"The fact that Donovan who on a bigger scale is actually less evil than characters like Malek and Malbonte is hated and considered the "old hag" of her book, while they're are loved just shows how anti women this fandom is. You know if this was a man instead he would be requested to become a LI and every "mistreatment" of Lane would be viewed as erotic instead."
trigger warnings: audrey grappling with her existence, opening the seven chakras through wax play, malek employing his abyssal attributes (took a bit of creative liberty here so might be canon divergent), a touch of p in v
rating: m to a very soft e (mdni.)
tag list: @rc-catalog
- malek is determined to kindle audrey’s individuality.
divider credit/credit.
Smothered.
Is there another word equally as fitting, or one that’s earned the attention given?
How else would one describe her current state?
Audrey’s fluttering eyelids reach the ceiling. Its inky chasm harbors the dancing flames below: a black sky save for a specific number and order of candles. They are caricatures of constellations that can’t be named.
She absorbs their heat, somewhere in the middle, acting the role of sacrificial lamb.
Or deity preparing to receive a lavish offering.
Her bare stomach flexes as she inhales through every abandoned cell of her body.
Malek wants her to feel, as it were.
She crawls toward that edge, dangling off the precipice she hasn’t dared thrown herself from yet. Perhaps she’s unable.
Perhaps she’s being defiant.
His slender fingers close around the base of the wax holder, nearer and nearer to dripping its contents onto her softer-than-clouds skin. Skin dotted with goosebumps, smooth melting into rough.
Her nipples harden as the air surrounding her takes on a chill it hadn’t before.
Is it anticipation she’s overcome by?
Her pupils fill with greed, stealing the rich color emanating from those undulations that occur above them.
“I’ll be gentle in the manner you need, Audrey,” dark voice cutting straight through her, no jagged pieces. He is precision incarnate.
“You’re already the magnum opus of this lifetime we share. I’m simply highlighting your intricate canvas using conditions strong enough to penetrate and solidify.”
She nods, words scurrying beneath like frightened insects, and worries her lip between steadied teeth. Malek leans forward, mindful of what he possesses, and kisses her briefly. Something to remind her that he is ultimately what grounds her.
The cruel, lingering absence of his mouth makes her want to devour him. To feel him in place of all that she lacks.
She hopes he will remind her of what it means to exist outside this cold cell.
“We’ll begin here,” he states, ever the technical savant. “Are you ready?”
Moving her head up and down, Audrey clenches and unclenches her fists, exhaling slowly. Numbness tingles in her limbs, waiting to be called upon.
Malek is poised above the lowest portion of her abdomen. “Each point represents different aspects of your physical, emotional and spiritual body. Utilizing a distinct color for these regions should help you connect to what is being stimulated. We’re aiming for balance and the ability to better tap into your humanity.”
(Her physical body twitches, impatient.)
“Svadhishana, orange, the place of self. Associated with creative and sexual blockages.”
Based on her basic knowledge of this topic, it’s intriguing to her that he is choosing to evaluate the second cosmic belief before the first. Despite what she might wonder, she has the wherewithal not to interrupt his ritual.
Hot wax pools between her hips, trickling down the contours of her waist and exposed slit. A startled moan threatens to choke her, seizing instead the vast depths of her sex. She arches her back, vision blurring and refocusing as she shifts to watch with newfound curiosity what he does next.
It’s difficult to distinguish where Malek ceases and the abyss starts, but she manages to catch a glimpse of shadowed tendrils maneuvering the paraffin to his satisfaction.
As said substance coagulates, Audrey experiences rhythmic, muted thudding that dwells- entombed- inside her pelvis. The transition from fervid to chilled atop her vulnerable flesh nearly causes a dizzy spell, eclipsing her womb.
Life stirs.
“Repeat after me.” She studies the resoluteness in his expression. Her heart picks up speed with no prompting.
“I always honor others but not before myself."
She does as she’s instructed, loathing how she is incapable of speaking above a fractured whisper. Nevertheless, he praises, “Good girl,” which triggers a lone, intense throb.
Noticing the acute inspection that proceeds, Audrey cants her lower half slightly off the makeshift altar she adorns, meaning to embolden what lies dormant. The scent of smoke blooms inside, molding to her veins. A hint of raw need flickers across his visage.
“Still,” he resumes, consuming her with his roving assessment. “I think we should try a little louder next time, hmm? I know you can.” Incentive for both.
A similar cycle is repeated, describing in concise detail the functions of these separate energy centers.
The sun’s yellow adheres to her belly button, sprouting spider-like legs. Confidence and identity. Self-love starts when I accept all parts of myself.
Green clasps to her chest, encasing the length of her sternum. Love and compassion. When I love myself, loving others comes easily.
It’s not until her throat (blue; expression and communication) is coated that she obeys his proposal, unearthing a clearer pitch. The discordance scratches suddenly and violently at her esophagus’s walls. Bleeding, she declares, "I speak my truth, always."
(Her emotional body convulses, clumsy.)
She wishes he would orate quicker, pour faster. She wishes that combination, just like anything else, would work. She wishes for something, at such long last, to not be a grueling, involved process.
Even if his subsequent gratified grin makes her ache. Even if the sensations encountered have scalded and soothed her to the point of insatiable yearning.
Her arms are sore. Her thighs shake. She tastes her own tongue, its flavor consisting of the earth and what feeds off it.
(Indigo), then violet.
(Forehead, dividing the eyes); crown.
(Perception and intuition), followed by wisdom and attunement with the universe.
I am open to exploring what cannot be seen.
I am a vessel for love and light.
Disembodied hands resembling stinging ash prevent her sight from being damaged. Wax seeps into her scalp. What arises from its fervor is incomparable, meeting segments of her mind not yet dissected or probed. Fragments she was once wary of.
Why has she ever denied herself?
Soon, she understands there is only one left.
Firmly, Malek cups the hollow between rib and stomach. Bone and organ.
“You are a holy vessel, my dear. A holy vessel painted to mirror that which is unremarkable.” A black, misty coil tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She is made uncomfortably aware of the perspiration beading her brow.
“It’s no wonder you’re detached. You might have shed your mortal skin like any average being, but your purpose is much greater than death.” There’s warmth hidden in his regard that she is unaccustomed to. Wavering light severs his features. They appear distorted, a ripple effect enhanced by the darkness he is made of. She shivers.
“I’m here to guide you, not forsake you. You do not belong to an unknown fate, nor suspended in nonexistence. You’re above it all.”
These assertions spur a gnawing sense of grief. There’s a bottomless pit where her soul used to be.
“Do you want to be above it all?”
Audrey narrows her gaze. He doesn’t like to play games, so why does it seem like he’s fucking with her on purpose?
Is he forcing her to reflect? To ponder where she is meant to be and what for; if she’s being shown her worth?
Can she trust him enough to allow herself the privilege of embracing her full potential?
In one deft motion, he flips her onto her hands and knees. Her skin, as he conveyed, weighs heavy on her.
The inappropriate urge to laugh settles and disperses. What if she would have knocked the candles enclosing them over? What if this sacred building they’re imbued with burns and wilts, giving way to their charred corpses?
Could she express a grander emotion then?
Do you want to be above it all?
Has she not been? Is she not already?
No matter the enormity of her situation, her grip on its ruins rarely faltered.
Eventually, she comprehends that, even when she sliced herself open, she did not fail to collect the shards. She always put herself back together. Never did she need anyone else.
Do you want to be above it all?
She already is.
She already is.
“I already am,” Audrey entertains.
A pleased hum escapes Malek’s lips.
“Excellent.” His mouth finds her again, pressing with purpose to her spine, her flesh. The thin yet steadfast threads that distend from his perfectly aligned frame writhe and lick at her entrance with no prior warning. She gasps, feeling them split and slip inside as if they’re also part of her.
She is distracted by the attention paid to her saturated saccharinity. His kisses correlate to the locations in which he arranged the wax. And when he’s done, he straightens, transparent caresses traveling deeper, drawing out the destructive rage that comes with desire.
(And he is not finished.)
“Muladhara. Root support. Red. It grounds and provides a sense of security. Aids in accepting change.”
Audrey hisses as the last bit of this practice meets her tailbone. This time, however, his fingers splay over the stifling liquid, branding her with his hand print as it leaks past the rounded expanse of her backside.
“I can't grow from an unsteady foundation."
No, she can’t.
She echoes the phrase, relaxing into his wandering, thorough touches.
He pushes and coaxes, straightforward and captivated. “Tell me exactly what you want, precious.”
Can he prove himself independent from the rest? Will he see to her arrival at cliff’s edge, encourage her to ascend and then sink inside its limits? Easing into this transition instead of hurtling unfinished remains off the rim?
“I want you to stay. With me.” She brims with life albeit breathless.
She doesn’t need him. Never did she need anyone else.
But, for once, she wants another to be there. To comfort; to bandage the wounds inflicted from having no choice but to save herself.
Faint rustling of exorbitant fabric occurs behind, simultaneously brushing against her.
“I am bound to you.” Malek teases her tumescence, ample tip tracing the outlines of his own shadows. She keens, gingerly rolling her hips, afraid she might destroy the careful mess they’ve made.
“You will never be without.”
Tears are conceived, grow and succumb to her sweltering core. She can’t suppress them. They flow freely down her cheeks and dot the untainted floor.
(Her spiritual body thaws, unarmed.)
He fills her so deliciously, so sweetly, that she not only ingests salt from her realization but sugar from his promise.
After temporarily stilling, memorizing unique shapes and colors, the pace he dissolves within is slow and methodical. The base of Audrey’s spine, pelvis, belly, chest, throat, brow, and crown burn.
Malek has sealed their fate. And if he goes back on his word, she will break him down until there is nothing but a smoldering husk left.
