tampered | If you're that way inclined...

[A cold bed is becoming normal to Saya, but waking in the early morning hours with nothing but cold sheets for company strikes her oddly, this particular morning. It's unacceptable, sleeping alone. What, over days, she had come to accept as inevitable, she suddenly can't stand another second.]

[Saya throws off her covers and rises from bed, out of her room and down the hall in a flash. Uninvited and not caring one whit, she opens the door to Diva's chambers and walks in. Saya grins in the darkness as she wonders whether she'll get under the covers before Diva notices her.]

[ of course Diva notices. She's only listened to Saya's softest breath, the dual beating of their hearts for years on end, watching, waiting, taunting...

She stirs, cool sheets sliding against her skin as she sits up, lips flitting into a smile. Was this the day she dies? Had Saya come for her final revenge? It made shivers run down her spine in anticipation. Just how much longer must she wait for Saya's full memories to return?

Tilting her head, she took in the silence and then sighed. A tiny bit longer then. There wasn't even a hint of killing intent in Saya's body at all. ]

[Saya ignores the sigh and slips under the sheets, scooting close to Diva. No, killing isn't on her mind just now other than in a strange flash of antagonism that, like all her "memories", makes little sense.]

[It might show, however, in the demanding way Saya reaches for her twin, arms and legs coiling. If Diva fights, so will Saya.]

[ she won't, easily gliding into the familiar hollows and dips of Saya's body, the ones that so easily mirrored her own. They were a perfect fit after all. Cheek to cheek, hip to hip. She'll just smile against the curve of Saya's shoulder and press a light kiss to it.

This closeness, this dance with death. How ever so sweet it was. ]

You missed me? [ she's almost breathless in anticipation. This Saya, she could love, could hold. How much longer will it last? Not forever, she hoped. ]

My bed was cold. [Saya nestles closer, not caring if she makes herself a liar. It's not fair that Diva has her Chevalier to warm her while Saya languishes alone.]

[Her fingers stroke through Diva's hair, not quite gently.] I don't like being alone.

[ then make one of your own. There's a whole city full of people just waiting to be turned. ]

Cold was it? [ Diva wrapped her arms around Saya, stroking her back and not minding the roughness. She wouldn't be Diva if she balked at a little pain. ]

You should have said something then. You can have your pick of servants. [ and have breakfast in bed ]

[But can't she have breakfast in bed here just as well? They could make Karl serve them...]

I don't like the servants. [Pouting as she nuzzles against Diva's neck.] I want my own.

[ Diva purred at the nuzzling, eyes narrowing to mere slits as she smiled into Saya's hair. ]

Then we'll find one for you. Anyone. Maybe one of your... friends, perhaps?

[ Diva ran her hand down Saya's spine, light, with only the slightest hint of scraping. Encouraging ]

Mmm... [Saya's body rolls in response, loose and pliant now that she's warming up. Now that she has someone.] Maybe. [But her voice doesn't have the urgency it did seconds ago, her energy shifting to that tantalizing graze down her back. Difficult to focus on anything other than right now. Not to be outdone, she nips at Diva's neck, the barest hint of her fangs. She doesn't know about their blood, but in her state of mind it might not have mattered.]

[ her blood shivered, body deliciously tight in a second at the slight nip, the dangerous hint of death against her skin. No matter how often she struggled, how much mayhem she carved into the skin of her paramours, it had never mattered. The game, pointless. But this...

She pressed tighter, arching her back as she rolled her head, exposing yet more skin. Pierce her flesh, flirt with life and death. Diva never, ever, felt more alive then in those moments. Was it the same for Saya? She doubted it, but perhaps, maybe, just this once...

She wanted this. ]

Then, after, we'll go hunting. [ she panted the words, breathless and tangled her fingers in the short strands of Saya's hair, urging, pressing, begging. She had never been so hot, so quickly. It was electrifying. ]

[Hunting. Yes, that's an apt analogy for this feeling, the tingling whirl in her head that craves more, always more. Her hand strays low, finding the edge of the sleek confection Diva wore for bed and the heated skin beneath, soft curves and the harder turn of a hipbone. Her nails press a dappled trail, relishing the shift of those hips toward her. Saya's body rumbles as she takes it in, basking in this new power.]

[Her thigh slips between Diva's knees as she fairly lunges closer, fangs scraping the supple skin of her neck, her taut jawline. So close to biting down, but something niggles at her, a bothersome fly she would bat irritably at if she could spare the hand.]

[ she shifted, easing onto her back and drawing Saya over her, letting her sister press where she will, touch as she wished. Never let it be said that Saya didn't want this. She can be the aggressor; Diva will simply take and take and...

She whimpered at the hesitation, urging Saya closer, wanting her to feast. But, her own mind cleared and, reluctantly, carefully, she lowered her gaze and whispered in Saya's ear. ]

Kiss me.

[ if not there, then anywhere. All over. Let her be raked by those teeth and soothed by those lips. Let her know her sister's touch and relish in it. After all, they were joined in one womb; they had never been meant to drift apart. ]

[Saya rolls, obliging and demanding at once, Diva's long hair tangling them in a tangible connection. She lowers herself, her lips and body molding to Diva's, the perfect fit, her equal match in every way.]

[Heat blooms between her legs, Saya's hips forcing down with restless fervor, grinding Diva into her soft mattress. The skim of her hand up Diva's inner thigh is quick, almost clumsy; she wants to see if they're alike in that way, too.]

[A hiss against Diva's mouth as her eyes and body flare, now overwarm and demanding retribution.]

[ She sighed against those lips, tangling not just their hair but breath and tongue as well, tasting, relishing, wondering... Was this what her chevaliers tasted? It was heady and tantalizing, mesmerizing.

But her breath hitched and Diva rolled against Saya, thrusting up, spreading her legs. Touch her, mold her. Find all those sensitive spots. She was eager to learn as well. Did Saya whimper at the touch of her hand on the back of a knee? Would she moan at the scrape of her nails against her side?

Eager, thankful, and oh so warm beneath the flimsy excuse for a nightgown, Diva did what she hoped Saya would for her. She tugged on Saya's gown, pulling it up with a hand running from thigh up and over that perfectly rounded ass, the slight ridge of her hip. But the rest depended on Saya. She could just as easily rip the gown, as it tug it off completely.

Diva never did like waiting. ]

[No waiting tonight, not with Saya's flaring nerves this unruly. Always, her heart rules her, but her iron hold on her whims has faltered and left her grasping for anything that will satisfy this furious, restless ache. Craving touch and connection, every decadent indulgence.]

[Sitting up, both hands tear her gown overhead and send it flying, along with the bedclothes. The cool night air prickles as if tightening her skin by degrees, a sweet interlude before she pitches forward to crush her mouth against the one she left waiting. Diva is all the warmth she needs, now.]

[Her fingers fumble over Diva's hip, an artless path over the low planes of her abdomen to push between her legs, near-abrading. Boldness that can only be the reckless abandon of unexplored freedom.]

[ Diva hissed, her eyes widening in unabashed pleasure at the roughness, the awkward touch between their bodies. She didn't need finesse; she could have that from anyone. No, what she wanted, needed was the raw need, the simple fumbling in the dark for her sex, that place that pulsed and shivered with ever touch and near touch.

But Saya had always had the passion, the heat that stirred and settled on the hearth, flickering, prowling, licking at the heels of a greater cause, a raging fire. She couldn't compare; Diva was just the star glittering above, so cold, so lifeless, smiling cruelly down at the maggots that slithered so blindly through their lives. But, she could have this. This sensation of rocking, of one mind, one body. She ached as she had always ached when she watched her sister, so innocent, so demure and running freely. No more. No longer. She would trap her, bind her bit by tiny bit.

She smiled then, raking her nails down Saya's back, rubbing her spine in an upward stroke of encouragement. Yes, there, more and if she was good, perhaps Diva would reward her for the effort. ]

[A quick-burning fire at that, greedy and blazing bright, devouring all in her path. Her wet lips break away when Diva scores her bare back, a curl of laughter coiling between them; like her busy fingers below, too feral for seduction.]

[Far from trapped, Saya revels in the freedom of touching, taking. Her aching fangs urge her further, but -- no. What she wants is to taste, and there's something hotter than blood calling to her.]

[Saya rears up, her slick fingers brought to eye level for her to lick clean. Red-flaring eyes wide and wild, she bites down, milking a single drop of Diva's blood, her heart thundering at her. In that bead of blood she finds the dark edge of battle, that teetering vertigo between life and death.]

[Teeth bared, she lowers herself to taste Diva in a different way, savage and sharp kisses at the core of her.]

[ That single drop, that glint of death at the hands of her sister, that sharp, pointed need that dug and wormed its way inside her heart and made her ache for an end, for the end at Saya's hands... She knew that day would come. Knew it as surely as she knew her chevaliers, knew the languor and forgetfulness of her deep, deep sleep. She craved it. Craved the taste of Saya on her skin, on her lips and smothered across the pearly alabaster of skin that never burned, never darkened in the sun. They healed too quickly for such mundane concerns.

They were queens.

And she ached in another fashion as Saya feasted, harsh and rough, quick and indelicate. There was no finesse or years of polished skill in the kiss, in the several that followed. It made her tumble, feet curling as she dug into the bedding, arching into Saya's amateurish touch. She gasped, crying out a name as her muscles tensed, as her pelvis bucked against that slick heat. Death, like this? Diva would never complain. What better way to go then at the hands of a sister?

One last touch, one last nip at the core of her, and she will simply fall apart. Pleasure, for Diva, was too easily obtained. But never like this. She could no sooner drag it out then taste Saya's blood. No matter how viscerally she may wish it. ]

[Polished? Never. What drives Saya, always has, is raw feeling. She's as selfish as Diva in her way, and as dangerous. Diva's wild hips call that side of her and Saya's hands clamp down, wrestling them still as her lips refuse to yield their position. Sheer will, unmoving and intrinsic, the same that guides her blade through flesh insists, demands that she make Diva hers, tonight. Now.]

[A hiss as Saya's lips stretch, teeth bared, her face slick with Diva's scent. Part of her, as yet unfulfilled, jealously snarls in response to Diva's pleasured writhing. But no -- not yet. This is what she needs, control and sovereignty over her own existence. To take. And so she will, unrelenting, until Diva gives way.]

[ And she does, breath held in a quiet sob as she breaks, shivering in delicious tendrils of satiation. If Saya had expected violence, she did not get it. No, her violence was left in the touch of another, in her touch on their skin. But when she came, it's with broken cries and half uttered sobs as she clung, curling around the victor, attempting to encase Saya forever, held in the womb that would not give birth, would not yield life.

What she couldn't have, she'd hold. What she wanted, she'd grasp and watch slip through her fingers like liquid in a quiet stream. So too, would this past. But she whispered Saya's name, stroked Saya's hair. If she could return this favor, she would. But Saya would have to let go first. It had always been so. ]

[Saya wrestles free, flops over with a lip-smacking grin. Winning feels nice. She should do it more often.]

[Scooting up until she finds a pillow, Saya nestles into its softness and watches Diva as glow in her own eyes fades to a simmer. Almost a dare to her dear sister to get Saya to submit with nothing but a few touches.]

[ She turned into Saya's lithe body, curling around it with barely a sigh as she let go of the glow, the feeling of languor, of fulfillment that descended upon her. And she watched Saya, noting the way she shifted, ached. The challenge in her eyes was particularly bright and without a moment's thought, she laid a hand on her side, trailing her fingers down the flushed skin. ]

What do you want?

[ She'll give it to her. Now and in this moment. Everything except the life of her children. That was non-negotiable. ]

[Saya's cold eyes look through Diva and she rolls against the mattress, nestling in.] Nothing. [The heat through her body is already cooling, and she sees no need to reignite it.]

[ her nails score Saya's skin, a quick scratch that showed her displeasure. Always, always, Saya rejected her gifts. ]

There must be something, sister dear. At least one thing I can give you.

[Saya's red-tinted lips only spread into a grin as the scratches raise welts. Very well, if she's going to insist...] I want a pet of my own. [Whether she means a Chevalier or otherwise is left ambiguous.]

[ Diva hummed as she threaded her fingers through Saya's hair, a contented languor still hovering in her limbs. ] Do you prefer them young or old? [ anything Saya wants, she can have. Within reason. ]

There you are.

[Saya appears in the doorway of whatever room where she's finally found Karl, grinning like a cat about to pounce on an especially elusive mouse. She leans against the frame, head resting on a bent elbow, hip cocked in a pose that highlights the strip of bare skin peeking between her lacy tank top and boyshorts. Her free hand held behind her back in an imitation of winsomeness and her hair tousled as if fresh from bed, she could be modeling for some racy magazine.]

"We don't settle our scores with apologies," [she quotes] "we use our fists and fangs."

[Since that kiss, something is between them that needs to be settled.]

[Saya's hand moves from behind her, revealing the butcher knife in her slackened grip. She taps the flat of the blade against her bare thigh in a slow cadence. Neither a fist nor a fang, but she gets the feeling Karl won't mind. And if he does, too bad. He doesn't make the rules.]

[Her eyes flash, not with vengeance but playful mirth. Her lips curl to match them.]

[ Absorbed in his book, Karl is settled by the window-seat (trying, trying, to be a good puppy and stay indoors tonight, not plunge into the weekend's maelstrom.) The presence of a Queen -- no differentiation between the two as yet -- transmits in a prickling lick up his spine. For a moment he thinks the newcomer is Diva. The voice, the look, the attitude. He glances up, instantly attentive. Ready and eager for whatever demands she may spring, ]

Diva, I thought you were aslee -- [ His smile, brilliant for a moment, dies. ] Saya?

[ The sight of her is startling. Hypnotic. The lustrous hair flowing around her shoulders, her body, leaning against the jamb, all sinuous in the lacy frippery. Eyes alight. The knife doesn't detract from the picture-perfection. It offers that edge -- danger, blood, sinister intent -- that always gets him going. Caught for eternity in a twenty-year-old's body, he feels himself responding like one, the call of her blood irrelevant. ]

[ But his mind -- for now -- is tangled in questions. ]

Are you drunk? [ That makes no sense. Chiropterans can't get drunk. No. No, it's ... ] You're cursed, aren't you?

[A chitter at his questions, and an elegant shrug.] Cursed? I'm free. [No more burdensome worries, fretting over things she can't control. Like the eye of a hurricane she's eerily, deceptively calm, removed from the destruction she creates all around. Why should it matter what she leaves in her wake, so long as she's smiling at the end?]

[She pushes off the door frame and makes a show of stretching, arms and knife overhead, back arching.] I'll show you.

[Between one blink and the next her eyes and stance shift, threat and impish dare in perfect harmony. She charges, blade flashing in a bright arc, smile never fading. Ready or not, Karl.]

[ Ready -- more than ready -- although part of him is arrested, motionless, by her mysterious demeanor, mind and body in delicious confusion. Between her transition from seductive posturing to violent freefalling, his book snaps shut, hits the floor with a thump. (It's a final and ominous sort of noise; something synonymous with closed chapters and finishes.) ]

[ He's there to meet her downswinging blade with his arm -- torn through its sleeve, transformed into a wicked-pointy barb. He mirrors the smile, the glint in her eye. But while, in her cursed state, she may see this as a slow build of foreplay, Karl misinterprets it as a challenge to a fight. ]

[ It won't take long, however, for him to switch gears. The recoalescing between violence and sex is an easy one for him. ]

[Not misinterpreting, exactly. Fight him or screw him, either will satisfy Saya's mood. Whichever way, no matter his true allegiance, right now he's hers to take of as she pleases. And she'll be oh so disappointed if he makes it as easy as before.]

[The knife flicks in her hand to set the edge against his arm as she twists, aiming to wrench free and draw blood in one fluid movement -- his blood, no attempt made to use her own. Her form may pique his memory even as her flaring eyes, transfixed on his, urge him on. She wants the chase, to be the center of his world, to watch him tear this manor apart in pursuit of her.]

[But for now she won't go far if she should divest herself of his grip; just out of reach, crooking a finger in a beckoning tease.]

[ His initial confusion isn't exactly gone; it hovers in the atmosphere, ready to coalesce again if circumstances warrant it. But as with any moment of uncertainty, Karl's body is primed for fight, not flight. Right now, despite the seductive trappings, she's a perfect replica of that gorgon in Vietnam. It's exhilarating. Even as subsidiary questions of What's going on? float in his head, his nerves shrill a wild song of YesYesYesYes. ]

[ When she swings, he evades easily, sweeping, almost balletic. The red eyes, the jagged white fangs, still have the nuanced expressions of his calmer visage -- total enchantment. Perfect focus. For a moment, as she beckons, he does nothing but stare while the heartbeats mount up. But it's not hesitation. He's drinking her in. ]

[ Then he moves, full speed, a bluish blur in wake of his trajectory. One clawed arm already swinging in an unstoppable arc -- to snatch her up, to tear her apart -- that depends on how she reacts. Fight him or screw him, he's determined to leave his share of marks either way. The opportunity is too golden to pass up. ]

[ He wanted the real Saya. And here she is. ]

Edited 2013-01-02 01:53 (UTC)

[Too restless to pass that moment being still, Saya ambles a few steps, finger tracing the shade of a lamp before upending it to crash on the floor. Her bare feet crunch through splintered glass, eyes glowing through the new din. She can see him coiling tighter, that acute focus that can only come from frenzied craving, unrequited.]

[Then he springs for her, a literal rush down to her knees, her own bustling nerves flaring along with her eyes as she moves to meet him. She plunges the knifepoint toward his palm, the rest of her aiming to crash against him, her burning skin seeking relief in his cold.]

[Laughing whimsically, fangs gnashing, she goes for his neck.]

[ The crashing lamp is white-noise for him. There'll be similar noises in quick succession, he's sure -- a symphony of destruction. The fight (rendezvous) could easily escalate into an all-out disaster-zone -- wrecked furniture, bloodsplattered walls, ragged skin and clothing. He hopes it does. It feels like eternity since he's had the freedom to let go. To dance the night away with an equally savage partner. He closes the gap between himself and Saya, zero to sixty in a millisecond. Lets the knife plunge into his open palm, the pain barely felt; body and nerves a-crackle at her proximity. All at once he's caught her back against the glass, thrilling in the pinpricks of her fangs against his throat. ]

[ His free hand goes to her hair. Fingers tangling in all that silky black, he wrenches her head up, opening her blood-slick mouth to his ravenous kisses, to the buzz of his low continuous growl. ]

[She doesn't relinquish his throat easily, and nearly at all -- his impatience leaves him with a dangling patch of flesh as her fangs rip it away in a spurt of blood and viscera. Both pleased and incensed at his demands, Saya returns his kiss with the bruising force of not just her lips and teeth but all of her, what was meant to be a teasing slide against him devolving as she forgets the hunt and parts her thighs and just wants. For once his icy touch is a welcome relief on her sweltering skin.]

[The knife torn from his hand -- whatever he loses in the process isn't of concern -- Saya spends half a moment thumbing it's stained edge before letting it fall. A low curl of laughter as she instead claws at his clothing, rending it and the cool flesh beneath. Now if he'll resist like a good boy...]

[ The messy wrench of her fangs is rewarded with a groan -- not agonized but ecstatic. What are they, but monsters, after all? Fighting like monsters. Fucking like monsters. Despite the cold still coming off his skin, she gives off a rich melange of heated excitement. He can feel it seeping through him, warming him inside-out. Making him crave more. ]

[ His gutted palm heals with the same smoothness as his torn neck. He doesn't notice; he gorges on her mouth, instead, then breaks to gnaw her jaw, her throat, indulging in the paleness of it. Teeth and lips drawing bruises, dark and burnt-looking, but never blood. When she tears at his clothes, he chokes out a noise -- almost a sneering laugh. Moves to seize her wrists in one hand, the other tearing at the scraps of clothing she has on -- wisps of lace and thread giving with crisp riiiiips, like pages torn from a book. ]

[ He's frantic, feral, half-blinded -- but he needs to look. ]

[Her resistance to his grip is brief and halfhearted, curiosity outlasting the flare of her temper. She arches off the glass and into his icy touch, watching him through the fringe of her bangs. Her skin is pale and pure, an unmarked canvas but for a single bloody drip her chin that falls between her breasts.]

[Her legs kick, girlish and playful, idle movements belied by the tangible force in her blazing eyes. Well, Karl?]

[ An unmarked canvas -- or a field of contest. Certainly, it will be a challenge to mark that perfect skin, to leave a poetic planted flag, but ignore the delirious call of her blood; to resist the urge to dig his fangs in and bite. ]

[ For a moment his red gaze licks her up and down; surface comparisons to Diva bloom and die in an instant. The mood, the moment, it's as disparate from anything he's shared with his Queen as night from day. Keeping her wrists gathered in one hand, he pins them forcefully above her head, against the cold glass of the mirror she's pressed against. One leg pushing between hers as his mouth feeds bruisingly on the skin of her shoulders, the slope of breasts, chasing that rolling bead of blood with a cool tongue -- too rough to be foreplay, too selfish to be anything but pure, perfect self-indulgence. ]

Edited 2013-01-05 09:45 (UTC)

[With her memories locked away Saya can only wonder why he doesn't bite. The idea of respect or tenderness is laughed off, aloud, a strange freedom in singing out her amusement. The rest of her has been coiled far tighter and writhes at his boorish kisses, back bowing sharply, head thrown back with enough force to crack the glass in a delicate web that fans out like a halo.]

[Her thighs squeeze his leg, hips swiveling in quick, shameless figure-eights. She chortles again, thinking that he must feel her damp heat through his clothing, cold and lifeless as he is. How long will he resist?]

[Not long, she hopes. Else, he'll prove useless to her very quickly.]

[ No respect, and his idea of tenderness is hardly the tender sort. When she rolls her hips against him, heat bleeding from every curve, every angle, he sucks in a breath, even though he doesn't need to breathe. The effect she has on him -- physical, mental -- is overpowering and instantaneous. His lips pull back in a sharp smile against her neck, eyes liquid and gloating. It seems a shame not to track his mouth lower, lower, to taste the center of her heat, feel that hypnotic subcutaneous throbbing. But he's past patience, all his untapped tension opening into raw violence. ]

[ He pins her tighter against the cobwebbed glass, wrists still imprisoned, his free hand struggling underneath for his own fastenings. No time to sweep her carefully or gracefully to a bed, to undress and lie down -- the City might fall to ash in a minute and he wants this now. As the last fly button snaps, he hitches her up. Frees her wrists to let her hang from his shoulders, while he grips her thighs in both widespread hands. ]

[ And drives into her with force, harsh and wet, growling into her neck, jouncing her body hard up against the cold broken mirror. No consideration. Only brutality -- yet it's as honest in its own way as any pretty words or worship could be. ]

[Careful and graceful wouldn't please her; decades untouched might lend thoughts of some renewed purity, the vestal rite of a blushing bride laid to back, a hushed solemnity -- pathetic, human trappings. Saya cries out as he forces his way into her, a savage smile on her bloodstained face even as she must be rent in two. Rather than hang demure and accepting from his shoulders she leans back and shoves, all her weight and strength pushing onto him, his brutality met inch for inch. She demands every bit he has to give, not one speck less.]

[Limbs locked around him with wringing pressure, Saya bucks off the mirror to upset his balance. She'll see if she can't put him on his back.]

[ The impossible warmth she gives off, the colorful play of heartbeat and aromas -- he wants to howl and gallop and freeze and pass out all at once. Instead he lifts his head to catch her grinning red mouth with his, a seal of cold lips and razor-white fangs. Each kiss at the edge of breaking skin -- but not beyond. His hips rock against the clench of her thighs, settling in tight, filling her up. ]

[ A still-lucid part of his mind wants to commit her delicious cry, her smiling face, to memory. But the rest can't see or hear anything anymore, his separate senses merging into a flood, into the unstoppable action of Now now now. ]

[ The way she bucks against him, grips him -- thighs, arms, and inside herself, is a dizzying pressure. Every bit as strong and wild as Diva; but he won't defer to this playmate. Never to Saya. Her sister has taught him valuable lessons in the tug-of-war of sex -- it'll take more than violence to upset his balance. Violence is routine for him. He's used to little else. ]

[ Instead he starts a punishing rhythm, hard, hard, harder, until she slides up and down the glass -- the embodied resonance, force and friction of that old phrase -- hammer and tongs. Seeing how far she'll let him take this; seeing what it'll take to make her cry out again. ]

Edited 2013-01-08 01:11 (UTC)

[Laughter is her only reply, wild at the fringes and fraying as she strikes the glass. Her hips hammer at him in a frantic counterpoint, the glass creaking and then fracturing beneath her as she recalls of a phrase of her own: rack and shatter.]

Is that all? [Saya yanks back, her tongue sweeping the tips of her red stained teeth. The mirror finally yields, crumbling, tiny slivers digging into her back and smearing the glass. Their very own trail of breadcrumbs.]

[One hand splays against the mirror and comes away red-streaked. She lifts it to her lips and licks a stripe across her palm. She holds it out for him.] Don't make me regret choosing you.

[ The shattering glass seems emblematic of his self-control. Spidering outward in dark cracks, before shattering entirely. At her taunt, he grins and shoves her hard against the mirror, a series of fierce pummeling thrusts, making sure her head gets a good crack against the surface. Once the curse ends, once dawn kisses the horizon, she will end up regretting this. The suffering little martyr in her would have it no other way. ]

[ But while she's here, in this feral state -- as honest and true as she'll ever be -- he doesn't plan to hold anything back. ]

[ When she offers her bloodsmeared palm, there's a wild impulse to lap at it, suck at her little fingers into his mouth. But he has no intention of swallowing her blood. That's going to be a challenge in itself; it drips all around their feet, slicking her back, staining his palms. The room is redolent of it -- it's all he can do not to sink his fangs into her neck, a sharp penetration from both above and below. Instead he swings her away from the mirror. Carries her to the table where his books are piled, lays her on its edge, her legs drawn tight under his arms. Resumes his pace, deep and rapid and relentless; the table rocking with each motion, books and red-rimmed wine glasses toppling. ]

[ His gaze, as it sweeps over her, is rapacious and adoring. The same ferocious joy as when they fight. But somehow softer too -- more esurient and possessive. ]

[The jarring thump of her head against the husk of his mirror rattles a moan from her throat, low and whisper-thin. Her bloody palm brushes his cheek, marking him so he can't escape the scent of her. Long after scrubbing and time wear it away, Saya will remember it was there. And so will he.]

[There's a joy in being carried, weightless freedom and surrender in his strong and shielding grip. The table shudders beneath her as sounds of chaos echo all around; the heels of her palms press down, a pinion in the rocking wood. Her back bows, wire-tight, and she grabs to yank him down or herself up. A word forms, not entirely at her behest.]

[His name. She keens it, curses it, whimpers it against him as she quakes and flutters, inside and out.]

[ There's no way he'll not remember this. Marked or no. The encounter -- astonishing, unexpected -- isn't wish fulfillment, but it comes dizzyingly close. He feels her blood smear his cheek, a warm slick layer, the scent filling in his nose, clouding his senses -- sugar and spice and the promise of everything nice. Even as she braces against the table, he redoubles his movements, each thrust resonating from her body and back to his, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. Surrounded by her heat, he almost feels alive; his skin on hers is almost warm now. He lets her yank at him, freeing one arm to sling across her back, grapple her in tight. ]

[ Her cries -- his name on her lips -- cut through him, flaring and crackling like bright spicas. Spots burst in his line of sight as she quakes around him. Hard and overlapping and violent as a sudden squall, the climax overtakes him. His own voice wings in his ears like the snarl of a monster, too ragged, too harsh. He seizes up and shudders, rocking against her for a long moment before he finally subsides. ]

[It's less than a moment before she stirs, restless and twitchy, shrugging him off to indulge in a languorous stretch.]

Mmm, I need a bath. [Saya nudges Karl with a dismissive knee, hoping to shoo him off. He's served his purpose.]

[ Jelly-legged and a little disoriented, he lets her nudge him off. Deja vu rises like a cold suffocating tide. She's so much like Diva in this moment -- taking what she wants, then discarding him, like he's a toy or a stain on the bedsheets. ]

[ Never looking back at him. ]

[ He ignores the churning rage. Ignores the sting of bitterness. Avoiding her face, he sets his clothes to rights. Stares at his distorted image in one of the shattered glass panes -- and finds he's unable to even meet his own eyes. ]

[Saya watches him with casual curiosity then giggles again as she slips from her perch. He's pouting, and the idea amuses her. She pads over to him with no concern for her state of undress; she's headed to bathe anyway.]

I like you like this. [Her index finger flicks toward his face, intent on tracing the lines of her blood on his cheek.] Come visit me one night. [She'd tire of always being the one seeking.]

[With those words and a floating laugh, she'll make her way out.]

If you're that way inclined...

[Closed to Diva]

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[Closed to Karl]

Placeholders Gonna Placehold/Ooh baby~<3

:3

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