and would always be the only one, but knew it never would. She would never be anything real to him, and she wasn't sure she could ever accept him being anything more than what he was now. Not that he would want to.
He nuzzled into the hollow of her neck and shoulder, gliding closer again. Her back arched, shifting her hips; she'd take it her goddamned self if he wasn't going to do it. But the bastard only trailed away again, dragging down her thighs. His tongue lined her ear, her breathing already so shallow, What next, Lacey? Tell me, baby. I'm yours to command. And he gave that power back to her again. But she didn't know what to do with it now, only knew she wanted to close her eyes and focus on everything she felt, everywhere he touched.
She bit her lip and fought another groan, then finally opened her dark and hazy eyes to lock with his again. Thick, foggy, but not weak as she answered with more demands.
Show me something new, she challenged in a voice heavy with desire.
There must be something more than his needs. He'd showed her before when he'd made her want him but it was shadowed in the darkness of the negative, of the fear of him. She didn't want to be afraid of him this time.
God, that’s a good answer. Show me something new. And I’m happy to oblige, taking the time to thoroughly explore her, touching her not just with cool iron fingers, but adding warm tongues to the mix, letting them lave over the salty sweetness of her skin. I’ve got all the time in the world, and she’s got so very much still to learn.
So I teach her. Sorry, that’s as much detail as I’m going into this time around. Like I said, this is for her, and nobody else. And afterward, when she’s utterly exhausted and deliciously sated and we’re both still breathing hard and coming down from the high, I just hold her close, gently stroking her hair, the skin of her neck, the line of her jaw.
“God, you’re exquisite, you know that, Lacey?” I murmur, breathing her in. “I could touch you for days and still want more. I’m sorry I fucked things up so bad for you, baby. I didn’t know…” How it can be between two people, what it looks like when touching someone is more than a selfish act or a fucking weapon. How to give a fuck about the other person’s well-being instead of just dragging them into the dark, revelling in the blood, in the glorious melding of pain and pleasure until it’s all that exists in the whole world, if only for a little while.
Well. That part can still be damn good too.
Fuck, I miss Ty.
Sighing, I press my lips to Lacey’s lovely neck. “I didn’t know it could be different. And when I learned...I don’t know, baby, I felt like a real bastard for how I left things with you. For how I treated you. I’m sorry, Lacey. You deserved better. You deserve better. I hope you know that.”
03-12-2017, 01:22 AM (This post was last modified: 04-15-2017, 11:16 PM by Wallace.)
Wallace
She leaned against him, as if he hadn't been the one to ruin everything, to ruin her. Here in this moment, she could pretend things were different. She could pretend she meant something to him. She could pretend when he brushed against her hair, it was out of love. And that when he called her exquisite it was believable, that he meant it, even as it stung her heart, burned her eyes, to know the truth.
He apologized for before and she ignored it, still waiting for her racing heart to steady again. Still reeling from --god, just everything. The man was a damn sex god. She didn't have to have experience to know it. She knew it even if he was the only man to have ever touched her. Even if he was the only one that ever would.
He placed a kiss on her neck and continued. I didn't know it could be different. And when I learned... And she wished she could pretend it was her that had taught him, wished it was her that had made him realize this profound thing that clearly changed him so drastically. That made him into someone better. That she could have an effect on someone. But she wasn't stupid enough to think it even for a moment, so she only kept her eyes away from him, guarded him from the childish vulnerability sitting there like some lovesick teenager.
Wishing gets you nowhere.
It was fine. All fine. Up until he apologized again. Did she look like she was broken up and shattered over this? He did what he did, and she still told him to do it again. She wasn't some fragile thing to be cradled and coddled and told such sweet lies to. All his "sorrys" got him was an ease on his own damn chest. The last straw was when he told her she deserved better.
He was all she was ever going to get, the stupid bastard. There was no better. There wasn't even a worse. There was only him.
She clenched her teeth and stood, turning straight toward the ocean where she would scrub his damn smell off her. Yeah, thanks, she muttered dryly, stepping away, walking away. I'm outta here. He could keep his stupid beautiful lies to himself. She was sick of hearing them; from him, from everyone. Nobody would ever want her after him, and she didn't blame them.
Oh, but I pissed her off with that last bit. I didn’t mean to, but damn, I love the fire in her eyes when she’s angry, even if it means she’s pulling away and putting distance between us. Mmm, there’s a growl in her voice when she quips back and tries to bone out, and what a sexy little growl too. I couldn’t keep from leering at her if I wanted to, and why the hell would I want that? If I were someone else, I might just let her walk away, call it good and let her go, let her leave with a snarl and an eye roll and a fuck you.
Good thing I’m not someone else.
She’s making a beeline for the ocean, stalking toward the water like she wants to wash away all the deliciously wicked things we’ve done together, and the devil knows we can’t have that. I watch her go for a few steps, taking the time to admire the swaying of her step, the curve of her hips, and the way the lace I gave her follows every move of her magnificent ass. And then I cut her off, smirking down at her and leaning in to breathe in our mingled scents, the smell of sex and heat and Lacey.
“Mmm, I love it when you’re angry. So fucking hot.” Stepping into her, pressing my chest against hers, I trail little bites down her neck, touch my lips to her shoulder. “But I’d sure as hell rather leave you happy and exhausted than pissed at me. Do I need to be a little more thorough, babe? Still got an itch that needs scratching? You know I’m happy to oblige,” I purr, dragging my teeth along her skin and ending with another little nip, a lick, a kiss. “Any time you want. You’re a fire in my blood, Lacey, and I’d burn with you any day.”
She just wanted out of here. Sick of apologies, sick of being treated like she's fragile and going to break. It didn't matter if her eyes shined with stupid, naive want for something he'd never give her. That was beside the point. She knew it was hopeless. But whatever. She wasn't going to break and fall apart like she did before. He'd never see her fall apart. That was done, over with.
He cut off her escape and she glared at him. Never mind that her heart raced. Never mind that it was harder to breathe already. Goddamned bastard. And that damn, sexy smirk of his. Her eyes fell to it almost naturally, the fire in her eyes shifting just a little. Ugh, don't do this.
"Mmm, I love it when you're angry. So fucking hot."
She lost her breath as he stepped into her, trailed burning little bites down her neck, dragging his teeth along sensitive skin and kissing it away again. He purred at her, said sweet and delicious things that masked the breathy sigh on her lips. She knew she could do it again. She could let him do it all over again. But also, she really couldn't.
"You're a fire in my blood, Lacey, and I'd burn with you any day."
She didn't back off, but she jerked her face away with a sharp intake of breath, her teeth clenching painfully. Heart squeezing just as painfully, tight and clutching. Angry tears stung her eyes and she refused to look at him, refused to let him see. God, didn't he know what this was doing to her? Couldn't he see that she wanted more than stupid sex? Damn, she was so stupid.
Her heart ached for something she would never have. She.. but no. She couldn't be loved, not even by him. Not even by the only one to ever touch her this way. Her bottom lip pinched between her teeth, trying to hold in the pathetic whimper trying to squeeze its way out of her throat. She would not cry in front of him. Not happening. Her head shook as she forced herself to breathe, fought against the nails digging into her chest and her throat.
Just leave me alone, she whispered, pleaded. He couldn't love her, fine. She understood. She wouldn't ask. She wouldn't want him to. Eventually. He was him; wonderful and amazing and, god, so sexy. So bold. And she was her. Just her. And it wouldn't be enough. She would never be enough. Her head shook again as she swallowed the pain in her throat, backed a step away and tried again to leave. God, just let her go. Stop killing her. Stop making her want what she could never have.
