Breaking Point
A Slice of Fate
by
Lady-T
Disclaimer: Not a chance in hell that Marvel would be feeling this moody right now, so no, they're not actually my property. 100% unofficial stuff, folks.
*~Plush, that was the only word for it. Falling just short of the tackiness epitomised by opulence, this was everything anyone could ever have dreamed their home to be.
Tall windows gleamed with the dying of the sunlight, casting long, fiery shadows across the carpeted floor. Around the vast walls, age-blackened bookcases towered to the impossibly tall ceiling, cascading with immaculate yet ancient leather spines.
Lost in the sea of space that seemed to make up the room, stood a broad wooden desk, the leather writing top softened with age and use. A couple of opened books lay atop it, their pages fluttering lazily in the faint breeze that danced through one of the open windows.
The solitary figure lounging in the padded chair behind it sighed slowly and shifted in her languorous position.
Her bare legs spread in a relaxed pose, knees bent and feet up on the edge of the desk, she reached out and plucked a cigarette from the box before her. She leaned back in her plush chair and drew on the sweet nicotine for in infinitely long breath before blowing the smoke out across the room.
She idly reached down and grabbed a handful of hair belonging to the person kneeling before her, his tongue wedged deep between her thighs.
She yanked his head up to look him in the face, lifeless, dead eyes blinking back at her.
"You mind if I smoke while you eat?" she asked him, smirking. So it was a cheesy quote. It wasn't as if he cared.
A moment passed and her cold look froze all it touched, the very breeze seeming to crawl away momentarily.
He slowly shook his head and she roughly shoved him back down, her hand on the back of his neck holding him firmly between her legs.
"Good."
She took another long, emotionless drag of the cigarette, her body relaxing as the man's mouth continued to pleasure her. Licking and biting and sucking, he continued to work at her opening until her head was thrown back and both hands were clutching at his scalp, holding him hard into her body while she bucked against his face.
He gently bit down on her clitoris and with a sharp cry she came around his tongue, gritting her teeth against the onslaught of ecstasy that barged through her centre.
Holding him in place until the aftershocks had ceased, she waited until he had licked her clean before she wrenched him backwards and walked off, ignoring him completely as he sagged limply down to the floor.
His every slow movement brought to her ears the gentle, metallic clink of the ancient, heavy chains that fastened him to the floor.
He'd been a good catch. She was almost impressed with herself. He'd had too much spirit, although that had been easy enough to remove, but damn, he did have a very talented tongue.
She idly looked him over from her position by one of the large, oak bookshelves. Naked to the waist and barefoot he made a fine specimen, his broad and perfectly muscled back hunched over from his position on the floor, the weight of his bonds continually dragging down at his shoulders.
She allowed a self-congratulatory smile to twitch at her lips before squashing it down once again. Congratulations could come later. Another round with his tongue, or maybe she could explore some of his other assets. It could prove to be really quite diverting.~*
The bar was smoky and dark, like every bar in a story like this.
The wind whipped in coldly, bringing a flurry of snow as another trucker dragged himself in, free from the blizzard outside, shaking white flakes from his head and cursing the Gods, Fates and whatever other mystical deity that may be unfortunate enough to be listening.
Nursing his beer, Logan glanced up at the newest arrival then looked away again, finding the now ever-present comfort in the gentle hand resting on his thigh.
Her head lay softly on his shoulder and he leaned into her closer, the warmth of her body radiating through him.
It's amazing how the Fates lend a hand now and then he thought, and while the trucker continued to curse, Logan thanked them for bringing her into his life.
A chance encounter one night and something inside him had clicked, like a lost part snapping back into place within him. He'd staggered inside from the blizzard beyond the heavy doors of the nameless bar so many nights ago. Half frozen and desperate for warmth, he was ready to crawl into a corner and forget he'd ever set out from Xavier's at all, hoping that if he wished hard enough he'd wake up back home, never having left in the first place. Never having discovered the truth about himself.
He'd seen her and he'd never looked back, like some strange, twisted fairytale. The white castle a black, smoky bar, the noble prince lost and frozen and the beautiful princess...
She'd been breathtaking.
He'd asked if she believed it was love and she'd just smiled at him and told him to trust whatever he felt.
He'd accepted her answer.
*~She gave him a slight mental nudge and he slowly picked himself up form his place on the floor.
She felt her blood stirring as she watched him, perfectly defined muscles gliding smoothly under flawless skin.
It was the domination she craved, the need to control.
The bigger and more spectacular they were, the more her blood pounded through her veins, knowing that they were nothing to her, that they were so totally under her control that resistance was not only impossible, but also never even crossed their minds.
Nothing ever crossed their minds...
The chains weighed heavily on his limbs, clanking slowly as he struggled to stay standing.
Not that they were necessary, but God, they turned her on.
A slow, sarcastic smile twisted her face because the dominance was everything. Not content with merely their minds, their very consciousness, it was like an added kick to confine their bodies too.
The first man she'd ever slept with had run from her, screaming that she was a sick fuck.
She idly caressed the straining arms of the man before her, running long, thin fingers over his slick skin as she laughed.
God, he'd been so much damned fun.
She smiled at the memory, letting a past victory flow through her, basking in the glow as the resulting endorphin rush took her higher. It gave her a taste for retribution, a taste for power.
Her lips curled back as her hands travelled up to his straining shoulders, feeling the muscles shaking beneath his skin as the weight of the solid, black iron chains pulled him down.
Her tongue flicked out, trailing up his chest and over a nipple as she followed the line made by a thin bead of sweat, tracing it back up to a spot on the crook of his neck.
She mumbled into his skin, her hands caressing his damp chest, long, manicured nails softly clawing at his pectorals.
"It was France... the year 1588. I met a man called Peter Stube that year. I gave him my heart and my soul and he promised that he would love me in return.
"He was a Liar. By 1589 he was accused of a crime he never could have committed. On my word, the word of a 16 year old girl, he was tried and convicted of being a werewolf. They sentenced him to have his skin torn off with red-hot pincers."
His expressionless eyes blinked uncomprehendingly at her as she idly pulled back, caressing his cheek.
"Oh, he screamed so loud you could almost hear it echoing off the mountains as they made him watch. Watch them heat the tongs, watch them stoke the fire, watch them inch closer to the bare flesh on his arms and legs. He begged and screamed and cried for mercy, feeling them pull the skin off his very bones as he did it."
She kissed him deeply, feeling his mouth respond to her on impulse, opening to let her tongue sweep savagely inside.
She pulled back, taking a deep breath through perfect red lips.
"Of course this means nothing to you because your brain..." she cuffed him savagely round the head, "...is fucking EMPTY."
She sighed, seeming to sag slightly as she massaged the bridge of her nose. "Damn, I must remember to leave SOMETHING behind... I waste more threats that way."
She leaned her head on his chest, her arms sprawled casually over his shoulders, adding to the weight that tried to pull him down.
His knees began to buckle, his legs shaking dangerously, but she ignored it.
"Not that you care of course," she added, running her fingers over his neck, "but he died a horrible death and, even if I do say so myself, it really was quite entertaining. Especially that bit where he lost complete control of his bladder. I always said revenge was a dish best served toasty warm."
She idly circled his nipple with a manicured fingernail, muscles in his neck straining as he tried to stay upright under the intense weight of the metal bonds. She smiled, talking like an affectionate parent, or an artist speaking to their creation. "You know you're wearing the same manacles...?"~*
She'd asked him about his life that night, and for some reason he'd been unable to stop talking. His natural reticence seemed to have melted away and some bit of him idly wondered why, but her hand on his thigh and her head on his shoulder seemed to be drawing everything out of him, releasing the build up of experiences like a safety valve erupting steam.
Once he started he was unable to stop, and it almost didn't seem to matter that she didn't understand what he was saying, didn't know the people he was talking about.
Breaking point had been reached and she'd given him the reason to release all the pressure that had been building up inside him, all the pain that had been becoming unbearable.
"Everyone has always wanted some part of me," he'd murmured, letting her touch soothe the raw edge his past had left imprinted down his soul. Thing's he'd never wanted to remember had been thrust back into glorious, painful Technicolor, and once the memories had started he'd been unable to make them stop.
He'd spent weeks in a hotel room, rocking back and forth in a corner, trying to stop the tidal wave of images he was drowning under, trying to block out once again the past he'd spent fifteen years trying to recapture.
He'd felt like his voice was going to fail, reliving the memories, but she'd asked and somehow he'd felt compelled to tell her.
"Apocalypse made me into Death, those sick fucks at Weapon X did God alone knows what to me... They all wanted something, some part of me that I didn't want to give up but invariably they'd end up taking, and I just wind up nursing what's left."
He'd stared deep into his drink, swirling the liquid around the glass.
"There's only so long that someone can just keep on trying to make do with what they leave behind, because every time they take just a little bit more and leave you with just a little bit less. Always ending up just a little bit deader on the inside. Always missing a tiny bit more of yourself."
He'd tried to keep the bitterness from spilling out into his voice, but he'd heard it clear enough. The bitter unfairness he had so long ago learned to live with.
"You know, it's like how the sea can't swallow a whole cliff in one try, but every time the water licks at the rocks it takes just a little more away with it, pulling out the bottom from underneath.
"One fucking grain of sand is all it takes, and with one last lick from the sea the entire thing comes crashing down."
He'd glanced at the face of his companion, seeing the sorrow flicker in her eyes.
"It leaves a scar that just won't heal, and I already have too many of them. It hurts too much to let them do it again, and it hurts too much to see it every day, all scars of all the times you failed."
He'd laughed bitterly then, running his fingers idly over the back of his hand and down through the gaps between his knuckles. Not a damn scar to show for it. Not outside.
"You try and you try SO hard, but in the end it doesn't even matter because when it comes down to it, there's nothing you can do to protect what you worked so hard to achieve.
"It gets to the time when you have to ask yourself why you even bother trying to rebuild what you had because you know that they're going to steal it from you again."
There'd been bitterness, God, so much bitterness in his voice, so much pain.
He hadn't protested when her hand gently came to rest on his, squeezing his fingers in support.
"People say that they made a mistake when they loved someone too much. That's bullshit."
He'd tipped his drink down his throat and idly contemplated the glass.
"You can never feel anything too strongly. The time you get is so fucking short that if you don't grab it and choke every last second from it, you're going to loose it. I lost everything, so may times over I can't even count them any more."
He'd slammed the glass back down on the table and disentangled his fingers from her grip, running his hands through his hair, unconsciously pulling at the thick, black strands.
"I caused the people I loved so much pain that I don't even know why they let me back into their lives again. You can scream and shout all you want that it just ain't fair, but no one gives a damn, because in the end it's you and only you who suffers the most. You suffer when it's upon you and you suffer double when it's over, because all around you, you have to live with the pain of what it did to other people. The people you cared about more than your own, stinking, worthless life end up hurting because of what some twisted bastard wanted from you. They get hurt by association and every tear they shed stabs a little bit deeper, rips the wound open just a little fraction more."
There'd been anger then, and he'd unscrewed the nearest liquor bottle and poured a generous glassful.
"There's some part of you saying you should just leave, pick up what's left of yourself and let them have some semblance of the peace and hope they can get without the constant danger of you hurting them again. But you loose either way, you know that?"
She'd put her hand on his arm and he'd glanced at her, seeing the concern in her face.
He'd looked away then.
"You stay and they get hurt, but you leave and they still feel the pain because they just can't understand why it's better for you to just go. They can't understand that you and your stupid, cursed existence are the cause of all their problems in the first place. They can't understand and they won't understand because for some stupid reason they... they... think they need you..."
He'd faltered and stared into his drink, letting the warmth of her hand glide over his shoulders.
"Sounds like you have some pretty interesting friends," she'd murmured softly, putting her arm around him fully and pulling him close.
He'd closed his eyes, letting her guide him.
"How long has it been, Logan? Since someone just held you?"
He hadn't answered, just let the emotion settle as he nuzzled in closely to her shoulder, resting his head there till she gently stroked his face, guiding his eyes up to meet hers.
Precious closeness... something he'd missed so seriously. Breathing the same air, so intense you can feel the heat radiating from the other person...
She'd closed her eyes, her cheek brushing lightly against his, the contact of skin like an electrical charge between them, a small sigh falling from her parted lips.
He'd kissed her then, soft lips barely brushing till the temptation became too much. She'd felt him stronger and harder, building in heat and intensity until she was gasping for breath, his mouth plundering the very air form her lungs as she took in the strong, sweet taste of his lips, basking in the heat he filled her with.
His tongue had been soft and rough against her own, filling her every last sense with his flavour and his intensity before crushing her body to him, holding her desperately close as if he were afraid of her vanishing away in the night, escaping him.
She'd felt him exploring her mouth and the sensation of his tongue brushing against her own had made her whimper quietly against his lips.
*~It was all to do with power, she knew that, and penetration was always something special with this one. The way the side of his jaw always fractionally tensed as if some faint whisper still struggled inside him. It always gave her a kick because here was a true fighter, still hanging on no matter what she did to him.
He was truly something special as his magnificent body hammered full and deep inside her, her perfectly manicured nails scraping along his glistening, hard back, feeling the muscles glide flawlessly beneath his skin as he strained above her, bodies connected at the juncture of her legs.
Always something special as he made those odd little noises in his throat, so unlike any of the others.
It wasn't like she denied them the power of speech, but with no emotion there was never anything to articulate, and to a man they had all been mute.
Always something special, she mused, as she grit her teeth, kicking her head back as she neared her climax.
Always something so fucking special.
She tensed with a ripple of pure desire as he thrust hard into her once more, driving her finally over the edge.
She screamed as she came, her hands running ceaselessly over his slick body, reaching down and squeezing his ass as she urged him to continue.
That was the other thing she quickly learned about this one... he could stay rock hard all damned day.~*
But it was in that swift second after his tongue connected with hers that he knew he had made a terrible mistake. The ripping pull of her tongue expanding and snaking down his throat sent a jolt right to his core, almost pulling at his very essence.
A hundred tendrils of ice seemed to rip and pour through his stomach, dragging him to a plateau of white hot pain. Rational thought escaped him, uncontrolled tears of sweet agony pressing from inside his own skull, oozing from his eyes like the blood seeping from his mouth.
She was feeding from him, drawing him apart, sucking every last part of him dry inside and ripping every last thought and emotion from his memory.
She was wiping him clean as if feeding on his very soul, his very reason to live.
He tried to scream, but the sound was choked in his throat, coming out as a faint gurgle before sudden, freezing emptiness overwhelmed him.
She withdrew her tongue, licking her lips in a satisfied snarl as she drew away from the kiss.
His empty shell stared back at her, blank, wide eyes devoid of any trace of emotion or feeling, the very last drops of will caught by her snaking tongue as she passed it over his lips again, licking it away with the blood that dripped down his chin.
She could feel his essence feeding her, eyes as cold as a cobra as it strikes.
She pulled his unprotesting body towards her, taking possession of his lips once more, kissing him deeply as she roughly groped at his body.
He mutely complied, nothing left inside him to argue.
Devoid of soul she had left him a walking, breathing corpse.
*~She relaxed back into the bed sheets. Sated and warm as she watched him, his body glistening with sweat from the exertion. She laughed as he shivered, leaving him chained by the open window, icy wind lashing at his skin as she left him there to freeze for a few hours.
Even in the tousled mess she'd left his hair, she noted that she could still see the oddly distinctive points that flicked up on either side of his head.
"Wonder if I should cut them off...?" she mused.~*
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