Wes/Lilah snippet
May. 30th, 2002 09:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenI know I promised Kita A/S, but this bunny came first. 'tis but a snippet. I'm not even sure if I should bother posting it anywhere but here. Your thoughts?
He doesn't explain anything to her.
In his mind is a wealth of languages, and one of the ones he's learned to speak most deftly is silence. It's a handy trick for a man who these days shouldn't speak at all.
She fills the void, however, as most people do. It's an apt description for her on many levels.
"So what do you want, huh?" she asks him time and time again. "Money? Sex? Death?"
He doesn't tell her, so she keeps guessing. It's become a game between them both. Every night she tries, and a tiny part of him admits to wondering if she's ever going to get it right.
"Hey," she says one night, casually holding up a bottle as she walks through his front door. "I brought free scotch."
Tempting, but not quite.
"You know with my company's resources I could get you better stuff than this," she says on the weekend she decided to explore the contents of his magic cabinet. "No fuss, no muss, no legal hassles with customs and practically no burnout factor."
He doesn't even dignify that by responding.
She explores the physical realm. He lets her. Even wounded he's stronger in body than she is. Wrestling matches, such as they are, prove no contest.
It doesn't take her many tries to figure out that her side of the struggle is meaningless to him.
One night she surprises him with a gun. He surprises her by pulling the trigger on his.
His chamber was empty. Hers was not.
It's not the first bullet to become lodged in his wall. Nor the first to pass by his skin. He stands passively as she bends down to part the ripped fabric of his shirt, her warm tongue lapping at the flesh wound.
"Fee, fi, fo fum," she purrs.
He shifts position. She pulls back and eyes him archly.
"I've spent too many years up against the glass ceiling to get down on my knees *now*. But if you'd like to change places - "
He throws her up against the wall. She rests her body against it but remains still, her neck muscles relaxed under the grip of his hand.
"Wouldn't have pegged you for an anti-women's-libber there, Wes."
"You're speaking too much."
"So what? Are you going to spank me?"
He uses his other hand to lift her skirt up. It bunches around her hips as he moves aside the silk of her panties and slips his fingers in. The heat startles, but does not stop him. He manipulates her as though he's possessed of all the time in the world. Finally she starts to squirm.
"What do you *want*, Wes? Do *you* even have a clue?"
"Of course."
"So do something about it!"
"Who says I'm not?"
She looks over her shoulder at him, wondering if he's lying. His face doesn't give her the answer.
"What do you want, Lilah?" he asks as his index finger dances over her clit. "Do *you* even know?"
She gasps. "Who says I don't?"
"You won't win."
"Who says I want to?"
"On your knees then."
She complies, turning around and looking up at him as though daring him to go through with it. "Who says I won't bite you?"
"Who told you that I cared?" he replies. He braces himself against the wall and watches her undo his pants. Her mouth is as skilled as he suspected.
"Damn sight better than those virgins you keep your eye on," she tells him between licks.
He laughs at her, and wonders if she'll ever have a prayer of getting it.
It wasn't the virgins that he cared about.
He doesn't explain anything to her.
In his mind is a wealth of languages, and one of the ones he's learned to speak most deftly is silence. It's a handy trick for a man who these days shouldn't speak at all.
She fills the void, however, as most people do. It's an apt description for her on many levels.
"So what do you want, huh?" she asks him time and time again. "Money? Sex? Death?"
He doesn't tell her, so she keeps guessing. It's become a game between them both. Every night she tries, and a tiny part of him admits to wondering if she's ever going to get it right.
"Hey," she says one night, casually holding up a bottle as she walks through his front door. "I brought free scotch."
Tempting, but not quite.
"You know with my company's resources I could get you better stuff than this," she says on the weekend she decided to explore the contents of his magic cabinet. "No fuss, no muss, no legal hassles with customs and practically no burnout factor."
He doesn't even dignify that by responding.
She explores the physical realm. He lets her. Even wounded he's stronger in body than she is. Wrestling matches, such as they are, prove no contest.
It doesn't take her many tries to figure out that her side of the struggle is meaningless to him.
One night she surprises him with a gun. He surprises her by pulling the trigger on his.
His chamber was empty. Hers was not.
It's not the first bullet to become lodged in his wall. Nor the first to pass by his skin. He stands passively as she bends down to part the ripped fabric of his shirt, her warm tongue lapping at the flesh wound.
"Fee, fi, fo fum," she purrs.
He shifts position. She pulls back and eyes him archly.
"I've spent too many years up against the glass ceiling to get down on my knees *now*. But if you'd like to change places - "
He throws her up against the wall. She rests her body against it but remains still, her neck muscles relaxed under the grip of his hand.
"Wouldn't have pegged you for an anti-women's-libber there, Wes."
"You're speaking too much."
"So what? Are you going to spank me?"
He uses his other hand to lift her skirt up. It bunches around her hips as he moves aside the silk of her panties and slips his fingers in. The heat startles, but does not stop him. He manipulates her as though he's possessed of all the time in the world. Finally she starts to squirm.
"What do you *want*, Wes? Do *you* even have a clue?"
"Of course."
"So do something about it!"
"Who says I'm not?"
She looks over her shoulder at him, wondering if he's lying. His face doesn't give her the answer.
"What do you want, Lilah?" he asks as his index finger dances over her clit. "Do *you* even know?"
She gasps. "Who says I don't?"
"You won't win."
"Who says I want to?"
"On your knees then."
She complies, turning around and looking up at him as though daring him to go through with it. "Who says I won't bite you?"
"Who told you that I cared?" he replies. He braces himself against the wall and watches her undo his pants. Her mouth is as skilled as he suspected.
"Damn sight better than those virgins you keep your eye on," she tells him between licks.
He laughs at her, and wonders if she'll ever have a prayer of getting it.
It wasn't the virgins that he cared about.
