Wicked Games Chapter 7 - Get You Dancing with the Devil
Chapter 7 - Get You Dancing with the Devil
A/N: See chapter one for warnings and disclaimers.
Maura is on her back, soft tumbles of spun-gold curls ringing her face like a halo. The sleeping fairy-tale princess, moon-pale skin and blood-red lips, eyes open but unseeing.
Her eyes are open but unseeing and her body doesn’t move an inch, a smidge, a pinch when Dean leans over her. His back is to me and all I can see is his mass, the dark bulk of his shadow as it spreads over Maura.
She’s just lying there and I know she’s awake, I know it but she’s not moving and I can’t move. We’re both planted in place and he’s over her, touching her, pressing her down. He yanks her hair and her head rises up and she’s looking through me, right through me, unseeing.
I win, Jane.
***********************
“It’s nothing, I promise. Agent Dean just surprised me,” Maura says, rubbing the finger shaped bruise on her wrist.
Apparently we’re back to Agent Dean now instead of all that fucking Gabriel crap. Whatever we’re calling him, I’m going to fucking kill him. “He bruised you Maura, that’s not nothing. That," I say, pointing to her wrist, “is not acceptable! I’m going to get his badge for this.”
I’m launching myself off the couch and towards the door when Maura stops me with a hand on my arm and a look of panic on her face. “Please, Jane, calm down! He didn’t mean to hurt me.” Her tone is earnest but she’s not quite meeting my eye. “He reached for me and I wasn’t expecting it, I jerked away and his grip tightened. It was just an accident.”
Sure, because people grab each other’s wrists tight enough to bruise by accident all the damn time. She can be so fucking stupid sometimes and it drives me fucking insane.
Maura’s still looking up at me, hand still stinging on my arm. “I don’t want him to get into trouble. He’s a good man, and I know you and him are good friends. Please don’t let a meaningless incident ruin everything.”
Dean and I, we are good friends, aren’t we? In some fucked up way. A few weeks ago I knew he was a fucking asshole but he was still the closest person in my life, the only person I said more than three words to on any given day. He’s never been a ‘good man’ but he was no worse than me. I didn’t judge him, he didn’t judge me.
And now I want to rip his fucking face off because he hurt her. I am fucking losing it. The whole plan was to hurt her.
“Fine.” I sink back down on the couch. She visibly relaxes, and as she pulls her arm back I stare at the bruise. I’ve probably left ones just like that, my fingers sunk deep into some random girl’s skin.
“He was very apologetic. I feel a bit badly for him, actually, he clearly intended the evening to go in another direction.”
My eyes snap up to hers. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It comes out harsher than I intended, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Well, I’ve told you before that I’m not good at understanding social cues,” she sighs. “But in this case I’m fairly certain. He engaged in significantly more physical contact than on our previous dates, and he was quite persistent in seeking an invitation home with me.”
The idea of him groping her, hairy fingers on smooth pale skin, is enough to make my face feel hot with anger. “So, you’re not interested in him?” I ask, trying to breathe normally.
Her eyes don’t meet mine. “I’m not sure. I don’t foresee an extended relationship with him, no. But I do have...needs.”
Oh fuck no. “You had better not be talking about what I think you’re talking about.”
She rears on me, eyes flashing with anger. “And why not, exactly? What is so wrong about a woman admitting her sexual needs? It’s a biological imperative, I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed about!”
“Whoa, calm down, I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. Despite her anger, I can see the embarrassment crawling across her features. I can read her shame in the way she’s clutching her hands across her chest like that’s the only thing keeping her guts inside. Interesting. “I’m not questioning your standing as a liberated woman, alright? I just...don’t want to see you use Dean to meet those needs.”
That’s a stroke of genius right there, Rizzoli. Don’t have sex with Dean, Maura; it’s not right to use him that way. But seriously, was she really going to fuck him just to get laid? It’s not like I’m in a position to judge or anything, but I didn’t expect that from her. She seems so damn proper, it’s hard to imagine her having sex at all. Except...no, yeah, it’s pretty easy.
“I’m sorry, I overreacted. It’s a sensitive subject.” She’s still clutching herself tightly, and it looks like her prudish side is winning out. She’s fucking mortified. “Despite growing up abroad, I was raised with a typical American puritanical view on sexual activity. It’s something I’ve been trying to work through these past few years.”
I wonder how that growing experience is working out. Knowing Maura she probably drafted out a series of drills and kept a progress chart. I’d fucking kill to see that. “Oh yeah?” I say, feigning only the mildest of interest. “I was raised Catholic, I get the whole guilt thing.”
“As an avowed atheist,” she says, “I know that it is rationally absurd to hold myself to the standards of a religion I hold no belief in. Despite that, I find it difficult to overcome the collective disgrace we ascribe to women who enjoy sex.” She lifts her chin on the word “sex” and the sound of it coming out of her mouth shoots straight through me.
“Umm, right,” I say, clearing my throat. “I get it. Needs. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
Maura untucks herself from her little cocoon of shame and relaxes back into the couch. “You’re right, though, I shouldn’t use Gabriel that way. I am certainly capable of supplying myself with orgasms“-the blood rushes from my head to my groin so fast I actually feel dizzy-“but I still yearn for the connection that intercourse with another person provides. There’s a demonstrable animal instinct to experience skin on skin.”
I do not fucking understand this woman. She was squirming out of her skin a second ago and now she’s Dr. Ruth.
“What about you, Jane?” she says, and she’s looking at me now with those big pretty eyes and that shiny pretty hair and oh my fucking god.
I swallow. Hard. “What about me?”
“Well, are your needs being met? I’ve never heard you mention any sexual partners.”
I haven’t had any in weeks, come to think about it. I’ve been spending all of my fucking free time with Maura, which doesn’t exactly leave a lot of time to troll for pussy. “Uhhh...it’s fine. Me and my needs, we’re doing just fine.”
I can’t even remember the last time I actually got off. Why should I get to experience any fucking joy in this life?
Maura looks unconvinced, and I am seriously scared she’s going to bring out a textbook on the finer points of masturbation. Except she probably has an even more clinical term for it. Gah. “I promise, it’s all good in the hood.”
“Alright, then. But if you’re ever in need of assistance-“ holy mary mother of god “-I’ve done extensive research on the various designs of vibrators.”
Of course she has.
***********************
Needs. Of course I have fucking needs. I’m as much of an animal as Maura, and I’m far less tame.
It’s a Wednesday and it’s ten minutes to last call, and all that’s left are the weakest members of the pack. The ones with nowhere to go, no one to go home to or with. I size them up, watch them stagger and sway on the thin points of their heels. There’s not many to choose from, but there’s still plenty of variety. Tall and whippet thin, short and stacked, average and more average.
There’s one with blond curls the color of my nightmares.
I put my hand on her arm to steady her and she smiles. This close and any sense of illusion shatters, her nose is ski-jump cute, and her eyes are tiny pinched windows that show me nothing and can probably barely see me through her own drunken haze. She’ll do just fine.
I run a finger through her curls and she leans into me like a cat, arching for more contact. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispers in my ear, and I smirk. So easy, this part is always so very fucking easy.
She’s giggling and swaying as we walk down the street and I let my hand on her arm drift lower, lower, lower. I’m holding her against me and she’s melting into me, sliding into me. It’s hot outside, way too fucking hot outside for the middle of the night, but her skin feels cool. My arms drifts lower still and she gasps.
This is very fucking wrong, on so many levels, but I crossed the line of no return years ago. What’s one more sin, one more prey.
“Mmmm, you’re strong,” she moans, responding to the firm press of my hand on her ass. “Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”
I let myself just look at her curls for a moment, let myself pretend. “I’m not much of a talker.”
She giggles, presses her ass back against my hand. Her skin is cold but mine is dripping sweat, slick drops sliding down my back.
We reach her place and I watch her fumble with the keys, watch her hair shine in the porch light. The apartment is cramped, with enough cheap furniture and crap strewn around to suggest roommates. It all reeks of early post-college grime, futons and mod lamps and unframed canvases.
She grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me in, pulls my lips to hers. That is not how I fucking roll so I shove her back, shove her down onto the futon and climb on top of her. It’s dark but I can see her eyes glint. I hover over her and slide a leg between hers.
This part is always very, very easy. She’s writhing beneath me, desperate and wanting. With her clothes off she’s all cool pale skin and I take what I want, what’s mine. I take her breasts in my hands. I grind my leg between hers and then I take her with my hand. She’s moaning, panting a litany of yes, yes, yes. She’s dripping wet and tight but cold and this is wrong, all wrong.
I’m burning, so hot it feels like I’ll explode. She throws her head back and screams.
“Your turn,” she breathes, leaning up and reaching for my pants.
I swat her away but she’s persistent and I grab her wrist, hard. “No.” I push her back down, push the arm I’m holding back up over her head. She lies still and I push inside her again and it’s all so very easy.
After she screams again, I let myself out. I’m still sweating and I’m aching, I need to come so fucking bad. I sink low in the front seat of my car and reach down, circling lightly. I’m sure Maura would have a name for my ‘technique.’
Maura.
I grit my teeth and keep circling.
His hand is on my pants, sweaty hairy fingers pawing at the fly.
Cut it the fuck out, Jane, get your shit together.
He’s pressing me into the floor and it hurts, it fucking hurts.
Jesus fucking christ I’m so close, just please, I need this.
I’m always here, Janie. You know I’m always here. Hairy fingers over my mouth, the smell of sweat and pain and death.
It fucking hurts, it burns where my finger circles and deeper, deeper. Maura would be hot inside, Maura would burn me in the best way. Maura would melt me down and put me back together again.
My body doesn’t work this way anymore.
A sound comes out of me and it’s part shriek and part growl, all wounded animal.
Everything fucking hurts.
A/N: For those of you still with me, thank you! All comments are appreciated. A round of applause to Conoro28 for an excellent beta read on no sleep.
A/N: See chapter one for warnings and disclaimers.
Maura is on her back, soft tumbles of spun-gold curls ringing her face like a halo. The sleeping fairy-tale princess, moon-pale skin and blood-red lips, eyes open but unseeing.
Her eyes are open but unseeing and her body doesn’t move an inch, a smidge, a pinch when Dean leans over her. His back is to me and all I can see is his mass, the dark bulk of his shadow as it spreads over Maura.
She’s just lying there and I know she’s awake, I know it but she’s not moving and I can’t move. We’re both planted in place and he’s over her, touching her, pressing her down. He yanks her hair and her head rises up and she’s looking through me, right through me, unseeing.
I win, Jane.
***********************
“It’s nothing, I promise. Agent Dean just surprised me,” Maura says, rubbing the finger shaped bruise on her wrist.
Apparently we’re back to Agent Dean now instead of all that fucking Gabriel crap. Whatever we’re calling him, I’m going to fucking kill him. “He bruised you Maura, that’s not nothing. That," I say, pointing to her wrist, “is not acceptable! I’m going to get his badge for this.”
I’m launching myself off the couch and towards the door when Maura stops me with a hand on my arm and a look of panic on her face. “Please, Jane, calm down! He didn’t mean to hurt me.” Her tone is earnest but she’s not quite meeting my eye. “He reached for me and I wasn’t expecting it, I jerked away and his grip tightened. It was just an accident.”
Sure, because people grab each other’s wrists tight enough to bruise by accident all the damn time. She can be so fucking stupid sometimes and it drives me fucking insane.
Maura’s still looking up at me, hand still stinging on my arm. “I don’t want him to get into trouble. He’s a good man, and I know you and him are good friends. Please don’t let a meaningless incident ruin everything.”
Dean and I, we are good friends, aren’t we? In some fucked up way. A few weeks ago I knew he was a fucking asshole but he was still the closest person in my life, the only person I said more than three words to on any given day. He’s never been a ‘good man’ but he was no worse than me. I didn’t judge him, he didn’t judge me.
And now I want to rip his fucking face off because he hurt her. I am fucking losing it. The whole plan was to hurt her.
“Fine.” I sink back down on the couch. She visibly relaxes, and as she pulls her arm back I stare at the bruise. I’ve probably left ones just like that, my fingers sunk deep into some random girl’s skin.
“He was very apologetic. I feel a bit badly for him, actually, he clearly intended the evening to go in another direction.”
My eyes snap up to hers. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It comes out harsher than I intended, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Well, I’ve told you before that I’m not good at understanding social cues,” she sighs. “But in this case I’m fairly certain. He engaged in significantly more physical contact than on our previous dates, and he was quite persistent in seeking an invitation home with me.”
The idea of him groping her, hairy fingers on smooth pale skin, is enough to make my face feel hot with anger. “So, you’re not interested in him?” I ask, trying to breathe normally.
Her eyes don’t meet mine. “I’m not sure. I don’t foresee an extended relationship with him, no. But I do have...needs.”
Oh fuck no. “You had better not be talking about what I think you’re talking about.”
She rears on me, eyes flashing with anger. “And why not, exactly? What is so wrong about a woman admitting her sexual needs? It’s a biological imperative, I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed about!”
“Whoa, calm down, I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. Despite her anger, I can see the embarrassment crawling across her features. I can read her shame in the way she’s clutching her hands across her chest like that’s the only thing keeping her guts inside. Interesting. “I’m not questioning your standing as a liberated woman, alright? I just...don’t want to see you use Dean to meet those needs.”
That’s a stroke of genius right there, Rizzoli. Don’t have sex with Dean, Maura; it’s not right to use him that way. But seriously, was she really going to fuck him just to get laid? It’s not like I’m in a position to judge or anything, but I didn’t expect that from her. She seems so damn proper, it’s hard to imagine her having sex at all. Except...no, yeah, it’s pretty easy.
“I’m sorry, I overreacted. It’s a sensitive subject.” She’s still clutching herself tightly, and it looks like her prudish side is winning out. She’s fucking mortified. “Despite growing up abroad, I was raised with a typical American puritanical view on sexual activity. It’s something I’ve been trying to work through these past few years.”
I wonder how that growing experience is working out. Knowing Maura she probably drafted out a series of drills and kept a progress chart. I’d fucking kill to see that. “Oh yeah?” I say, feigning only the mildest of interest. “I was raised Catholic, I get the whole guilt thing.”
“As an avowed atheist,” she says, “I know that it is rationally absurd to hold myself to the standards of a religion I hold no belief in. Despite that, I find it difficult to overcome the collective disgrace we ascribe to women who enjoy sex.” She lifts her chin on the word “sex” and the sound of it coming out of her mouth shoots straight through me.
“Umm, right,” I say, clearing my throat. “I get it. Needs. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
Maura untucks herself from her little cocoon of shame and relaxes back into the couch. “You’re right, though, I shouldn’t use Gabriel that way. I am certainly capable of supplying myself with orgasms“-the blood rushes from my head to my groin so fast I actually feel dizzy-“but I still yearn for the connection that intercourse with another person provides. There’s a demonstrable animal instinct to experience skin on skin.”
I do not fucking understand this woman. She was squirming out of her skin a second ago and now she’s Dr. Ruth.
“What about you, Jane?” she says, and she’s looking at me now with those big pretty eyes and that shiny pretty hair and oh my fucking god.
I swallow. Hard. “What about me?”
“Well, are your needs being met? I’ve never heard you mention any sexual partners.”
I haven’t had any in weeks, come to think about it. I’ve been spending all of my fucking free time with Maura, which doesn’t exactly leave a lot of time to troll for pussy. “Uhhh...it’s fine. Me and my needs, we’re doing just fine.”
I can’t even remember the last time I actually got off. Why should I get to experience any fucking joy in this life?
Maura looks unconvinced, and I am seriously scared she’s going to bring out a textbook on the finer points of masturbation. Except she probably has an even more clinical term for it. Gah. “I promise, it’s all good in the hood.”
“Alright, then. But if you’re ever in need of assistance-“ holy mary mother of god “-I’ve done extensive research on the various designs of vibrators.”
Of course she has.
***********************
Needs. Of course I have fucking needs. I’m as much of an animal as Maura, and I’m far less tame.
It’s a Wednesday and it’s ten minutes to last call, and all that’s left are the weakest members of the pack. The ones with nowhere to go, no one to go home to or with. I size them up, watch them stagger and sway on the thin points of their heels. There’s not many to choose from, but there’s still plenty of variety. Tall and whippet thin, short and stacked, average and more average.
There’s one with blond curls the color of my nightmares.
I put my hand on her arm to steady her and she smiles. This close and any sense of illusion shatters, her nose is ski-jump cute, and her eyes are tiny pinched windows that show me nothing and can probably barely see me through her own drunken haze. She’ll do just fine.
I run a finger through her curls and she leans into me like a cat, arching for more contact. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispers in my ear, and I smirk. So easy, this part is always so very fucking easy.
She’s giggling and swaying as we walk down the street and I let my hand on her arm drift lower, lower, lower. I’m holding her against me and she’s melting into me, sliding into me. It’s hot outside, way too fucking hot outside for the middle of the night, but her skin feels cool. My arms drifts lower still and she gasps.
This is very fucking wrong, on so many levels, but I crossed the line of no return years ago. What’s one more sin, one more prey.
“Mmmm, you’re strong,” she moans, responding to the firm press of my hand on her ass. “Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”
I let myself just look at her curls for a moment, let myself pretend. “I’m not much of a talker.”
She giggles, presses her ass back against my hand. Her skin is cold but mine is dripping sweat, slick drops sliding down my back.
We reach her place and I watch her fumble with the keys, watch her hair shine in the porch light. The apartment is cramped, with enough cheap furniture and crap strewn around to suggest roommates. It all reeks of early post-college grime, futons and mod lamps and unframed canvases.
She grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me in, pulls my lips to hers. That is not how I fucking roll so I shove her back, shove her down onto the futon and climb on top of her. It’s dark but I can see her eyes glint. I hover over her and slide a leg between hers.
This part is always very, very easy. She’s writhing beneath me, desperate and wanting. With her clothes off she’s all cool pale skin and I take what I want, what’s mine. I take her breasts in my hands. I grind my leg between hers and then I take her with my hand. She’s moaning, panting a litany of yes, yes, yes. She’s dripping wet and tight but cold and this is wrong, all wrong.
I’m burning, so hot it feels like I’ll explode. She throws her head back and screams.
“Your turn,” she breathes, leaning up and reaching for my pants.
I swat her away but she’s persistent and I grab her wrist, hard. “No.” I push her back down, push the arm I’m holding back up over her head. She lies still and I push inside her again and it’s all so very easy.
After she screams again, I let myself out. I’m still sweating and I’m aching, I need to come so fucking bad. I sink low in the front seat of my car and reach down, circling lightly. I’m sure Maura would have a name for my ‘technique.’
Maura.
I grit my teeth and keep circling.
His hand is on my pants, sweaty hairy fingers pawing at the fly.
Cut it the fuck out, Jane, get your shit together.
He’s pressing me into the floor and it hurts, it fucking hurts.
Jesus fucking christ I’m so close, just please, I need this.
I’m always here, Janie. You know I’m always here. Hairy fingers over my mouth, the smell of sweat and pain and death.
It fucking hurts, it burns where my finger circles and deeper, deeper. Maura would be hot inside, Maura would burn me in the best way. Maura would melt me down and put me back together again.
My body doesn’t work this way anymore.
A sound comes out of me and it’s part shriek and part growl, all wounded animal.
Everything fucking hurts.
A/N: For those of you still with me, thank you! All comments are appreciated. A round of applause to Conoro28 for an excellent beta read on no sleep.