Little Girl - Shelly de Killer/Dahlia Hawthorne
Title: Little Girl
Rating: PG
Word Count: 318
Pairing: Shelly de Killer/Dahlia Hawthorne
Spoilers: Some for T&T.
Summary: And when she was good, she was very, very good...
...and when she was good...
"Eyes closed."
She hadn’t said a word since arriving, all red hair and soft smiles and china-doll hands, white and porcelain, oh-what-an-honor-indeed…
Her hair came down before too long, falling to just below her shoulders and messying itself in his fingers; her eyes remained closed as long as he wanted them to.
He parted her lips with gloved fingertips just to feel her exhale.
...she was very, very good...
"You should smile more, Shelly."
She looked vaguely entertained as he quirked an eyebrow. She had taken an interest in his monocle lately, borrowing it without asking and toying with it between her fingertips. He frowned as she did so - hadn’t she asked? Maybe it was a subtle asking, without being voiced aloud -
He disliked the sudden lapse in memory.
"What’s wrong? Are you angry?"
He didn’t smile. "Not with you, my dear."
...but when she was bad...
"Dare I ask?"
She loosened her fingertips and allowed the chain to unravel, twisting its way downward, its slight burden carried with it to dangle inches from his chest.
"Death," she said simply. The smile gracing her features didn’t fade; instead, it twisted.
...she was horrid...
She liked to trace the stitches barehanded, fingertips to face, and though he was accustomed to pain something in her skin burned.
He didn’t move from his position in the chair. Her legs straddled his; the white dress of hers lied.
"Come now, Shelly," she said quietly. "Don’t expect too much of me. I’m just a young college student, mmm? What’s a little curiosity now and then?"
He told her to silence herself.
It wasn’t much; her cold smile and the ice in her eyes spoke more than the words ever would.
But the best trait about her was that at the very least - the very, very least, she knew when to keep that precious mouth of hers shut.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 318
Pairing: Shelly de Killer/Dahlia Hawthorne
Spoilers: Some for T&T.
Summary: And when she was good, she was very, very good...
...and when she was good...
"Eyes closed."
She hadn’t said a word since arriving, all red hair and soft smiles and china-doll hands, white and porcelain, oh-what-an-honor-indeed…
Her hair came down before too long, falling to just below her shoulders and messying itself in his fingers; her eyes remained closed as long as he wanted them to.
He parted her lips with gloved fingertips just to feel her exhale.
...she was very, very good...
"You should smile more, Shelly."
She looked vaguely entertained as he quirked an eyebrow. She had taken an interest in his monocle lately, borrowing it without asking and toying with it between her fingertips. He frowned as she did so - hadn’t she asked? Maybe it was a subtle asking, without being voiced aloud -
He disliked the sudden lapse in memory.
"What’s wrong? Are you angry?"
He didn’t smile. "Not with you, my dear."
...but when she was bad...
"Dare I ask?"
She loosened her fingertips and allowed the chain to unravel, twisting its way downward, its slight burden carried with it to dangle inches from his chest.
"Death," she said simply. The smile gracing her features didn’t fade; instead, it twisted.
...she was horrid...
She liked to trace the stitches barehanded, fingertips to face, and though he was accustomed to pain something in her skin burned.
He didn’t move from his position in the chair. Her legs straddled his; the white dress of hers lied.
"Come now, Shelly," she said quietly. "Don’t expect too much of me. I’m just a young college student, mmm? What’s a little curiosity now and then?"
He told her to silence herself.
It wasn’t much; her cold smile and the ice in her eyes spoke more than the words ever would.
But the best trait about her was that at the very least - the very, very least, she knew when to keep that precious mouth of hers shut.