There's something in the way his breath catches when he sees it. It's crude, but there's something beautiful in the ingenuity. He reaches out for it, touching it first with his fingertips like it's a diamond tennis bracelet and not a mangled toothbrush.
When he finally picks it up, it's with a grin.
"It's perfect, sister," he tells her. "You've done well with this." John is used to having to figure it out. In his bunker, he had a toolbox. He used duct tape. They couldn't exactly leave to get the supplies that they needed, so they had to improvise. This? This is beautiful.
He puts a hand on her shoulder. "It should do fine for precision work."
Her heart rate picks up at his reaction, at the way he treats it with such care. She was hoping he'd like it, but she was at best assuming he'd snatch it up and say it would do. Had she never been to prison herself, she's not sure she would have appreciated the effort it took to make a shiv that could handle John's work, but he appreciates it right away.
She nods, meeting his gaze as she leans into the hand on her shoulders. This time, she looks at him with something other than silly lust or cold evaluation: she feels understood, and like she understands him, too. Not completely; they haven't known each other long enough to be able to say that. More like...well, like two wolves meeting in an endless flock of lambs.
"Thank you," she says in a rare display of gratitude, "I don't sell these or make them for just anyone who asks. They're gifts, always."
Her reasons are mostly pragmatic: she needs to be careful about who she arms, and a little commissary cash isn't worth potentially putting a weapon in the hands of the enemy. But it's also her way of saying 'hey, I think you're special', reinforced by the fact that she pulls two cigarettes out of her pocket and offers one to him instead of shooing him away as soon as business is done. It's late, so if he wants to go back to his cabin she won't take offense to it, but he's welcome to stay a while.
He rolls down his sleeves and slides it inside of one, buttoning it tight on his wrist so it won't move. Then he takes the cigarette with a nod, lights it carefully, and leans against the wall.
It feels like something Big has transpired between them. Something raw. Something -- primal. It's just a shiv in a prison, but, for John, he knows the trust that's been placed in him. And he's not one to give up alliances so easily.
"What brought you here?" he asks softly. "To this place? Will you at least offer me a confession?"
She smiles at that. He's clever to hide it somewhere instead of just slipping it in his pocket. She used to roll hers up in the hem of her shirt and then tuck it in to her pants.
"It could be a lot of things," she says, lighting her cigarette and sitting down on the edge of her bed, "Back in max, I was queen of C-Block. We were at war with the girls in D-Block. It got bloody every now and then."
But, although she has no doubt that taking to violent prison life so quickly and rising through the ranks there contributed to her place on the barge, she knows it's not the primary reason.
"But I think I'm here for the same reason I was in prison. I'm trying to keep it under wraps, so don't tell anyone else. Not because I'm in denial or anything like that, but I think I could catch my future warden off guard with it when they find out. Give myself an immediate advantage against them," she says, blowing out a long puff of smoke.
In other words, she's hoping they're disgusted and frightened when they find out what a sicko she is and that she can use that against them. She is nervous to tell John as well, because he values his family and his siblings in particular. But his siblings weren't like hers; love and camaraderie was rare among the Denning sisters. She and Barb had her moments of cooperation but when their goals were accomplished they turned on each other like striking vipers.
"My sister Barb and I took our other sister Debbie to the lake and drowned her. I was sixteen at the time."
He doesn't even flinch. Not at the first story. Not at the second. He just takes a drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke rise, watching it trail up to the ceiling.
He does value his family.
He values sacrifice even more.
"Why?" he wonders. There's no judgment in his tone, no condemnation. He's curious as to her reasons; there's always a reason. Always a motivation. Always a sin behind it. Was it wrath? She embodies it. He can see it on her in every movement.
"Because I hated her," she says, "Our parents only loved her. Barb and I had to give up everything we had for precious little Debbie. She got all their care and devotion and we had to take all their anger. Before she came along, Barbie was the golden child and I think she was always jealous. I wasn't. I was never the favorite and didn't want to be. I was just full of fire and tired of hiding it all behind the walls I'd built around myself. It was time to be free. I hated her and she was in my way so I killed her."
She's calm and there's nothing of regret or loss or sorrow in her eyes. She may as well be discussing the weather.
The irony's not lost on her that the very thing that set her free on an emotional level was also what would keep her caged up for the rest of her life. In a way, though, she was still freer in Litchfield than she had been at home. Free to embrace and indulge her violent urges and be valued and feared and respected for them.
"I only truly became myself afterwards. When I think of the way I was before, it's like looking at a stranger. I'm sure you understand rebirth, don't you?"
"You made a sacrifice," he says softly, almost in awe. "Carol. I envy you."
He tilts his head to the side, watching her, stepping closer, letting his cigarette dangle in his fingers. He can see her there, sixteen, drowning her sister. Cleansing her. Full of wrath, letting it consume her, fill her, until it ate her alive.
And she gave her life for it. Her freedom. She sacrificed her sister, her everything.
He's never wanted to help anyone more. He's never wanted anyone more.
The blade burns against his skin like Lust in his heart, like Wrath. Envy.
She smiles, self-assured. People feared her, they respected her, but they didn't usually validate her. Not like this. They look at her and see something almost inhuman, a monster without compassion or pity, soulless and dead inside. She didn't care if they thought that, but it wasn't true. She was very much alive and alight with feeling and for once, someone else can see it.
She leans forwards when he steps closer, looking up at him with hungry eyes. There's something about him, beneath all the talk of peace and love and atonement, that seems so vicious. So alluring. She doesn't want him to envy her; she wants to lift him up and do whatever it takes to free him like she was freed.
But that's a long-term plan. For now, she just wants to know him better. She wants to see him without that damn shirt on, to check out his other tattoos and...for personal reasons.
"Will you show me the rest of your tattoos?" she says, extending her hand to him in an invitation to come and sit on the bed beside her, "You can leave the shiv on the side table for now."
He's used to baring his skin to his followers. They have seen every inch of his arms and his chest because he has to show them. It's part of confession and atonement to show that sin. And yet, when she extends a hand to him, he feels that sudden rise of Lust, of Pride, and he wants to cower a bit from it.
Oh God, help him., But he doesn't want to stop. cigarette still between his lips, he follows, sliding the blade from his sleeve, onto the table like she asked. But he doesn't sit. He stands in front of her and untucks his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly from the top, revealing smooth, relatively unblemished skin of his chest, down to his stomach, where the word "yes" is carved just under his ribs. The sigil of Eden's Gate rests just below his navel. Wrath, which he showed her already. He turns around, letting the shirt fall, revealing "lust" along his shoulder blade, crossed out rather viciously. Twin blades underneath it.
She looks him over carefully, wanting to take in every inch of him. Gawking at lewd magazines was a favorite pastime of hers but it was nothing compared to having the real thing right there in front of her.
"You're gorgeous, John," she says, reaching out to touch him, "Beautiful."
She runs her hands down his sides, settling just above his hips, feeling the raised ridges of his scars whenever she can. If he ever pulls away, she'll back off, but she'll keep her hands on him as long as he lets her.
He takes a breath, turning back around, letting her touch, feeling heat with each movement. He doesn't pull away from her, doesn't even think about it, but when he looks down at her on the bed there, he swallows hard, closing his eyes.
"I shouldn't," he tells her softly. "I do - but we shouldn't." His hands clench into fists at his sides, nails biting into his skin so deeply that he can feel the welts forming.
He takes his shirt, slides it back on, one hand through his hair.
God save him from his own fucking self, but he can hear his brother in his ear.
She's not as upset as one might expect she'd be. She likes to take charge, so she doesn't mind a guy that's not ripping her pants off at the first opportunity. Frustrated as she might be, she can wait, and something about the way he hesitates brings out the very rarely seen side of Carol that's more protective than domineering.
"Hey," she says, her expression softening a little as she stands up and rests her hands on his clenched fists, "It's alright. We don't need to move so fast."
There's a part of her that's still insecure - what if he doesn't think I'm pretty? - left over from her days as the unwanted one next to her popular, glamorous sister. But he doesn't seem put off by her so much as by the act itself, so she guesses it's a religious thing.
He's done so well to resist - everything that it doesn't seem fair to come here and have temptation thrust at his every movement. This place is drowning in alcohol. In sin. And now, with Carol here, her hand on his.
But - -
Surely - surely this isn't so terrible. It's not like he's been abstaining since meeting his brother again. There had been so many before...
He can talk himself into anything if he tries hard enough.
He relaxes as those thoughts run through his head, adjusting his shirt though he doesn't button it quite yet. Instead, he gives her a reassuring smile, placing a hand on her cheek and stepping forward, close to her. "It will be sweeter, will it not, to wait just a while?"
"Aw, you know I like it sweet," she says with a coy little smile as she leans into his touch, and if he didn't know that then the big bowl of candy on the side table - one of the few non-prison possessions she brought with her - should be enough of a giveaway.
She gets up on her tiptoes just long enough to give him a quick peck on the cheek. If by some chance there's a verse in the Bible that prohibits cheek kissing then she gives the fuck up, but she doesn't remember anything about that from the few times she paid attention in church.
"It's late, so I guess you should go soon," she says, now that her hopes for a 'sleepover' aren't panning out and John ought to go hide that shiv in his cabin before the morning rush takes over the hallways anyway, "But - I like you. I wanna keep seeing you."
He warms at the kiss and starts to button his shirt as she talks, but he takes his time. The sleepover might not happen, but it doesn't mean that he's exactly eager to cut and run. He's going to take his time. Enjoy her presence.
"I'd like that. Breakfast is always a lighter affair. Why don't you come by my cabin one morning? We can bring something from the dining hall? Eat together?"
The buttons done, he tucks in his shirt, picks up the shiv again, slides it against his arm, fastens it tightly to his skin to keep it safe. It's a sacred thing.
She might kick herself for it when she still wakes up at 6 AM - breakfast time back in Litchfield, so she wakes up at that time like clockwork now - but if he still wants to linger she sure as hell won't rush him away.
"That sounds great," she says, bouncing up and down on her heels, "Do you think they have chocolate chip pancakes? With whipped cream and sprinkles on top?"
Her favorite breakfast that, of course, was never on the prison menu. Closest she got was stale, plain pancakes with the extra syrup the inmates on kitchen staff were kind (and scared) enough to give her. The fact that she could still radiate anger while enjoying pancakes was just a special gift she had.
"I don't know," he laughs, finishing getting dressed and looping an arm around her shoulders in a final embrace before his intent to go, strangely charmed by the request. Carol, all hard edges, asking for something so frivolous. It's adorable in a way that catches John completely off guard.
"Maybe they'll let us make it for ourselves one day, after everyone's gone," he suggests. "Or maybe we can convince a warden to let us have their kitchen. I've met one who seems like he's willing to let me do anything. He gave me a whole first aid kit, water bottle. I asked for the Bliss, the last thing I need, but - " He sighs.
"That might not work. I may need to rely on Norton for it."
He's namedropping now, trusting her in a way that he hasn't before.
How long had it been since anyone hugged her? Five years, at least. The last hug was probably from her mother a few days before the murder, which she is quite sure she rejected with crossed arms and an eye roll. This hug, on the other hand, she accepts with enthusiasm. She leans into the embrace, arm around his waist as she squeezes in close before pulling away, her smile big and beaming.
"You found Norton, too? He's reliable," she says, "Probably the first one I set my sights on recruiting here."
Whatever John and Norton have going on isn't a conflict of interest with her gang business, she decides, mostly because as far as she's concerned John is already part of her crew. If anything, it just means that he shares her good taste in finding people to trust.
The question about Bliss can wait. When she pulls away, he straightens his shirt, pushes fingers through his his hair, and then tries to meet her gaze. "Norton is not reliable," he tells her firmly. Norton's wrapped up in his Pride, and Pride is a dangerous sin. It's unpredictable. Pride leads people to do selfish, selfish things. He understands Wrath. Wrath is easy. Wrath is simple. Even its cousin Lust, both primal desires, wrapped up and locked tightly, can be predicted.
But Pride? Pride will bite every hand to save itself.
"He is useful," he tells her softly, using a tone that she might not recognize from him. It's sharp. Intelligent. Clever. He's not simply the poor religious boy with a bit of a sadist streak. He's letting her into something here, trusting her with the knowledge of who he is and what exactly he can do.
"Be very careful with him. Do not give him more than he gives you, sister. And do not promise him anything you aren't willing to take back."
Her playful demeanor changes in a split second as she stands up straight and regards him seriously, her lips pursed into a frown. It's like all the warmth has been sucked out of the room; she likes being able to relax a little around John and have some fun, but at the end of the day she's still a businesswoman, a ruthless leader, and she'll be serious when serious talk is happening. The last thing she wants John - or anyone here, really - to think is that she's some manic sugar-high child whose power comes solely from her willingness to stab.
"Useful is a better word," she agrees after taking a moment to think about it, "I should've guessed you'd know how to spot a snake."
She knows approximately five Bible references and is absolutely going to milk them for all that they're worth. That's not so say she's decided to discard Norton or even insult him; snakes can be plenty useful and so long as she can make herself the most appealing possible option, self-interested people will work their asses off for her. Sometimes even more so than selfless types.
"I value your advice, John. I always will."
Which is to say: she's picked up on his change in tone and is aware that he may not speak this frankly with everyone, and appreciates that he's doing it with her.
A snake. Yes. Norton is a snake. And one that John intends on coiling up and wrapping around his own right hand. Perhaps between them, they can tame him. Perhaps the two of them can handle him. "He is Pride," he tells her honestly, taking her hands. Ever since she touched him, ever since she asked to see his sins, his bare skin, any barrier between them has shattered. He's comfortable with touching her now. With holding fast to her. With keeping her close.
"Pride is dangerous. Pride and Envy will choke the life out of everyone they come across, simply because they can," he warns her. "He's been Marked, same as you. But he'll be Cleansed. And he'll Confess," he says, though it comes out as more of a purr. "And we'll see what he's like on the other side. No one's the same after Confession."
He straightens up. "It's late. But - thank you." And he means for more than the shiv.
She holds tight to him, not wanting to surrender once again to the cold isolation of her cell. But she can't seem desperate like that, she has to let him go.
"I look forward to seeing that," she says, a small smile returning to her face, "You're welcome. I look after my own."
Which is to say, she's marked him too in her own, less official way.
John feels the same way. He's used to having people constantly around him. And his home is warm and comfortable, but it's not the same. Still, asking for company is asking for trouble because he knows what the answer will be.
But he can ask -
"Kiss me," he tells her. "At least let me leave you with that."
She puts her lit cigarette out on her pant leg and drops it on the floor. It wasn't quite spent yet, but oh well, who gives a fuck about that right now? After that, she doesn't hesitate and if he was expecting something sweet and gentle he was going to be disappointed. She flings her arms around his neck and tugs herself towards him, kissing him rough and messy, with a little too much force and as much teeth and tongue as there were lips.
She's elated, her heart pounding like a drum, but there's still something angry in her kisses. There's something angry in all of her, whether she's consciously feeling it or not. She's not a snake but she's still a wild thing that's been caged all too long. But beneath all of that there's real passion; that inner fire of hers that drew people in like moths.
He barely has time to throw out his arm, the one not concealing the blade and holding the cigarette, before she has her arms around his neck. His free arm is wrapped around her waist, holding her close, not even bothering to contain her. He lets that anger control her, following her lead, meeting teeth and tongue with his own.
Why would he expect sweetness and tenderness from her?
Why would she expect it from him in return?
His fingertips curl into her back, dig into her skin a bit, and he'll pull away only when she wants to. Sucrose and cigarettes taste meets mint toothpaste and the biting scent of sandalwood and leather from beard oil and shampoo, and he sighs against her.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-08-30 01:43 pm (UTC)When he finally picks it up, it's with a grin.
"It's perfect, sister," he tells her. "You've done well with this." John is used to having to figure it out. In his bunker, he had a toolbox. He used duct tape. They couldn't exactly leave to get the supplies that they needed, so they had to improvise. This? This is beautiful.
He puts a hand on her shoulder. "It should do fine for precision work."
no subject
Date: 2021-08-30 05:09 pm (UTC)She nods, meeting his gaze as she leans into the hand on her shoulders. This time, she looks at him with something other than silly lust or cold evaluation: she feels understood, and like she understands him, too. Not completely; they haven't known each other long enough to be able to say that. More like...well, like two wolves meeting in an endless flock of lambs.
"Thank you," she says in a rare display of gratitude, "I don't sell these or make them for just anyone who asks. They're gifts, always."
Her reasons are mostly pragmatic: she needs to be careful about who she arms, and a little commissary cash isn't worth potentially putting a weapon in the hands of the enemy. But it's also her way of saying 'hey, I think you're special', reinforced by the fact that she pulls two cigarettes out of her pocket and offers one to him instead of shooing him away as soon as business is done. It's late, so if he wants to go back to his cabin she won't take offense to it, but he's welcome to stay a while.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-30 05:19 pm (UTC)It feels like something Big has transpired between them. Something raw. Something -- primal. It's just a shiv in a prison, but, for John, he knows the trust that's been placed in him. And he's not one to give up alliances so easily.
"What brought you here?" he asks softly. "To this place? Will you at least offer me a confession?"
cw child death
Date: 2021-08-30 05:47 pm (UTC)"It could be a lot of things," she says, lighting her cigarette and sitting down on the edge of her bed, "Back in max, I was queen of C-Block. We were at war with the girls in D-Block. It got bloody every now and then."
But, although she has no doubt that taking to violent prison life so quickly and rising through the ranks there contributed to her place on the barge, she knows it's not the primary reason.
"But I think I'm here for the same reason I was in prison. I'm trying to keep it under wraps, so don't tell anyone else. Not because I'm in denial or anything like that, but I think I could catch my future warden off guard with it when they find out. Give myself an immediate advantage against them," she says, blowing out a long puff of smoke.
In other words, she's hoping they're disgusted and frightened when they find out what a sicko she is and that she can use that against them. She is nervous to tell John as well, because he values his family and his siblings in particular. But his siblings weren't like hers; love and camaraderie was rare among the Denning sisters. She and Barb had her moments of cooperation but when their goals were accomplished they turned on each other like striking vipers.
"My sister Barb and I took our other sister Debbie to the lake and drowned her. I was sixteen at the time."
no subject
Date: 2021-08-30 05:58 pm (UTC)He does value his family.
He values sacrifice even more.
"Why?" he wonders. There's no judgment in his tone, no condemnation. He's curious as to her reasons; there's always a reason. Always a motivation. Always a sin behind it. Was it wrath? She embodies it. He can see it on her in every movement.
At sixteen, she was fully capable of it.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-30 06:28 pm (UTC)She's calm and there's nothing of regret or loss or sorrow in her eyes. She may as well be discussing the weather.
The irony's not lost on her that the very thing that set her free on an emotional level was also what would keep her caged up for the rest of her life. In a way, though, she was still freer in Litchfield than she had been at home. Free to embrace and indulge her violent urges and be valued and feared and respected for them.
"I only truly became myself afterwards. When I think of the way I was before, it's like looking at a stranger. I'm sure you understand rebirth, don't you?"
no subject
Date: 2021-08-30 07:24 pm (UTC)He tilts his head to the side, watching her, stepping closer, letting his cigarette dangle in his fingers. He can see her there, sixteen, drowning her sister. Cleansing her. Full of wrath, letting it consume her, fill her, until it ate her alive.
And she gave her life for it. Her freedom. She sacrificed her sister, her everything.
He's never wanted to help anyone more. He's never wanted anyone more.
The blade burns against his skin like Lust in his heart, like Wrath. Envy.
"I do understand rebirth. I do."
no subject
Date: 2021-08-30 08:45 pm (UTC)She leans forwards when he steps closer, looking up at him with hungry eyes. There's something about him, beneath all the talk of peace and love and atonement, that seems so vicious. So alluring. She doesn't want him to envy her; she wants to lift him up and do whatever it takes to free him like she was freed.
But that's a long-term plan. For now, she just wants to know him better. She wants to see him without that damn shirt on, to check out his other tattoos and...for personal reasons.
"Will you show me the rest of your tattoos?" she says, extending her hand to him in an invitation to come and sit on the bed beside her, "You can leave the shiv on the side table for now."
no subject
Date: 2021-08-30 10:49 pm (UTC)Oh God, help him., But he doesn't want to stop. cigarette still between his lips, he follows, sliding the blade from his sleeve, onto the table like she asked. But he doesn't sit. He stands in front of her and untucks his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly from the top, revealing smooth, relatively unblemished skin of his chest, down to his stomach, where the word "yes" is carved just under his ribs. The sigil of Eden's Gate rests just below his navel. Wrath, which he showed her already. He turns around, letting the shirt fall, revealing "lust" along his shoulder blade, crossed out rather viciously. Twin blades underneath it.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 12:22 am (UTC)"You're gorgeous, John," she says, reaching out to touch him, "Beautiful."
She runs her hands down his sides, settling just above his hips, feeling the raised ridges of his scars whenever she can. If he ever pulls away, she'll back off, but she'll keep her hands on him as long as he lets her.
"Do you want to see me?"
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 01:27 am (UTC)"I shouldn't," he tells her softly. "I do - but we shouldn't." His hands clench into fists at his sides, nails biting into his skin so deeply that he can feel the welts forming.
He takes his shirt, slides it back on, one hand through his hair.
God save him from his own fucking self, but he can hear his brother in his ear.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 02:12 am (UTC)"Hey," she says, her expression softening a little as she stands up and rests her hands on his clenched fists, "It's alright. We don't need to move so fast."
There's a part of her that's still insecure - what if he doesn't think I'm pretty? - left over from her days as the unwanted one next to her popular, glamorous sister. But he doesn't seem put off by her so much as by the act itself, so she guesses it's a religious thing.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 02:59 am (UTC)But - -
Surely - surely this isn't so terrible. It's not like he's been abstaining since meeting his brother again. There had been so many before...
He can talk himself into anything if he tries hard enough.
He relaxes as those thoughts run through his head, adjusting his shirt though he doesn't button it quite yet. Instead, he gives her a reassuring smile, placing a hand on her cheek and stepping forward, close to her. "It will be sweeter, will it not, to wait just a while?"
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 04:17 am (UTC)She gets up on her tiptoes just long enough to give him a quick peck on the cheek. If by some chance there's a verse in the Bible that prohibits cheek kissing then she gives the fuck up, but she doesn't remember anything about that from the few times she paid attention in church.
"It's late, so I guess you should go soon," she says, now that her hopes for a 'sleepover' aren't panning out and John ought to go hide that shiv in his cabin before the morning rush takes over the hallways anyway, "But - I like you. I wanna keep seeing you."
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 04:22 am (UTC)"I'd like that. Breakfast is always a lighter affair. Why don't you come by my cabin one morning? We can bring something from the dining hall? Eat together?"
The buttons done, he tucks in his shirt, picks up the shiv again, slides it against his arm, fastens it tightly to his skin to keep it safe. It's a sacred thing.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 04:41 am (UTC)"That sounds great," she says, bouncing up and down on her heels, "Do you think they have chocolate chip pancakes? With whipped cream and sprinkles on top?"
Her favorite breakfast that, of course, was never on the prison menu. Closest she got was stale, plain pancakes with the extra syrup the inmates on kitchen staff were kind (and scared) enough to give her. The fact that she could still radiate anger while enjoying pancakes was just a special gift she had.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 12:05 pm (UTC)"Maybe they'll let us make it for ourselves one day, after everyone's gone," he suggests. "Or maybe we can convince a warden to let us have their kitchen. I've met one who seems like he's willing to let me do anything. He gave me a whole first aid kit, water bottle. I asked for the Bliss, the last thing I need, but - " He sighs.
"That might not work. I may need to rely on Norton for it."
He's namedropping now, trusting her in a way that he hasn't before.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 08:00 pm (UTC)"You found Norton, too? He's reliable," she says, "Probably the first one I set my sights on recruiting here."
Whatever John and Norton have going on isn't a conflict of interest with her gang business, she decides, mostly because as far as she's concerned John is already part of her crew. If anything, it just means that he shares her good taste in finding people to trust.
"What's Bliss?"
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 08:09 pm (UTC)But Pride? Pride will bite every hand to save itself.
"He is useful," he tells her softly, using a tone that she might not recognize from him. It's sharp. Intelligent. Clever. He's not simply the poor religious boy with a bit of a sadist streak. He's letting her into something here, trusting her with the knowledge of who he is and what exactly he can do.
"Be very careful with him. Do not give him more than he gives you, sister. And do not promise him anything you aren't willing to take back."
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 10:54 pm (UTC)"Useful is a better word," she agrees after taking a moment to think about it, "I should've guessed you'd know how to spot a snake."
She knows approximately five Bible references and is absolutely going to milk them for all that they're worth. That's not so say she's decided to discard Norton or even insult him; snakes can be plenty useful and so long as she can make herself the most appealing possible option, self-interested people will work their asses off for her. Sometimes even more so than selfless types.
"I value your advice, John. I always will."
Which is to say: she's picked up on his change in tone and is aware that he may not speak this frankly with everyone, and appreciates that he's doing it with her.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 11:06 pm (UTC)"Pride is dangerous. Pride and Envy will choke the life out of everyone they come across, simply because they can," he warns her. "He's been Marked, same as you. But he'll be Cleansed. And he'll Confess," he says, though it comes out as more of a purr. "And we'll see what he's like on the other side. No one's the same after Confession."
He straightens up. "It's late. But - thank you." And he means for more than the shiv.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 11:37 pm (UTC)"I look forward to seeing that," she says, a small smile returning to her face, "You're welcome. I look after my own."
Which is to say, she's marked him too in her own, less official way.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-31 11:43 pm (UTC)But he can ask -
"Kiss me," he tells her. "At least let me leave you with that."
no subject
Date: 2021-09-01 12:12 am (UTC)She's elated, her heart pounding like a drum, but there's still something angry in her kisses. There's something angry in all of her, whether she's consciously feeling it or not. She's not a snake but she's still a wild thing that's been caged all too long. But beneath all of that there's real passion; that inner fire of hers that drew people in like moths.
She tastes like tobacco and cherry lollipops.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-01 12:41 am (UTC)Why would he expect sweetness and tenderness from her?
Why would she expect it from him in return?
His fingertips curl into her back, dig into her skin a bit, and he'll pull away only when she wants to. Sucrose and cigarettes taste meets mint toothpaste and the biting scent of sandalwood and leather from beard oil and shampoo, and he sighs against her.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: