WHO: Ophidia and Charlie WHAT: A succubus and a half-minotaur get in a fight. WHEN: A few nights after Fae returns RATING: PG-13, some language STATUS: Complete
Charlie finally tired of sending messages with various carnies, shoving crumpled paper into their hands and ordering them to take the notes to Ophidia. Dressed in black jeans and a thin black t-shirt, he moved through the shadows toward Ophidia's trailer. The carnival had closed by now, the calliope music and chatter of the crowd dying into nothingness, and he melted out of the shadows to rap on her aluminum door.
Ophidia was tired. Tired of being around people, tired of dealing with crowds. She was still clad in her burlesque costume, the fabric very nearly see-through, thin and clingy; when the knock came at her door, she sighed softly and pushed herself to her feet, glass of sherry in her hand. She was almost positive it was--
"Good evening, Charlie. Come in...do you want something to drink?"
"No," he said simply, coming through the doorway like a Santa Ana wind, his eyes roaming over her costume with the slightest squint. At least it was dim in here. "You smell like booze. You really been drinking?" he asked bluntly, inhaling the scent of the glass in her hand before he sat down on the little couch. "I thought you were being dramatic. What's wrong?"
"How kind of you." Ophidia's voice was dry, and she remained standing, bumping the door closed with her hip. "I am not one to often be overcome with senseless theatrics; when I say I am going to drink, I generally intend to do so."
A sip of sherry, and the succubus sighed. "It is, as I said, a complicated story. In short, someone who...hurt me has returned, and I do not...know what to do with myself. Or him. Or how to behave."
"A guy?" he asked, and if he had spikes they would've bristled just then. He tilted his head back, eyes narrowing a little on her and his jaw flexing. A muscle in it ticed. "What'd he do? Like an ex-boyfriend or something?"
"Mmm...don't go getting jealous. Down, boy. As for the relationship...'or something', I suppose. It was something that...I thought could have been...very good."
Another mouthful of liquor; she fought to hide the hurt, but anyone with ears would be able to hear it. "But...he left. Without telling me what was going on...and now he is back, and he is...different. It's not a good change."
"Relationships are always like that, aren't they?" he asked, as if he was suddenly the resident expert and knew all about them. "People play too many fucking head games. It's so ridiculous." He rolled his eyes for emphasis, then touched the couch beside himself. "Sit down. You make me nervous."
"Perhaps nerves are good for you." Ophidia stayed standing, for a moment longer, then sighed and settled back down on the couch. "I should have known. Someone like me does not belong in a relationship...far too binding."
"Exactly," he said, reaching over to touch her hair, fixing his fingers through the dark strands with intense concentration. "You're too good to just belong to some asshole who bails and comes back stupid, right?"
"He came back mad. I wonder about the 'brother' who came with him..." Ophidia's eyes flickered, at the touch to her hair. She liked having it played with, but...she was unsure as to the man's motives.
"I wish...I could get a straight answer out of him. But he talks in riddles, now."
"So quit trying to figure him out," Charlie said, his voice a low purr as he shifted closer to her. He leaned his head in, inhaling her scent and snuffling slowly up the length of her throat, his breath warm and very much alive. "You want me to fucking kick his ass for you?" he whispered, somehow managing to make that sound like pornography.
"Mm...no thank you, dear. I'll take a raincheck." Ophidia drained the rest of her sherry--a criminal offense to the high quality of the liquor--and stood, going into the kitchen for more.
"It's really not necessary. Violence, I mean. Perhaps I'll be able to talk to him, someday."
"What's the point?" he asked, and if he sounded a little petulant then it's because he was. Here he was all raring to go and had hurried over here to get into her pants and she was moping around drinking and pining for her now-crazy ex. He watched her pour another drink, then slowly pulled off his shirt, dropping it to the floor. "Come here."
Ophidia arched an eyebrow when she turned to find Charlie shirtless; while the scenery was quite nice, she was not feeling very much like engaging in that particular activity this evening. (Unusual, for a succubus...)
"Why?"
"Because I want you to," he said simply, and he moved to unlace his boots. "You have a lot of shit on your mind. I can make it better." This was as close to a charity feel-good session of therapy as he could provide; in his own case, fucking a hole into the mattress or beating drums until he broke a skin was the only way to calm himself.
"I think you are assuming something is going to happen that is not." Ophidia leaned against the counter, glass pressed to the edge of her lips. "While I won't deny enjoying the view, I'm not particularly interested in sex."
He looked up sharply at that, his expression impossible to read because of the tattoos. "What are you talking about?" he asked, pausing in the undoing of his boot laces and staring at her with those vibrant emerald eyes, so bright in the black pits of his face.
"I'm sorry, was I unclear?" Her eyebrow arched again as she looked down at him. "I don't want to have sex tonight. I didn't invite you over here to sleep with you...I really didn't invite you over at all. I'm sorry that you came over with that expectation."
"Didn't fuckin' invite me over?" he asked incredulously, slowly getting up off the couch. At almost six and a half feet tall and wiry with hard muscle, he was an impressive sight even without the tattoos, and he stared at her hard, his jaw set like iron. "You fuckin' told me you were going to get drunk and I should come share."
"Yes. The drink. See? Drinking. I offered you some, you refused." Ophidia met that hard stare with one of her own, eyes flinty. "Whatever you expected wasn't something I suggested."
He was silent for a long moment, then tilted his head very slowly, a faint chuckle emerging from his throat. "You're fucking serious?" he asked, a note of incredulity in his tone lurking above something much more dangerous and low.
"Yes, I'm 'fucking serious'. I'm not your whore, Charlie, I don't just spread my legs whenever you feel like fucking." The succubus's eyes darkened, annoyance in her tone.
"If that's all you wanted, you might as well leave. I'm sure there's still some marks hovering around."
He stared at her for another few beats, unmoving, a statue that looked like a big skeleton, and then slowly he began to move toward her, deliberate paces and his boots thunking on the floor. "You're pissed off at your boytoy, you ain't pissed off at me," he said, his growl low and heavy. "You know you miss what it felt like. We had a good time."
"I'm not 'pissed off' at anyone, Charlie." Ophidia sighed, softly. "I am simply not in the mood. Yes, we did have a good time. And I'm sure we will have a good time again. But it will not be tonight."
He exhaled in a slow, disbelieving snort. "Not even going to let me try," he said, making it more of a statement than a question. "Not even going to give me a chance, just going to write me off because that fuckin' guy got under your skin." He turned, too fast for the slow deliberate way he'd been walking, and swung his hand, slapping a shelf hard, making some of its contents spill to the floor with a clatter. "You get me to come over here, dressed like that," he said angrily, gesturing to her filmy, barely-there burlesque get up.
"I was working!" Ophidia rarely raised her voice; now was no exception, though the words were taut. "What do you think I am?!? And you will pick that up before you leave here tonight, or so help me..."
There were many things she could do to make his life unpleasant. She did not wish to do them, as she was fond of Charlie despite his sometimes-terrible attitude, but she would.
He glared at her, breathing hard, his lips almost white in the ghastly landscape of his face. "You are such a fucking tease," he spat. "You think you can just fucking say no after you--- you know what, fuck you. I don't give a fuck," he said, his smirk turning hard and mean, a flash of something truly bestial in his handsome face as he swung his hand out again, knocking the shelf off its brackets entirely.
"After I what, Charlie? After I gave no inclination whatsoever that I planned on fucking you?" The color was high on Ophidia's face, her eyes flat and dark and furious.
"That was an unwise thing you just did."
"Undoubtedly," he said with that same hard smirk on his face, and he moved toward her, closing the gap between them in mere moments. His hand came up to touch her cheek and it was surprisingly gentle given how rough he'd just been with the furnishings. "Don't be like this."
"Don't be like what?" He wasn't seriously trying to be coy with her now, it wasn't possible. She jerked her face away, backing up a few steps. "Don't be angry you came here and decided to wreck my things? Don't be upset that apparently all you think I am is some slut for you to fuck when you're in the mood?"
He closed the space when she backed up, taking a small step forward to get nearer. "I ain't wrecked nothing, I just... I got mad. You send a lot of fucking mixed signals," he muttered. His eyes were unfocused, unsure, but his face tracked her movement perfectly just based on hearing and her breaths. "I didn't call you a slut."
"You're certainly acting like that's what you think I am. And I didn't send you any mixed signals. It is not my fault you came here with pre-conceived notions of what was going to happen." Ophidia grabbed up her glass, sucking the liquor down again.
"And you most certainly did wreck something. You ripped my shelf out of the wall! What would you call that, 'home improvement'?"
"You act like I can't fucking fix it," he said a little sullenly, sounding like a rebuked teenage boy now, and he tilted his head, almost hanging it. "Why're you so mad? Christ. I came over here to make you feel better."
"You came over here to have sex. You don't actually give a shit about 'making me feel better'." Ophidia's voice was almost...cruel.
"If you can fix it, fix it now."
"Give me something first," he said seriously, lifting his gaze to stare at her without flinching. That edge in her voice raised hackles in his own.
"Give you what?" It probably was poor judgement...but she turned away, to rinse out her glass and fill it with water. She'd had too much alcohol tonight...it was affecting her ability to be rational. To be calm. She prided herself on being able to be controlled...and it was why Judas wore her skin when he grew upset. For some reason, being controlled was just...easier, when he was Phi...
"Don't turn your back," he said angrily when she whirled to wash her glass, and he grabbed her shoulder, pulled. His body was too close behind hers and he was trapping her against the counter, hard as stone against her lower belly, his hand on her bicep tight, his head bowed to speak directly to her. "Why're you fucking treating me like shit?"
Ophidia went taut, when Charlie pinned her against the counter; a wave of anger rolled through her, almost simultaneous with the wave of fear.
"You're hurting me." Her voice was tense once again, but quiet...he could hear her, she knew he could.
"And it's not as though you're treating me any better."
"I'm trying," he told her, his voice low and too soft to really be menacing, and he lowered his head to her neck, a slow shudder running through him when he breathed in. "You smell so good," he whispered, almost gasp-groaning the words out, his eyes closed to fully savor it. "You're scared but it smells so fucking... hmmm."
"...Charlie, please..." The succubus closed her eyes, refusing to cry. It was just...too much. With Fae coming back, and not being able to communicate...anything, and now this...
Just because she was a sex demon didn't mean she was a whore.
"...Please."
Her voice might as well have been pornography to him, sultry little whimpers and whispers, and he kept his eyes shut, his lashes almost invisible against the black of his sockets. He made a low moaning sound of his own, a rumbling in his throat and chest, and pulled himself away with conscious effort. "I want you," he said in a quiet, unsteady voice, and he made himself back off a step, release his grip on her. "Fuck." He forced himself to walk several paces away, hands in fists at his sides, frustration coursing through him at the denial and his respect of it.
"...I know you do." Her voice was nearly silent, fingers gripping the edge of the countertop as she looked down at it. "It's not your fault. I could be wearing a burkha where you could see nothing but my eyes and you'd still want me."
"Why?" he asked her, and he sounded almost as if he was in pain, gritting his teeth through the hormones racing through him. Unknown to him his minotaur blood had truly begun to awaken when he'd hit puberty, and it had been a raging hurricane of testosterone since, turning him into a machine good primarily for fucking and fighting.
"Because that's what I am." She sighed. "I don't know how to explain. It just...is. And I am sorry it is so hard for you."
Now came the water; she filled the glass and drained it, throat working as she tilted her head back. She thought nothing of it; why should she? It was only water.
"What you are? I don't get what you mean," he said, unable to move his gaze away from her, and he inhaled again, feeling goosebumps raise across his skin. Somehow the fact that she was denying him was making it worse, was making these hormones rage through him like a California wildfire until his blood boiled and ached.
A sigh. "I am a succubus. At least, like this. To clarify: sex demon. You feel it, just like everyone else feels it." Her eyes flickered over to the things spilled onto the floor and she crossed to them, going to her hands and knees to begin gathering them up. She didn't want them down there to be stepped on, after all.
"A fucking sex demon? So what, you make me horny?" he asked, clearly lost. He had no idea what his own lineage was, Arkady hadn't told him and his mother of course had no clue. He stared at her, stunned, his lips slightly parted to show white teeth behind the tattooed ones on his lips. "So why won't you fuck me now?"
"Because I don't want to. I'm not a mindless creature, Charlie, I have emotions and feelings like anyone else does." Of course he didn't understand. Why would she have expected him to understand? He thought she was a whore.
"I don't do it on purpose. But I have been told I give off a certain aroma that can be found to be arousing."
"You smell like sex," he said bluntly, folding his arms over his chest for a moment. "You didn't fuckin' tell me this before." He was still for a moment, then slowly knelt down to help her pick up some of the things he'd knocked off.
"I didn't know if you'd be staying, before." Ophidia sounded almost...tired. "It's not something I generally bandy about to the average mark. The do not tend to have positive reactions to 'by the way, I'm a sex demon, thanks for the life force'."
"I ain't no mark," he muttered sulkily as he piled her things neatly. "I ain't been able to quit thinking about you since we fucked and I guess now maybe I know why. It ain't 'cause you were nice to me."
"...I know you're not a mark. ...And I don't..." Ophidia sighed, sitting back on her heels. "I would rather think that you remembered me because I was nice. I tend to flit into and out of peoples' minds, when they're not around me."
"You didn't flit out of mine or whatever," Charlie muttered again, standing up and depositing her things on her couch. "Sorry I fuckin' bothered you," he said, turning and heading for her door, snatching his t-shirt off the couch as he went. He was embarrassed, his pride wounded at being rejected and finding out that she'd fucked him because she was a sex demon rather than because she'd felt like it.
"...Charlie, wait..." Ophidia stood, catching the man by the arm. "...Please...don't leave angry. Don't think that...I didn't enjoy what we did together. I did enjoy it, very much, and I'd like to repeat it...just...not tonight. ...Please...don't be upset..."
"Yeah, I get it," he said, not turning his head to face her. "I fuckin' get it, okay, I'm not stupid." He pulled his arm out of her grasp without using a tenth of the force he could have, and he kept his head in profile as he headed down the aluminum stairs outside of the trailer. "You know where to find me the next time you get bored or whatever," he muttered, barely audible over his boots crunching on sawdust.
"..." She thought about calling him back, but the words caught in her throat; slowly, she closed the door behind her and sank down against it, burying her face in her hands. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not.