[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.]
It only takes a moment and he's done, tucking the stoppered vial into an envelope, into his bag. Clearing up is a far less industrious process and obviously less of a habit.]
I'll give you a call if that flags anything up. [As if its her curiosity he's satisfying.] Have you eaten anything this morning?
[She doesn't answer him immediately. No one to hide them from is to the quick, and it's forced its way into her head now--(She had hidden many things to avoid Barbet's scorn. Always trying to hide what an animal she was becoming, the animal he was letting her become.) The frown is slight, and she responds distractedly,]
Not yet.
[It probably goes without saying that she's hungry.]
[Anything related to this man she's pining for rates highly among the pills he's unwilling to sugar. He's hardly naive enough to believe his words could shake her out of it - still.
He crouches by the chair, offering back her jacket and a fresh cloth for the still seeping punctures.]
[She lives in the past, the way the dead do. It's strange to be reminded of what the present is.
Carla takes the jacket, laying it across her legs for a moment while she reaches for him. They know perfectly well that she isn't going to say thank you, for any of this, but when she leans over, she approximates it well enough. Her kiss is brief before she's rocked up to her feet to pull her coat back on.]
Sounds good.
[She presses the napkin against her neck, waiting for him.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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;
[Is more to the point.
It only takes a moment and he's done, tucking the stoppered vial into an envelope, into his bag. Clearing up is a far less industrious process and obviously less of a habit.]
I'll give you a call if that flags anything up. [As if its her curiosity he's satisfying.] Have you eaten anything this morning?
too early;
Not yet.
[It probably goes without saying that she's hungry.]
too early;
He crouches by the chair, offering back her jacket and a fresh cloth for the still seeping punctures.]
Breakfast?
too early;
Carla takes the jacket, laying it across her legs for a moment while she reaches for him. They know perfectly well that she isn't going to say thank you, for any of this, but when she leans over, she approximates it well enough. Her kiss is brief before she's rocked up to her feet to pull her coat back on.]
Sounds good.
[She presses the napkin against her neck, waiting for him.]