Meteora
Title: Blood and Razorblades
Word Count: 444
Author's Note: This was one of my favorite scenes from the Acronym campaign (and the subsequent bloodbath as the rest of the merry band of mercenaries try to get their ops tech back).
He'd been brought in by one of the roving Deviant squads - how they'd managed to find and catch him was beyond her, but she wasn't about to question her good fortune. Smiling wide enough to bare her short fangs, she twisted the laces at the hips of her leather pants around her fingers as she circled around the chair they'd shackled him in, enjoying the metallic click of her heels on the floor.
He was a beautiful thing, just as they'd promised, and she licked her lips as she watched him become aware of his surroundings, his sloped ears pricking in the direction of her footsteps, his muscles bunching as he realized he was bound. To his credit, he made no immediate attempt to free himself, even when she chose a pearl-handled razorblade from her collection of tools and let the honed edge slide across the metal pan it sat on, the singing note of steel on steel echoing in her sensitive ears.
"Oh, look at you," she purred as she slid onto his lap, straddling him and looping her legs around the back of the chair. The heat from his body was intoxicating - she leaned into him and flicked her forked tongue across his throat. She could taste the entirety of the underworld on him, gun oil and precision steel, blood money and adrenaline, and it made her senses sing with memory, sent a tremble of arousal through her. "What a lovely beast you are." She rolled the razor in her fingers before sliding it along his shirt, effortlessly cutting through the fabric in long strips and leaving fresh, bloody weals along his skin. He tugged at the restraints then, growling low in his throat as she trailed her hooked fingernails along his neck. She leaned in to gently hook her fangs in his lower lip, fighting the urge to draw blood, to taste the electricity of his fear and anger.
She brought the razorblade up and dragged the tip down his forehead, parting the dingy cloth they'd blindfolded him with, and allowed her tongue to catch the pearls of blood that trickled down the bridge of his nose and across the sharp contours of his face as he blinked his pale eyes against the light of the room and tilted his head back, away from her.
"Oh no," she whispered, cradling his face in her hands and pulling his head forward so that their lips met again, her thumbs sliding across the blood that tracked in thin trails down his face. "Keep your eyes on me, pet," she breathed, caressing his lips with her tongue. "I want you to see everything."
Word Count: 444
Author's Note: This was one of my favorite scenes from the Acronym campaign (and the subsequent bloodbath as the rest of the merry band of mercenaries try to get their ops tech back).
He'd been brought in by one of the roving Deviant squads - how they'd managed to find and catch him was beyond her, but she wasn't about to question her good fortune. Smiling wide enough to bare her short fangs, she twisted the laces at the hips of her leather pants around her fingers as she circled around the chair they'd shackled him in, enjoying the metallic click of her heels on the floor.
He was a beautiful thing, just as they'd promised, and she licked her lips as she watched him become aware of his surroundings, his sloped ears pricking in the direction of her footsteps, his muscles bunching as he realized he was bound. To his credit, he made no immediate attempt to free himself, even when she chose a pearl-handled razorblade from her collection of tools and let the honed edge slide across the metal pan it sat on, the singing note of steel on steel echoing in her sensitive ears.
"Oh, look at you," she purred as she slid onto his lap, straddling him and looping her legs around the back of the chair. The heat from his body was intoxicating - she leaned into him and flicked her forked tongue across his throat. She could taste the entirety of the underworld on him, gun oil and precision steel, blood money and adrenaline, and it made her senses sing with memory, sent a tremble of arousal through her. "What a lovely beast you are." She rolled the razor in her fingers before sliding it along his shirt, effortlessly cutting through the fabric in long strips and leaving fresh, bloody weals along his skin. He tugged at the restraints then, growling low in his throat as she trailed her hooked fingernails along his neck. She leaned in to gently hook her fangs in his lower lip, fighting the urge to draw blood, to taste the electricity of his fear and anger.
She brought the razorblade up and dragged the tip down his forehead, parting the dingy cloth they'd blindfolded him with, and allowed her tongue to catch the pearls of blood that trickled down the bridge of his nose and across the sharp contours of his face as he blinked his pale eyes against the light of the room and tilted his head back, away from her.
"Oh no," she whispered, cradling his face in her hands and pulling his head forward so that their lips met again, her thumbs sliding across the blood that tracked in thin trails down his face. "Keep your eyes on me, pet," she breathed, caressing his lips with her tongue. "I want you to see everything."