unholy roman

when darkness falls we shall not be corrupted Roman Blackburn 30 BUREAU SOLDIER

[the-ben-frost-blog]

"You’re a very angry man, you know that?" Frost asks and it’s as much to just lighten the mood as it is because he doesn’t know what else to say. They don’t have much. They know who did it, they know who they were after, they don’t know where Jay is now or where they’re going and Frost isn’t about to tell him that he’s in Vegas. Or at least he was before the raid. If this is some test of his loyalty, then he thinks it’s a good indicator which side he’s choosing. 

"Alright, so we’ve got a start. Find the arresting officer, find out what his tip off was. See if it leads to anything." He gives a shrug because it’s the best they’ve got right now. They could head out there, but Jay and his crew would be hundreds of miles away by the time they got to Pelican Bay. He’d be an idiot to suggest it because Roman would know that too. 

Glancing down at the stack of files Roman sets in the middle, there’s a lot and he can’t help but feel something akin to pride at the sheer number of them all. Not all of the mutants housed there, but that had to be an entire wing. Jay probably hadn’t used discretion when choosing what doors to open. He’d probably just opened them all and Frost wonders what type of repercussions that’ll have on everything. What they’d let loose for the sake of mutant freedom. It worries him more than it probably worries Jay or Eli. Because he sees both sides on a daily basis. “That’s a small army right there in that pile.” 

[unholyromansoldier]

"Maybe you're not angry enough." Even knowing it was a joke, it doesn't keep the harshness from his reply. He's aware they have different methods, just as aware that not everyone in the Bureau feels as strongly as he does. And there's some quieter thought that he can't afford to feel differently. He can't afford that doubt to filter in, because that means he made a mistake. He's not sure it's one he can live with.

The summary bothers him because right now it's the best they can do. And for all his dedication, they've been trying to track down Jacob Wheeler for years. New activity might mean new leads, but he doesn't know that he should count on it. The man's good at disappearing, and from everything they've learned about him, he's good at convincing people to keep him that way.

"Then let's start picking out the most dangerous ones." He slumps back in the chair, and if he's as angry as Frost just told him he was, this time it's for a different reason. His night wasn't supposed to end a hell of a lot better than this, not surrounded by a stack of files of escaped mutants. And while they'll call other agents in to try and hunt down the worst of them, it doesn't leave him any happier about the situation, or what he could be doing right now.  

[the-ben-frost-blog]

He doesn’t say anything to that. Because his first thought is maybe the point wasn’t to draw him out, maybe the point was to draw him away. And that thought makes him want to call the man immediately. To tell him to be careful if he goes back home. To be careful in general because there’s something not right about any of this. Because the Bureau had their chance here and they hadn’t gone through with it, at least not that they could see sitting here looking it over. 

"Someone goofed," Frost said and it was all he could really think to say to try and appease both sides of it. That he didn’t want to give Roman the idea that if Jay was out, he wasn’t at home. Even if the man didn’t know where that was, that sort of idea could lead to bad things. But he also didn’t want to seem like he wasn’t taking this seriously. Didn’t want to seem like he was glad the man had gotten what he’d went in there to get. And maybe he’d meet the kid they broke out, because hadn’t Jay practically given him a welcome to the club badge? 

"What do we know about the other prisoners?" Frost asked, looking over the file again. The focus had been on Lucy and he felt bad for trying to make the man look at other angles, those angles being newly escaped prisoners, but if there were some that had deserved to be there, maybe he could turn the attention towards them. Wrangle them back in. He wondered what Jay would say about that. 

[unholyromansoldier]

His eyes narrow at that, though it's the only explanation he can see. Someone fucked up, or someone wanted this to happen. "More than a goof," he snaps. And the only satisfaction he finds in that is that someone's going to get burned for it. He flips through her file again, but he can't help the frown that furrows his brow when there's no mention of who made the arrest. There should be documentation somewhere and he makes a note on the pad next to him to try and look it up in their system later. If it was even in there. He hated that there was that constant awareness that technopaths existed and had hacked their system before. It was why they still had a paper system at all. "We need to find out who brought her in."

The question has him scoffing, because he thinks whatever explanation they need for motive is sitting in front of them already. Lucy Sawyer's the reason for it, they know who did it, the only valid reaction to any of it is to catch the ones who did it. Which has always been a focus, but maybe this is the added push the Bureau's needed for a while.

"No one who didn't deserve to be there," he says, and right now he absolutely believes the words. Every one of them deserved to be behind bars, every one of them should be locked up for what they are. Still, he grabs the stack of files, drawing them over to sit in between the two of them. "Still waiting on reports for who got away. They're setting up barricades and sweeping the area, but this is everyone who's missing so far."

[the-ben-frost-blog]

Frost sets down the other file to grab the one they have on Lucy Sawyer. It’s flimsy. Nothing in it and as he’s reading over it, he’s not seeing a mutant. He’s seeing a good kid with good grades in school, a job, an apartment and at the very end the only incident on her file. Some painting that showed precognitive values. Not someone who deserved to be behind bars in Frost’s mind. He hadn’t met Cole, but he knew Eli better than anyone and now he’d met Jay and he couldn’t imagine leaving someone like her, who was so closely related to one of their own, behind bars. 

At the question, he shakes his head easily. “None that said anything,” he tells him honestly. Eli hadn’t said a word. Jay hadn’t. None of his other contacts had mentioned knowing anything about it and he wouldn’t have expected them to. It wasn’t something he’d been in the need to know circle of. “I can make some phone calls, though,” he says and that much is true, but he doubts any information he’ll get he’ll relay unless it’s absolutely useless. He needs to be careful with this because he’s playing both sides. It seems more difficult today. 

He closes Lucy’s file and holds it up, tipping his head at Roman because this isn’t sitting right with him. “This doesn’t feel like a setup to you? They had Sawyer’s daughter, had her sitting in a prison cell for a month and didn’t do anything with it? You think someone just used her to draw him out?” 

[unholyromansoldier]

There's a nod of his head but he doesn't press harder on it. He'd like to assume that if he had contacts high enough in the rebellion that could've given him a tip on it, then they'd already be locked away. It's not a safe assumption to make, but it's one he holds to. Though it's hard for him to believe this kind of thing got by them without some rumbling in the underground.

The question has him shaking his head. "Of course it sounds like a setup. I just don't understand the point." He shoves a file out of the way, reaching for the one about Sawyer. There'd been eyes on his ex-wife's house ever since they'd learned he was part of the rebellion. Same with his daughter. He'd never visited and she'd never demonstrated any kind of ability until recently, according to the file.

"If the point was to draw him out, why let him escape?" He snaps the question, and while there's anger there it's not necessarily directed at Frost. He's angry at wherever the failing was here, whether it was missed communication or if there was some bigger game that he wasn't seeing. Either way tensions were about to get worse, and he hated thinking that maybe that was the point. Remind the public that they had a terrorist in their ranks.

[the-ben-frost-blog]

Frost snorts. No sense of humor, that one. He looks through the names listed on the pages, the known associates and those they’d managed to catch in cameras before they’d all gone out. It was a coordinated attack but in the back of his mind he couldn’t help and think their pictures shouldn’t have been captured at all. That they’d gotten the job done, they’d put a huge dent into the compound that would take the Bureau a long time to recover from, but they shouldn’t have been on camera. 

He could have taken care of them. 

Looking up at Roman again, he grabs the next file. “Why target Pelican Bay?” he asks, because it’s what he’s supposed to ask. Even if he could make a phone call and find out instantly, he know she won’t do that. He may call Eli and let him know that he’s been assigned the case, but he’s not sure how to handle that just yet either. Maybe they’ll want something from him the same way the Bureau wants him to find out who all was involved. They needed to make an arrest. They had to. Frost would hear about it the same as Roman would if they didn’t. He just didn’t know what to do about that. Because there wasn’t a single one of them he wanted to put into a cage. 

His eyes scan the list of prisoners who were unaccounted for and they stop on one name, which answered his own question. Last name Sawyer. First name Lucy. Twenty three. Precog. He sighs and lifts his head to to look at Roman. “We made it personal for them. We got her file?” He immediately wonders if it was intentional. If arrested that kid was meant to draw Jacob Wheeler out of hiding. 

[unholyromansoldier]

There's something vicious and bitter on his tongue at the comment, that it was personal long before now, but that's his own history talking. And some days it's hard to sift through whether or not it's better or worse that his wife died inside the walls of a compound just like this one, whether he hates himself for that, if he hates her, if he wishes the rebellion had targeted hers before it had happened.

The thoughts are too conflicting and now's not the time to sort through them. This is exactly when he needs to stay steadfast in his beliefs and he wishes he'd told them two hours instead so he could walk through those doors with a clearer conscience.

"Here." He shifts his chair, reaching across the table to grab the file in question. Lucy Sawyer, Cole Sawyer's daughter, and just the fact that they had her and didn't make good use of it bothers him. Was it a case of not knowing who they had, or just not being prepared when the attack came? Either way, he thinks it's a failure on someone else's part that just leaves him all the more irritated.

"Any of your contacts hear about this?" And there's a sharpness to his tone he doesn't bother to hide, because he never liked this part about the job. That there were mutants out there who were getting by on their connections when they should've been behind bars.

[the-ben-frost-blog]

Frost thought the only reason he’d gotten called in on this was because he was probably one of the only people to answer his phone at this hour. He was getting shit from his boss on the dead agent in Lake Mead, but here he was getting called in on a raid on a compound. He has his hunch on who was involved and if the thought of Jay Wheeler showing up at his apartment came to mind almost as soon as he’d heard it, it was nothing he would ever tell anyone. He just thought it upped the ante a bit. 

Stepping into the room, he lets out a slow breath when he sees Blackburn sitting there. Roman. The man who took everything too seriously. Unrelenting and his distaste for mutants felt like, to Frost, that someone somewhere had once told him all mutants were evil and the man had just never questioned the sentiment. One of those all in or none type of guys. It was strange that he still thought of him as a good man, just blindly following. 

He’d barely stepped up to the table when the file gets slid across the table. He has a coffee in one hand and he reaches down to catch the file, picking it up with one hand and focusing on the report. The scattered pictures attached with it. Yeah, it was Wheeler. The missing walls and dust were a good indication. “Hmm,” is all he says about that, pretending like he’s giving it a good look over. “Well, he’s been quiet a while. About time he got his hands dirty again, yeah?” 

[unholyromansoldier]

Roman's eyes don't linger on him or the file, moving on to the next one as he sorts through what they already know. Wheeler's a guarantee. The ability markers and the brief clips they got from a security camera are enough proof of that. Cole Sawyer with him, which was no surprise to anyone. A few more names he recognized, a few he didn't, a woman who could create portals, another who could phase through walls. Too many unknowns to sit comfortably.

"About time?" He lifts an eyebrow at the words, almost jealous of their flippancy. The pressure would be coming down hard on them to get their hands on anyone and everyone involved, and he doesn't know how he feels about that yet. Maybe nothing. Because if his job is to hunt mutants, these are the ones worth catching. The ones that deserve to be locked away, and if anything it takes any uncertainty out of his mind. Any moral gray area that he needs a woman in a blue dress to help take away. "Tell our boss that. See how he responds."

There's a purposeful lack of inflection as he says it, just sliding the next file over. If it counts for anything that he's here, mostly he thinks it at least won't just be his ass on the line. And he's aware that the man has more contacts than he does, because he's not willing to make deals with mutants. He doesn't hide their names. He turns them over and makes them offer up more before shutting them away for good. "Nine dead. More wounded. Media's not on it yet, but they will be."

[unholyromansoldier]

Roman's already in a foul mood by the time he gets there, nothing he thinks isn't understandable. Any man under the same circumstances would be, and they're not walking into the same kind of clusterfuck he is. A compound raid. Nine dead, another twenty-some wounded, and that was just on their side. No numbers on how many had escaped yet because they were still working on bringing some of them back in.

The files were spread out across the table in front of him, the door shut because everyone else had gone home for the night. Someone was supposed to be coming in from California tomorrow to continue briefing them, and he didn't know yet if it was anything that could help. If anything at all, because the pictures he was staring at was the kind of thing national news was probably crawling all over. Big names that were good at staying under the radar, and now it was in his hands.

He glanced up when the door opened, no change in expression regardless what he felt about the man coming in. Mostly he thought he didn't take things seriously enough, but beyond that, he was just someone he worked with when he had to. "Look at this," he snapped, sliding the file across the table. "This is Wheeler's work."

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

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[unholyromansoldier]

There's frustration making his motions short when he tosses the phone back on the table, some thought that he can at least get her to finish. But she's already standing when he's done with the call, handing his money back to him. It makes him hesitate, like he should've told them two hours and gotten what he came here for. It's not so far out of the way, but it's a waste of time for both of them.

And he thinks that's why he feels guilty about it, because he doesn't owe her more than that. Only that this was a paycheck and instead he has to go earn his. Anything else, he'd tell them no. Anything less serious, but there hasn't been a compound raid in a year, longer since there was one that carried more success on the opposite side.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time," he tells her. The words are gruff, and he regrets saying them as much as he regrets tucking himself away, buckling his pants and signaling some end to this. There's the urge to tell her it's important, but he'd rather not get into it. She doesn't do pillowtalk. He doesn't share. It all works out.

"Can I ask for you again?"

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

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[unholyromansoldier]

"Fuck." The quiet curse escapes him when she swallows his length, fingers pressing lightly against the back of her head to get her to take him deeper. He can feel himself hit the back of her throat, warm wet heat surrounding him as she bobs her head. The drag of lips and tongue over his flesh that has heat rising off his skin.

The sound of the phone ringing shatters the moment. He stares down at her, fingers tightening in her hair while he considers simply ignoring it. He'd like to say whatever it is can't be that important, that they can leave a message or it can wait, but it's rarely true. He doesn't make social calls. Whoever's calling now, it's about business, and that has him pulling back. "Stay," he snaps, and if there's irritation in the word then none of it's directed at her.

He doesn't bother to tuck himself away, heading towards the table next to the bed. It's work. Someone from the office and that doesn't make his tone any less abrasive when he answers. "What?"

The words on the other end have him stilling, for a moment his gaze shifting to the woman still on her knees. It makes him wish he'd never answered, because he wants her mouth back around him, wants to finish out his night. It seems less and less a possibility and he sucks in a sharp breath. "Get me all the details you can. I'll be there in an hour."

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

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[unholyromansoldier]

She doesn't hesitate, deft fingers working his belt open, using her teeth to tug it free of the button. There's a small thrill at that, some thought that he should've told her not to use her hands at all. But he changes his mind when her fingers wrap around him, drawing him out and working him up. It doesn't take much to get him hard, not with her kneeling in front of him with lips parted. That desire is building quickly, and he doesn't mind that it's mostly for her this time.

It feels more about that satisfaction that she'd given him the first time, less about Giselle and what she did to him. Though it has less to do with her and more to do with how soon it is, that he still feels that sense of relief she gave him, still feels as though he's done the right thing. And if this time he's just proving to himself that she doesn't have control over every aspect of his life still, he's alright with that.

She's dead, she's gone, and he doesn't want to miss her anymore. He wants to fuck someone else without comparing, he wants to do his job without questioning his own actions.

"Tell me you want this," he demands sharply. "Tell me you deserve it." It's accompanied by the tightening of his fingers in her hair, pressing against the back of her head as he directs her where he wants her. "Use your mouth. Suck me."

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

She smiles at the words. Habits, was all she could think again. This is how someone built habits. Repetition and more repetition. It was easier to make than break them and if there’s some part of her that hopes she becomes a habit of his without having to use her powers on him, then she doesn’t even consider what that means. That he pays good. That he fucks good. Whatever other thought she may have – she erases them to just think those two. That she can make bank and have fun and in the end that’s all that matters.

Sliding the dress up off her hips, she crosses her arms and pulls it up over her head. Beneath it, she’s dressed in a pale pink lacey matching underwear. Something nice, for him. Something to entice him the best way she could without giving him a dose of pheromones. She could use her power to an extent where it didn’t need to be physical, but it was harder to tell how it would manifest in some people. Some just wanted to be around her. Some wanted to fuck her. Some wanted something else and it was that option that made her nervous.

Stepping forward, she came over to stand in front of him before lowering herself to her knees. She didn’t touch him, the same as last and whether he bent her over the bed again or had her on her knees for a more specific reason, she wouldn’t mind either of them. One hand ran across her abdomen, the other across her chest as she looked up at him with those dark eyes. “And now?” she asked. 

[unholyromansoldier]

The pink almost surprises him. There's an image in his head of her and it's black underwear and high heels, something sharp to match how he sees her. This is pale and lacy and he wonders if she'd mind if he ripped them off her. He doesn't ask. He just reaches down, hand settling on her shoulder for a moment, thumb hooking under the strap. And there's a small smirk that follows. "Cute."

There's only a moment of appreciation for that, his touch still gentle as he moves fingers across soft skin. And he wonders what she'd do if he was nice to her anyway, if she'd mind or just be confused.

He doesn't test it this time. His thumb slides the strap down her arm and then his other hand is settling on the back of her head. His fingers slide through her hair before gripping the strands roughly, tugging her head back so she's forced to look up at him. And there's already something intoxicating about her on her knees in front of him, completely at his mercy.

His hand leaves her shoulder, thumb tracing the line of her lips with the pad. And he doesn't doubt she knows what's coming, but he gives the order anyway, because that's what she's waiting for and that's what he wants. Him in control. "Take out my cock."

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

The same option as before. She’s standing in front of him again with her hands on her hips and he hadn’t told her to get on her knees yet, but the option he gives her is the same as last time. There’s a curiousness about her that almost has her saying to be nice. Because she’d asked him what that meant and she’d honestly couldn’t imagine it, but he’d just told her a flippant answer. That he’d be nice. It almost gets the best of her, almost makes her ask, but there’s also the thought that she needs to keep up that wall between them. That she’d been looking forward to walking into this motel room a little more than other clients and that she can’t afford an attachment. It’s supposed to be the other way around.

“Mean,” she says after a moment’s thought. She doesn’t mind the roughness. Doesn’t mind the things he makes her say because she can tell when she says them the way he wants. He reacts to them, he goes faster and goes harder if she says them right and he punishes when she hesitates or says them wrong. All in ways she likes. She’s not sure what he’ll do this time, but there’s a thrill of excitement that courses through her. What it says about her that she likes it when someone’s mean to her, she doesn’t dwell on for too long.

As an afterthought, she gives a small smile and it’s probably the last thing he’ll let her say without feeding her lines. “Just don’t bruise my face.” The same request she had last time. The one thing she doesn’t let people do. They can leave marks everywhere else, just not her face. The one line she doesn’t like crossed. 

[unholyromansoldier]

She's quiet for a moment, and he doesn't try to guess which she'll choose. It doesn't make a difference to him, though he thinks he's feeling kinder today. It leaves him uncertain whether there's relief or regret when she asks him to be mean, because it spares him from showing any kind of sentimentality even if there was some small hope that she'd pick the first. And he wonders briefly if she just thinks it's what he wants, or if she feels equally as deserving of punishment.

It's not a thought that lasts long. Whatever put her where she is now is none of his business and he wants to keep it that way.

There's just a short nod at that, because it's nothing he has a problem following through on. He can't promise he won't leave bruises, but they won't be on her face. And if there's a small thrill that accompanies that, it's only what he's paying for. His expression doesn't change however, but he pushes himself back to his feet.

"Then take off your dress and get on your knees." His arms cross over his chest while he waits, in no more of a rush this time than he was last time. If anything he thinks he'd like it to last longer.

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

She smirks at him when he tells her to come in, but she doesn’t waste any time. She steps into the motel room and if there’s always a nervousness hidden inside somewhere for the first time she walks into someone else’s territory, it’s not there this time. It had only taken one time for her to know that he was a man in control. Maybe with something deeply seeded into his conscience that spurred guilt and hatred, but still in control of it and managing how he could. She figured calling for women, now calling for Val by name, was how he managed.

“Ah, fast learner,” she tells him, heading over and taking the money he offers out to her. Same as last time and she wonders distantly what he does for a living, because that’s a lot of money for this. Although, judging by his clothes and how well put together he is, she figures it’s something worthwhile. Something that can pay for a pastime like this and something he can manage well enough to keep this secret from a totally different life.

Taking off her light jacket, she hangs it over the back of a chair near the table and turns to face him, head tipped to the side because if she learned anything last time, he likes to be in control and she likes it when he is. “So, how do you want me?” she asks.

[unholyromansoldier]

She takes the money and afterwards he settles himself on the edge of the bed, watching her for a moment while she takes the jacket off. And there's some distant thought that he likes that shade of blue on her, and that more than anything is why he doesn't demand it off immediately. Maybe this time he'll take it off himself.

If there was some anticipation building up to this, it's nothing he admits. It says too much about his personal life, or the lack of it, and if it's nothing he's uncomfortable with it's nothing he wants to dwell all that long on either. He has his job, and at this point that's more important to him than anything else. And if every day leaves him with those slivers of guilt sneaking beneath his skin, this is how he gets rid of them.

"Do you want me to be nice, or do you want me to be mean?" The offer's the same as the first time, and he thinks it goes unsaid that it's the only choice she'll get in how the rest of the night goes. After that she's in his hands to do what he wants, and for the most part he doesn't care which she chooses. If he did, he wouldn't give her the option.

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

She can’t help but laugh slightly. She ducks her head and looks away to cut it off because there’s supposed to be a certain stone wall between them. She’s supposed to be in control of things like that and if she finds it charming or nice that he remembers something small like that, it’s not being in control. When she looks back at him, she just shakes her head, smirk in place. “Cute.”

Guys came and went in her line of work. But she’d been glad to hear from him again. A name she could remember, Roman. The things he’d made her say, the way he’d made her beg but not in a way that she’d ultimately minded. She’d had to fake it for a few of the men she serviced, but there wasn’t anything fake about the way he’d made her body react last time and if there was some thrill in coming to this client, more than any others she’s had since him just a couple days ago, she doesn’t read into it too much. Just excitement on the job. That’s all this was. 

 ”Are you going to invite me in or what?” she asks, brown eyes looking up at him with a certain want she was already feeling. She wondered what he’d make her say this time. If it was hatred he was looking for again or if it would be forgiveness. Or if he’d want to forget someone all over again. 

[unholyromansoldier]

He pauses like he has to think about it, that faint amusement still playing across his lips. But it doesn't last long before he's stepping back, holding the door open for her. "Come in." It's some mockery of something more personal and he knows it, that to her this is a paycheck and to him this is just him trying to pay for some peace of mind. It's not his place or hers, it's some motel room where he can pay by the hour for less than he's paying her to be there.

Still, he's alright with those things, maybe more than he should be. He had personal. He had that life that everyone in middle America was supposed to strive for, and look how that had turned out for him. She'd betrayed him, or he'd betrayed her, but either way she was dead and if there was any thought that he'd ever want to try again, he wasn't there yet. Not when he's still haunted by her.

This is enough. It's a release of physical tension and absolution of sin and if that makes him something like happy to see her then those are good reasons. He locks the door behind her, moving to the wallet tossed on the nightstand. Up front, she said, and if there's normally a reluctance for that then this time he's fine with it because this time he knows what he's getting. "This is for you."

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

It was the same motel as last time. Not the same room, but close to it and Val smirked as she saw that. That’s how habits were started. She should know, some of the men who hired her were hooked because of what she was. Because of that small push of her power that kept them coming back for more. It took years of trial and error. A couple people winding up in the hospital, one man going into cardiac arrest when she’d pushed too hard. Some days there seemed to be more drawbacks from a power like hers than benefits. And she doesn’t know what a person who wasn’t in her profession would do with it. 

Lifting her hand to know at the door, she straightened her hair, straightened her dress, a blue one this time. Black heels and a choker chain around her neck because she thought that’s what he liked. She can remember the feel of his hand around her neck, strength and in control. She’d had other clients since that first time, but she’d been happy when her boss had told her this was a returning customer and given his name this time even. 

[unholyromansoldier]

It had only been a few nights and to some extent Roman thought even that much was intentional. He'd slept better after that first one than he had in a while, and the next night he could say the same. The kind of peace that came with some momentary release, a different kind of confession that he couldn't get from a priest. But if better men prayed every Sunday at an altar, this was how he made his. Whether it was a penance or an exorcism, he'd leave that choice up to her again.

He tugs the door open shortly after she knocks, coat already thrown over the chair and sleeves rolled up in some approximation of casual. And he doesn't miss the glint of metal around her throat, some thought that maybe it's an intentional thing on her part.

"Trixie, right?" There's a dry humor in the words, and he doesn't expect her to know that even that much is rare for him. But he also doesn't expect her to believe the words. He'd asked for her by name and that meant he remembered it. "Or was it Cherry?"

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

Val smirks, getting her dress on and pulling a small silver box from her purse. They’re cigarettes she’s rolled herself. The best kind, in her opinion and while she’s not much of a smoker, she likes to have one every now and again. But mostly when she indulges in something like this, it’s something a little heavier. Weed, mostly. Something to take the edge off when she needs it. She pulls a cigarette out and puts the box away, lighting it in the next moment. He hadn’t told her not to, just that he didn’t want one. 

"I like whatever I’m paid to like," she says with a shrug, a smile aimed his way. She doesn’t go further into it, that begging makes her look weak when the whole point of this is to not be. That she’s been made to do it before even outside this lifestyle and while she can handle it when she’s being paid it, it’s the begging when she’s not being paid that she hates the most. 

If it was his attempt at a personal question, she doubts it’s permission to ask one in return, but she is curious about him. About why he’s here and why he’d told her to tell him she hated him. Or that she wished he were dead. About who he was mad at and she thinks it would be a gamble to ask, but that curiosity is rising in her. 

"What would you have done if I’d said to be nice?" she asks, blowing a puff of smoke out in front of her. Her body’s starting to calm down and there’s a soreness starting to settle in that she doesn’t mind one bit. The kind he gave her and it’s nothing she hasn’t felt before, but it seems satisfying this time.

[unholyromansoldier]

The smell of her cigarette fills the room, and even if he doesn't smoke, he doesn't necessarily mind the smell. He just stays where he is, fingers lacing in front of him because all he has to do is grab his coat and he'd be ready to leave.

"You pretend to like what you're paid to like." He corrects her easily, though there's no judgement in the tone. It's what she's paid for, and there's no expectation there for her to genuinely enjoy everything that's done to her. It's about as far as his thought process goes, though there's a quieter one that says if she doesn't want to beg, he won't ask her to again.

Though he thinks if she'd asked him for that, he would do it on purpose, just to be cruel. That when she asks him to be mean he'll easily punish her in place of the woman he'd rather make suffer, as though she hadn't enough already. He doesn't know, and the fact that he never will doesn't make it easier to take. Did she betray him, or did he betray her? Should he try to punish her memory or beg for her forgiveness?

The question has him shrugging his shoulders, and if she's hoping for more details he doesn't have them for her. He's not about to go into his thought process or his history, but she's not asking for either of those things. Either way, it's not the one she'd chosen and if next time she picks differently then he'll follow it just as easily. If there isn't a next time, then neither of them will find out and maybe there's some small regret there. "I'd have been nice."

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

She watches as he gets himself situated. Her dress is sitting on the table, but she still needs a minute to let herself settle. Her heart’s still pounding away in her chest, but starting to slow and that shaking of her legs is beginning to subside. It was good, better than most. She doesn’t tell him that because he wasn’t asking her to now. Sometimes they did afterwards and she’d lie just to make sure they still left satisfied.

“Shit yeah, I think so,” she says, nodding her head and reaching up to straighten her hair as it falls around her face. He’s coming over to sit down on the bed next to her, holding out the money. She takes it without hesitation, folding it up in her hand and turning to look at him, smart ass look on her face. “Begged and everything.”

She’ll never admit she doesn’t like something, but that was something she didn’t. It was something she hated because she’d done a lot of begging in her life. For people to stay, for people to not send her away, for people to take away the power she had just beneath her skin. For people to stop. Maybe just one person. He hadn’t listened and some nights she could still hear the noise of his skull fracturing when she was just trying to get him off of her.

Standing up, she walked to the table, pulling her purse to her first, splitting the money in half, a hundred going into her wallet and a hundred going into an envelope she’d give to her boss. Pulling her dress over, she worked the fabric to try and find the right way to put it on, looking up at him as she did, no shame in anything that had just happened or that she was still half naked in front of him. “You want a smoke?” she asks. 

[unholyromansoldier]

The smirk on his lips widens, but he doesn't comment on it one way or another. If she wasn't good, he wouldn't be paying her, and he doesn't think she's the kind of woman who needs that reassurance. If she was, then she wouldn't be what he needed. It's an odd conflict of desires, because he wants the lie, but he doesn't want to feel manipulated. As long as he can still feel in control.

He watches her cross over to her purse, but he stays where he is, no real rush to get up and leave now that it's over. He's paid up for at least another hour, and while he doesn't think he'll stay all that long if she wants to leave now, it means he doesn't see a reason to kick her out the door.

"I don't smoke." He gives a small shake of his head, but he doesn't tell her to stop because he doesn't care if she does. It's just nothing he ever started. For a while he took pills to help him sleep, sometimes he still does, but this works better. More costly, but better, and while a therapist is probably the recommended method he's pretty sure it'd be harder to find one who will fuck him.

"You don't like begging." It's more of a statement than a question, but it's there if she wants to comment on it. He does, or at least he likes hearing it, but he doesn't know that it surprises him she doesn't. Not with the snarled curse she'd flung at him when he'd asked for it.

[addicted-to-moss-blog]

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[unholyromansoldier]

Roman straightens after she pulls away, crossing over to the trashcan to dispose of the condom. He tugs his pants back over his hips, belting them before he straightens his shirt. It's wrinkled now from her fingers twisting in it and dragging him closer, a sharp contrast to the words he hears from behind him. It has him glancing over his shoulder at her, sitting on the bed while she catches her breath.

He nods his head in understanding, because he knows those are the rules, he just likes to dodge them when he can. He likes to know what he's getting before he pays for it, because sometimes he doesn't get anything out of it except sex. He pays extra for his lies, and for the momentary freedom that grants him.

"You think so?" There's a quirk of his brow when he says it, corner of his mouth tugging up in an amused smile. But despite the words, he's already tugging out his wallet, pulling the bills out with little hesitation. Because he can't really argue it. Maybe not everything he wanted, but it's the closest money can get him. And that makes it worth it, no matter what it says about him.

It has him crossing back over to the bed, sitting down next to her before he holds the money up with two fingers. He doesn't comment on the 'next time' because the last thing he wants is someone else attaching themselves to him. But he doesn't know that he won't either, because there's still that quiet appreciation that she gave him what he asked for without question.