[The noise she makes is almost a snarl of a laugh, somewhere between pleasure and pain and approval and irritation. The fact that he can do that, the fact that he does, that he knows she could destroy him, doesn't know why, and will still take out that kind of revenge makes the heat of her cunt throb. She grips him as he comes, and he keeps moving, like a maniac, and it's good.
She reaches for her own breast, and that's what it is, that's what it takes, the intense look in his eye and the way he keeps fucking her.
The tell-tale shudder of her orgasm comes moments later, then, and she reaches to hold onto him, her face against his shoulder, her breath high-pitched and coming faster.
It takes a moment for her to come down, one foot, and then the other. Once her feet are on the shower floor, she presses her forehead right against his shoulder.]
[ Ugh, it feels so fucking good when she does that. All of it. Tightening her grip on him, and her throbbing pussy, and holding herself close to wring everything she can from him. At a certain point, the walls are holding both of them up.
As he feels her starting to lower herself, he relaxes his hold to let her do it, giving her enough room to settle on her own two feet. But he doesn't draw away yet. He straightens a little, and slides both arms around her again.
As soon as she lifts her head, he's going to kiss her, the blaze of hunger in him settling back to a simmer again, but the taste of her is just too good to pass up. And he can spare one hand to twist the shower on to hot. ]
Tell the truth. [ Vane strokes the underside of her chin, rather like petting a cat. ] Did you want to kill me for a moment?
[She doesn't want him to pull away; she wants him to stay close. His body is hot and his smell is thick with her pleasure. She does lift her head, and finds herself kissing him, and it's good, calming. Her breath evens, and when he moves away she chases him for yet another kiss, this one softer, this one almost affectionate.
And then he asks that, and he's touching her against where her scent glands would be, which makes her eyes close a bit in feline delight.]
Yes.
[She practically purrs it.]
When you picked me up in the bar I was ready to destroy you.
[ His eyebrows immediately go up. But even the surprise is more amused than anything. ]
Oh. Then this turned out very well for me.
[ The water is already turning to hot, so he pulls them under it, sucking in a breath at the brief sting but god damn do modern showers feel good. He tips his head back to soak his hair and then straightens up again with a little shake, rubbing his face dry. ]
I like a woman who's not afraid to shed a little blood... even if it's mine.
[She considers that for a moment, and reaches for soap. All the soap that they use has relatively neutral scent, because her nose is so sensitive, and she lathers it up, pushing him a little to get half in the spray.]
You really bring it out in me. It's interesting. Most of the time I keep a much tighter lid on my violence.
[ Extremely hot. Hypnotic, even. He doesn't interfere, but after a certain point he feels compelled to touch a particularly sentient-looking stream of water sluicing its way down between her breasts.
It's a soft touch. Deceptively delicate. ]
I realized that you're stronger than I thought.
[ He traces one nipple with the pad of his thumb so lightly that it's almost an afterthought. ]
Might have waited to see how far you'd get, if not for the guards.
[ He wonders what it's like for her. There's a deep well of rage within him, but he's had his own practice at tapping into it instead of letting it spill over onto everything else. It slips so easily out of his control when that happens, along with the things he does under its influence.
Hers is another level. But that doesn't mean he can't imagine what it's like, reining that in every time it's provoked. He scrubs the soap into his hands, and then glides the bar over her shoulders and down the middle of her back. ]
It didn't seem like you were trying very hard back there, tigress.
[ Picking her up from sex jail surrounded by even more corpses, he suspects. In fact, part of him is wondering if a place like Duplicity is really equipped to handle someone like Daphne - but what the fuck would he know about it, really. ]
What did that look like?
[ It's kind of a fucked up question to ask, but he's dying to know. She just becomes more fascinating to him all the time. The fact that it's punctuated with two slick, soapy hands kneading her ass is purely coincidental, probably. ]
[She turns her head just a little, to eye him out of the corner of her eye. He's getting off on the idea of her really doing serious damage, isn't he? It's oddly liberating, even though right afterwards she hated herself a little for it. Not for the rampant killing - honestly killing people was a part of it, but mostly for the lack of control. For killing people who didn't deserve it.]
Bloody.
[She reaches back, so her hand is against the nape of his neck, and she's on her tiptoes a bit.]
Lots of bodies. I didn't come out of the house for weeks. I felt bad for losing control. If I mean to kill someone, it's because they've done something to me, not because they walked in front of me while I was having a temper tantrum.
[ The notion of blood, gore, and death at her hands doesn't deter him. But it's the last thing she says that manages to hit a nerve he wasn't expecting. It makes him pause, tilting closer under her hand, his own at her hips. ]
I know how you feel.
[ It's a point of honor for him, as someone with a questionable moral compass to begin with: he's never killed someone without having a reason.
Granted, he's almost certainly played more fast and loose with what counts as a reason than she does, but by the time they hanged him, he was taking that kind of thing more seriously. ]
The kind of power you have must be hard not to abuse.
I got the feeling you knew what I was talking about.
[She turns her head just a little, and this time when she kisses him there isn't the roaring, bone-deep fury that accompanied her actions earlier. There's something a little softer, just this side of romantic.]
I'm going to turn around, you need someone to wash your hair.
[ It's his turn to make a thoughtful little sound, this one like he's not sure he wants to bother... but oh well, since she asked so nicely.
As if he'd be stupid enough to pass up the chance to have her touch him without her claws out some more. There's something immensely satisfying about it, especially after seeing how easily those claws can turn lethal. ]
You want me to turn around too?
[ One of them might as well admire the other naked - he just wants to know which. ]
[She turns reaches for shampoo, and stands up on her tiptoes. She shakes her head a little, and reaches to massage her fingers into his scalp, pressing hard enough to make it good, scrubbing as she look at his mouth, his chest, and then at his face.]
I prefer looking at you, lionman.
[She rubs the soap down his hair, and then checks the lines of scabs down his arms.]
[ He closes his eyes when she starts to scrub his hair. It only occurs to him after he's done so that he's never been so quick to close his eyes to someone he's only just met, like this, in such a vulnerable position. He's had women wash his hair before, whores specifically, and even then he'd only allowed it from the ones he knew and liked.
But recognizing now how easy it would be for Daphne to kill him makes it that much more significant that she hasn't done it yet. And god, does he have a thing for that in a woman. ]
I'm not complaining.
[ He might be less marked up than she expects. The pirates come from a time when even superficial wounds could easily turn deadly, so as far as they could go toward not taking damage at all, they would. Charles Vane was always more willing than most to go head-to-head with his foe; that he himself doesn't bear a net of scars is definitely a testament to his abilities. All there is to see on his chest are a few white marks here and there - and a brand, like a pointed diamond, over his heart. ]
Don't think I could complain now, as long as I leave with my head still attached.
[She moves her hands back to his scalp, to the nape of his neck, running her nails on skin. She's looking at that net of scars, and after she's satisfied with the amount she's cleaned his hair and led him into the stream of hot water, she leans forward and presses her mouth against some of those scars, the ones on his shoulders and chest. It's not a kiss, not exactly, as much as it's just a soft touch of her mouth like she's trying to memorize the shape of some of them.
It's actually almost tender.]
You haven't done anything to merit the loss of your head.
[A pause.]
Yet.
[Although now he's going to start smelling like her, and once he does, he belongs to her, and Daphne takes care of her own.]
[ Her mouth feels so fucking good - the warmth of it alone sends currents of electricity underneath his skin, the soft shape of her lips tugging at his insides. It surprises him a little, enough to make him wonder if she's playing with him, like this. That it doesn't worry him probably says as much as the tenderness does about her.
The scars themselves don't mean much to him. He's never attributed meaning to them, not even as a mark of survival, because one's survival stands for itself.
But the brand is different. When her mouth comes near it, his hand is suddenly beneath her chin again, tilting her head back up. ]
[ Of course not. He's pretty sure she could kill him one-handed. ]
Mmm, no. I guess you don't need to worry about much of anything.
[ Which is just so unspeakably hot in a woman, has he mentioned that yet?
Vane tips his head into the spray to rinse the suds from his hair, but his hand stays on her, slipping around the back of her neck. It's still novel to feel clean. ]
Would you want me to stop you, if it happens again?
[She seems perfectly pleased with this notion, satisfied in that perfect feline way.
She turns them so she gets under the jet of water, but doesnāt move his hands away. She likes how big he is, she likes how strong he is, she likes how possessive he acts. He canāt possess her and they both know it, but there is something extremely attractive about his confidence.]
If you see me almost kill someone like that?
[She thinks of slamming him into a wall; there is a part of her that knows he belongs to her already, that heās one of hers in a way that he canāt really know. That if another shifter smelled him they would catch the subtle notes of her possession.
So.
Thatās a measure of something shaped like trust.]
Yes.
Use your better judgment. If you fuck it up Iāll just give you another scar.
[She says it with a hand gripping his cock and on her tiptoes, to press their mouths together, before she slips out of the shower and reaches for a towel.]
He let himself be lulled by her thoughtful pause, and the hand on his cock makes him bite back a snarl that he almost doesn't catch. Or maybe he definitely doesn't. In fact he isn't fast enough to answer the kiss properly before it's gone, and she's leaving him behind under the water.
He flips the shower off, and follows her, doing the same about a towel with his dick half-hard now, thanks.
And then, despite everything they've just been talking about, or perhaps because of it, he catches her by the elbow and tugs her back to him. ]
You wouldn't just leave me like that, tigress. Would you?
[She lets herself move back towards him, and she's smiling, even more at the look on his face, and hums like she's thinking about it.]
I could be that cruel.
[But.
But.
She comes in close, and purposefully gets on her knees in front of him, her hands on his thighs. He has, frankly, excellent legs and a better cock, and she takes her time, her nose right where his leg meets his crotch, where he smells the most like himself, her breath against his balls.]
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She reaches for her own breast, and that's what it is, that's what it takes, the intense look in his eye and the way he keeps fucking her.
The tell-tale shudder of her orgasm comes moments later, then, and she reaches to hold onto him, her face against his shoulder, her breath high-pitched and coming faster.
It takes a moment for her to come down, one foot, and then the other. Once her feet are on the shower floor, she presses her forehead right against his shoulder.]
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As he feels her starting to lower herself, he relaxes his hold to let her do it, giving her enough room to settle on her own two feet. But he doesn't draw away yet. He straightens a little, and slides both arms around her again.
As soon as she lifts her head, he's going to kiss her, the blaze of hunger in him settling back to a simmer again, but the taste of her is just too good to pass up. And he can spare one hand to twist the shower on to hot. ]
Tell the truth. [ Vane strokes the underside of her chin, rather like petting a cat. ] Did you want to kill me for a moment?
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And then he asks that, and he's touching her against where her scent glands would be, which makes her eyes close a bit in feline delight.]
Yes.
[She practically purrs it.]
When you picked me up in the bar I was ready to destroy you.
[And:]
And later. Before you got me in the shower.
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Oh. Then this turned out very well for me.
[ The water is already turning to hot, so he pulls them under it, sucking in a breath at the brief sting but god damn do modern showers feel good. He tips his head back to soak his hair and then straightens up again with a little shake, rubbing his face dry. ]
I like a woman who's not afraid to shed a little blood... even if it's mine.
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[She considers that for a moment, and reaches for soap. All the soap that they use has relatively neutral scent, because her nose is so sensitive, and she lathers it up, pushing him a little to get half in the spray.]
You really bring it out in me. It's interesting. Most of the time I keep a much tighter lid on my violence.
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He turns out of the spray enough for her to have it, very much looking forward to watching her lather suds all over her naked body. ]
How often does it need the lid?
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When you saw me, what did you think? When you saw me slamming that idiots head into the bar?
[The answer of how often it needs the lid is more complicated than she would probably like to admit.]
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It's a soft touch. Deceptively delicate. ]
I realized that you're stronger than I thought.
[ He traces one nipple with the pad of his thumb so lightly that it's almost an afterthought. ]
Might have waited to see how far you'd get, if not for the guards.
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My back, please.
[She says please like she has manners - and she does - or like she didn't admit that she wanted to kill him.]
I wouldn't have killed him. Really.
[She pulls her hair up.]
The rage is always there. Simmering. I mostly keep it in check.
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Hers is another level. But that doesn't mean he can't imagine what it's like, reining that in every time it's provoked. He scrubs the soap into his hands, and then glides the bar over her shoulders and down the middle of her back. ]
It didn't seem like you were trying very hard back there, tigress.
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If I weren't trying hard, he really would be dead.
[Faster than he could have stopped her, before anything would have stopped her.]
And you'd be picking me up from sex jail.
[She closes her eyes in the pleasure of someone else touching her.]
Poor Billy. He had to deal with it, after I lost control. With me.
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What did that look like?
[ It's kind of a fucked up question to ask, but he's dying to know. She just becomes more fascinating to him all the time. The fact that it's punctuated with two slick, soapy hands kneading her ass is purely coincidental, probably. ]
When you lost control.
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Bloody.
[She reaches back, so her hand is against the nape of his neck, and she's on her tiptoes a bit.]
Lots of bodies. I didn't come out of the house for weeks. I felt bad for losing control. If I mean to kill someone, it's because they've done something to me, not because they walked in front of me while I was having a temper tantrum.
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I know how you feel.
[ It's a point of honor for him, as someone with a questionable moral compass to begin with: he's never killed someone without having a reason.
Granted, he's almost certainly played more fast and loose with what counts as a reason than she does, but by the time they hanged him, he was taking that kind of thing more seriously. ]
The kind of power you have must be hard not to abuse.
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I got the feeling you knew what I was talking about.
[She turns her head just a little, and this time when she kisses him there isn't the roaring, bone-deep fury that accompanied her actions earlier. There's something a little softer, just this side of romantic.]
I'm going to turn around, you need someone to wash your hair.
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As if he'd be stupid enough to pass up the chance to have her touch him without her claws out some more. There's something immensely satisfying about it, especially after seeing how easily those claws can turn lethal. ]
You want me to turn around too?
[ One of them might as well admire the other naked - he just wants to know which. ]
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I prefer looking at you, lionman.
[She rubs the soap down his hair, and then checks the lines of scabs down his arms.]
I suppose I'm a little overenthusiastic.
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But recognizing now how easy it would be for Daphne to kill him makes it that much more significant that she hasn't done it yet. And god, does he have a thing for that in a woman. ]
I'm not complaining.
[ He might be less marked up than she expects. The pirates come from a time when even superficial wounds could easily turn deadly, so as far as they could go toward not taking damage at all, they would. Charles Vane was always more willing than most to go head-to-head with his foe; that he himself doesn't bear a net of scars is definitely a testament to his abilities. All there is to see on his chest are a few white marks here and there - and a brand, like a pointed diamond, over his heart. ]
Don't think I could complain now, as long as I leave with my head still attached.
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It's actually almost tender.]
You haven't done anything to merit the loss of your head.
[A pause.]
Yet.
[Although now he's going to start smelling like her, and once he does, he belongs to her, and Daphne takes care of her own.]
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The scars themselves don't mean much to him. He's never attributed meaning to them, not even as a mark of survival, because one's survival stands for itself.
But the brand is different. When her mouth comes near it, his hand is suddenly beneath her chin again, tilting her head back up. ]
You don't seem worried.
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That you'll do something to me? Something I'll regret?
[She considers that. Her hands move to his waist, but her face doesn't turn away from his.]
That you'll hurt me?
[She takes a moment.]
I'm not going to worry about what might be.
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Mmm, no. I guess you don't need to worry about much of anything.
[ Which is just so unspeakably hot in a woman, has he mentioned that yet?
Vane tips his head into the spray to rinse the suds from his hair, but his hand stays on her, slipping around the back of her neck. It's still novel to feel clean. ]
Would you want me to stop you, if it happens again?
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[She seems perfectly pleased with this notion, satisfied in that perfect feline way.
She turns them so she gets under the jet of water, but doesnāt move his hands away. She likes how big he is, she likes how strong he is, she likes how possessive he acts. He canāt possess her and they both know it, but there is something extremely attractive about his confidence.]
If you see me almost kill someone like that?
[She thinks of slamming him into a wall; there is a part of her that knows he belongs to her already, that heās one of hers in a way that he canāt really know. That if another shifter smelled him they would catch the subtle notes of her possession.
So.
Thatās a measure of something shaped like trust.]
Yes.
Use your better judgment. If you fuck it up Iāll just give you another scar.
[She says it with a hand gripping his cock and on her tiptoes, to press their mouths together, before she slips out of the shower and reaches for a towel.]
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He let himself be lulled by her thoughtful pause, and the hand on his cock makes him bite back a snarl that he almost doesn't catch. Or maybe he definitely doesn't. In fact he isn't fast enough to answer the kiss properly before it's gone, and she's leaving him behind under the water.
He flips the shower off, and follows her, doing the same about a towel with his dick half-hard now, thanks.
And then, despite everything they've just been talking about, or perhaps because of it, he catches her by the elbow and tugs her back to him. ]
You wouldn't just leave me like that, tigress. Would you?
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I could be that cruel.
[But.
But.
She comes in close, and purposefully gets on her knees in front of him, her hands on his thighs. He has, frankly, excellent legs and a better cock, and she takes her time, her nose right where his leg meets his crotch, where he smells the most like himself, her breath against his balls.]
Or I could be really nice.
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