poly_chromatic | (no subject)

Entry tags:

oc - saya wallace

(no subject)

These days come around and all that happens is that everything gets loud. But there are so many interesting people.

You may come into the Garage as long as you don't touch. Sticky fingers make enormous messes.

[ooc: do what you will!]

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[He gives her a charming little smile.]

Of course. Strange and good can meet.

They can.

Like in you.

[He makes a fluttery, pleased little sound. He's always happy to hear about how lovely he is.]

I'm the better half.

Better at what?

[Le sigh. Don't get him started.]

She bleeds. She weeps. She screams.

[Disgusting, his lip curls.]

I'm more fun.

She was fun the other day.

[Said with a twist to her smile]

She's been better.

[No. She's never good enough, and he will tell her so always and forever, chirp chirp chirp.]

And how would I get best out of her?

Tie you up?

Make her beg?

[That is a fascinating thought, and it shows on his face.]

Maybe. Make her shake all over. Ask nicely.

[He runs a hand back through his hair.]

She can't do it, on her own.

[Crippled, just like his lovely birdy wings.]

You love him, don't you?

No.

[He doesn't hesitate to say so.]

Want. Not love.

Good.

He's not capable. And neither am I, but no one really would love me.

[It's not self-pity, it's a fact]

Love is want. With lies and empty promise.

[Lies like 'only' and 'forever' and he thought it was nonsense.]

She likes comforting. Pathetic lonely bug.

And you?

[Saya opens the Porche passenger side door and sits in the seat, her legs extended out]

[He drops down to his knees at her feet, leaning forward into her lap.]

Clever and cruel. I like to touch.

[Liked to tease. It's all a game to him.]

[Speaking of teasing, she spreads her legs, affording him a view up her skirt]

I like all three, but you won't touch me, will you?

Do I care if she cries?

[And yet his hands have stayed to himself.]

No. Not at all.

I didn't think so.

[He tilts his head up at her, looking more like an expectant puppy dog than a vain little bird, but then he wasn't always a bird. That was what the bullet had made of them.]

You could pet me.

[His hand goes to his hair again, like he's demonstrating, leaving the dark strands in disarray.]

[Her hands go to his hair - and her thumbs to his cheeks]

Like that?

[He is inordinately pleased, pressing into her hand as soon as its offered.]

Very clever.

[He had pestered Blonde all weekend to pet him again, but apparently someone had something that passed for respect for his human.]

[Saya doesn't have much respect for another. Her thumb brushes over his mouth]

I could pin you faster than you could change shape.

[Big brown eyes stare back at her, lips parting pliantly under her touch.]

Could you?

[Is that a challenge? He does like to be challenged...]

[She's on him, then, her legs against his, one hand just against his throat. It's so sudden and fast; she straddles his hips and her face is just up near his]

Is she screaming or does she like it?

[The sound he makes is all bird, a laughing little chirp. He's not afraid, it's not his place to be. Fear is hers.]

Always screaming. [His hips buck, shifting underneath her.] Never stops.

[He nudges his nose closer to her ear, has a secret to tell, he does,]

But she forgot where it's drawn, the line between pain and pleasure. Where screaming becomes moaning.