WHO: Ophidia and Charlie WHAT: A succubus introduces herself WHEN: Backdated to when Charlie first arrives at the carnival RATING: NC-17 (explicit sexual content) STATUS: Complete
A silhouette, a shadow, a profile. He was tall and broad through the shoulders, dressed in black jeans that rode low on his hips and of course he had no shirt on. He had spent a king's ransom on the tattoos that crawled over every inch of his flesh, a rotting ribcage, sinew, tendon, bone, torn flesh inked with precision and detail across his well-muscled, lean torso. His head was completely clean-shaven and as inked as the rest of him, and the face was the ghoulish visage of the grim reaper himself, a skeletal facade peering around the mayhem of the midway. The carnival was in full swing, and Charlie stood near the haunted house, his nostrils flared, holding very still even as the crowd surged and pulsed around him. One unlucky young man stumbled and struck Charlie in his misstep; the half-minotaur's inked hand shot out in a violent blur, shoving him back into an upright position, his tattooed lip curling back from perfect white teeth, a snarl of warning.
Ophidia quite liked her chiming sandals. They were comfortable, and she liked that she made a faint, pleasing noise when she walked, especially when she was fully decked out in her sari and jewelry, looking the part of an Indian princess or some such thing. The commotion by the haunted house made her glance over and sigh; two marks, it seemed, one with very interesting body detailing. He seemed to be tattooed all over...and was certainly quite intimidating.
She moved easily through the crowd, placing a gentle, delicate hand on the tattooed man's arm. "Now, now...no need to start a fight, is there...? I'm sure whatever he did, it was an accident..."
His head whipped in her direction when he heard the female speak, and his shoulders drew back, a deep inhale through his nose. "He touched me," Charlie said, and his voice was a low, velvety purr, gutteral and severe. The mark stumbled away from the two of them, rubbing his shoulder. "You're fucking crazy, man," he called as he hurried away, and Charlie's head turned in that direction, his lip still curled back, the rest of his body motionless.
"Shhh..." He had a very nice voice, this tattooed man did. Ophidia's smile grew, a little, and she patted his arm gently. "I'm sure it wasn't intentional, dear. And it's much more fun to not start trouble, hm? I'm Ophidia. What's your name?"
He turned his head toward her, following the sound of her voice. She sounded pretty, and she smelled... confusing. Feminine but with something else, an edge that was decidedly not. Perhaps she'd mated recently. A little spike of jealousy flared within his chest but he tramped it down for now. "Charlie." He didn't pull his arm away from her touch, but he did stiffen, looking wary. This close, she'd be able to see that his eyes didn't focus properly; he had virtually no night vision whatsoever. "This place is so loud."
"Of course it's loud, Charlie, it's a carnival." She saw the way his eyes didn't focus quite right, not like Hope's but close, and she pursed her lips a little.
"Are you hungry at all...? The food tent has some delicious things, and it's quite well-lit. It might be easier for you to see there, hm...? I can show you, if you'd like..."
He tilted his head and his lip curled up slowly. "Food?" Alright, so he was hungry, and here was a girl offering to meet his basic needs. Well, half of them. The other half might be taken later, if she was cooperative. "Where?"
"Come with me, dear." Ophidia led Charlie to the food tent, bells tinkling gently as she guided him through the crowd. She was careful to pick a path where no one else would be able to touch the mark, considering how harshly he'd reacted...
"Here we are, darling. What would you like...? Why don't you sit here"--she showed him to a table--"and I'll go get whatever you'd like..."
He sat down at the table, then closed his eyes. His eyelids were either painted black or tattooed; in truth it was matte black eyeshadow which he filled into the sockets with a wide brush, blending makeup to where the tattoos ended. He inhaled deeply for a few seconds, then showed his teeth again. "Meat. Rare." He liked his steaks black and blue, and often appalled dinner company when he sent back things that were overcooked. Raw meat was the best, or extremely rare, but he could make do in a pinch. "Doesn't matter what."
"All right." Rare meat wasn't a problem, not with the werewolves; Ophidia cut through the normal people, had a quiet word with the food prep in the kitchen, and brought back a steak so rare it was practically still alive.
"Here you are, sugar..." She slipped into the seat across from him, smiling a little; there were less people in here than on the midway, to be sure, and she hoped he was a bit more comfortable.
"How are you enjoying our carnival so far?"
"You work here?" he asked. His fingers found the knife and fork she'd set out with the food and he got to work, sawing the steak into smaller, jagged chunks. "It's alright. Loud. A lot of smells. I liked where I was. It's a maze of tents. I could solve it." He took a bite of the bloody meat. "What do you do?"
"I do work here! I do an act with my snake in the main tent, contortionism with a bit of thrill in it--Ruby attaches herself to an arm or a leg or some such and I finish my act with her stuck on me. I also work in the burlesque tent, on alternate nights...doing...well, what you do in a burlesque tent."
Ophidia smiled, engagingly, watching the man eat. "Do you like mazes...? I suppose sometimes the carnival can be seen that way..."
"That's the naked girls, right?" he asked quietly, swallowing the mouthful of meat he'd been chewing. "You smell different. Not like a regular girl. Most people here don't smell like regular people." He snorted faintly, the bullring in his nose gleaming as he took another bite of food. "I like mazes. I like finding things."
"Not quite naked, usually, dear." Ophidia corrected the half-minotaur gently, laughing softly; when he mentioned smells, however, she got a wry grin on her face.
"I don't smell like a normal girl because I'm not particularly like normal girls, dear. Would I be a normal girl and work at the carnival? I don't think any of us are normal, really..."
"I don't know what kind of people work at a carnival," he said peevishly, hunched over his steak protectively. "Carnies? I don't spend time in these places." He took another bite, swallowed before it was properly chewed. He ate like an animal, or like it might be taken away from him before he was finished. "I met the ringmaster guy, I guess. He smells like a cellar."
"No need to get testy, sweetheart. And Arkady? He's a good man." Ophidia glanced at the way Charlie ate, then thought, for a moment, then smiled.
"You're different, aren't you? Like a lot of us who work here. If you've met Arkady he probably talked to you, a little bit, about us..."
"He didn't," he said simply. "He just asked me what I was doing here, and if I was having fun." He took another bite. "I don't know what you mean different. I'm not fucking weird."
"I didn't say weird, Charlie." Ophidia shook her head a little, amused. "But never mind. I wish we had an actual maze...we move around too much for that, though. I suppose the haunted house is slightly maze-like...? But not really. I don't like it very much in there anyways, it's too dark and crowded for me."
He seemed to perk up a bit at that, lifting his head. There was a bit of pinkish blood on his bottom lip, inked like skeletal teeth. He swallowed, licked his lips. "I haven't been inside," he said in that low, growling voice. His fingers, the nails black, moved across the table, drumming incessantly. His fingertips sounded like a rapid heartbeat. "Does it scare you?"
"Ah...a little, to be honest." Ophidia admitted this fear a bit sheepishly, twisting her fingers together on the table. "I mean, of course I know the people that work in the haunted house but...it's different when they're on the clock. And I am not...well. I've never been exactly a fan of the dark. But...I can show you, if you want to go there..."
"Yes," he said, pushing the plate away and lifting his head again. "I want to see it." He inhaled again, a little smile touching his lips. "You smell better when you're afraid," he murmured, a definite sexual purr to that low voice now. "It makes you smell less like a man." He stood up slowly, his hand trailing over the edge of the table.
"Ah...all right, then..." She flushed, a little, at the comment...and at the voice. Even if it was...a little creepy, what he said...but who cared? She was used to creepy, by now. Working here, she had to be. So she stood, bells chiming pleasantly, and bowed just a little.
"Come on then, back to the haunted house we go..."
Charlie rose to his feet, which were encased in plain solid black high tops, and left his trash. Surely they had someone to clean up. He wasn't a goddamned janitor. "I want to see it," he repeated, stepping up beside her and keeping the sound of those bells clearly in his ears.
"You will, sweetheart, that's where we're going." Ophidia glanced back at the garbage, then offered a silent apology to the kitchen staff and made a mental vow to bring them all candy and/or liquor tomorrow, depending. She led the odd man back to the haunted house and stepped into the line, which was blessedly short; even though she knew all of the people inside, it didn't stop her from shivering a little. Dark, tight, enclosed spaces...things made to terrify you at the basest levels...
She did not like the haunted house. Not in either of her forms.
Soon enough, they stepped inside, and Ophidia took a deep breath to calm herself as much as she was able...
Once inside, his eyes were completely useless; he might as well have been wearing a blindfold. But he kept his fingers protectively around her wrist--- or was it possessively? He squeezed hard, keeping her close, and he moved effortlessly around the blind corners and T-splits in the walkway, ears straining carefully.
The first few scares were the typical fare, ghostlike shapes, agonized screams. Those were...mostly okay; she could deal with that, though they made her jump slightly even still. And the grip around her wrist was...strange...reassuring and also a bit frightening, but in the good thrill sort of way. It was difficult to explain, how it made her feel...
When they went around a blind corner, he stopped and then exhaled slowly, centering himself. Without his sight, he couldn't be sure of where they'd come from or which way to go... except he could follow the others, he could perfectly trail the paths of the other patrons who'd come through here. He could sniff them out as well as any bloodhound, even without his sight.
The next fright was one of the ghouls, done up to look as terrifying as possible, blood dripping from his jaws and coating his hands. She knew it wasn't real blood, knew it was probably from a pig or something, but when he came leaping out of the darkness at her she squealed in a most undignified fashion and jumped back into Charlie. She couldn't help herself, she hated being startled like that!
Her back collided with the front of his form, and he hesitated, tightened his arms around her waist from behind. His chin touched her shoulder and he inhaled slowly, breathing in the scent of her hair, his breath ruffling the strands before he turned his head. "Don't stop. If you let them catch up they win."
"If I let...who catch up...?" Ophidia's voice was a little high, and she was tense but trying not to show it. The ghoul just leered, then backed away into the darkness once more; taking a deep breath, the succubus stepped forward again.
"You should be lucky I like you." It was meant to be a joke, and came out faintly amused. "I don't go into creepy places for just anyone."
"The ones hunting us," he said in that same breathless whisper. When she pulled forward again he almost didn't release her, but then those inked arms slowly unfolded and let her move away ahead of him.
"...Hunting us...?" He sounded so serious about it...but this was just a fun place, wasn't it? No one was actually hunting them. Not like...for real. ...Were they?
In the darkness, it was impossible to tell. And it wouldn't be the first time she was hunted, though it would be the first time she was hunted here. And in the darkness, all the sounds were magnified, and her heart sped up, pupils dilating as she walked faster through the place...and every scream, every dragging sound, the footsteps behind them--whether patron or employee or both--made her more and more tense.
"They are completely hunting us," he murmured. "They should be. It's their job, isn't it? They should take it seriously." He lifted his head, inhaling again, his ears honed perfectly to the sounds within the plywood walls. "There's one on the left up ahead. Standing in the corner. Silent."
"How do you--" Did it matter how he knew? She was sure he was right. That there was something up there, and she knew that it was going to jump out at them, and she knew there was nothing she could do about it...
"I don't want to be in here any more..."
"You're here, though," he murmured, and he bent his head forward, licked the nape of her neck. He did it slowly and deeply, his nostrils flared as he absorbed the scent of her. "Twelve yards forward and then turn right," he whispered, his breath shaky and warm against her earlobe. "That's the exit. It smells like outside air."
Ophidia shuddered, when he licked her neck, trembling like a leaf; she was following his directions, when the gargoyle leered out at them from the dark, from where he'd been standing against the wall--exactly where Charlie had said he'd be, in fact. But she still cried out, a high, terrified sound...then spun away and made for the exit, praying there was nothing else between her and it. She just wanted to get out, no matter how much Charlie was enjoying the darkness, no matter how much he liked seeing her afraid...she wanted out.
When they exploded out into the warm night air, fragrant with carnival scents and people walking back and forth, he laughed softly, a noise of true pleasure. His smile was beautiful, or would've been if it wasn't completely adorned with tattoos. "It will do."
It was...still arresting, even adorned with tattoos; Ophidia fought to catch her breath, to calm the rapidly-fluttering beat of her heart. It was proving...very difficult, but she smiled at the man, pleased to see him not so...tense.
"Well...I'm glad you liked it. It's nice to see you smile..."
"I like the dark," he said quietly, looking over and giving her a little lift of his chin. "Do you ever just feel like you're at home somewhere you've never been before? That's what that was like."
"...I felt it here, actually..." Ophidia's smile softened, and grew a bit more genuine. "At the carnival, I mean. When I met my friends here for the first time, and when I met Arkady...I felt..."
She fell quiet, for a moment, then quirked her lips. "I felt safe."
"Good," he said quietly. "You should feel safe." He smiled, and it took on a tiny bit of a predatory air. "Did you feel safe with me?"
"I feel..." What on earth would be the right word, for how he made her feel? She was scared of him, and yet...and yet.
Stepping towards him, she placed a hand on his chest, lips quirking. "I feel invigorated, by you. Like I should be frightened, and I am, a little...but not in a bad way. If that makes any sense at all."
"Good," he purred again, and the hand on his chest made him smirk hard. He caught her wrist and squeezed hard. "Like I said. It's good for me when you're afraid. It's as intoxicating as you find me."
"Is it...?" Her voice was breathless for an entirely different reason, now, heart speeding up once more. But it wasn't because of the dark, or the fear...it was because of this strange, intriguing man in front of her.
"Well...you can scare me all you want..."
"Oh, I will," he said with a little smile, a flash of those pretty teeth in the dark. His eyes were black holes in his ghastly face. "I think I'm going to stay here awhile. I like this maze."
"You should come back to my trailer with me." Ophidia's lips quirked up in a slow, pleased grin. "It's a maze back there, too. Promise. I'll even turn off all the lights for you."
He was quiet for a few beats, then tilted his head to the side. "You want me to come back with you?" he asked with a slow smile. "I'd like that. I could scare you there if you turn everything off," he whispered.
"So long as you don't step on the snake." Ophidia laughed, low in her throat, and stepped back again; his hand was still around her wrist, and her smile grew.
"C'mon, sugar. We'll have fun." She wanted him, now, and her nature reflected it; the pheromones she was giving off right and left proved it, the scent of chilis and cinnamon and cardamom growing stronger around her.
"I won't step on anything," he said in that low voice of his, devilish and dark like melting chocolate as he slunk through the shadows after her, following like a dog on a lead, his nostrils flaring to keep her scent fresh.
It didn't take long for them to get back to the trailer; she didn't bother to turn the lights on, since he used his sense of smell anyways. A quick glance around proved that Ruby wasn't there; she was probably out hunting, but it made it easier.
"Well, this is me..."
He climbed the stairs without trouble, his feet finding the edges without even the slightest stumble despite his inability to see. It was hard to explain how, but he just knew things like corners and angles and drops and pitfalls; his mind almost did a sonar flare when it came to things like that from time to time. He looked at her, unseeing but his eyes focusing on the direction of her voice, her scent. "You want me to fuck you."
Phi's lips quirked up, at that. "It's entirely possible I do. Why? Interested?" She meandered through the trailer to the kitchen, pulling down a few cups.
"Want anything? Water? Whiskey? My liquor supply is pretty limited, after a...minor drinking problem a little while ago, but I've got a few things..."
"No," he said simply when she asked about the liquor; he didn't drink or imbibe in drugs, something that earned him plenty of shit from the punks he used to drum with. He didn't even indulge in weed, though the pungent odor of it couldn't be ignored with his sense of smell. He drew in a slow breath, savoring everything in the trailer, picking apart scents and sorting them into categories with minimal effort. Then he turned, his fingers trailing on the wall, skeletal touch. "You like to get fucked. You smell like it."
Ophidia laughed, at that. "I do, sweetheart. I'm incredibly fond of it, in fact. One might say I live for it." A private joke, since Charlie didn't know what she was; she got a cup of water, sipping it idly.
He leaned in to speak softer to her, his tone dark and very, very low. His voice was the shadows in the back of a child's closet. "I can smell your pussy," he breathed, his warm exhale tickling her earlobe, and his tongue lapped over the skin just behind her ear, inhaling the scent of her from so close they were practically touching. "I want to fuck you until you scream. Are you a screamer, Ophidia?" he whispered without moving even a centimeter out of her personal space.
Ophidia shuddered, at the voice in her ear, the heat of his tongue against her skin; her fingers clenched around the water glass, for a moment, before she carefully set it on the countertop.
"I can be whatever you want me to be..." Her voice was low, trembling with a nervous excitement.
He moved almost too fast to anticipate, amazing for a man who was blind; his hands caught her fragile wrists when she put the water glass down, pinned her hands down to the counter with such a hard smack that it could be heard throughout the trailer. He whirled her, a practiced move one step away from professional ballet, and pressed her hard against himself; his erection, thick and undeniable, pressed tight to her perfect ass from behind and his hands remained on top of hers, keeping her on the counter there. "Don't," he whispered in a hot, ferocious whisper through clenched white teeth, "move your hands. You understand?"
"Ah!" she'd nearly cried out, when Charlie was suddenly there; her heart had skipped several beats, and when he slammed her hands down she shuddered. She nodded, mutely, and for a moment wondered what she'd gotten herself into...but he certainly wouldn't be the first rough partner she'd ever had. And she could feel his hardness pressing into her...
"I understand..."
He slowly withdrew those skeleton-tattooed hands from her own, sliding them over her forearms for a moment before moving them to her hips. He fumbled with the sari for a moment until he could figure out how to get it open, and then the gossamer fabric was dropping to the floor, his hands expertly stripping her bare. The sound of a zipper, of his black jeans coming undone. His hand moved to her throat, lifting her jaw from behind, his mouth nestled into the soft spot just above her carotid artery. "You're so fucking hot, you know that?" he whispered warmly, the head of his cock bumping against her slowly, teasing from behind. "I can feel how wet you are... how much you like to fuck. What makes you come the most, huh?" he breathed, nipping her earlobe, sucking it slowly when he released it from between his teeth. "Being eaten out? Do you like it in the ass? Hm?" His hand lifted her jaw a bit higher, baring her throat and tilting her head back, her hair spilling over his bare shoulder. "Tell me. I want to hear you."
"Ha-aah..." Ophidia exhaled, when he stripped her, and focused on not moving to assist him when he fumbled for a moment with her sari. He'd said not to move her hands, after all...and her eyes fluttered, when his lips whispered against her skin, when his cock teased her...
"Like...lots of things." Her voice was breathy, and he'd be able to feel her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers, beneath his mouth. "Mm...like fingers...mouths...like the things my partner likes. It's better when they're pleased...feels better..."
His free hand moved down the curve of her back and to the swell of her ass, fingers sliding and probing, fingertips moving inside her in a quick thrust to experiment. She felt slippery and slick, almost ready to go. He moved his hand forward a bit, rubbing her clit from behind with the edge of callused digits. "Oh, you're going to please me," he whispered heatedly. "With a body like that... and you feel so tight... no doubt about that." He laved his tongue up the length of her throat, then used one foot, his jeans bunched around his ankle, to push her legs further apart as he lined up his cock.
She gasped, when his fingers drove inside her, teasing over her clit and probing her deeply; her fingers curled involuntarily, but her hands didn't move. Her legs did, though, spreading willingly wider for him, for his cock...and her scent was thick, now, aroused, adrenaline running high, almost-fear but not quite, nerves and want all combining to send pheromones to fill the air. Here, in the near pitch-black trailer, alone with this man who seemed practically feral...her heart hammered in want and nervousness alike.
He didn't bother with a condom, he hadn't used them since he began fucking at thirteen and had no plans to begin with them now. He arched his hips to angle himself correctly and then pushed forward, surging into her. His cock was a good size, but more could be said about the thickness than the length, and he could feel how tight and sleek her muscles were around him as he slid inside. He groaned and moved his fingers harder over her clit, not so much coaxing an orgasm from her but trying to demand one at gunpoint.
"G-gods!" Oh, but he was thick in her, practically stretching her to her limit. Her hands clenched into fists on the countertop, but still didn't move, though her body trembled; his fingers were practically abusing her clit, and she gasped and let out soft, desperate cries. She was quite responsive; she'd always been responsive, being what she was, and with the way he was working her over it would have been impossible for her to resist release...even if she'd wanted to. She cried out, when he ripped it from her, almost agonizing, muscles convulsing around him...but all the first did was make her more ready.
She became wetter around him, slicker, and he groaned again in appreciation, pushed himself faster, harder. His free hand moved to grip the counter to brace himself and he thrust, his hips rocking in time to his rapid pulse, his fingers moving against that sensitive nub of flesh now. He was a bit more gentle now, not quite as abrasive, but he was still quite insistent; when she came, she tightened up, and the feeling was fucking heavenly.
"C-Charlie...!" He would find, likely to his delight, that she was not a quiet fuck; Ophidia moaned, and whimpered, and gasped, and cried out; she arched back into him, and groaned his name in desperation. He was practically trying to force orgasms from her, she could tell...not that it was overly hard to do, and she shuddered through another, smaller one barely ten minutes later. And oh, it was so hard not to move her hands...
He pushed deeper, almost as if he was in denial about the length of his cock and thought that if he pushed harder he could bottom out or something; his thrusts were rabbit-quick and rough, and he brought his slick fingers up, trailed them over her bottom lip, turned her head to kiss her roughly and lick her juices from her mouth. He was panting, breathing hard, snorting through his nostrils with a decidedly bull-like huff of air as he felt himself getting close.
Oh, she was definitely going to feel this in the morning...not that she was complaining. Not in the slightest. To the contrary, she liked it rough...she had a feeling he could go harder, if he tried. She groaned into his mouth when he kissed her, arms trembling with the effort of holding herself up, sweat trickling down her back and between her breasts as her stomach clenched and she shuddered helplessly. It was raw, primal, almost desperate...
"F-fuck...Charlie....!"
He was going to come, the sound of her crying out to him like that, of her bucking back against him like that, made him shudder and he grabbed her wrists hard, yanked them off the counter. "Turn around!" he snarled urgently in her ear, releasing her hands, pulling out of her. He was still rock hard, aching, curving up toward his tattooed belly, and even the flesh of his cock was tattooed with intricate black shading, and glistening with her fluids, and "Get down," he said, sounding almost like a snarl, his hand grabbing the base of his erection.
"W-what...?" She'd been so close, so close to a third, when suddenly he'd grabbed her, yanked her up, told her to turn around and get down. For a moment, she didn't understand what he wanted...but then she folded, sinking to her knees. She got the feeling making him wait would be bad, and remarkably unpleasant for her...
His hand moved into her hair, the other one still gripping himself, and he pushed himself forward, the head of his cock touching her lips. "I want you to swallow," he said in that low growling voice, not forcing her head down; she'd do it of her own free will, he knew. He couldn't see her, but his eyes never left her kneeling figure on the floor.
Gods, how long had it been since she'd been asked to do that? Ophidia flushed, and her lips parted, to take the head of his cock into her mouth. She was tasting herself, and him, the sweat and the fluids and the sex, and she moaned helplessly around his cock. She'd never call herself a whore, no, but in the heat of the moment...she worshipped his cock.
It only took him a few seconds with that feel of her hot, eager mouth against him, her laving tongue and sucking lips and the slightest, fucking-sexy graze of teeth against sensitive skin, and he made a sound almost like a roar, his head falling back, coming. He flooded her mouth with his spill, hot and plentiful, and when she swallowed he pulled out slowly, dragged the head of his cock over her lips as carefully as if he was a makeup artist applying lipstick on that pouting, lush mouth.
Ophidia panted, lips slightly parted as he dragged his cock over them, cheeks flushed and eyes a little glazed-over. It was...gods, it was dirty, and objectifying, and she hadn't had anything like this in a long time. Not in either skin...not when she wasn't in control. And she kneeled before him, and trembled, body still shivering with want...she always wanted.
He pulled her up, his hands on her upper arms, when he had caught his breath, and he kissed her hard, tasting himself, sucking her tongue into his mouth. When the kiss broke, he was still breathing hard and he leaned in, his lips brushing hers, his voice as low and almost-goosebump-inducing as before. "Do you like how I taste?"
"Yes, sir..." The words were an exhale, an almost-laugh but not quite, that kiss making her shudder again. Gods, he was vicious, brutal...but she liked it...
He smiled slowly, a beautiful grin on that skeletal face, and released his grip on her. He bent to retrieve his clothes, hiking his jeans up his hips, fastening them, tucking his softening cock back into the fabric. "You think about it later, and fuck yourself," he breathed against her ear, leaning in close. "I want you to finger that pussy while you think about my dick. Tell me about it tomorrow." He licked her earlobe again, then pulled away, moving toward the door of her trailer without looking back or even putting out a hand for proper balance or guidance.
Ophidia stared after him, for a moment, then laughed, a low sound in the back of her throat. Oh, he was something else...
But to be honest? She probably would. At least get off thinking about it...whether she'd tell him or not, well. She'd see.