maude dante ❚ little white lies.
little white lies
drabble 01, ha-satan
She is a crabby one, innit she. Always gettin' on his chops about doing his goddamn job. Girl's got issues, picking and poking even when he's just trying to be nice. He's a nice guy, really he is, full of charming conversation and irreverent observations. The life of the party, babe just needs to relax. He knows a thing or two about making a lady relax, doesn't try approaching her all on her own right away, she's wise to him now--and maybe he likes that, a little, when they get on to his act, frown instinctively at that sulfur sharpness in the air before he's even on them: makes it a challenge--so he gets himself a wingman to freshen her up. Freddy's as good as anybody else, even if he's a bit surly. He still knows how to flirt, knows how to pay for some fucking drinks, anyway, gets the ball rolling before he ambles along to her, slides in, slides an arm around her shoulders,
"Baby," a fluttering feminine voice, red lips near her ear.
Maude doesn't like it, is already starting to push up to her feet, casting a glare at Freddy who has already fucked off like a good boy. Maude doesn't get far, not when his arm tightens like a boa constrictor around her shoulders, a foot lashing out, slamming the supports of her stool to the floor. This smile is pinched with wrinkles around the edges, flickering up from the depths of the oil for a moment, slimy as his touch around her shoulders.
"You are so goddamn impolite, Maudey," he laments dramatically, easing into her side, her lip curls.
"Look who's talking, get your greasy paws off me."
A fingertip presses to her lips. Eyes flicker: blue, red, green, yellow, black, grey, purple. The curl of the smile becomes more defined, something that is attached to none of the mudslide of faces pressing up through the muck.
"Hush." Sibilance, threat, another hand come up to grip her chin, pushing their mouthes together. She still bites at him, still struggles, starts to make noise, but realizes that no one is looking at them, not even the barman right in front of her. Fucking devil magic. *
Of course it takes more than a couple of drinks to get her going, to make her lose control. Girl has had training with liquor and drugs, because even if she tries to hide it from others, the scent is still all over her skin, the little marks that no human eye can perceive but that grease the body for life. Still, as the oil shifts the expressions and faces, she lets herself go a little bit, pretends so she can have an excuse to look at them for a little while, because sometimes a face reminds her of Jude, sometimes it reminds her of Monroe, sometimes it makes her think of Prodigy. And he knows that the feisty rockstar wans a little at the sight of those, but not enough to let him overpower.
She's still biting at him, pressing teeth against tender flesh, when he traps her between his body and the counter. It makes him laugh the way she fights back and then suddenly doesn't, and then she's back to pushing him off her, but he's not taking any of that shit. His tongue lick at her upper lip and there's a feminine voice whispering at her voice, slicking faces changing.
"Let go."
Ex-soldier or not, there's still part of her that excuses all the shit she does on too much alcohol and too much habit of following orders and too many drugs, but she remembers that voice, she recognizes it, so she does what she's told and lets go. Not completely, no, she'd never do that (more likely afraid of the outcome, afraid to get lost in that complex little mind of her, that pretty web of lies). Nobody can see them, even if they're all moving and somehow, they seem to avoid that spot they occupy, move away of the way naturally when Maude pushes the dutiful man back until she's sitting on him, holding his head between her hands and bruising his mouth with kisses. She's never gentle, she's a little bit on the violent, he likes it like that, almost drawing blood with kisses and bites.
"Little white lies."
"Shut the fuck up," she says with a growl, assaulting his neck with teeth and his chest with claws.
She's angry at the world and channels that anger to him, wants to blame him, and he likes that, but he's not letting her get the upper hand, pushing her skirt even higher, sliding a hand against that warm place, grinning with all his teeth. His other hand grip her white hair and pull her head back to kiss her, hard, bruising.
Before long, she's moving her hips with him inside of her, running her hands through his hair, feeling him pull in and out of her rougher than most would think possible. But she doesn't mind, because every time she opens her eyes, she's fucking Jude and she's fucking Valerie, she's fucking Vincent and Monroe, she's fucking all those little white lies that face tells as it shifts and shifts, like slow oil running down a wall.
They're fucking, they're not having sex, because what they're doing is too much for just sex. He gets tired of her on top soon, too, and picks her up, shoves her down on the table and nearly growls every time he buries all of himself inside of her, holding her hands above her head and she locks her legs around his waist. One of his hands grips her throat as she breathes hard, chest heaving up and down. For a flick of a second, she looks fragile and he wants to break her.
"It's all your doing," tells that feminine voice against her lips, hips bucking against the writhing woman beneath, kissing her with red lips, biting her with white teeth.
Nobody can see them, those little white lies, but he can, and so can she. She's closing her eyes because she pretends she's not doing this, she's not wanting this, doesn't want to admit it's because she wants all of those faces, because she misses them all.
Little white lies are so ugly and he loves them.
( * first part written by blizzardseason )
❞