Song in Red & Gray Chapters 9 &10
Title: Song in Red & Gray-Chapters 9: Body Paint and 10: Erotica
Author: ophelivia
Rating: R-NC17 for later chapters
Word Count: 237 and 731
Pairing: Beckett/OC
Characters: Beckett, OC, appearence by my favorite person.
Summary: "Do just what I tell you and no one will get hurt." A series of vignettes spanning both films.
Status: In-Progress
Disclaimer: I don't own the Pirates characters. Rose is mine, but I should mention that she began in an RPG over on fanfiction.net. This story has nothing to do with the plot of that game. The prompts for each chapter are from
50_smutlets
Warnings: Power plays, S&M, emotional manipulation, prostitution and implied slash. The chapters will go in no real order. I'm picking the prompts at random.
I'm back! Good to be home and back here with y'all. Can I just say that all your awesome comments made a weekend in New York that much sweeter? To celebrate it's another double header. First straight angst, then straight smut. "Body Paint" is dedicated to puffapuffarice and of course my muse telera who used my scribbling as fodder for some of the wickedly sweetest Beckington my eyes have beheld. "Erotica" has a special dedication to madame_doodle because it was the first prompt she used in her brilliant Beckabeth fic "The Fortunate Mistress" so giving me the idea for this fic. Love you all!
Earlier chapters here and here we go.
2-29: Body Paint
She ran as the devil was upon her, stumbling a few times. So hard to breathe. Threw herself onto the mattress. Screamed. Sobbed. Words garbled, oppressive air.
Oh Andrew! God damn him! I didn’t know. I didn’t. I’m sorry…I’m sorry.
Eventually her body wore out, but it seemed forever before sitting up. In the mirror faded hair, scrawny arms and neck. Littered with the trophies of warranted cruelty. But her eyes. Her eyes were sphered in black-purple muck that streaked every exposed inch. Hands, arms, face covered in it. She slid from the bed. Boneless. And as her legs rubbed together another mark. Sticky. Sinful.
Rage was all she felt then. She leapt to her feet. Grabbed a washcloth from the basin into her cracked, red hands. She heard the tear of fabric. Pieces of her cheap skirt lay on the floor. Everything cheap.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t dare look down at her legs. Into that wasteland of jagged, burgundy-gray. Crude, everlasting blossoms. The Lord that made them not the one she served now.
Instead she scraped the rough fabric inside herself. Over and over until she was raw in all the places they had been. Bitter water poured over the death on her skin. It wouldn’t wash away Norrington. Not Andrew’s eyes. What she was.
And in this knowledge Rose grabbed up her knife from the splintering floor. She took a streak of black upon her fingers. One shallow slice across the thigh. Mixed. Then she crawled into bed, sleeping only with blood, pain and paint. In her dreams green eyes, puppets and her brother’s voice calling:
What do you lack? Do you love yourself? What do you lack?
1-25: Erotica
“Can you read?”
Patronizing. Stroking hair. Her hand cradled his balls.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Rose leaned forward with a devil red grin. Angry tonight. Angry always.
“Yes Cutler.”
Beckett shook his head disapprovingly. One orange curl in marble hands. Pulled hard. Rose swore.
“God damn!”
That earned a slap, as efficient as the slam of a drawer. Sex punctuated by blood, wit and quiet.
“Why?”
He smiled, and placed her fingers back on him as he reached for a paper at his bedside. She surveyed the writing.
“The Submission, the Earl of Rochester.”
Cutler settled back into three satin pillows. If she didn’t know him, he’d look perfectly innocent.
“Read. Change the pronouns. Hers to his.”
“I know what a pronoun is, Your Lordship,” she said.
He grabbed her chin.
“Don’t sass me,” he whispered. “I don’t like it. Now read.”
Voice more than hand made her mouth run dry. Rose lowered her eyes and started slowly.
“To this moment a rebel, I throw down my arms,/Great Love! At first sight of Othello's bright charms.”
It had been Olinda on paper. And her Lord’s slight nod bid her go on. As she read she watched him move toward her. He flipped on his stomach. He parted her thighs.
“Er… Made proud and secure by such forces as these,/You…you may now be a tyrant as soon as you please.”
To her, the petting hand was softer than the finest fabric. Breath hitched in her throat.
“Whe…when innocence, beauty, and wit do conspire/To betray, and engage, and inflame my… desire,/Why should I decline what I cannot avoid,/And let pleasing hope by base fear be destroyed?”
He lowered his head. And when he spoke she felt the word in the deepest caverns of her body.
“Good.”
The words began to blur together. Tongue in slow circles.
“His innocence cannot contrive to undo me;/His beauty's inclined, or why should it pursue me?/And wit has to…wit has to…”
Between his teeth the most tender fold. Tears sprang to Rose’s hazel eyes.
“Oh Holy Jesus--Pleasure! Pleasure been ever a friend;/Then what room for despair, since delight is love's end?”
“I’ll make you bleed if you stutter again,” he informed her in monotone.
Her liquids rose even as she writhed against the hurtful mouth. He gripped her leg. Held fast. Her words were rushed, breath barely sustained.
“There can be no danger in sweetness and youth/Where love is secured by good nature and truth./On her beauty I'll gaze, and of pleasure complain,/While every kind look adds a link to my chain!”
“Slow down,” he drawled, two fingers into her.
“'Tis more to maintain than it was to surprise,/But his wit leads in triumph the slave of his eyes.”
She was near to her peak. But he stopped. Her whole body cried. He looked up without rising.
“I like this line,” he murmured. “I want to hear it.”
Rose did not like the line. She wanted to cum. She wanted to hide. The stink of subservience on her.
“I beheld with the loss of my freedom before,/But, hearing, forever must serve and adore.”
She could barely choke the words out over her racing heart. Suddenly he had her by the shoulders, staring into her eyes.
“Say you’ll do it.” His voice a primal, ravenous growl. He shook her. “Serve and adore. Say it!”
“Lord Beckett-” The title out before she could stop herself. The whole sentence rang treason. “Please…”
“Say it.”
She gulped back a stone in the back of her throat. The ache threatened to rip her apart.
“But, hearing, forever must serve and adore.”
It crackled like lightning in the torrid air. The strange flicker faded from his eyes. They were cold once again.
“Finish,” he commanded.
“Fuck me.”
Her order matched his. He smiled.
“You finish, I finish.”
Rose held the paper up above her face.
“Too bright is my god, his temple too weak./Retire, divine image! I feel my heart break./Help, Love! I dissolve in a rapture of charms/At the thought of those joys I should meet in his arms.”
The last words from Rose’s throat for a time. Minutes later they each lay panting, sweat dampened. Cutler’s head rested where it fell between her legs. Ice eyes caught a new red line there. Unfamiliar.
“Pet, you’re hurt.”
He licked the cut. The pain helped her to remember who she was.
Author: ophelivia
Rating: R-NC17 for later chapters
Word Count: 237 and 731
Pairing: Beckett/OC
Characters: Beckett, OC, appearence by my favorite person.
Summary: "Do just what I tell you and no one will get hurt." A series of vignettes spanning both films.
Status: In-Progress
Disclaimer: I don't own the Pirates characters. Rose is mine, but I should mention that she began in an RPG over on fanfiction.net. This story has nothing to do with the plot of that game. The prompts for each chapter are from
50_smutlets
Warnings: Power plays, S&M, emotional manipulation, prostitution and implied slash. The chapters will go in no real order. I'm picking the prompts at random.
I'm back! Good to be home and back here with y'all. Can I just say that all your awesome comments made a weekend in New York that much sweeter? To celebrate it's another double header. First straight angst, then straight smut. "Body Paint" is dedicated to puffapuffarice and of course my muse telera who used my scribbling as fodder for some of the wickedly sweetest Beckington my eyes have beheld. "Erotica" has a special dedication to madame_doodle because it was the first prompt she used in her brilliant Beckabeth fic "The Fortunate Mistress" so giving me the idea for this fic. Love you all!
Earlier chapters here and here we go.
2-29: Body Paint
She ran as the devil was upon her, stumbling a few times. So hard to breathe. Threw herself onto the mattress. Screamed. Sobbed. Words garbled, oppressive air.
Oh Andrew! God damn him! I didn’t know. I didn’t. I’m sorry…I’m sorry.
Eventually her body wore out, but it seemed forever before sitting up. In the mirror faded hair, scrawny arms and neck. Littered with the trophies of warranted cruelty. But her eyes. Her eyes were sphered in black-purple muck that streaked every exposed inch. Hands, arms, face covered in it. She slid from the bed. Boneless. And as her legs rubbed together another mark. Sticky. Sinful.
Rage was all she felt then. She leapt to her feet. Grabbed a washcloth from the basin into her cracked, red hands. She heard the tear of fabric. Pieces of her cheap skirt lay on the floor. Everything cheap.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t dare look down at her legs. Into that wasteland of jagged, burgundy-gray. Crude, everlasting blossoms. The Lord that made them not the one she served now.
Instead she scraped the rough fabric inside herself. Over and over until she was raw in all the places they had been. Bitter water poured over the death on her skin. It wouldn’t wash away Norrington. Not Andrew’s eyes. What she was.
And in this knowledge Rose grabbed up her knife from the splintering floor. She took a streak of black upon her fingers. One shallow slice across the thigh. Mixed. Then she crawled into bed, sleeping only with blood, pain and paint. In her dreams green eyes, puppets and her brother’s voice calling:
What do you lack? Do you love yourself? What do you lack?
1-25: Erotica
“Can you read?”
Patronizing. Stroking hair. Her hand cradled his balls.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Rose leaned forward with a devil red grin. Angry tonight. Angry always.
“Yes Cutler.”
Beckett shook his head disapprovingly. One orange curl in marble hands. Pulled hard. Rose swore.
“God damn!”
That earned a slap, as efficient as the slam of a drawer. Sex punctuated by blood, wit and quiet.
“Why?”
He smiled, and placed her fingers back on him as he reached for a paper at his bedside. She surveyed the writing.
“The Submission, the Earl of Rochester.”
Cutler settled back into three satin pillows. If she didn’t know him, he’d look perfectly innocent.
“Read. Change the pronouns. Hers to his.”
“I know what a pronoun is, Your Lordship,” she said.
He grabbed her chin.
“Don’t sass me,” he whispered. “I don’t like it. Now read.”
Voice more than hand made her mouth run dry. Rose lowered her eyes and started slowly.
“To this moment a rebel, I throw down my arms,/Great Love! At first sight of Othello's bright charms.”
It had been Olinda on paper. And her Lord’s slight nod bid her go on. As she read she watched him move toward her. He flipped on his stomach. He parted her thighs.
“Er… Made proud and secure by such forces as these,/You…you may now be a tyrant as soon as you please.”
To her, the petting hand was softer than the finest fabric. Breath hitched in her throat.
“Whe…when innocence, beauty, and wit do conspire/To betray, and engage, and inflame my… desire,/Why should I decline what I cannot avoid,/And let pleasing hope by base fear be destroyed?”
He lowered his head. And when he spoke she felt the word in the deepest caverns of her body.
“Good.”
The words began to blur together. Tongue in slow circles.
“His innocence cannot contrive to undo me;/His beauty's inclined, or why should it pursue me?/And wit has to…wit has to…”
Between his teeth the most tender fold. Tears sprang to Rose’s hazel eyes.
“Oh Holy Jesus--Pleasure! Pleasure been ever a friend;/Then what room for despair, since delight is love's end?”
“I’ll make you bleed if you stutter again,” he informed her in monotone.
Her liquids rose even as she writhed against the hurtful mouth. He gripped her leg. Held fast. Her words were rushed, breath barely sustained.
“There can be no danger in sweetness and youth/Where love is secured by good nature and truth./On her beauty I'll gaze, and of pleasure complain,/While every kind look adds a link to my chain!”
“Slow down,” he drawled, two fingers into her.
“'Tis more to maintain than it was to surprise,/But his wit leads in triumph the slave of his eyes.”
She was near to her peak. But he stopped. Her whole body cried. He looked up without rising.
“I like this line,” he murmured. “I want to hear it.”
Rose did not like the line. She wanted to cum. She wanted to hide. The stink of subservience on her.
“I beheld with the loss of my freedom before,/But, hearing, forever must serve and adore.”
She could barely choke the words out over her racing heart. Suddenly he had her by the shoulders, staring into her eyes.
“Say you’ll do it.” His voice a primal, ravenous growl. He shook her. “Serve and adore. Say it!”
“Lord Beckett-” The title out before she could stop herself. The whole sentence rang treason. “Please…”
“Say it.”
She gulped back a stone in the back of her throat. The ache threatened to rip her apart.
“But, hearing, forever must serve and adore.”
It crackled like lightning in the torrid air. The strange flicker faded from his eyes. They were cold once again.
“Finish,” he commanded.
“Fuck me.”
Her order matched his. He smiled.
“You finish, I finish.”
Rose held the paper up above her face.
“Too bright is my god, his temple too weak./Retire, divine image! I feel my heart break./Help, Love! I dissolve in a rapture of charms/At the thought of those joys I should meet in his arms.”
The last words from Rose’s throat for a time. Minutes later they each lay panting, sweat dampened. Cutler’s head rested where it fell between her legs. Ice eyes caught a new red line there. Unfamiliar.
“Pet, you’re hurt.”
He licked the cut. The pain helped her to remember who she was.