(no subject)
Title: Methods of Experience
Author: Butterflyweb
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Eden/Peter
Summary: It’s amazing, she thinks as she stumbles against the wall, blood dripping from her nose, how nothing really changes.
A/N: Crack pairing, but not a crack fic. :D Promise.
It’s amazing, she thinks as she stumbles against the wall, blood dripping from her nose, how nothing really changes.
Before, in her other life, it had been wine coolers and pot on the edge of the pier, whatever college chic music had been popular that month playing loud on the car speakers. Staring out at the breakers, slumped against the sticky vinyl seats, her boyfriend’s hand slipping under her bra. It had been childish and desperate, a plea for some sort of attention. Some sort of life.
Things haven’t changed much since then.
Eden leans against the sloppily painted plaster, house music still pounding in her eardrums. She is shivering and swaying slightly, electricity sparking along her veins. Shifting, she lets out a sudden bark of laughter as her ankles give, sending her sprawling onto the cold concrete.
She’s light years away from the ocean, now. Away from fumbling hands and feeble protests, from jacked up stereos and spilled beers. It’s the club scene these days, cocaine and Screaming Orgasms, being felt up in a filthy toilet by men and women alike. Anything she can think of, because Eden gets what she wants.
She crawls forward a few more steps, her heart fluttering in her chest, beating impossibly fast. Needing air suddenly, she pushes herself to her feet, tripping a bit on her stilettos and heading for the exits.
She makes it two blocks from the club before she falls again, gasping as the blood rushes in her head. But this time, someone is there to catch her.
Jerking away from the gentle grasp, she glares at the young man who’d stopped her fall. Maybe young isn’t the word-he looks it though, hair in his face, puppy dog eyes full of concern.
“Are you alright?” he asks, staring at her as if she’s a skittish horse. Eden wipes self-consciously at the white powder that’s still smearing her nose, stumbling a few steps away. Goddamn shoes.
“I’m fine,” she mutters, and when he still doesn’t leave, she repeats herself, letting her voice drop into that familiar tone. “I said I’m fine.”
He shakes his head as if confused, and she thinks with relief that he’s about to leave when he steps forward and takes her arm. “I think you should sit down. You look like you’re having a bad trip.”
He tries to steer her over towards a bench, good Samaritan that he is, and when she tries to pull away again, cursing at him, he loses his patience. “Sit down!”
And she does.
Wide-eyed, Eden swallows nervously, staring up at him. What the hell had just happened?
“Don’t worry, I’m studying to be a nurse,” he mutters, taking her chin in his hand, staring into her eyes. “Just want to make sure you didn’t overdose.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but stops suddenly. Closes her eyes. Feels the brush of his cool fingertips over her heated skin. It’s soothing, a relief from the electrifying sensation of grinding bodies, the harsh abrasion of her sheer silk halter.
Eden blinks, trying to clear her head. He is taking out his cell phone now, still looking at her carefully. “Put the phone away,” she orders, standing up.
He does automatically, blinking at her. “I think I should call you a cab.”
She smiles seductively, her heart still hammering against her ribs. “That’s sweet of you. But I’d really rather go home with you.”
He shakes his head slightly, and Eden grits her teeth. Why is this one being so difficult? “Take me home with you,” she repeats, putting more force behind the words.
He nods finally, wrapping an arm around her waist and steadying her as they continue down the sidewalk.
It takes several more repetitions of the command before they make it to his building, up the steps and to the door. She’s becoming quickly frustrated at the man’s seeming imperviousness to her ability and she still can’t shake the thread of fear from earlier. From when she’d thoughtlessly obeyed his orders.
That didn’t happen.
Kicking off her heels, Eden spends the rest of the evening reasserting her control. And when she stumbles to the door, skirt on backwards and sticky between her legs, she takes comfort in refusing the quiet ‘’stay,” that follows her out.
Author: Butterflyweb
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Eden/Peter
Summary: It’s amazing, she thinks as she stumbles against the wall, blood dripping from her nose, how nothing really changes.
A/N: Crack pairing, but not a crack fic. :D Promise.
It’s amazing, she thinks as she stumbles against the wall, blood dripping from her nose, how nothing really changes.
Before, in her other life, it had been wine coolers and pot on the edge of the pier, whatever college chic music had been popular that month playing loud on the car speakers. Staring out at the breakers, slumped against the sticky vinyl seats, her boyfriend’s hand slipping under her bra. It had been childish and desperate, a plea for some sort of attention. Some sort of life.
Things haven’t changed much since then.
Eden leans against the sloppily painted plaster, house music still pounding in her eardrums. She is shivering and swaying slightly, electricity sparking along her veins. Shifting, she lets out a sudden bark of laughter as her ankles give, sending her sprawling onto the cold concrete.
She’s light years away from the ocean, now. Away from fumbling hands and feeble protests, from jacked up stereos and spilled beers. It’s the club scene these days, cocaine and Screaming Orgasms, being felt up in a filthy toilet by men and women alike. Anything she can think of, because Eden gets what she wants.
She crawls forward a few more steps, her heart fluttering in her chest, beating impossibly fast. Needing air suddenly, she pushes herself to her feet, tripping a bit on her stilettos and heading for the exits.
She makes it two blocks from the club before she falls again, gasping as the blood rushes in her head. But this time, someone is there to catch her.
Jerking away from the gentle grasp, she glares at the young man who’d stopped her fall. Maybe young isn’t the word-he looks it though, hair in his face, puppy dog eyes full of concern.
“Are you alright?” he asks, staring at her as if she’s a skittish horse. Eden wipes self-consciously at the white powder that’s still smearing her nose, stumbling a few steps away. Goddamn shoes.
“I’m fine,” she mutters, and when he still doesn’t leave, she repeats herself, letting her voice drop into that familiar tone. “I said I’m fine.”
He shakes his head as if confused, and she thinks with relief that he’s about to leave when he steps forward and takes her arm. “I think you should sit down. You look like you’re having a bad trip.”
He tries to steer her over towards a bench, good Samaritan that he is, and when she tries to pull away again, cursing at him, he loses his patience. “Sit down!”
And she does.
Wide-eyed, Eden swallows nervously, staring up at him. What the hell had just happened?
“Don’t worry, I’m studying to be a nurse,” he mutters, taking her chin in his hand, staring into her eyes. “Just want to make sure you didn’t overdose.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but stops suddenly. Closes her eyes. Feels the brush of his cool fingertips over her heated skin. It’s soothing, a relief from the electrifying sensation of grinding bodies, the harsh abrasion of her sheer silk halter.
Eden blinks, trying to clear her head. He is taking out his cell phone now, still looking at her carefully. “Put the phone away,” she orders, standing up.
He does automatically, blinking at her. “I think I should call you a cab.”
She smiles seductively, her heart still hammering against her ribs. “That’s sweet of you. But I’d really rather go home with you.”
He shakes his head slightly, and Eden grits her teeth. Why is this one being so difficult? “Take me home with you,” she repeats, putting more force behind the words.
He nods finally, wrapping an arm around her waist and steadying her as they continue down the sidewalk.
It takes several more repetitions of the command before they make it to his building, up the steps and to the door. She’s becoming quickly frustrated at the man’s seeming imperviousness to her ability and she still can’t shake the thread of fear from earlier. From when she’d thoughtlessly obeyed his orders.
That didn’t happen.
Kicking off her heels, Eden spends the rest of the evening reasserting her control. And when she stumbles to the door, skirt on backwards and sticky between her legs, she takes comfort in refusing the quiet ‘’stay,” that follows her out.