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uc_xmen2004-06-11 06:12 pm
fire-and-a-rose.livejournal.com) wrote in uc_xmen2004-06-11 06:12 pm
Entry tags:
Neither Love Nor Care
Title: Neither Love Nor Care
Author: K. M. Petravich (Chaos Pockets)
Pairing: Shadowcat/Sabretooth
Summary: The Tiger and the Cat
Archive: Ask.
Rating: R for darkness, sex, possibly disturbing content, and desperation
Disclaimer: I own many things. The characters used here aren’t one of them, though
Note: Thanks to everyone for their suggestions and comments.
It isn’t romance.
No one would ever begin to think it is. Of course, no one would ever believe it was happening, either.
She realizes this. Or will realize this, later, when he’s sleeping. Now, though, he’s thrusting into her, in more ways than one, thick sharp claws pressed against her back but not yet breaking the flesh, tongue running around the inside of her mouth. She’s not thinking about much of anything now but the feel of him against her and in her, and that’s quite enough to keep her mind occupied.
When it started, he’d come into the Belles of Hell. It was late, and she had been alone, closing up. Seeing him, she’d turned quickly, wondering both if she should phase into the floor, and if she can get away with never closing up again, because that’s how Stryker and Deathstrike had found her, too.
Instead of phasing, though, she’d poured him a drink. Waited til he drained it, and refilled it, looking him in the eyes the entire time, never breaking his gaze. He recognized her, and had looked briefly surprised upon seeing her before his expression had turned to interest with a bit of a leer.
They hadn’t talked. She’d wondered if he was going to kill her, he’d kept drinking til she stopped refilling the glass and went to the door. He followed her. She didn’t stop him, or even try to. When they’d reached her apartment, he’d followed her up, closing the door behind her and letting out a faint growl, slowly (she’d ask him why he did it that way later, as it had surprised her; he’d laughed and said that he wanted to see if she’d try and run away, and besides, it was like opening a present) removing her clothes, claws extending and slicing the fabric. She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t helped him, hadn’t stopped him. And he’d bitten and scratched and fucked and marked her, and she realized afterwards, when he left, when she was curled in her bed and not moving, that she’d rather enjoyed it.
She didn’t go to classes or work that day. And that night he came back, and this time she helped him, eagerly, and he’d laughed and said he had known he’d liked her style in Madripoor, and she’d told him to shut the hell up, and he had.
And she isn’t thinking about any of this now, as he comes with a growl, claws digging deeply into her back, her blood running down them, and his release and the strangesweetawful mixture of pleasure and pain drags her with him. And they lay like that for a while, tired, before he flips her over, not gently, either, and begins to run his rough tongue over her back, cleaning each cut, deep as they are, til they stop bleeding. And with something not like love, but possessiveness, he wraps his arms around her, another growl warning her not to move, and drops off to sleep, the tight hold hurting her just enough.
And, as she drifts off as well, she knows he’ll be gone in the morning. And that he’ll come back and they’ll fuck again, and sooner or later Logan will smell him on her, and she’ll have to explain. And she knows it isn’t romance. And she knows it isn’t love.
And she knows she doesn’t care.
Author: K. M. Petravich (Chaos Pockets)
Pairing: Shadowcat/Sabretooth
Summary: The Tiger and the Cat
Archive: Ask.
Rating: R for darkness, sex, possibly disturbing content, and desperation
Disclaimer: I own many things. The characters used here aren’t one of them, though
Note: Thanks to everyone for their suggestions and comments.
It isn’t romance.
No one would ever begin to think it is. Of course, no one would ever believe it was happening, either.
She realizes this. Or will realize this, later, when he’s sleeping. Now, though, he’s thrusting into her, in more ways than one, thick sharp claws pressed against her back but not yet breaking the flesh, tongue running around the inside of her mouth. She’s not thinking about much of anything now but the feel of him against her and in her, and that’s quite enough to keep her mind occupied.
When it started, he’d come into the Belles of Hell. It was late, and she had been alone, closing up. Seeing him, she’d turned quickly, wondering both if she should phase into the floor, and if she can get away with never closing up again, because that’s how Stryker and Deathstrike had found her, too.
Instead of phasing, though, she’d poured him a drink. Waited til he drained it, and refilled it, looking him in the eyes the entire time, never breaking his gaze. He recognized her, and had looked briefly surprised upon seeing her before his expression had turned to interest with a bit of a leer.
They hadn’t talked. She’d wondered if he was going to kill her, he’d kept drinking til she stopped refilling the glass and went to the door. He followed her. She didn’t stop him, or even try to. When they’d reached her apartment, he’d followed her up, closing the door behind her and letting out a faint growl, slowly (she’d ask him why he did it that way later, as it had surprised her; he’d laughed and said that he wanted to see if she’d try and run away, and besides, it was like opening a present) removing her clothes, claws extending and slicing the fabric. She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t helped him, hadn’t stopped him. And he’d bitten and scratched and fucked and marked her, and she realized afterwards, when he left, when she was curled in her bed and not moving, that she’d rather enjoyed it.
She didn’t go to classes or work that day. And that night he came back, and this time she helped him, eagerly, and he’d laughed and said he had known he’d liked her style in Madripoor, and she’d told him to shut the hell up, and he had.
And she isn’t thinking about any of this now, as he comes with a growl, claws digging deeply into her back, her blood running down them, and his release and the strangesweetawful mixture of pleasure and pain drags her with him. And they lay like that for a while, tired, before he flips her over, not gently, either, and begins to run his rough tongue over her back, cleaning each cut, deep as they are, til they stop bleeding. And with something not like love, but possessiveness, he wraps his arms around her, another growl warning her not to move, and drops off to sleep, the tight hold hurting her just enough.
And, as she drifts off as well, she knows he’ll be gone in the morning. And that he’ll come back and they’ll fuck again, and sooner or later Logan will smell him on her, and she’ll have to explain. And she knows it isn’t romance. And she knows it isn’t love.
And she knows she doesn’t care.
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I've been waiting for somefing like this.. Give us more! MOREEEE!
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