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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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.

Does she want the illusion of rape?

[Her own hips shift back.]

You remember. Where the line is. Do you confuse it for her?

Hmm. No illusions, she will take. We [is that the first he has refereed to them as such?] should not suffer denial.

[He looks a little pensive as he slowly lifts a hand to curve along the side of her knee.]

I'm not numb to pleasure. Not like her.

[No hose. Her skirt bunches around his hand]

She's likes it well enough. Or fakes it.

Liking and feeling. Not the same.

[Too hot, he notices, but he also knows that his human half enjoys it.]

That's true.

[Skin on skin]

I usually get eaten by birds.

[He offers a large and deceptively innocent smile, craning his neck until their noses brush.]

Very clever bird. Very clever mouth.

No one else touches you like this.

No one else dares.

No one.

[He agrees, of course it's true.]

Cowards.

[Leaving a bored little bird to preen his own feathers. How criminal.]

[She reaches between them, between his legs]

I don't have any scruples to stop me. No one else knows how cruel I am.

[His borrowed human body flexes under her nicely, a boy who is very used to making pretty pictures for terribly cruel friends, eager to be touched. Somewhere, Carla is a wreck, curled in on herself and shuddering. Here he has pleasure, there she has pain, ripping herself apart. The echo between the two is delightful, she'll agree with him later when the outrage has settled.]

No one at all?

[He does like to be special.]

[Her fingers find him, encase him.]

Don't tell.

[His own little shudder, eyes slipping closed.]

Maybe.

[Promises are silly, but he is a greedy little thing. Maybe he'll keep his prize all to himself.]

I'll make that worth your while.

[Her hand tightens]

Do you do what you're told?