[It's not all that late; and this is one of the seedier, less pretty bars in the Up, close enough to her office that she can go for a quick drink after work, before she heads home, and definitely somewhere that has low lights, shitty music, and cheaper beer.
She's sitting and having a drink when someone next to her - a local, probably, one of the Rubies or the other gang, Daphne doesn't know or care, starts to give her grief. Pretty pampered Dominant like you, and Daphne is doing her best, god knows. His hand is suddenly on her thigh.
But the Rage is inside of her, all the time, and sometimes-
-if she was a normal woman, she would dress him down, and then get out. If she were a normal woman, she might slap him, or leave.
She's not a normal woman.
The movement is fast enough that it's hard to follow, the smell of blood thick in her nose as she rams his head against the bar, once, twice, and wood cracking. He doesn't die because she makes sure it's the top of his head - the hardest part - that smashes into the wood, but there's blood everywhere.
Someone screams.
Someone tries to pull her away and her first reaction is turn and slice them open, only she's barely stopped by a single rational thought; the smell of the person pulling her back by her midriff.
The cold hits her better than anything else, calms her down better than anything else.]
Put me down.
[There's a very light growl in her voice. There's some blood on her hand, but none of it is hers.]
[ He learned from Anne almost immediately where to find the best drinking between the Up and the Down. And when not the best, at least more like what they're used to. It's easier to be the thieves they are in places like this, with so many people distracted and struggling for their own resources. He's never actually considered himself lucky to be in a place like this, though, until it happens to coincide with some truly spectacular bloodletting from the woman who remains a tigress in his memory.
Hard not to let her finish, honestly - but this kind of thing brings guards very quickly. Even in the seediest places, you can never be sure who might be drawn to the violence. So he doesn't put her down until he can get her to the shadow of the wall, and shove her up against it, putting his body between hers and the entrance to the bar. It's pretty fucking obvious that she could defend herself if she has to, but he'd prefer if they weren't fucking bothered.
He looks behind them, and then back at her, eyes narrow. ]
What the fuck are you trying to do? Get tossed into Fuck Jail?
[The killer is awake, now; he's looking it in the eye. Before it was the glimmer of predator. Now it's the truth of it, the furious rage of it, and she wants to-
-she takes a breath.]
I was trying to slam his head through the bar.
[He's seen her feral in sex, willing and wanting. This is a slightly different side of her. Feral and violent. That said, she knows she fucked up, but her pride won't necessarily let her say it.]
I don't like it when people touch me like that when I don't know them. Or like them.
[She can feel the ripple of a shift up her back, the skin changing texture. Get it fucking together.]
[ Best to be honest, right? But he's not actually holding her here, and even if he was, it's been made pretty fucking apparent that she could go right through him if she wanted. He's relying on her goodwill to keep her here, which for all he knows could be as thin as thread in this moment.
Does that mean he's going to change how he interacts with her? Fuck no. She's still smoking hot, and if anything, the savagery in her eyes makes him want to fight her and then fuck her, in that order. ]
You want them dead, kill them later. Because we're going to see guards here any minute. Let's go.
[She doesn't finish that statement. She will absolutely lie to Charles, whenever her bottom line is more important than his. She takes a breath, and the killer relaxes, eases. The animal slips back, the humanity in her steps forward again.
There are Sin Guards, she can see them starting towards the bar, and she knows that Charles is right. One of them is about to start towards them, so she pulls him to kiss her, her hands caught in his hair.
That makes the guard snort a laugh as he walks away.]
[ God fucking damn it, as if he didn't already think she was gloriously hot. Only the infuriating chuckle of the guard as he walks away keeps him from growling, tension written across his shoulders, because he wants to fight and he wants to see her fight.
But he's been learning to pick his battles.
So he leads her off as soon as it's safe, taking her through a back alley to a quieter street and heading further into the city. As soon as there's no one around to hear it, he looks at her again, the way he hasn't stopped looking at her since they got out of the bar. ]
[She moves with an easy grace. The cold is starting to bite, and her breath comes up in steamy puffs as she tugs her collar up.]
Kiss you?
You want a repeat performance? It's too goddamned cold.
[But she's already coming in to let him brace the wind, not dainty, but practical. She knows what he means, and she's only playing dumb for a moment. She considers him.
Billy knows, but she loves Billy, Billy's been with her for months. Billy held her through the weakness at that stupid camp. Other people know because they come from worlds like hers. But mostly she's kept the bulk of it a secret, and she does now.
The thing about this next part is that it's the truth.]
[ It's clear that whatever the truth is, she doesn't want to tell him, but he can't simply leave it alone now. He's known deadly women, of all kinds, and savage men, but he's never seen anyone draw blood quite like that. ]
A temper? No fucking kidding.
[ It's definitely not the whole story, which is a conscious choice on her part, but Vane can settle for it for now. Mostly. ]
You really aren't fucking around with those tiger stripes, are you?
[She looks up at him, from where she's tucked herself in at his side.
Okay.]
My family are part of a group called the Khan.
[That much she can say. It's not like he knows what a Khan is, and if were to know any Hindi he would know it only means king, so it's pretty much a non-secret. No one here really knows what that means just from the outset.]
The Khan are the warrior kings of Asia. It's not a government thing. It's more like a caste, a group in a social order. So from a young age, we're taught to fight. Fight like we mean it.
[She tips her head back, and rolls her shoulders back. There is still fight in her, simmering low in her belly. That rage may have gotten chilly, but it's always burning. She almost wants to make it burn now.]
But I really am not fucking around with the tiger stripes. I'm the Sher Khan of my family. The Queen of Tigers.
The fact that intricate and strange tribal customs exist on a wide spectrum throughout the world is certainly not unknown to him. Nor does he shy away from them when he encounters them. The stories that get passed around ships and campfires by pirates from all across the world are eaten up with a voracious appetite for deep-rooted, primal things. But he's never come across one like her.
He doesn't believe in shapeshifters. His crew, if they were here, would have their suspicions fleshed out much sooner. All Vane can think about is the strength of it, the power of it. He wants to grab her, for some reason, and not knowing keeps him from doing it. ]
And that's why you'd kill some stupid bastard in a bar fight with barely a moment's hesitation?
[She flashes her teeth at him, sharp, and it's almost a growl and almost a smile.]
That's why you should never underestimate me, but -
[She considers that for a moment. Would she have killed him? She's killed innocent people before but they were all accidents. She's killed men for doing stupid things but never for touching her like that.
Would she have killed him?]
I wasn't going to kill him, probably.
Maybe make sure he never ate solid food again.
[She looks up at him curiously, her eyes bright.]
If he touched you without your consent, or if he touched me without my consent?
[ It makes him smirk a little, amused in spite of the seriousness of their surroundings (it's getting too cold, these days, to be out when the sun goes down), that she must and does give it some serious thought.
And, in fact, the question she asks him then makes him tip his head thoughtfully. ]
Well, I'd say both, but... you clearly wouldn't have needed my help.
[ That definitely makes him chuckle, and since she's still leaning into him, his arm slips around her, loose enough for her to easily shrug him off but close enough to be warm. Her blood is up; must be why she doesn't seem to have caught the chill.
He's definitely not a subtle man, however, so he follows it up with: ]
[A pleasant shiver rolls up her back. She thinks about if Billy's in the apartment, and remembers, no, he's not there right now. It's less that she wouldn't bring Charles up as much as it was that she wouldn't bring anyone up if he was there.
She nods, then.]
If you're willing to get on your knees and taste me, yes.
[It's not submission; she wants to see him on his knees anyway.]
[ There's a bit of a challenge that flares there, nevertheless; it's not an unwillingness to comply, so much as the lingering instinct that this woman - this Sher Khan, this Queen of Tigers - ought to prove she deserves it.
Because what the fuck good is a fancy name without the deep trembling behind it? ]
Let's get indoors first, and see how you feel about asking me nicely.
[She can't help it; challenges are in her blood. She can't say no to something that brazen.
She manages to lead the way with his arm around her shoulders, up the elevator. The apartment is warm, comfortable, and lived in; there are signs of Billy here and there, but she doesn't seem concerned.
She lets him in.]
How much blood am I covered in?
[She asks, now that they're in the light, and she can see where she smeared it on him. She takes a moment, and reaches for his cheek.]
[ If he even notices the signs of Billy, he doesn't show it. Nothing against Billy, but most women he knows offer monogamy only at their own whim, and that it's very much up to them, not to the men in their lives, how many others they're entertaining at a given time. So as long as it's not a problem for her, it's not a problem for him.
Anyway, the point is that he's definitely been bloodier than this, and he bets she has, too. ]
[She has; but when she gets that bloody she shifts and licks it off her paws. This is better. She likes that look he's giving her, and she's undoing her hair, turning her head a little so he can see where the sticky blood splashed against her throat, against her smooth skin.]
Do I?
[She's never had a lover who admired the way she wears blood, and she finds it surprisingly hot.]
Come on.
[She tugs him back.]
Do you want to undress me?
[She asks as if it's something he might want to take advantage of. He didn't really see her naked, last time, only mostly naked, and maybe this time she wants to know if he can be patient.]
[ It's effectively obedient, the way that he follows her, because he's got no interest in keeping either of them waiting, but the offer slows him a bit, makes him pause before he reaches for her again.
Would he like to rip her clothes off again, like the first time? Yes, fucking absolutely, obviously. But she's suggesting that he be... nicer about it. And truthfully speaking, he's never been very good at nice. Very easy to ruin it.
But he'll give it a shot.
He reaches out and catches her shirt, and tugs her toward him. The moment before they're nearly flush he catches her, grasping the shirt at the hem, and then goes slow as if he's made a conscious decision to do it as he lifts it up over her head. ]
[It's less nice and more patience; she wants to watch him take her in, every bit of her, because last time it was so fast.
It helps, too, that she wants to keep her eyes on him, too.
She moves close, and reaches back just to unhook her bra, and then moves her hands to his cheeks. It's something that would be tender, except there's no tenderness in her face, there's just a real hunger, a real terrible need.]
[ If she wants to see him admiring her, she gets her chance as soon as she takes off her bra, as Vane runs his hands slowly over her sides and then back up to trace the shape of her breasts with his thumbs. He doesn't touch her much, just yet. The energy is different this time. But not touching her at all isn't really an option. ]
I can tell.
[ Not merely in the way that he wanted to take her apart last time, either. She looks like she'd devour him if she could. ]
If you could, I don't think I'd be half as interested in you.
[She watches his hands, but doesn't move them. She allows this, this touch, she wants it. Her nipples are already hardening from just the proximity.]
If you were tame, I would fuck you and let you go. I would have been been satisfied with the first time.
[But he's not. He's a feral thing, like her, and it makes her hungry.
She turns and walks away a little, so he can see the long length of her back, and steps out of her shoes. Her jeans come next, sliding off her legs, until she's just in a pair of silk panties. If he were really a lion, he would smell how wet she is already, her body primed for him, his cock, his hands, his mouth.
She's heading to the bathroom, because really does want that shower.]
[ Good, he thinks (without thinking), good that she recognizes it, that he respects the animal in him, even if it is outshadowed by the animal in her.
His eyes track the pattern of her stripes, down the path that his hands had taken last time. He already knows what he wants to do to her, but holding his desires back lets him see what she does with his patience.
So he follows her, stripping off his shirt as he goes, letting his pants follow, knocking off his boots. He's hard already, but not so hard that he feels desperate to fuck her; this deliciously simmering want is warming him up from the inside out. Only when they're in the bathroom does he press in close behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing a suckling kiss into the crook of her neck. ]
[He puts his face in her neck and the feline part can't help but be pleased, as she reaches her hand back to tangle in his hair. He's naked behind her and she wants to turn and look at him, but he isn't the only one who has to be patient right now. She turns her face and catches his mouth to kiss him, licking into his mouth, closing her eyes and feeling everything about him.
He feels solid behind her, and she raises one hip to press against his erection, and this time she's the one who growls, snarls as she comes up on her tiptoes to keep moving against his cock, her ass plush and soft and knowing she's ruining another pair of panties.
She looks forward to the mirror, her head turning so that it encourages him to look there too, and her eyes are dark as she takes one of his hands in hers and slips it down between her legs to where she's wet and hot and just a little desperate.
She looks him in the eye in the mirror, and her mouth is just a little open. Her eyes are dark and wanting, as she pants, trying to keep her hips still.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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She's sitting and having a drink when someone next to her - a local, probably, one of the Rubies or the other gang, Daphne doesn't know or care, starts to give her grief. Pretty pampered Dominant like you, and Daphne is doing her best, god knows. His hand is suddenly on her thigh.
But the Rage is inside of her, all the time, and sometimes-
-if she was a normal woman, she would dress him down, and then get out. If she were a normal woman, she might slap him, or leave.
She's not a normal woman.
The movement is fast enough that it's hard to follow, the smell of blood thick in her nose as she rams his head against the bar, once, twice, and wood cracking. He doesn't die because she makes sure it's the top of his head - the hardest part - that smashes into the wood, but there's blood everywhere.
Someone screams.
Someone tries to pull her away and her first reaction is turn and slice them open, only she's barely stopped by a single rational thought; the smell of the person pulling her back by her midriff.
The cold hits her better than anything else, calms her down better than anything else.]
Put me down.
[There's a very light growl in her voice. There's some blood on her hand, but none of it is hers.]
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Hard not to let her finish, honestly - but this kind of thing brings guards very quickly. Even in the seediest places, you can never be sure who might be drawn to the violence. So he doesn't put her down until he can get her to the shadow of the wall, and shove her up against it, putting his body between hers and the entrance to the bar. It's pretty fucking obvious that she could defend herself if she has to, but he'd prefer if they weren't fucking bothered.
He looks behind them, and then back at her, eyes narrow. ]
What the fuck are you trying to do? Get tossed into Fuck Jail?
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-she takes a breath.]
I was trying to slam his head through the bar.
[He's seen her feral in sex, willing and wanting. This is a slightly different side of her. Feral and violent. That said, she knows she fucked up, but her pride won't necessarily let her say it.]
I don't like it when people touch me like that when I don't know them. Or like them.
[She can feel the ripple of a shift up her back, the skin changing texture. Get it fucking together.]
I'm not going to go back and kill him.
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[ Best to be honest, right? But he's not actually holding her here, and even if he was, it's been made pretty fucking apparent that she could go right through him if she wanted. He's relying on her goodwill to keep her here, which for all he knows could be as thin as thread in this moment.
Does that mean he's going to change how he interacts with her? Fuck no. She's still smoking hot, and if anything, the savagery in her eyes makes him want to fight her and then fuck her, in that order. ]
You want them dead, kill them later. Because we're going to see guards here any minute. Let's go.
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I may lie to a lot of people-
[She doesn't finish that statement. She will absolutely lie to Charles, whenever her bottom line is more important than his. She takes a breath, and the killer relaxes, eases. The animal slips back, the humanity in her steps forward again.
There are Sin Guards, she can see them starting towards the bar, and she knows that Charles is right. One of them is about to start towards them, so she pulls him to kiss her, her hands caught in his hair.
That makes the guard snort a laugh as he walks away.]
Come on.
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But he's been learning to pick his battles.
So he leads her off as soon as it's safe, taking her through a back alley to a quieter street and heading further into the city. As soon as there's no one around to hear it, he looks at her again, the way he hasn't stopped looking at her since they got out of the bar. ]
How did you do that?
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Kiss you?
You want a repeat performance? It's too goddamned cold.
[But she's already coming in to let him brace the wind, not dainty, but practical. She knows what he means, and she's only playing dumb for a moment. She considers him.
Billy knows, but she loves Billy, Billy's been with her for months. Billy held her through the weakness at that stupid camp. Other people know because they come from worlds like hers. But mostly she's kept the bulk of it a secret, and she does now.
The thing about this next part is that it's the truth.]
My aunt Priya taught me. I have a temper.
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A temper? No fucking kidding.
[ It's definitely not the whole story, which is a conscious choice on her part, but Vane can settle for it for now. Mostly. ]
You really aren't fucking around with those tiger stripes, are you?
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Okay.]
My family are part of a group called the Khan.
[That much she can say. It's not like he knows what a Khan is, and if were to know any Hindi he would know it only means king, so it's pretty much a non-secret. No one here really knows what that means just from the outset.]
The Khan are the warrior kings of Asia. It's not a government thing. It's more like a caste, a group in a social order. So from a young age, we're taught to fight. Fight like we mean it.
[She tips her head back, and rolls her shoulders back. There is still fight in her, simmering low in her belly. That rage may have gotten chilly, but it's always burning. She almost wants to make it burn now.]
But I really am not fucking around with the tiger stripes. I'm the Sher Khan of my family. The Queen of Tigers.
no subject
The fact that intricate and strange tribal customs exist on a wide spectrum throughout the world is certainly not unknown to him. Nor does he shy away from them when he encounters them. The stories that get passed around ships and campfires by pirates from all across the world are eaten up with a voracious appetite for deep-rooted, primal things. But he's never come across one like her.
He doesn't believe in shapeshifters. His crew, if they were here, would have their suspicions fleshed out much sooner. All Vane can think about is the strength of it, the power of it. He wants to grab her, for some reason, and not knowing keeps him from doing it. ]
And that's why you'd kill some stupid bastard in a bar fight with barely a moment's hesitation?
[ Well. He shrugs. ]
I'd have smashed his head in too.
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That's why you should never underestimate me, but -
[She considers that for a moment. Would she have killed him? She's killed innocent people before but they were all accidents. She's killed men for doing stupid things but never for touching her like that.
Would she have killed him?]
I wasn't going to kill him, probably.
Maybe make sure he never ate solid food again.
[She looks up at him curiously, her eyes bright.]
If he touched you without your consent, or if he touched me without my consent?
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And, in fact, the question she asks him then makes him tip his head thoughtfully. ]
Well, I'd say both, but... you clearly wouldn't have needed my help.
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Well, a girl always does like to know someone will jump to her rescue, even if she doesn't need it.
Ugh. I need a shower.
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He's definitely not a subtle man, however, so he follows it up with: ]
Would you like me to keep you company?
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She nods, then.]
If you're willing to get on your knees and taste me, yes.
[It's not submission; she wants to see him on his knees anyway.]
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Because what the fuck good is a fancy name without the deep trembling behind it? ]
Let's get indoors first, and see how you feel about asking me nicely.
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She manages to lead the way with his arm around her shoulders, up the elevator. The apartment is warm, comfortable, and lived in; there are signs of Billy here and there, but she doesn't seem concerned.
She lets him in.]
How much blood am I covered in?
[She asks, now that they're in the light, and she can see where she smeared it on him. She takes a moment, and reaches for his cheek.]
You look good covered in blood, you know.
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[ If he even notices the signs of Billy, he doesn't show it. Nothing against Billy, but most women he knows offer monogamy only at their own whim, and that it's very much up to them, not to the men in their lives, how many others they're entertaining at a given time. So as long as it's not a problem for her, it's not a problem for him.
Anyway, the point is that he's definitely been bloodier than this, and he bets she has, too. ]
You wear it like war paint.
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Do I?
[She's never had a lover who admired the way she wears blood, and she finds it surprisingly hot.]
Come on.
[She tugs him back.]
Do you want to undress me?
[She asks as if it's something he might want to take advantage of. He didn't really see her naked, last time, only mostly naked, and maybe this time she wants to know if he can be patient.]
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Would he like to rip her clothes off again, like the first time? Yes, fucking absolutely, obviously. But she's suggesting that he be... nicer about it. And truthfully speaking, he's never been very good at nice. Very easy to ruin it.
But he'll give it a shot.
He reaches out and catches her shirt, and tugs her toward him. The moment before they're nearly flush he catches her, grasping the shirt at the hem, and then goes slow as if he's made a conscious decision to do it as he lifts it up over her head. ]
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It helps, too, that she wants to keep her eyes on him, too.
She moves close, and reaches back just to unhook her bra, and then moves her hands to his cheeks. It's something that would be tender, except there's no tenderness in her face, there's just a real hunger, a real terrible need.]
I want to take you apart, you know.
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I can tell.
[ Not merely in the way that he wanted to take her apart last time, either. She looks like she'd devour him if she could. ]
You should know I won't go down without a fight.
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[She watches his hands, but doesn't move them. She allows this, this touch, she wants it. Her nipples are already hardening from just the proximity.]
If you were tame, I would fuck you and let you go. I would have been been satisfied with the first time.
[But he's not. He's a feral thing, like her, and it makes her hungry.
She turns and walks away a little, so he can see the long length of her back, and steps out of her shoes. Her jeans come next, sliding off her legs, until she's just in a pair of silk panties. If he were really a lion, he would smell how wet she is already, her body primed for him, his cock, his hands, his mouth.
She's heading to the bathroom, because really does want that shower.]
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His eyes track the pattern of her stripes, down the path that his hands had taken last time. He already knows what he wants to do to her, but holding his desires back lets him see what she does with his patience.
So he follows her, stripping off his shirt as he goes, letting his pants follow, knocking off his boots. He's hard already, but not so hard that he feels desperate to fuck her; this deliciously simmering want is warming him up from the inside out. Only when they're in the bathroom does he press in close behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing a suckling kiss into the crook of her neck. ]
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He feels solid behind her, and she raises one hip to press against his erection, and this time she's the one who growls, snarls as she comes up on her tiptoes to keep moving against his cock, her ass plush and soft and knowing she's ruining another pair of panties.
She looks forward to the mirror, her head turning so that it encourages him to look there too, and her eyes are dark as she takes one of his hands in hers and slips it down between her legs to where she's wet and hot and just a little desperate.
She looks him in the eye in the mirror, and her mouth is just a little open. Her eyes are dark and wanting, as she pants, trying to keep her hips still.]
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