Feeling This
Notes: Too short for a proper beta and that’s unusual for me. The usual suspects provided the drive-bys. A big thank-you to them. As always, mistakes remain mine.
Rating: NC-17
Setting: Post BT
Spoilers: WWL
Warnings: Read and heed. Sex: Yes. Graphic.
Read at your own risk. Violence: Yes. Graphic.
Language: Yes. Bad words. Dark, dark, adult themes:
Yes. Yes. Yes. It’s NC-17 for ALL of the aforementioned reasons. It’s dark fic.
Consider yourself warned.
Disclaimers: Definitely not mine.
Belong to Henson, et. al. No
copyright infringement intended. There is definitely no money being made.
He’s restless and edgy, floating in a black hole that is
darker than the void of space. Blood red eyes are pinpricks where the stars
should be. And then suddenly it hits.
The smell of the oil assaults him again, and he fights the urge to vomit. It
burns in his nostrils and in his throat and courses through his veins, setting
him on fire from the inside out. He twists and turns his sweat soaked body in a
futile attempt to escape the horror that he knows is surely coming.
He feels hands on him, shaking him, trying to restrain him, and he hears a
voice, her voice, as if from a great distance.
“John. John, stop.”
Fucking bitch.
“John, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself,” she is saying reasonably, if a bit
loudly.
The hands are still trying to restrain him.
He will not stop. Not this time. Not again, not while the fear and the rage and
the hate burn so brightly in him. He will take all of it and use it to fuel his
fury. Use it against her. He will finally be able to make her pay.
And then he will be rid of her.
His hand under the pillow finds the reassuring cold, metallic grip, and as his
fingers slide comfortably into their familiar place, he realizes with cold,
crystal, clarity what he must do. Her voice is still swirling around him, and
he has to focus to locate its source.
His hand swings around suddenly to connect with the wellspring of his anguish.
The voice stops speaking, the hands quit moving over him, and he finds the
sound and feel of Winona making solid contact with her head eminently
satisfying.
He rolls over to pin her beneath him, but she is still squirming. He raises a
hand to slap her hard before rolling off her again. She’s barely moving now,
her body twitching really, but it makes him irrationally angry that she is
still struggling. He grabs a fistful of black hair and pulls her roughly up.
Without thinking, he smashes her head against the nearest hard surface he can
find.
He pulls her down again and doesn’t quite understand how she’s made it appear
that he is still in his bed on Moya, because he can feel the stone slab beneath
him. He’ll work with what he’s been given though, and reaches for a golden
cover.
He wraps it securely around her wrists the way he’s been taught, to immobilize
her, and ties it off against the posts. He grabs another golden sheet and does
the same with her feet, splaying her legs.
The oil has made him hard and hot and heavy, and the exertion of subduing her
has done nothing to diminish that. If anything, as much as it repulses him, the
feel of her body sliding against his ratchets up his need to hurt her.
To fuck her.
The oil flows through his senses and the desire cascades through his body in
time with the pounding in his head. She has violated him in ways he never
thought possible, and the need to return that in kind is a primal one he has no
interest in denying. He will make her feel what she has done to him.
She’s squirming again, beseeching him, that oily voice coming to assault his
ears again.
“John, stop. Please. John. Stop. You’re hurting me.”
She’s begging now, shrieking supplications, and the lovely symmetry of that
brings a feral smile to his face. It’s lyrical and lilting and the thought that
she is feeling this makes him irrationally happy.
But the feeling is fleeting and then the sounds of her whimpering begin to
enrage him again.
He puts his hand on her mouth to stop the flow of words and feels the wetness
of her cheek. The thought of her crying now that their roles are reversed,
after all she has done to him, tears at his self-control. He’d begged and he’d
cried, and she’d laughed.
Payback is a bitch.
“John, please,” she pleads against his hand.
He slaps her hard again to shut her up and leans down to whisper fiercely in
her ear.
“What’s the matter? Huh? You don’t wanna fuck? Isn’t that what you Peacekeeper
whores do? Fuck?”
His sensitized skin burns with the memory and the sensations of guilt and
shame. She moans an appeal, beseeching him, and he slaps her again.
“You bitch,” he hisses, wrapping himself in his own righteous fury.
He reaches over and pulls the blade from the side table. The stone she’d been
sharpening it with is knocked to the floor along with the flowers. She
really is a stupid bitch, he thinks, leaving it there for him to use.
With one quick motion he has slit the small scraps of clothing from her body
and left her bare to him. Reaching into his boxers he releases his cock, hard
and angry and ready.
He won’t touch her anymore than he has to, won’t kiss her, won’t
ease his way into her. He wants to be brutal and violent and mean. And he wants
to violate her, make her hurt. He grabs his cock and positions it at her
entrance, sliding the tip of the head just inside.
“Feel this,” he growls, slamming his hips roughly forward and burying his
length inside her.
She screams once and then gurgles out her pain. Strangely that comforts him. He
reaches under her ass to lift her just enough to give him a better angle and
then he begins to move, pounding balls deep into her.
Her body is shaking from his onslaught. She’s sobbing now, he’s sure of it, and
that fuels his raging assault. He explodes in a sea of stars, and as he feels
his ejaculate gush, he also feels her tears and the wetness of something else.
Somewhere in the frenzied orgy of fury coursing through him, he’s found the
knife again and run it blindly across her throat. He feels her still in death
beneath him and laughs out loud at the pool of red against the false golden
sheets.
He’s wrapped in a blessed silence and thinks to himself that maybe if he bathes
in the bitch’s blood he can finally get rid of her taint and the stench she has
left behind.
He closes his eyes for a moment, comfortably cocooned within himself,
envisioning what it will be like. When he’s finally away from
her and with Aeryn. He wants to be free of this for her. He raises his
head and opens his eyes.
And looks straight into Aeryn’s wide open, unblinking ones.
Two Dogs
and a Broken Bone (sequel)