IP: 184.167.4.118
Posted on November 15, 2020 at 02:15:56 AM by Tovah
our mother has been absent ever since we founded Rome
“Is that right?” It shouldn’t surprise her, how much easier it is to be together when they are pretending to be other people. He’s channelling the sheriff and she’s channeling the harlot, and while neither of these fake ID’s require very much acting on either’s part (thank God), the improv is a potent drug. Disarming. “Yes, and–” isn’t that the rule? For two people that hate to be the ones saying no, it feels like…permission. His hands dwarf her waist. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, skin separated by satin and bone, the kind of touch permitted at a christian middle school dance. But the barest scrap of his attention, his touch, has always been enough to drive Tovah crazy. She could climb the walls right now, she’s sure. Like something from The Exorcist. Her hand flattens against the base of his neck, feeling his breath there, his heartbeat, the arc of his clavicle, the heat of him seeping through her palm. Her hand is on his throat but he’s the one “threatening” her, with the kind of ludicrous pronouncement usually found in porn. Her eyes roll up with her smile, as she fights not to laugh. Then he’s lifting her up onto the bar, and she is laughing, until he’s pressed between her legs, and she isn’t. Tovah can’t believe this is happening. He smells like the first night, beneath the dust and leather. Her heart is in her throat. He’s made a sound like when she had his feathers in her fist, and Tovah would be pretty sure she’s having an out-of-body-experience, except for how acutely present in her body she feels right now. The air is warm and dry. The bar is hard and cool. She can feel his words, as much as hear them, soft against her mouth. In the back of her brain the low drumming of withdrawal is becoming more insistent, but it is drowned out in the moment. She’s drowning in him. Yes, and. She’s not about to be the one hitting the brakes. “Aw, Sheriff, surely there’s some way we could come to an understanding.” Her voice is pitched low, breathy and seductive, as she arches one dark brow. She hooks her ankles together behind his hips. Pulls. The wooden bar creeks with the shift in weight. “But you won’t get a damn thing out of me. Not a word. Sir.” There’s a layer of fabric between them, but Tovah is hyper-aware of the uninterrupted line of contact all the way up one leg and down the other; from the look in his eyes, she thinks he’s just as lost. When his teeth brush her neck, breath searing, she nearly shouts, covers it up instead with a taunt that she hopes remains in character. “You’ll have to do better than that, sir, if you want – ah – my information.” The corset is tied loose but that’s still too tight for how hard she’s breathing, back arching toward him. Panting and salivating, desperate as a dog. Just DO IT already, she begs internally. But he fucking doesn’t. It’s Pavlovian, she thinks. It must be. She electrocuted him once (ON. ACCIDENT.) and now the two are linked – get a boner, get a shock. He’s as hesitant now as if the magic is already sparking and snapping over her skin, but her power has never felt so far away. It’s always been harder to reach when she’s been drinking, and now she’s both drunk and jonesing for a fix. A few fixes. Mostly him, and he’s leaning away from her, as if she’s forgotten who he is, up close. She drops her chin and looks up through her lashes, the smudged eyeliner making her eyes over-bright. A bit electric, after all. “You don’t say,” she drawls back, her annoyance barely exaggerated for effect. Honestly. She has never been that high. She could never mistake him for anyone else, or anyone else for him, much as she’s tried in stranger’s beds after a hot date with a needle. Even with her eyes closed, she knows him. Even with only one sense at a time. She knows him by his footsteps, by his flannel, by his favorite beer, by every top, middle and bottom note of his scent that clings to everything in the house. “Yes. Obviously, Kane.” I wouldn’t be like this with someone else. He tells her to wait. Her hands fall to the lip of the bar and clench it, white-knuckled; her thighs relax to give him space. Waiting is what she’s good at, isn’t it? She’s been waiting for him to wake up for years. But being told to wait now, when cruel reality was so far away…that feels a bit excessive, a bit mean. She averts her eyes to examine a crusty stain on the floor. When he touches her again, it’s so startling she nearly jumps. His fingers on her lips. Between them. The impulse to dart out her tongue, or to suck, is extreme, but she is terrified to move, and stares instead. Nobody has ever touched her like this. Tenderness is foreign, much too good for her, so good that if she so much as blinks she knows it will turn ugly and painful. Tovah has never known what it felt like to want to take that risk. She closes her eyes. “Yes.” There is so much more she wants to say. But fate is never kind to them, and before she can, Kane is…Tovah doesn’t know what Kane is. “Company?” she queries, seeing nothing, the bar just as dusty and barren as it was before. He tidies her clothes and turns away from her, tense as a cocked pistol, and she thinks, oh. I guess he wants to role play again. He’s lucky he’s so hot, because he is also fucking confusing. Her hands slyly circle his waist. “No, sir, I don’t know any creepy men, I’ll cooperate, I swear…” she starts, but something about the way he’s guarding her feels wrong, and real. And he called her “Toves.” Her voice drops all affectation as she withdraws her hands and attempts to slide out from behind him. “Wait, are you being serious? Who are you talking to?” The bar is empty, they are totally alone – she looks rapidly around the room, just to be sure. Crickets. Ducking her head into his peripheral, she scrutinizes his face with furrowed brow, searching for some sign of drug use or insanity that might justify his behavior. Nada. Tovah can think of only one explanation. “If you don’t want to fuck around you could just say so.” |
but there's gunna be a party when the wolf comes home
Replies:
- Wake up, run for your life with me [M] - By Kane January 2, 2021 at 03:36:24 AM
- There ain't no way to hold back [m] - By Tovah February 1, 2021 at 10:18:09 AM
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