[At this moment, it is as close as she is going to get to acknowledging in words just how infatuated she has become with him. Unfortunately, she does not take well to being denied, not once the obsession has blossomed. He planted it there. They always do, never realizing how much harm they'll do her when they humor her curiosity and her needs. Barbet had almost understood it, the first night she pressed on him to sleep with her. He had seen too much adoration on her face for his tastes, but he hadn't listened to his own advice. Too bad. She was dangerous, destructive. She blamed Barbet for it, for ruining everything he touched, but maybe that was her gift after all.]
It's a choice. Consider this the standard disclaimer.
[And, as with everything inside these whitewashed walls, nothing happens without an agreement on her part. He can stand where he is as long as it takes, but he's willing to lay bets on which of them is less patient.]
[Her choice. She had remembered, that he had said she would have to ask for this, an impressive bit of memory on her part, considering how often she lost things, and how exhausted and bloodied she had been. She doesn't want to ask again, but any answer she gives is going to feel like it anyway now.]
Fine.
[A lack of patience, or a lack of will. She's not in the mood to think about it.]
[For all that it sounds like he's directing the mise-en-scene of a particularly niche porno, he's barely looking to see that she complies. The paper packet of a sterile cloth is torn open by the blunt catch of his teeth and, really, placement is most important over here, where he's working.]
Not going to flinch if I don't numb the area?
[The irony is that this will hurt less in his hands than almost any others she could have chosen.]
[It is entirely too familiar to be directed around that way, to be ignored while she does it. Jumping through hoops to finally get her turn under the artist's hands. Maybe it won't hurt as much, but it was the hands that she wanted--(It was the hands that held all the power, a thought she had pondered over, long before the bullet made hers useless.)]
I'll be very still.
[She shouldn't say those sorts of things, she's just mocking herself with it, maybe him too.]
There's time to get it out of your system. This will be cold.
[The spray and application of the wipe let him adjust her position, altering the curve of her neck and watching the movement as his fingers press along the outlined vertebrae.]
You could do with a little more to clamp. [But he's following a different thought process now, the back of his hands reaching to test the temperature of the thin skin that pulls over her pulse points in her throat, and below her ears.]
[She doesn't want to answer that question, head tilting slightly to let his hand fit more easily against the side of her neck.]
Cold.
[It bothers her, when her pulse gets sluggish and her skin goes cold. It's just one more reason that she spends her time picking fights and having sex, eating. It keeps her warm, but it always fades when she stops. She's always back where she started when it's over, alone with herself, stuck inside her own corpse, and it's cold.]
[It's easy, with his hand placed here, to feel the minute tensions in her jaw that give away discomfort.]
But you burn off your intake at an incredible rate. You should be giving off heat.
[Though he gives voice to the observation, it's more a note to himself. She can't see the slight crease to his brow that he'll sometimes get when he knows he's caught on to a thread of her that might be unravelled. A man with an inclination for picking things apart.
After a moment, he pulls his hand back, and there's cold metal against her neck but no pinch yet while he finds the clamp's placement.]
[The tension works from her jaw to her shoulders, wing bones flexing under her skin. She had wondered, a little, upon first arriving here if the virus would begin taking victims. It was on her skin, in her breath. She knows it's in her blood. It hasn't happened, and she knows exactly how long it would have taken, were it going to.]
You're not satisfied with this, doctor?
[She's had her blood drawn. She hadn't been kidding about being fastidious about her check ups, but she had said no for a reason when Saya had suggested she let Chase be the one to give them.]
[Not the term he should have used. He means on her part, of course, but those confessions - the little scars that mar the tan on his arms, other places she hasn't seen - he can't pretend this couldn't be something else to him. If he lost the detachment, the clinical reliance he's shown here so far. If they lost the clinic, even. Give this another name and setting and he wouldn't have qualms about setting needles to her skin.
But he maintains the distance of business, the manner of work.]
Hold still. Just the clamp.
[He was right, there isn't much to work with. It pulls her throat taut.]
[That's all she says about it, a brief rebuttal. She's infinitely more interested in the tension in her skin, when it comes. She's always been too interested in sensation, liked to explore things with her hands--(pick them apart. Find their grooves and seams and pry them apart, separate blood from bone until it's all just pieces.) Acquaints herself to rooms by brushing her fingertips over every surface, learns people by where they'll let her put her hands--(Where theirs will go in return. Her neck is always eager for the attention.)
Her eyes close, not patient, not placid, just longing and keeping herself still.]
You'll feel the entry point and then- [He stops, stops himself from giving the reassurances of procedure he'd use to soothe the nerves of a needle shy patient. It will hurt, in other words, but not for too long.]
And then, I'll tell you when I'm done.
[she'll feel the entry point, sharp, and the force of pushing the needle through gathered flesh, her skin stretching around it. She'll feel the needle's exit and the tug and twist when the bar is locked in place. It won't be deep pain, but sharp, and it will bleed profusely, spilling over Chase's fingers while he works. He'll do this twice, as promised, if nothing gives him pause.]
[She should tell him not to disappoint her, but she doesn't. She's quiet, needs to feel the sting and pierce, although there is a subtle worry that it will be nowhere near enough--(nothing ever is.)
Her lungs fill with air, a long deep breath that lifts her shoulders slightly. It isn't deep. The sensation doesn't reach into the pit, but her pulse quickens. That's a start, and she is certainly holding that breath for the second bite, won't let it out until she can hear her heartbeat speeding in her ear, running down the back of her neck over his fingers. Meanwhile, her hands are clean, laced together loosely at the back of the chair. There's something unproductive about it, and it ekes a squirm out of her, hips shifting, the tension in her shoulders rolling down through her back.
[The kind of chiding you'd hear someone give a dog begging for scraps, as she moves and his hands are forced to go with the movement, ceasing, for a moment, their own.]
[She hisses at him sullenly in reply without pausing to think about it. The lack of thought, however, was certainly one of her goals.
Still, the desire to pull remains, maybe she could just elongate her neck a little, until the twinge elevated. She makes a low sound instead, a throaty purr of absolute discontent.]
[But there's something that soothes, almost cossets in his tone.]
The thing about constricting anything [And he works the needle through with a twist, catching her skin on it like a darning stitch] particularly constricting blood vessels, is that the initial process hurts. It hurts when your hands get cold in winter. When I tightened the clamp. But it hurts more when your hands warm up. When the blood rushes back. Why do you think clothespins developed the kinky reputation? What people don't realise is that you only really feel it [Tug and twist] when the clamps come off.
[Really, he shouldn't sound fond of it. Another cloth cleans the area, his hands (doesn't stop the bleeding, but nothing can make that immediate). He reaches for her hand then, one of those irritably clasped things, bringing it back to feel where the bars are shot through her neck.
Then he takes the clamp off. Her skin, pressed white, slides along the length of the piercing.]
[It takes her a moment to convince her hand to react, head turning to the side as she feels out the shapes under her skin. Her eyes stay closed, focused on the one point and its slow building scream back to blood flow. Another inhale, holding and listening until her lips part, subsequent breaths coming more steadily, breathed across the back of her knuckles on her other hand.
The temptation is slight to dig until she hits metal. She might just be satisfied with the way it feels under her fingertips.]
[There are metal balls locking the bars in place on either side, if wants metal (or course that's too easy, but they're a playground for twitchy fingers, and a way to twist the bars, to not let them settle too comfortably. Chase is content to watch while she discovers this, nothing else now worth holding his attention.]
[She's trusting him to watch. She knows this game, just like she knows how to pose as directed. There's years of training under that unruly exterior, but maybe only the spider knows that, and Blonde who has watched Carla submit to her over and over again. Dépouiller. Tourner. Touchez. Jouissance.
She stirs out of it languidly, in absolutely no rush at all besides a desire to stop straddling this chair. She curls one of her legs under her as she turns, considering him from a sideways tilt before offering a hand out to him--(Business, of course, of course.)]
[She answers that just as blandly as when she called him a liar before, deciding not to watch him draw her blood. Clearly not concerned over needles, merely forcing herself not to second guess letting him take it at all.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
too early;
Don't threaten me.
[At this moment, it is as close as she is going to get to acknowledging in words just how infatuated she has become with him. Unfortunately, she does not take well to being denied, not once the obsession has blossomed. He planted it there. They always do, never realizing how much harm they'll do her when they humor her curiosity and her needs. Barbet had almost understood it, the first night she pressed on him to sleep with her. He had seen too much adoration on her face for his tastes, but he hadn't listened to his own advice. Too bad. She was dangerous, destructive. She blamed Barbet for it, for ruining everything he touched, but maybe that was her gift after all.]
too early;
[And, as with everything inside these whitewashed walls, nothing happens without an agreement on her part. He can stand where he is as long as it takes, but he's willing to lay bets on which of them is less patient.]
too early;
Fine.
[A lack of patience, or a lack of will. She's not in the mood to think about it.]
too early;
A larger needle's going to bleed more, hurt more. If I use a smaller one, I can't put in a flexible bar. Any preference?
too early;
[It should bleed. They know why she's sitting here.]
too early;
[For all that it sounds like he's directing the mise-en-scene of a particularly niche porno, he's barely looking to see that she complies. The paper packet of a sterile cloth is torn open by the blunt catch of his teeth and, really, placement is most important over here, where he's working.]
Not going to flinch if I don't numb the area?
[The irony is that this will hurt less in his hands than almost any others she could have chosen.]
too early;
I'll be very still.
[She shouldn't say those sorts of things, she's just mocking herself with it, maybe him too.]
too early;
There's time to get it out of your system. This will be cold.
[The spray and application of the wipe let him adjust her position, altering the curve of her neck and watching the movement as his fingers press along the outlined vertebrae.]
You could do with a little more to clamp. [But he's following a different thought process now, the back of his hands reaching to test the temperature of the thin skin that pulls over her pulse points in her throat, and below her ears.]
Which do you feel more often, hot or cold?
too early;
Cold.
[It bothers her, when her pulse gets sluggish and her skin goes cold. It's just one more reason that she spends her time picking fights and having sex, eating. It keeps her warm, but it always fades when she stops. She's always back where she started when it's over, alone with herself, stuck inside her own corpse, and it's cold.]
too early;
But you burn off your intake at an incredible rate. You should be giving off heat.
[Though he gives voice to the observation, it's more a note to himself. She can't see the slight crease to his brow that he'll sometimes get when he knows he's caught on to a thread of her that might be unravelled. A man with an inclination for picking things apart.
After a moment, he pulls his hand back, and there's cold metal against her neck but no pinch yet while he finds the clamp's placement.]
Can I take some blood?
too early;
You're not satisfied with this, doctor?
[She's had her blood drawn. She hadn't been kidding about being fastidious about her check ups, but she had said no for a reason when Saya had suggested she let Chase be the one to give them.]
too early;
[Not the term he should have used. He means on her part, of course, but those confessions - the little scars that mar the tan on his arms, other places she hasn't seen - he can't pretend this couldn't be something else to him. If he lost the detachment, the clinical reliance he's shown here so far. If they lost the clinic, even. Give this another name and setting and he wouldn't have qualms about setting needles to her skin.
But he maintains the distance of business, the manner of work.]
Hold still. Just the clamp.
[He was right, there isn't much to work with. It pulls her throat taut.]
too early;
[That's all she says about it, a brief rebuttal. She's infinitely more interested in the tension in her skin, when it comes. She's always been too interested in sensation, liked to explore things with her hands--(pick them apart. Find their grooves and seams and pry them apart, separate blood from bone until it's all just pieces.) Acquaints herself to rooms by brushing her fingertips over every surface, learns people by where they'll let her put her hands--(Where theirs will go in return. Her neck is always eager for the attention.)
Her eyes close, not patient, not placid, just longing and keeping herself still.]
too early;
You'll feel the entry point and then- [He stops, stops himself from giving the reassurances of procedure he'd use to soothe the nerves of a needle shy patient. It will hurt, in other words, but not for too long.]
And then, I'll tell you when I'm done.
[she'll feel the entry point, sharp, and the force of pushing the needle through gathered flesh, her skin stretching around it. She'll feel the needle's exit and the tug and twist when the bar is locked in place. It won't be deep pain, but sharp, and it will bleed profusely, spilling over Chase's fingers while he works. He'll do this twice, as promised, if nothing gives him pause.]
too early;
Her lungs fill with air, a long deep breath that lifts her shoulders slightly. It isn't deep. The sensation doesn't reach into the pit, but her pulse quickens. That's a start, and she is certainly holding that breath for the second bite, won't let it out until she can hear her heartbeat speeding in her ear, running down the back of her neck over his fingers. Meanwhile, her hands are clean, laced together loosely at the back of the chair. There's something unproductive about it, and it ekes a squirm out of her, hips shifting, the tension in her shoulders rolling down through her back.
She doesn't particularly want to hear it's done.]
too early;
[The kind of chiding you'd hear someone give a dog begging for scraps, as she moves and his hands are forced to go with the movement, ceasing, for a moment, their own.]
too early;
Still, the desire to pull remains, maybe she could just elongate her neck a little, until the twinge elevated. She makes a low sound instead, a throaty purr of absolute discontent.]
too early;
[But there's something that soothes, almost cossets in his tone.]
The thing about constricting anything [And he works the needle through with a twist, catching her skin on it like a darning stitch] particularly constricting blood vessels, is that the initial process hurts. It hurts when your hands get cold in winter. When I tightened the clamp. But it hurts more when your hands warm up. When the blood rushes back. Why do you think clothespins developed the kinky reputation? What people don't realise is that you only really feel it [Tug and twist] when the clamps come off.
too early;
You talk too much.
[There's an anxious shiver in her skin, always the greediest little beast.]
too early;
[Really, he shouldn't sound fond of it. Another cloth cleans the area, his hands (doesn't stop the bleeding, but nothing can make that immediate). He reaches for her hand then, one of those irritably clasped things, bringing it back to feel where the bars are shot through her neck.
Then he takes the clamp off. Her skin, pressed white, slides along the length of the piercing.]
too early;
The temptation is slight to dig until she hits metal. She might just be satisfied with the way it feels under her fingertips.]
too early;
too early;
She stirs out of it languidly, in absolutely no rush at all besides a desire to stop straddling this chair. She curls one of her legs under her as she turns, considering him from a sideways tilt before offering a hand out to him--(Business, of course, of course.)]
too early;
He takes not her hand but her wrist, smoothing his thumb down from the base of her palm. Of course he'd been about to ask.]
You should wear your hair up.
[As he finds the butterfly, the tubing, the vial. Finds the spot at her elbow and this needle she won't feel at all.]
It suits you.
[And this saves him running labs on the swab he'd wiped her neck with.]
too early;
[She answers that just as blandly as when she called him a liar before, deciding not to watch him draw her blood. Clearly not concerned over needles, merely forcing herself not to second guess letting him take it at all.]
too early;
too early;
too early;
too early;