Daniel Ciin (miaiphonos) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2011-08-16 22:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | aphrodite, ares |
if you like it violent
Who: Lia & Samuel.
What: Samuel is drunk and fresh from a fight. The inevitable ensues.
Where: D3.
When: 23 July. After this, and more immediately, this.
Warnings: Language.
Notes: Completed log.
In Samuel’s limited perspective the night had been a resounding success. The visit to the strip club had gone better than intended, the tab smaller and Rylee’s behavior - once intoxicated - bolder than Samuel might have ever dared hope. He had come home feeling certain he had not only had an exemplary night, but that he had helped an increasingly close friend at the same time. He had done his good deed for the quarter, and by some miracle it had involved copious amounts of liquor and naked women. He had been quite looking forward to sharing the good news with Lia, regaling her with tales of their little excursion and suggesting how they might best spend the remainder of their night. And then Charlie had come to call, interrupting him utterly, postponing his highly anticipated visit.
When at last she had taken her leave, shuffling back off to whatever hellish pit from whence she’d come, Samuel took great pleasure in slamming the door behind her. His heart was racing from the argument, which had grown quite heated in its due course, and Samuel had one very clear and recurrent idea as to how to expend this new found energy. He stalked through the apartment, attending to his thoroughly mussed clothes in a violently distracted sort of trance, doing only what was necessary to traverse the halls of Pax without attracting undue notice.
The walk up to the eleventh floor proved an effective means of cooling off his initial fury. He felt almost composed when he reached Lia’s door, though it was true he hardly looked such: He had managed to put on a fresh shirt, though a fine sheen of glitter-dusted sweat still dotted his hemline and chest where his unwashed hands had brushed over the cloth, his close cropped hair sporting the same unintentional look. Oblivious to this, Samuel rapped at Lia’s door, shifting restlessly on his feet just in front of the little peephole.
For her part, the object of Samuel’s drunken affection had only just returned from the after-party of an event for the station, both of which had gone extraordinarily well. While she’d found herself missing Samuel while she was there, she felt it was better for all for her love life to remain as low-profile as possible given her work. It was good for her listeners and readers to know that she was in a healthy, mutually respectful, loving, sexually voracious relationship (well, she may have only hinted at the last), she preferred to play the advantages of appearing single in certain contexts. Lia imagined Samuel might make it difficult to maneuver in certain situations, particularly if he felt neglected or like possessively advertising his claim on her through perhaps less than subtle means. While that was an aspect of his personality that she found she enjoyed more than she probably should, it wasn’t helpful when she was trying to network, which often translated to flirtation and coquettery.
And so she and Samuel had gone their separate ways for the evening with a kiss (and a grope), and after a genuinely enjoyable encounter with her new neighbor, she’d had a fantastic time at this party. Dressed to maim then kill, she wore a flowing white minidress, belted low at the hips, and sky-high gold Louboutin sandals. (There were those who were over Louboutin, but Lia wasn’t there yet.) A cocktail or two too many had her feeling like a bit of a live wire, but she was walking straight lines and absolutely unslurred, and the wait for the cab had given her a bit of time to breathe deep and sober up just a little. Hearing the knock, the smile that bloomed on her face was almost a bit dreamy, and she sashayed over to the door, throwing it open with a broad smile.
“Hello, lover--” The grin faded as she smelled and saw him, her lips pursing, her eyebrow arching.
“And where have you been?” she asked in quite a different tone.
“Out,” he began, immediately trailing off as he caught a fuller glimpse of her. “God damn you look amazing.” He turned, intent upon slipping between Lia and the doorframe, shuffling crablike past her to enter the apartment. If he brushed needlessly close to her, he called no overt attention to that fact, enjoying the press of his body to hers too much to see it end so soon. His hand reached out as he passed her, skimming close at the swell of her breast, a trail of glitter following in his wake. Lia’s lips pressed tight together, and her hand brushed at the sparkles that clung to the fine fabric almost violently, though her efforts were mostly in vain. “I almost wish I’d gone with you,” he said, “but Eckholm did so fuckin’ well. I did him a favor, that’s for sure. You should’ve seen him.” He flashed a bright grin, turning to face her, comfortably located now within the confines of her spacious flat. Unceremoniously dropping to the couch, he added, “Charlie didn’t seem to appreciate it, but what the fuck can you do?”
He glanced around, not entirely sure what he was looking for, until at last his eyes alighted upon her impossibly high, sharp heels. “Did I mention you look great? God damn, I wish you’d been there tonight. You, in that, gettin’ a lap dance from that girl with the electrical tape? Shit. I had a dream started like that once.”
His audacity was something she’d grown used to, even a little fond of, in the time they’d been together. But under the circumstances, it was fueling a fire of frustration and resentment that, though it hadn’t existed five minutes ago, was having little trouble consuming her. There were too many things about everything he was saying and doing that were feeding into her escalating aggravation, and for a moment, she just stood in front of him, not knowing where to begin. Then, she did.
“Are you kidding me right now?” she asked, her hands moving to her hips. “Could you really have just waltzed into my goddamn apartment covered in stripper sweat and goddamn glitter, smelling like a titty bar and cheap perfume, and what? What do you think this is, The Jersey Shore? They at least do their goddamn laundry before asking a girl if they’re ‘DTF.’” She moved closer to him. The fact was, Lia couldn’t have cared less that he’d gone to a strip club. Lia loved strip clubs, in fact, and had gotten more than her share of lapdances, both with boyfriends and flying solo. But he’d gone without her, without even asking if she’d want to go. And he’d gone with Rylee, who was sweet and Midwestern and innocent and didn’t need to get corrupted by this city or the likes of Samuel. “And you leave Rylee alone. You’re going to get him all turned around.”
She tapped the side of his calf hard with her sandaled foot.
“And get the hell off my couch, you’re getting glitter all over it.”
“Rylee,” he countered, his voice a singsong lilt, “needs to get turned around.” He shifted his calf, apparently brushing aside her prodding toes. It was clear by his gesture that Samuel vastly underestimated the worsening nature of the conversation, and how quickly it was spiralling out of his control. “Kid’s scared of his own dick, let alone the thought of actually puttin’ it to use. He needed a little push, teach him how to talk to women without pissing his pants, and I gave him just that.” He settled back into the couch, shoulders rolling as his arms stretched out atop the cushions.
“Anyway, he’s a big boy.” He turned a broad grin up to her, happily and foolishly goading her on. “He wanted to go out, so he did. Are you gonna start setting his social calendar now, Mom?”
“He doesn’t need to get turned around by you,” she said, slapping her foot against his leg harder this time, earning her a roll of his eyes. “And he can go out wherever he wants, but the last person he needs giving him advice about women is you.”
The needling remark about her mother-henning struck deeper than it was most likely intended, and Lia found herself feeling more defensive over it than quite made sense. She did feel a kind of maternal protectiveness over Rylee, but she was in no mood to be teased about it by Samuel, who still stank of strangerbitch sweat, cheap cotton candy body spray, and baby lotion tinged with booze. “And the last thing I need is you showing up here smelling like a goddamn slut parade, trying to get your fuck on while you still have some other bitch’s sweat on you!” She kicked his leg with the side of her foot again. “Now get your glittery ass the fuck off my couch!”
“Fine, fine,” he drawled, lifting himself off the sofa with a display of effort far greater than what was required. The tiny silver spangles he left behind glimmered merrily in the dim light. “And I did try to clean up before I came over, but you know. Interrupted by an angry screaming bitch and all.” He gave a lazy shrug, shaking his head in exaggerated exasperation. His rise from the quite comfortable furniture precipitated his closer proximity to her, a fact he took full advantage of. His hand fell to her waist, fingers curving at the soft swell of her hip, drawing tighter as he took a step closer. “So I just figured we could shower together.” His thumb traced a hard and narrow ridge of bone, easily reading her body beneath the thin cloth. “But first,” he said, daring a quick kiss to her upraised forehead, “just admit it... my advice about women has gotta be pretty solid. I have a damn fine track record after all. I mean it worked on you, didn’t it, sugar?”
The look on her face was some perfect storm of incredulity at his audacity, disgust at his behavior, and simple surprise. The rain of silver that he’d shimmered all over her sofa were insult enough, but the fact that he was treating her anger like a joke only served to make her more irate. Her lips had parted to make an angry retort when he put his hand on her hip and kissed her forehead. She’d had about all she was going to take of his smug cockiness, so she planted her hands on his chest and shoved him hard. Somehow, it only made her angrier, how little he moved, his little smirk, the fact that despite how furious she was, his hand on her hip still made her want to cross her legs, or worse, drag him to the bedroom. The fact that he took that for granted pushed her right over the edge.
She slapped him.
It probably hurt her more than it did him, but at least his face turned, and that, at least, gave her some degree of satisfaction.
“If you’re asking me if your arrogant, swaggering, inconsiderate, insensate assholery is working on me, I’m going to have to say no.” With that, she shoved his hand off her hip.
Samuel let his hand fall, careless of its downward trajectory as the sharp sting of her hand coursed its way across his cheek. He had been the recipient of such responses often enough to know that now, for a moment, even beneath the faint gold of his tan, the red lines of her slim fingers would be quite visible. He hoped she was as pleased with the view as he was with the thought of it. His lips, still parted, curved into a sharp-edged smile, a quiet exhalation slipping free as he looked back to her. And then it was over before it had begun, all his fresh-roused anger feeding into something deeper, something more earnest, something he could scarcely control. His hand shot up, closing tight around her slender arm, pulling her hard to him before rational thought could intervene. He covered her mouth with his own, a ragged groan breaking on her lips. His arousal was unmistakable, awakened by the mere sight of her, further stoked by this new and vibrant fury she displayed. She kissed him back, fully and without reservation, her tongue shoving over his as her free arm went around him, her nails digging into his back through his shirt.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, pulling away for a single gasp of air. He was grinning still as he moved back to her, his teeth at her ear, her throat, the narrow line of her clavicle. He sucked lightly at her skin, pressing his body flush to hers as he did. “Best fuckin’ thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Her heart was racing with fury and lust, her breaths ragged and steep, and she gave him her throat as he nipped and kissed at her skin. She shifted against him, rolling her body against his, before she dug her nails in harder to his back.
“I am not fucking you while you’re covered in glitter and someone else’s sweat unless I was there to enjoy it,” she said, her hand shifting to shove at him, to get his attention. “So you need to get to the shower.” Her fingers slid into his hair and she tugged his hair back, then kissed him again, hard and deep. When she finally pulled away for a breath, she said,
“And tell me more about how perfect I am and how I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
There was not even a hint of a smile to be seen on her face, but she did press herself harder against him. It was encouragement enough, and more. He stepped backward, making slow progress toward her cavernous bathroom, his tight grip dragging her bodily along with him. Petulantly he turned his head, glancing over one shoulder, the small gesture tugging at her fingers in his hair. There were not words to speak how much he loved this, though his body’s response was so clear he hardly needed such. Between her violent kisses his teeth sank into his lower lip, biting back a barely checked moan.
“I love bein’ with you,” he said, laughing at the absurdity of saying it aloud, this thing he had never thought he might someday admit again, in full sincerity. Such thoughts, after all, were reserved for the young and foolish, and he knew well he was only one of those things. “I love fucking you.” His free hand slipped beneath her dress, tracing a path up one smooth thigh. “I love fucking with you.” He grinned, his roving gaze again finding her eyes (by way of her breasts). “And that you give it right back.” He traced the lines of her body beneath her clothes, one rough finger very nearly slipping - perhaps intentionally, though he would never have admitted to it - shallowly into her. “Nobody’s ever gotten me like you do. Take that any way you want.”
There was a thrill to hearing him say the words aloud, even if she’d suspected them, even if his every action toward her indicated their truth. She gloried in the jovial confession, her smile finally tugging at her lips as he pulled her along to the bathroom. Later, she would think it strange that she got as upset as she had, but for now there was only relief and satisfaction.
“Mmm...” she hummed as she rocked herself against his hand, content to be pulled along. “I’ll take it.” Tugging his hair, she kissed him again, nipping at his lip, taking quick, light steps to keep up with him. As they entered the bathroom, she kissed him again, this time licking his lower lip before stepping away, uncurling his fingers from around her arm deftly before taking another step back, then slowly sliding her hands down to her belt.
“Now, I’ve never danced professionally,” she told him, sliding the slim gold leather through the loop, “but I’m told I do know how to strip.”
She smiled, unbuckling the whip-thin accessory, and tossing it at him with a smile. “I’d let you do it,” she said, her fingers tracing along the delicate hem of her dress. “But we both know what happens to my clothes when I let you undress me.” He laughed, watching her closely, having no argument with her well founded accusation or her method of dealing with it. Slowly, she pulled the garment up and over her head, revealing a soft cream bra and tanga panties as she tossed the dress onto a towel rack. “Now I know you probably want me to leave the shoes on, but these aren’t going in the shower. As a consolation prize, though, you get to pick what article comes off next.”
She smiled at him. Even in spite of her caveat his own grin had not abated, instead merely taking on some strangely shadowed, almost predatory quality as his eyes passed over her. “Can’t bra and panties count as one thing?” he asked, quite sincerely, for all the the muted laughter coloring his tone. It was her turn to laugh, chuckling as she shook her head. “They’re both considered ‘underwear,’ after all, right?” He dropped the caught belt, letting it fall to the floor with an unchecked clatter.
“But I guess that’s too easy.” He moved closer, raising a hand, brushing his fingertips lightly down the flat of her stomach. “Bra first, then.”
“You know,” she said, reaching behind her with one hand, unhooking the lacy, delicate garment deftly, letting the straps slip off her shoulders, but holding it to her chest with one arm, “I thought you might pick that.” She leaned up and pressed her lips to his, then slid her tongue lightly along his lower lip. Then she stepped back, crossing her arms over the fabric and her chest, still smiling a bit. “What about you? Here I am getting all naked and pretty for you, and you’re still wearing those clothes all covered in girl-stink.” She drummed her fingers on her arm.
“Getting naked is not being naked,” he said, a growling, exaggerated sulk creeping into his voice. “You’ve barely taken anything off, and you’re supposed to be the one stripping.”
All the same, with one last, mock-annoyed grunt, he moved his hands to the hem of his shirt, tugging it off over his head. Beneath his shirt his skin was still slicked with drying sweat, though at least he was clean; no glitter dusted his hands or the floor as he bared that first bit of skin. “Your turn,” he said as his eyes drifted to her chest. His hand rose up to her, forefinger hooking at the thin line of cloth in the hollow between her breasts, tugging gently downward. “Drop it.”
Lia couldn’t help but laugh at the odd mix of petulance and predation he presented. As he tugged, she released, though she caught one strap so the bra didn’t hit the floor, and tossed it over her dress. There, nude but for her panties and very high heels, she put her hands on her hips, hooking her thumbs lightly under the fabric. “All right, done and done,” she said, inching the tanga a little down her hips, but stopping before any real progress was made. “Pants off, Sergeant. I told you, shower first. Though I do promise to lather you up.” She offered him a wicked little smile.
It seemed that was all the encouragement he required. His grin inched wider at her words, stirred by her teasing (and, he was certain, deliberate) invocation of his rank. He loved it far more than he would admit aloud. It earned her his immediate obedience: He wasted no time toeing off boots and socks, unzipping his jeans with one quick snap of a motion. He shoved his clothes to the floor, quite happy to be bared before her, unabashedly aroused by this little game of hers. Again he stepped closer, palming her breast, his gaze sliding over her body until they came to rest at the lowering line of her panties. “You test me, woman,” he said, only half teasing.
With a gamine smile, she leaned up and kissed him, pressing herself into his hand and sliding her panties down a bit more until they fell off of her entirely, and she stepped neatly out of them, flicking them back with quick kick. She took a step back from him, raising her leg to rest her foot on his thigh, pressing the sharp heel into his skin as she plucked at the straps. Once unbuckled, she slipped the shoe off and set it on the counter, then raised the other foot to his other leg.
“You love it,” she grinned up at him from her considerably diminished height. “I’m perfect. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.” She pressed that heel a little harder into him with a grin before she undid the buckles on that sandal, then slipped it off and set it next to its mate on the countertop. Then, both of them finally fully nude, she brushed past him to enter the enormous shower, turning knobs until all six heads were running. As the chill water ran down her body, she shivered and grinned, then crooked her finger at him.