“If you think I won’t fucking kill you because of some prophecy, you’re wrong. I’ll finish what I started and strangle you right here.” —Abbadon Langdon
A pre-teen Summer sits down on the edge of the private indoor pool by Abbadon Langdon, while Michael has his back turned fixing himself a plate of the snacks she’s brought to their little playdate. She looks at her new darker-haired friend and says, "Wanna see who can hold their breath the longest?" Summer's grin is challenging and competitive.
“Aw hell yeah!” Abbadon grins, pushing himself into the pool, “I’m gonna win. Get you back for our little race.”
Summer smirks and says, "Three, two, one, go!" She takes a deep breath and pushes herself down.
Abbadon sinks below, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.
Michael looks back, taking a bite of a strawberry.
Summer knows she'll win this. She can hold her breath for two minutes, leagues beyond anyone else she's ever met. It's not a particularly useful talent, but she used to put it to work looking for nice shells and things in Miami. She crosses her legs and lets herself sit demurely on the bottom, looking very comfortable and smirking at him.
Abbadon looks like he’s struggling after the thirty second mark, his dark eyes narrowing at her as he curls his fists tight.
Her cheeks aren't even puffed. She looks calm as a cucumber, still cross-legged, and stretches her arms overhead to lengthen her body. To add insult to injury, she pretends to yawn. Summer will go up a few seconds after he does, long enough to seal the victory but not so long as to be obnoxious.
Eventually, after some struggling, he bursts back up to the surface, panting like a dog, “Damn it!”
Summer laughs and swims up to him, putting her hands on his ankles and sliding them up his calves before taking them away and coming up the front of his body.
He feels her hands on his legs, making him shiver, as if he weren’t already trembling with rage as he’s wont to do when he loses anything. His hands are on her shoulders, and at first, he just gives her a little smirk and dunks her head underwater, holding it there for a few seconds.
“Come now, Abbadon, don’t be a sore loser!” Michael tells him.
She does some unenthusiastic oh no, help meeee... splashes, so Michael knows she's fine.
He lets her back up once Michael calls him out. But.. holding her there, seeing her splash around, even if it was fake...
“I’m sure you’ve seen how much he hates to lose,” Michael chuckles.
Summer licks the water off of her lips and straightens her hair. She winks at Abbadon, saucy as anything, and swims off to the deep end.
A spark ignites in him, then a few more spurting from the source. Red. Angry. Devouring. He zooms after her, something demonic in his eyes.
Abbadon grabs her by the legs first, yanking her towards him. His hands curl around her neck, pushing her down, and holding her there just for a few moments... just a few...
“Abbadon!” Michael says more seriously, “Get over it and let her go!”
He still thinks Abbadon is just being his childish, impulsive self. He doesn’t see the glazed, pleasured look in his eyes as bubbles from her mouth start to come up, or the way his chest heaves with panting breaths.
She thinks it's another playful joke, so she doesn't kick or struggle at all at first. After all, she can hold her breath for a long time. But his hands squeezing her throat harder, and harder, and harder, makes her mouth and nose open up, which is not a factor she typically has to deal with when holding her breath. Water rushes into her mouth as air comes out.
Summer rests her hands politely on his hips, just a little over where his trunks cling to his body, and she's so close to him that her nose is bumping the drawstring. She gives his waist a little, okay, that's enough tap. A few seconds later, more water is rushing into her mouth, filling it, and more air is breaking the surface in front of the boy. She presses a little on his thighs, trying to push herself off of him. Summer wiggles, flails, then thrashes in a desperate panic as her lungs open start actively sucking in water even with his fingers pressing her throat to the point of bruising.
Her hands on him, pushing and beating against him, silently begging to be let up, only spur him on. He grips her throat tighter. tighter. tighter. tighter. He felt lightheaded, euphoria flooding through his veins.
He uses his hold to tilt her head back. He wants to see her eyes. Those pretty little honey eyes. Panicked. Terrified. The light fading from them.
Just like that, Pussycat...
Michael jumps off the bench and dives into the pool, putting his brother in a headlock, wrapping his legs around him to force him to let go. He’s resisting like a feral animal fighting for their kill.
“Abbadon! Let go!” he screams, kicking him hard in the side of his ribs. He gasps and loosens his grip long enough for her to come up to the surface. Michael pulls him away, shoving him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Summer breaks the surface of the water and goes to the nearest ladder so she can hold on to something as she coughs up all of the water in her lungs with awful, deep, gurgling sounds. Her bathing suit sits crooked on her body and her hair is wet and tangled around her head. Her entire body is trembling and when she finally looks behind her at Abbadon, gasping and crying, her eyes are bloodshot and wide with horror.
Michael is at her side before Abbadon even answers his rhetorical question. He cautiously touched her shoulder, careful not to crowd her, whispering comfort and questions if she’s all right.
Abbadon stares back, heart pounding... angry that he’d been interrupted.
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