senri
in
bedlam_mix
sirenspull; waiting games.
Title: Waiting Games
Genre: gen.
Warnings: M / non-con without all the emotional suffering and agony.
Characters: Madara, Rin.
Notes: Madara is really nice. And patient.
Warnings for non/'dub'con, that is, noncon without the emotional suffering and agony which characterize rape. Please don't read if you're uncomfortable with this.
He learns how she sleeps, first of all, and in a word her sleep is: uneasy. Sometimes Rin cries while she dreams, and after that sometimes she wakes up and clearly is uncertain where she is, before she recalls herself in the world again.
Madara spends a lot of time watching. She's enjoyable to watch. Her bed is small and pushed against one wall. She sleeps with her hair loose, slipping darkly over the cotton sheets. Her bright tense face falls pale and still, her mouth opens slightly, lips dark. She sleeps curled up with her back against the wall, pushing the comforter down around her hips if she gets too warm; she wears shorts, and a t-shirt. In her dreams, besides crying, she pushes her fingertips against her mouth. He can see, like that, the ragged skin edging her fingernails: where it dries and splits in the cold winter air, where she's picked at it.
-
Her room has a desk and the bed pushed against the wall. There's chocolate stashed in the top drawer of the desk, on the right, pushed to the back of the drawer. She nibbles at it piecemeal. Her preference seems to be to balance on the back legs of the chair, staring out the window while she snacks. There's other food stashed surreptitiously around her room. There's a sword in the closet, along with clothes, and a selection of knives which rattle around, moved from place to place as convenience calls for it. About thirty of those. Sometimes, when she's not reading or coming or going or doing something, Rin seems to absorb herself with studying patterns of light and shadow on the wall. She falls asleep immediately whenever she decides it's time for sleeping. There's a faint trace of a scar on the lower part of her stomach, lower than modesty. An orderly girl. She dreams quietly. Her breathing softens or speeds up. Sometimes, as mentioned, she weeps, still quietly. Sometimes she wakes up confused. Sometimes she comes out of sleep for dizzy moments at a time. Sometimes she sleeps the night straight through.
Sometimes she has dreams that don't melt into nightmares. He always steals closer then. It's not strenuous. He can crouch for hours next to the head of her bed, keeping an eye on things. She shifts sometimes. Stretches, pushes the covers down if it's too warm, nestles back into them when it chills. He catches her in strange little half awake moments, where her eyes slit open and she gazes into the dim room without ever truly waking - making eye contact sometimes, without ever really knowing. They're as far away as two people and as close as the space between a synapse, then, and it's easy. Just the matter of a little jump.
What she doesn't know can't hurt her. And he wants her so badly, sometimes. He's not doing her any harm.
Rin's dreams are colored as diffusely as sea glass, and full of clear air. Dreams are quick and fluid things, though. The atmosphere can shift in an instant; he can shift it, he can spin her into being when she isn't even in the dream, like smoothing raw wool into thread. She falls out of thin air, startled, too surprised to struggle, and it's funny how easily a human's mind accepts intrusion. Funny how the dreams a girl remembers are the ones that come closest to the waking moment.
If she was awake she'd have questions. What are you doing here? When she's still dreaming she seems happy to see him. Madara knows how to make friends with cats, even in strange places. A cat is always happier approaching in its own time. Then feline rituals, the bumping of furry forehead to knuckles, the inquisitive twine around one's legs. Rin nuzzles at his face in exactly the same way a cat would bump against his hand. Her lips are soft and dry. She keeps quiet; she never seems to want to talk. She's always eager to touch him.
He wonders, hopes, she would be this eager for him if she was awake - someday she will be. She seems so happy to bundle into his lap, to close her eyes and relax, with her face against his chest and her legs folded over his.
She never stops so completely, when she's awake. Only when she's sleeping, or dreaming.
He wants to see that from her so badly. He wants to win it from her, for her to give it for him - he wants all of her. Down to the bitter pips, the concentrated dregs. The girl entire.
He rocks her back and forth in a still land of sepia light and soft breeze, puts his hands on her face with his thumbs at each corner of her mouth. Poor tired girl, he'd give her this; he knows she wouldn't mind, as much as she might complain, while waking. She takes it so easy now, boneless as a cat too, pliable, resting. Poor child, he'd keep her as long as she wanted.
Smoothing his thumbs over her mouth, and her forehead remains unlined. He can imagine her awake, her brows pulling in, gaze tensing, the way her shoulders would come forward, all that ready defense pulled on as such a thin facade. In her heart she's so easily soothed, calmed and peaceful, like this. Well. For a truly softhearted girl, wariness is warranted. But this is just a dream. No lasting harm to be done, here.
She smiles at him when he pushes her down, she strokes his nape and runs her fingers through his hair. Someday she'll do this waking as pliantly and happily as she does it now. He can barely wait. When he has her, he'll fuck her so thoroughly she'll forget everything besides his name.
That can wait. Anticipation is its own pleasure, and anyway, he satiates himself to a degree here and now, baring Rin's skin to his gaze with her hands on his shoulders, her eyes on his. She's warmer than he is, flinching at the touch of cold hands, without offering more struggle or protest. If she was awake, this would take persuasion. He'd have to ease her into it, as he expects to, someday, introducing her to every dirty thing he wants her to do. He goes easy on her now. A dream like this should be something pleasant. She doesn't deserve nightmares.
He pauses to let her kiss him, shy and not too deep, a soft damp slide of lips against his mouth. She doesn't know what she's doing; that's why she hands some of that control over to him, drops her head back with eyes shut tight and hooks a leg around his waist when he pushes against and into her.
“Madara-ah,” she stammers and squirms against him, and actually bites him on the shoulder, which is something he'll look forward to actually happening. In the meantime he rubs his face against her hair, rocks against her and listens to her take quick breaths and make little bitten-off cries - he'll remember all of this. Time slowing, as dense as clotted honey, observed, analyzed, and packed away, for him to pore over later - the way Rin goes tense around her eyes, the way her mouth thins, the tenacious way she clings to his shoulders, lets her nails bite his skin and then smooths her palms over him, apologetic. How responsive she is, like he's striking a match against her skin, crying out and biting off cries when he moves in her, and the insistent demurral - she won't open her eyes to him, even when he takes her face in his hands and speaks to her: tells her how beautiful she is. How much he loves her and wants her. He hopes she remembers those things. And she does seem happy, otherwise, pressing her mouth quick to his at moments here and there. Rubbing her face against his, and settling against him again warm and easy. She's happiest just to be held, it seems, and he's happy to do that for her. Even when dreams have to fracture and fade away. He can remember, though he hasn't had the opportunity to dream for years and years, how quickly the sense of them was lost, except for a few details.
Though, they do leave echoes. To his good fortune.
In the world where he isn't fucking her, Rin shifts stretches her legs, body straightening, and opens her eyes. Madara knows about being confused: the safe moment he has, before her head's clear and she realizes he's intruding, that he's not supposed to be there: a moment where she's flushed, licking her upper lip and opening glazed dark eyes. Like smoothing tracks out in snow, he takes that moment to nip and prune the memories she'll carry on to morning: he doesn't want to leave her with a bad impression, after all. A treat for himself, more than the rest, is this last bit. Rin breathes deep and rolls over, puts her back to the room, and leaves space; in one jump Madara's up with her, snugging his knees against the backs of hers, putting his arm over her waist while Rin gasps and pushes her hand into her shorts.
She's as tense as a drawn bow, quieter now, biting hard onto her other wrist while she works her fingers in fits and starts into herself. Madara rubs her stomach and grinds against her while she touches herself, hissing breaths where she's biting herself hard enough to leave bruises, the room dark, close, and private, the door shut tight and the blinds drawn against the Darkness outside. Her warm and squirming against him, so close. The room is brimful of her, even the air has her smell. It's almost too much to resist, when he could have her so easily. It's only the anticipation, how much he wants her wanting him and knowing it, that stays his hand. The amusement of self-control. Being patient for her.
He'll have her here someday, too. He'll indulge himself in her body, touch her everywhere she's never had anyone else touch, close and personal as a needle pushed under someone's skin. He will have her so many ways. More than she's dreamed of, than he's thought of now. Nipping at her ear, nuzzling at the line of her jaw while she jerks herself off and for his own amusement he pushes a hand lower and ruffles his fingertips over the thin thatch of dark, course hair, below which her hand is busy at work - this is all just a prelude.
He'll leave her to sleep without any dreams that aren't wholly hers, after this, for a while. But what she doesn't know doesn't hurt her, and he's not doing her any harm. If she has bruises on a wrist, they'll heal, and she did it to herself besides. And when she's his, and so sweet, and so close... he really can't argue with himself. He wants her already. She'll catch up one of these days. He's just waiting until then.
Genre: gen.
Warnings: M / non-con without all the emotional suffering and agony.
Characters: Madara, Rin.
Notes: Madara is really nice. And patient.
Warnings for non/'dub'con, that is, noncon without the emotional suffering and agony which characterize rape. Please don't read if you're uncomfortable with this.
He learns how she sleeps, first of all, and in a word her sleep is: uneasy. Sometimes Rin cries while she dreams, and after that sometimes she wakes up and clearly is uncertain where she is, before she recalls herself in the world again.
Madara spends a lot of time watching. She's enjoyable to watch. Her bed is small and pushed against one wall. She sleeps with her hair loose, slipping darkly over the cotton sheets. Her bright tense face falls pale and still, her mouth opens slightly, lips dark. She sleeps curled up with her back against the wall, pushing the comforter down around her hips if she gets too warm; she wears shorts, and a t-shirt. In her dreams, besides crying, she pushes her fingertips against her mouth. He can see, like that, the ragged skin edging her fingernails: where it dries and splits in the cold winter air, where she's picked at it.
-
Her room has a desk and the bed pushed against the wall. There's chocolate stashed in the top drawer of the desk, on the right, pushed to the back of the drawer. She nibbles at it piecemeal. Her preference seems to be to balance on the back legs of the chair, staring out the window while she snacks. There's other food stashed surreptitiously around her room. There's a sword in the closet, along with clothes, and a selection of knives which rattle around, moved from place to place as convenience calls for it. About thirty of those. Sometimes, when she's not reading or coming or going or doing something, Rin seems to absorb herself with studying patterns of light and shadow on the wall. She falls asleep immediately whenever she decides it's time for sleeping. There's a faint trace of a scar on the lower part of her stomach, lower than modesty. An orderly girl. She dreams quietly. Her breathing softens or speeds up. Sometimes, as mentioned, she weeps, still quietly. Sometimes she wakes up confused. Sometimes she comes out of sleep for dizzy moments at a time. Sometimes she sleeps the night straight through.
Sometimes she has dreams that don't melt into nightmares. He always steals closer then. It's not strenuous. He can crouch for hours next to the head of her bed, keeping an eye on things. She shifts sometimes. Stretches, pushes the covers down if it's too warm, nestles back into them when it chills. He catches her in strange little half awake moments, where her eyes slit open and she gazes into the dim room without ever truly waking - making eye contact sometimes, without ever really knowing. They're as far away as two people and as close as the space between a synapse, then, and it's easy. Just the matter of a little jump.
What she doesn't know can't hurt her. And he wants her so badly, sometimes. He's not doing her any harm.
Rin's dreams are colored as diffusely as sea glass, and full of clear air. Dreams are quick and fluid things, though. The atmosphere can shift in an instant; he can shift it, he can spin her into being when she isn't even in the dream, like smoothing raw wool into thread. She falls out of thin air, startled, too surprised to struggle, and it's funny how easily a human's mind accepts intrusion. Funny how the dreams a girl remembers are the ones that come closest to the waking moment.
If she was awake she'd have questions. What are you doing here? When she's still dreaming she seems happy to see him. Madara knows how to make friends with cats, even in strange places. A cat is always happier approaching in its own time. Then feline rituals, the bumping of furry forehead to knuckles, the inquisitive twine around one's legs. Rin nuzzles at his face in exactly the same way a cat would bump against his hand. Her lips are soft and dry. She keeps quiet; she never seems to want to talk. She's always eager to touch him.
He wonders, hopes, she would be this eager for him if she was awake - someday she will be. She seems so happy to bundle into his lap, to close her eyes and relax, with her face against his chest and her legs folded over his.
She never stops so completely, when she's awake. Only when she's sleeping, or dreaming.
He wants to see that from her so badly. He wants to win it from her, for her to give it for him - he wants all of her. Down to the bitter pips, the concentrated dregs. The girl entire.
He rocks her back and forth in a still land of sepia light and soft breeze, puts his hands on her face with his thumbs at each corner of her mouth. Poor tired girl, he'd give her this; he knows she wouldn't mind, as much as she might complain, while waking. She takes it so easy now, boneless as a cat too, pliable, resting. Poor child, he'd keep her as long as she wanted.
Smoothing his thumbs over her mouth, and her forehead remains unlined. He can imagine her awake, her brows pulling in, gaze tensing, the way her shoulders would come forward, all that ready defense pulled on as such a thin facade. In her heart she's so easily soothed, calmed and peaceful, like this. Well. For a truly softhearted girl, wariness is warranted. But this is just a dream. No lasting harm to be done, here.
She smiles at him when he pushes her down, she strokes his nape and runs her fingers through his hair. Someday she'll do this waking as pliantly and happily as she does it now. He can barely wait. When he has her, he'll fuck her so thoroughly she'll forget everything besides his name.
That can wait. Anticipation is its own pleasure, and anyway, he satiates himself to a degree here and now, baring Rin's skin to his gaze with her hands on his shoulders, her eyes on his. She's warmer than he is, flinching at the touch of cold hands, without offering more struggle or protest. If she was awake, this would take persuasion. He'd have to ease her into it, as he expects to, someday, introducing her to every dirty thing he wants her to do. He goes easy on her now. A dream like this should be something pleasant. She doesn't deserve nightmares.
He pauses to let her kiss him, shy and not too deep, a soft damp slide of lips against his mouth. She doesn't know what she's doing; that's why she hands some of that control over to him, drops her head back with eyes shut tight and hooks a leg around his waist when he pushes against and into her.
“Madara-ah,” she stammers and squirms against him, and actually bites him on the shoulder, which is something he'll look forward to actually happening. In the meantime he rubs his face against her hair, rocks against her and listens to her take quick breaths and make little bitten-off cries - he'll remember all of this. Time slowing, as dense as clotted honey, observed, analyzed, and packed away, for him to pore over later - the way Rin goes tense around her eyes, the way her mouth thins, the tenacious way she clings to his shoulders, lets her nails bite his skin and then smooths her palms over him, apologetic. How responsive she is, like he's striking a match against her skin, crying out and biting off cries when he moves in her, and the insistent demurral - she won't open her eyes to him, even when he takes her face in his hands and speaks to her: tells her how beautiful she is. How much he loves her and wants her. He hopes she remembers those things. And she does seem happy, otherwise, pressing her mouth quick to his at moments here and there. Rubbing her face against his, and settling against him again warm and easy. She's happiest just to be held, it seems, and he's happy to do that for her. Even when dreams have to fracture and fade away. He can remember, though he hasn't had the opportunity to dream for years and years, how quickly the sense of them was lost, except for a few details.
Though, they do leave echoes. To his good fortune.
In the world where he isn't fucking her, Rin shifts stretches her legs, body straightening, and opens her eyes. Madara knows about being confused: the safe moment he has, before her head's clear and she realizes he's intruding, that he's not supposed to be there: a moment where she's flushed, licking her upper lip and opening glazed dark eyes. Like smoothing tracks out in snow, he takes that moment to nip and prune the memories she'll carry on to morning: he doesn't want to leave her with a bad impression, after all. A treat for himself, more than the rest, is this last bit. Rin breathes deep and rolls over, puts her back to the room, and leaves space; in one jump Madara's up with her, snugging his knees against the backs of hers, putting his arm over her waist while Rin gasps and pushes her hand into her shorts.
She's as tense as a drawn bow, quieter now, biting hard onto her other wrist while she works her fingers in fits and starts into herself. Madara rubs her stomach and grinds against her while she touches herself, hissing breaths where she's biting herself hard enough to leave bruises, the room dark, close, and private, the door shut tight and the blinds drawn against the Darkness outside. Her warm and squirming against him, so close. The room is brimful of her, even the air has her smell. It's almost too much to resist, when he could have her so easily. It's only the anticipation, how much he wants her wanting him and knowing it, that stays his hand. The amusement of self-control. Being patient for her.
He'll have her here someday, too. He'll indulge himself in her body, touch her everywhere she's never had anyone else touch, close and personal as a needle pushed under someone's skin. He will have her so many ways. More than she's dreamed of, than he's thought of now. Nipping at her ear, nuzzling at the line of her jaw while she jerks herself off and for his own amusement he pushes a hand lower and ruffles his fingertips over the thin thatch of dark, course hair, below which her hand is busy at work - this is all just a prelude.
He'll leave her to sleep without any dreams that aren't wholly hers, after this, for a while. But what she doesn't know doesn't hurt her, and he's not doing her any harm. If she has bruises on a wrist, they'll heal, and she did it to herself besides. And when she's his, and so sweet, and so close... he really can't argue with himself. He wants her already. She'll catch up one of these days. He's just waiting until then.