tampered | A new toy to replace me

Entry tags:

blood plus - saya otonashi

A new toy to replace me

When; Feb 1, night
Rating; Gooood question. Blood drinking at the least?
Characters; Saya and Karl
Summary; Saya's hungry and lonely so she goes slumming :P
Log;

[It's late, both the hour and otherwise, days and days since Saya fed. Her chest is still tight from the unanswered call to Setsuna, that and the spreading lethargy in her body make her fight for every step.]

[She's not by any means well-covered in the thin sheath of her nightclothes, though positively demure compared to her last entrance. Her manner (she won't allow herself to look as weary as she feels, she won't) is correspondingly less aggressive; still sharp, but, for the moment, sheathed. Drinking blood riles her in ways she hates and savors. Much like the man she intends to take of.]

Karl? [A delicate knock though she waits for no answer, pushing open the door and lingering in the threshold. Her dull eyes belie the way she's standing at perfect, painful attention. She half-hopes he'll guess at what she requires despite her every attempt to hide it; asking for his blood is the only thing worse than having need of it. But there's no choice.]

[She has no where else to go.]

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[ His room bears the gloom and clutter of an upended trunk -- wrinkled shirts and coats still in hangars, papers strewn on the bed, boots carelessly shod in corners and books lying facedown on desks and the arms of couches. Everything has the staccato sense of impatience -- like a sulky adolescent blew through here with the force of a whirlwind. ]

[ The window is open. He's perched at the sill like a gargoyle or a sentry, staring at the fresh trail of snow outside. As a Chevalier; he doesn't feel the chill in the air. He does, however, hear the tread of uncertain footsteps, followed by the equally uncertain voice and knock. ]

[ What could she possibly want? It's either another curse, or she needs something. Why else would she seek him out. Like Diva, like Amshel, she sees him only as a means to her own end. He needs to start seeing her the same way -- again? -- if he wants to maintain his already-tenuous hold on sanity. ]

What is it? [ It's meant to be snappish, but it comes out tired. Half-turning, he takes her in, reeking of uncertainty, preternaturally still. She seems to just perceptibly float above the carpet like a ghost. ]

[Saya slides the door shut, as though that alone will answer him. Interesting he should ask himself why she's here; she does the same. Her given reason is the least of it:]

I'm... hungry. [A certain lilt makes the word sound out of tune. An intake of break signals something else she might have said but she shakes her head instead. What she said is true enough but if she goes on, if she thinks too much on it...]

[Despite the hushed whirring of her thoughts, she remains still, eyes trained on him, steady. Whimpers and twiddling fingers will get her nowhere with Karl.]

[ If she whimpered and twiddled her fingers, he would, in all fairness, toss her back out. He disdains dithering; always has, having learnt since rebirth that it got him nothing. He absorbs those two words I'm hungry, feels the bearings in his mind fall in place as he registers their meaning. Easy to warp, easy to misinterpret -- except this is Saya, not Diva. She'd come to him for feeding, nothing else, as if he's a walking bloodbag. And only if she had no other choice. ]

[ (Then again, in that sense, she's no different from Diva at all.) ]

[ With an arched brow, he rises from his perch. Doesn't come closer. Simply takes her in, his eyes dark and unblinking. So jittery, so keyed up, she might pop like a soap bubble. He wants to mock her. To sneer that she could get what she wants from her precious Setsuna. He's Diva's Chevalier -- he can play the game of push-me-pull-you as well as anyone. ]

[ But one look at her -- rare, delicious, here -- and all his resolve, about being cruel and dishing the players' play, dissolves into nothingness in the face of this stranger looking at him with such uncertainty. With almost equal peradventure, he finds himself saying, ]

You ... you want to feed from me?

Yes. [The answer comes immediately and entirely without permission, yet it's not strictly the truth. It will do, though, for now. One ridiculous, shameful need at a time.]

[Saya steps closer, each step less measured than the last. Farfetched to expect his meeting her halfway, so she won't. But she'll happily soak up the distance for him to speed alon whatever he'll do. Too much percolation can lead nowhere good, aware as she is of her nightgown wafting, then molding against her. Even the tufts of wind are playing tug-of-war.]

[ She needn't worry about stagnation with him -- never for very long. He's always been dynamic. A creature of action. Even his worst decisions (aren't all his decisions bad ones?) are rooted in the desire to move, to get the ball of cause-&-effect rolling. Stillness, for someone like Karl, is like dying a slow death. His eyes skip from her face to her unbound hair, to that wraithlike flutter of her nightgown. Memory blows through him like a gale. This was how she'd looked, innocent and timid, that night at the Lycée des Cinq Flèches. In the reflected silver light from outside, he can see all her shape through the gown, just as he can smell, as then, that tantalizing perfume of anxiety and dread and Saya-warmth that so stirs and disturbs him. ]

[ She's here to feed. Not play with you. ]

[ Yet a crooked smile tips his lips. He pauses for a moment, as if waiting for some signal to beam down on him from the stratosphere, before he sails closer. If this was Diva, she'd be wrapped around him right now in a flirty, proprietary way. His blood already welling up between her fangs, filling her mouth, cold but zesty, submission made liquid. Instead, with Saya, he'll have to coax. ]

[ He hesitates a moment, then extends a hand, ]

Fine. [ The smile stays fixed on his lips, ] Come closer.

[The feeling of being lured is distasteful, but better than, for lack of a better word, rejection. Saya reaches out as soon as he's close enough, watching her small hand fold into his. Her eyes flare red, her anxiety shriveling as they brighten.]

You look happy. [Another step and her free hand settles on his chest, splayed. Where she could feel his heart, if it still beat.]

[ Her hands are so tiny. Yet they glow with warmth. The analogy that springs to mind isn't moths and flames. It's so overdone, so pedestrian. To him, she is a fantastic comet, its tail streaking fire and destruction in its wake, while he life shrinks to nothing but struggling to map its rise and fall. ]

[ Wanting to be the cause of it. ]

[ He lets her step into his space, eyes fluttering half-shut. Murmurs, ] You aren't asking to play in the snow like a ninny. Or pining after that damn Cherub. [ He knows he's likely a last-resort in terms of feeding. That Setsuna must be laid up elsewhere. But when is that any different from normal? ]

[ He's used to dregs of attention. ]

[Her expression tightens in mild, ambiguous response. More because she should be bothered than because she actually is. She's still too roughly hewn to be an entitled Queen but too refined for a demanding child. Months awake and still she's only a shadow and an echo of her true self.]

Maybe if I knew what you wanted from me... [Intended to be petulant, her tone comes out rather more entreating. She'd much rather both of them be less than miserable, if he'd agree to stop insisting on it.]

[With preoccupied nonchalance, Saya begins gathering his hair to one side.]

[ Maybe if I knew what you wanted from me. ]

[ It would help if he knew what he wanted for himself. In this state of impotent fury, he's not sure who to blame. The City, for snatching away his death and robbing him of his purpose? Himself, for such an inconstant mind, clutching at threads of hope one moment and dashing headlong into despair the next? Or Saya, for being what she is, for yanking all his ideas of her from pillar-to-post with each unexpected turn of events? ]

[ He doesn't know. That's the awful trouble of it. He doesn't know. ]

[ He allows her to scoop his hair back from his neck. It's one of the many gestures that differentiates her so vividly from her sister. Diva would just take what she wanted, fangs-first. He'd almost say her comparative hesitation is pathetic (but maybe he just pretends to hate it because he's unused to any shade of kindness?). ]

[ His gaze flickers over her face, furtive, almost shy. Settling on her mouth, for almost a wistful second, then cutting hastily away again. ]

Once your memories return, everything will be clear to you.

[Karl's relative stillness is disarming, but also reassuring. Saya doesn't want a fight, whatever her flaring eyes and straining instincts might push for. Fighting with Karl only reminds her that she doesn't understand why she's doing it.]

[It's that thought that has her shaking her head at his words.] Getting my memories back won't make your wants clear to me. [Who's to say Saya's own thoughts will even be made clear? Will the events of her past help her pick one inclination over its equally compelling opposite?] And I won't forget what I know now, either.

[Before any discussion, or thought, can form, Saya stretches up, fangs bared and cutting in to Karl's throat. She shivers at the temperature of his blood, lips sealing down on his skin to siphon it, the absence of a beating heart making her work for a steady flow. Her body relaxes by gradual degrees, contrasting the tight hold of her clutching fingers.]

[ At least when she's fighting him, he can let everything collapse into the whirlwind of battle. No questions, no doubts, no thoughts. Them being as they are now, like a pair of heartsick teenagers one moment, and lost children the next, is what's utterly transgressive. ]

[ Her reply makes his eyes darken a shade. He opens his mouth to argue: My wants won't matter. Because once your memories return, you'll want nothing but to kill me. And I'll want the same thing in return. Which is as it should be. But the words catch halfway in his throat, dying on a shaky breath that spangles into the air. She's already sunk her fangs in. The sharp sting fades almost at once into a blooming jolt of sensation. He shudders hard, pushing against her, cold palms splayed along her back. ]

[ The delight comes from the bite itself, the wet pull of blood, but it radiates from Saya too, from it being Saya in his grasp. It doesn't feel foolish, or wrong, or deadly. It's the most basic give-and-take between Queen and Chevalier. ]

[ The perfect exchange amid a lifetime of imperfection. ]

[However she wishes she found this disturbing, the flutter in her stomach isn't revulsion. Her temperature hikes up in a rush, almost in defiance of Karl's icy blood, her mind a heady, swirling tempest. Whatever claims Karl has about Saya's "true" nature, this is also a part of her now. A stain she can't believe is less then permanent, always visible no matter how she would try to cover it.]

[And she will try. Later. Or... tomorrow.]

[Saya's fangs retract with a moist sound and she laps up the trickle of blood that escapes before the skin can knit closed. Her forehead rests against his temple while she begins the impossible task of catching her breath with air that feels too thick.]

[ She gives the seeping bitemarks a wet, slow lick. And Karl hums in spite of himself. He should draw the line now. Tell her she got what she wanted, and that it's time for her to get out. She's not his Queen; she won't get both affection and sustenance from him; nor is she kitten at its mother's teat. ]

[ But his voice is lost. The boneless languor in the wake of her feeding is too intense to interrupt. His right hand settles across the jut of her hip; the left traces out her spine, feeling the heat of her skin through the material of her clothes. For moment he can fantasize it is Diva wrapped around him, vibrating with ripeness and power. Almost on instinct, he turns his head, cool round of forehead rolling on hers, as if to absorb her warmth. His gaze flickers from her eyes to her mouth, lips shiny and red-smeared. ]

[ Before he can stop himself, he's leaned in closer, like a thief snatching a bite from an apple. ]

[ Except it's a kiss he's after. ]

[Not until after she's let his kiss connect does Saya bother to rationalize it: Karl helped her, she shouldn't be cruel to him. It's not hurting anything. She's afraid to be alone, especially tonight. Karl wants her and Setsuna doesn't.]

[Rickety reasoning from a splintered mind. All Saya has to work with is conflicting instincts and shot-off-the-hip reactions. A poor substitute for a past.]

[Already being near-breathless doesn't keep any fire out of her kiss. Feeding always opens outlets Saya would much rather stayed shut. With her usually sharp fear of losing herself to her Chiropteran side dulled and hazy, how could she begin to fight it? If her fate and Karl's are intertwined as he claims, why should she even try? For the life of her, she can't think of a response.]

[ Karl's splayed fingers dig into her hip, not cruel so much as needy. He increases the pressure of lips and teeth, licking into the join of their mouths. He can taste the copper tang of blood and something that is distinctly Saya. In the recesses of his mind, he's amazed she hasn't shoved him off yet; that she's not only letting him take what he wants, but responding to it. ]

[ But in the next breath, he decides he doesn't care either way. ]

[ Still kissing her, hard, almost vicious, he edges her backwards so she's pressed between him and the hard plane of his desk. He wants to drop her backwards onto the table top, to press in between her parted thighs, to feast on her mouth and skin. Kissing isn't enough, and yet he's never felt more eloquent -- as if he can impart whole parables from his lips and tongue to hers, try to impress upon her all his rage and confusion and longing. ]

[She's surprised as well, but there are things looming far larger in her mind. The dead air of an unanswered call, the cold darkness of her room, the last wheeze after Haji's corpse fell. Emptiness she can't hope to fill with Karl, but she can try, if only for the sake of some other void to join the others.]

[No curse this time, but there is that excuse, surely. She'll articulate and polish and present it when she must, and until then it's of no use.]

[Both hand have wound their way into his hair by the time the table's edge digs into her. A groan, distinctly encouraging, follows -- she's just glad it's not the bed. That would seem too... intentional. Here is fine. Here is perfect and so she yanks a hand free to hoist herself onto the rim.]

[ A part of Karl can't help but think how similar this is to the first time, yet how disparate. He'd promised himself that there wasn't going to be a repetition of that night -- ever (barring the outside influence of another curse.) She was the enemy. He was supposed to kill her. Not touch her, much less go on wanting to. There were no two ways about it. In this pathetic, fragile state, she was barely a Chiropteran. Lusting for her, fucking her, made him less than a Chiropteran too. ]

[ And yet here she is all jostled up close to him, and it makes his tepid skin go hot all over. He swallows her groan on a half-bitten growl of his own, still pressing kisses to her mouth, harder and harder. Even as she's scrambling up onto the desk, he is nudging in between her legs, left hand sliding along her hip to anchor at the small of her back. The right hitches up one of her thighs, pushing up her nightgown. His palm steals up beneath her hem, coasting cool along her skin. ]

[ The touch is almost delicate. Except it's not out of consideration, but fast-unspooling hesitation. Part of him is still expecting her to shove him off, to bolt out of the room, to pretend none of this happened in that way she's so expert at. ]

[Part of her expects that too, of herself. Is waiting for it, maybe hoping for it. It doesn't come. Instead she opens to him, lips and legs and that stubborn wall she keeps. Her thighs cradle him, her hips lift for his probing hand, her throat betrays a rumbling sound like a cat being scratched just right.]

[It's not his kiss or his hand or even the call of their blood that has her so willing; she doesn't want to be alone. If this is the price of admission, so be it.]

[ The more minutes slip by without any resistance on her part, the more he finds his restraint -- always balanced on the blade's tip -- whittling down to nothing. Distantly he knows he's just being used as a substitute, likely a poor one, for that damned Cherub. Loneliness is a caged beast he's lived with for years, its scars and bites sinking bone-deep into his skin. ]

[ And, as is always the case with Saya, that beast recognizes kindred when it sees it. ]

[ The purring sound that emanates from her feeds a near-identical one of his own, his lips tracking from her mouth along the line of her jaw. He gnaws at her pulsepoint, laves a cool tongue down her throat. Absorbing salt and heat; relishing in the sweet thud of her pulse under that thin veil of skin. With her thighs already bracketing him, he presses even closer, so she can feel the hardening knot of him, restrained by his trousers. Meanwhile his left hand moves, spanning in the narrow pace between them to curl possessively between her legs. One cool fingertip slides back and forth, gathering a bit of moisture before he sinks it partways into her heat, quick and without warning. ]

[She's miles past thinking and relying, foolishly, on instinct, that snap reaction that pulls her everywhere but the right place. It would be so easy to hate him even more for making her feel like this, willing to throw asunder everything she wants to be, and yet she her fingers twine tight in his long hair and drag him closer still.]

[This isn't anything like love -- it can't be. She won't allow it. But maybe, just for tonight, they can pretend. It's the most she can hope for.]

[His finger's intrusion is sudden and white-hot, she tenses around him and releases her breath in a staccato burst of sound. Her hips curl closer, pleading and desperate, anything so she can feel other than wholly empty.]

[ Delusions. Playing pretend. For all his swagger about honesty, about how he disdains lies and embellishments, Karl's mind is caught in a aquarium of murky illusion, the truth forever darting beyond his reach like bright little fishes he can't catch. Even so, he's unprepared, each time, for how she draws him in. Her raw turmoil, the way she pivots so flawlessly between girl and monster, fill him with a fascination that anything volatile inspires. So tightly had he glued himself to the idea of revenge for his defeat in Vietnam at her hands, that he's missed completely how lost he is to her. ]

[ Now, kissing her, he catches himself wondering if he wants to kill her, or just to have all her attention. It can't be true -- it can't. But then he's always been the first one to sink into self-delusion. It was self-delusion that'd led to his rebirth, then to his final but alas impermanent death at her hands -- the greatest delusion of a whole deluded life. ]

[ A shiver runs through him at the noise she exhales, at the way she fists his hair and yanks. He continues carving kisses into her mouth, along her neck, fighting bursts of impulse to bite, maul, tear, drink. The hand between her thighs starts a quick, ruthless caress, even as the free one grips a fistful of her nightgown, bunching it up and off. ]

[The night air on her skin is a cool rush of relief, freedom from the thin nightgown that was somehow suffocating her. Saya arches backward, taking it in and baring her neck for those icy lips to do as they will. Every touch further dilutes her reluctance until it's swallowed in a sea of red, bright as her flaring eyes.]

[Saya reaches out to grab a handful of his clothing, twisting and tugging, maybe tearing. Only his frigid touch can combat the sweltering heat. Some part of her recognizes this feeling, not the twin of her cursed self but kindred, a single twist that makes an entirely new shape out of the same clay. She doesn't want to fight it. She fights so long and so hard, and it's so tiring. She deserves just one moment -- doesn't she? Just one moment to relax her grip.]

[He legs clamp around him, her hands drag him closer by any hold she can find. Whatever of his skin she can reach, she parts her lips to score it with her fangs.]

[ Entranced, he takes in the red that filigrees her pupils, knowing his own eyes match that glow. The tugging, the aggression, is similarly matched with his own -- not yanking the nightgown off so much as rending it to pieces, letting it fall in swathes of ragged fabric and loose threads. The pressure of her mouth and teeth on his skin leaves a pattern of bite marks that ooze red like grotesque lipstick kisses, smoothing closed only a heartbeat later. ]

[ (Strange, isn't it, how they always end up fucking on stray pieces of furniture? Almost like a pair of animals -- except he's not even sure this classifies as sex. It's a mutual defilement, a sheer lunatic aggression.) ]

[ Sinking lower, he doesn't dawdle with tender touches or kisses. Just slips his hand free from between her thighs to force them wider apart. Head trailing down her torso between wet mouthy bites along her skin -- the jut of one collarbone, the perk of a breast, the shoal of belly, then lower down -- already hooking one knee over his shoulder. ]

[ His cool breath against that heated part of her will surely raise a rash of gooseflesh. The temperature is second only to the icy wet impact of his open mouth. Despite how he kneels, there's no submissiveness in the upward sweep of his gaze. In his eyes, she is just a wicked feast, ready to be devoured. ]

[A part of Saya's fractured mind finds this unspeakably amusing. A wry smile forms as she watches him descend, wondering if he'd like to know that she and Diva engaged in just this not so very long ago.]

[The snide comment becomes a strangled, wordless exclamation when his freezing mouth hits just so -- no doubt as he intended -- in a shudder that almost hurts. Which, she decides once her whirring senses settle, is just fine. She wants it to hurt with Karl. Her nails dig into his scalp to punctuate the thought nicely.]

[ Her cry hums in his ears and thrums down his spine, electricity and heat, and the bite of her nails leaps up under his skin in a flare of hunger. Growling against the warmth of her, he forces her legs open wider, a palm hooked behind each knee. Nothing delicate or tender in how he goes at her with lips, teeth, tongue. ]

[ But despite the savagery, it's hardly gauche (how can it be, considering who his teacher was?). His cool wet tongue laps up and down, stroking and teasing for long moments before homing in on her clit. Echoes of circles, and the hard pressure of sudden sucking, not to please her so much as to assert a control over her body, to prove that he can make her feel something, make her give herself up to him, even though she despises him. ]

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A new toy to replace me

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tmw you write a Karl tag to 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' xD

...tmw it shamefully takes you a week to tag something and then your prose sucks...

/snugs<3 That is not so :<

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