I've had a bad work week, and take it out on the characters. Thanks to @hackles-up for letting me borrow big, strong, scary, sad B and writing this with me.
[Dany's Story]; set after Ridley's death.
Content / warnings: noncon (fade to black), living weapon, conditioned / brainwashed whumpee falling back into conditioning, noncon between survivors, betrayal, blood, a tiny touch of gore, murder, abuse of power. This is a dark one.
"Are you alone, Madam?"
The policeman's pale green eyes take me in, and from the way his teeth play with his lip, I can tell he likes what he sees, even in the dim light of the flickering streetlight at the edge of the parking lot, even with my body hidden away in a man's clothes.
"This isn't a safe area for a pretty, young woman as yourself," he observes, almost thoughtful. "Many shady figures around." I know, I think. That's why I'm here. Why we are here. But if the cop sees B, he'll consider him exactly the sort of dangerous figure he's warning me about. And I can't let that happen.
It feels almost sickening to smile in return. But it's been my only chance, my only option, so often, that he doesn't notice my disgust as I slip on my softest, most helpless smile.
"Oh. I promise, I'll watch out, Sir."
Sir. The word falls from my lips easily but it leaves a pain in my stomach so physical, the man actually seems to notice.
"Show me your wrists," he says, his voice significantly cooler.
I obey. Offer both my hands to him, wrists facing up, so he can see the blank skin where he likely suspected a bar code.
He sees something else of interest though.
"Huh." His voice softens again, while his grip on my wrists gets harder. His thumb runs over the deep scars crossing my palm, sending shivers down my spine. "You're not a pet, but you've got something to run away from, too, don't you, sweets?"
He pulls me in a little closer.
"Please," I whisper, unable to tell if my despair is an act any longer. "I can't go back."
The cop steps in, his hands still clasped around my wrists.
"You're a pretty girl," he mumbles."Maybe we can help each other out." Slowly he guides my wrist down between our bodies, places my hand on the bulge in his pants.
I swallow. B is somewhere in the park, waiting for me. But I can make this quick. Nobody needs to worry. The cop doesn't know who I am. He wants a quick fuck, maybe even only that hand job he's implying. I hate sex. But I'm fucking efficient at it.
So I nod, shyly enough to make it feel like a triumph for him. "Yes, Sir, please, I -"
A huge figure slams into the cop, a solid mass of muscle and fury.
B.
The cop's hands are still gripping mine when he goes down under B's impact, and he yanks me down along with them.
I fall half onto his body, half onto the pavement, and before I can fully grasp what's happening, B straddles the cop, his fists are raining down on him, inches from my face, an unstoppable brutal hailstorm of punches, breaking bones and tearing up skin.
He doesn't hear me. He's in some sort of tunnel. I struggle to my knees, try to find an opening to rest a hand on his shoulder, calm him down.
His forearm catches me square on the chest and throws me back, meters away. The world fades out for what could've only been seconds, but when I look back at the scene, the cop isn't moving any longer.
B is over him, holding a gun, his chin and shirt dripping with blood, titanium teeth flashing in the moonlight. The cops throat is shredded open in a bloody mess.
I feel like I'm passing out again. This can't be real. This can't be true. We're on the run. We're hiding. And now, we've killed a cop. No. Not killed. Slaughtered.
Bile is rising in my throat. I press my hand to my mouth. Fuck. Fuck. We need to keep cool. Whatever happened, we can't get caught. I didn't lie to the cop. I can't go back.
I stumble towards B. "B," I call. "B, we need to leave."
He slowly gets up from the shredded corpse, panting, wipes his stained hands on his pants.
A crackle of radio static and chatter explodes from the belt of the man, and the seems to snap B back to me.
He lunges forward, seizes my hand and bolts forward in the trees, towards the forest.
I struggle keeping up his pace. His hold of me makes tears well up in my eyes. We're together. It's us against the world. We can do it. He's got us. I just hope he won't murder anyone else today.
"Where are we going?"
He doesn't reply, just looks around to take in the surrounding, me. With a scowl, he leans in to scoop me up into his arms, holding me to his chest before he continues to run.
He's still not talking. I can feel his heart drumming under his blood soaked shirt, strong and steady, even as he's racing with my weight in his arms.
The cop's blood is everywhere. When he finally comes to a stop, most has dried, on both of us. I can taste it on my lips, metal and death.
B is still holding me tight, hugging me, his hands roaming over me. His body is shaking. I put a hand on his chest. "Let me down, B. Fuck. We killed a cop. We need to make a plan."
B rumbles through his chest, almost like he's ready to talk finally.
But he does not let me down.
Instead, his bloody lips lower to my neck. He's kissing my skin, nipping at my throat, softly, loving, reverently. His teeth are on my skin, those same teeth that just ripped a man's trachea open. My heart is racing, suddenly. He won't hurt me, I tell myself. He won't. He loves me.
"B," I breathe, trying not to move to much under his sharp teeth. "B, listen to me. I don't want this. Let me down. Now."
B's hold around me only tightens, his breath quickened, faster than it has been during all his running.
A hand grabs at my shirt, Ridley's fucking stupid band shirt, and B rips at it. The shirt doesn't tear though, his pull just yanks up my neck by the shirts collar and gets me closer to his caressing teeth. B's eyes have darkened. Fuck. Fuck.
"B. B. No." I reach down for the shirt's seam myself, pull it up, desperate to give him what he wants, without him accidentally hurting me. "Here. Babe. It's okay. I'm good. Let me down."
The roughened pads of his fingers run over my skin. He has to feel my racing pulse. "Shhh...", he mumbles. "No, you're mine.... You're mine."
He lowers me to the ground, but before I can struggle to get to my feet, his weight follows, and he's over me, on me, kissing me, groping at my breasts, moaning softly.
I struggle to at least lift my hands, bring them to his chest, push him back.
"No," I say, try to stick my words between his bloody kisses. His metal teeth clink against mine in a harrowing noise that echoes in my head. My hands look tiny against his chest. "Please, please, no, B, I don't want this."
"Shhh." B's hands are over my breasts, playing with them in a way that I used to love once, in a way that Ridley never did, that was special, that was ours, but his touch is nauseating now.
"I love you, B, please, stop."
I feel him harden against me, untouched by anything I said.
B grunts and reaches around my waist. I let him.
I'm crying, I realize dimly, tears running freely down my face, falling down to the forest floor when he easily flips me onto my stomach.
He kisses the back of my back, mumbling into my skin. "I love you... that's my girl... You're all mine, see?"
It's his voice talking, his deep, soft voice, but the words are Ridley's, harsh and possessive.
My girl.
"You're hurting me." I'm begging now, between desperate sobs. I love him. He loves me. Why can't he understand, this is not what love looks like?
His heavy weight on my back is brutal, yet his kisses are still soft. Still him.
No. It's both him.
He'll take me. Against my will. I know it. There's nothing I can do. Because that's who they made him to be, who Ridley made him to be.
Even after his death, I'm losing to Ridley over and over again.
I close my eyes, press my forehead into the dirt, as I feel B's hand shift to work his pants, then mine.
"I love you," I whisper, and offer one last plea. "Please. Please be gentle."
