Song of the Serpent
A/N: This is for all the masochists out there, and for all those who think Basta is sexy simply because he's evil and has a knife. I haven't read Inkdeath yet, nor have I read Inkspell for several years, so apologies for any inaccuracies. But I don't really care, because this is just smut, and it's pretty much set before/during Inkheart.
"Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires…"
One warm arm was across my chest, holding me to him; another clung to my left wrist. A sharp, clean blade was pressed up against my neck, cold as ice. A similarly sharp tang of peppermint wafted around me; a voice like a snake hissed in my ear, daring me to take a bite into the forbidden fruit. A forbidden pleasure; so wrong, yet so right. Temptation was thick in the air.
Like a satanic serpent, Basta slithered closer to me, his mouth now at the other side of my neck, as if about to bite me. But the scorpion's sting came at the other side, the knife pressing further into the wafer-thin layer of skin that separated the glinting blade from my furiously pulsing blood. I imagined it; the ooze of my own blood escaping from the base of my neck, dripping downwards, leaving scarlet scars across my body. I bleated, a helpless lamb in the clutches of the sadistic serpent, certain pain about to ensnare me.
But yet, I wanted to be there.
Basta's long, thin fingers comfortably encircled my small, fragile wrist. A constricting squeeze there combined with a peppermint nibble on my neck sent me shivering. My wrist was pulled around to the small of my back, along with my other one, and trapped together and tied with a fraying fragment of string. Now entirely helpless, I was a sitting duck; prey on which this fox would soon pounce. He turned me around so I could face him: perhaps hurting others was that much more satisfying for him when he could see their faces. His dark eyes were hooded with lust and the eternal passion to cause pain. He pressed up against me, icy knife still poised and ready to slice through my flesh at the slightest movement from its owner's hand.
Suddenly, the blade had left my neck, and the place where it had been was instantly cool, but then burned. Basta shoved the knife in between my teeth, almost like a gag. It caught the corner of my mouth as he did so, and I tasted my own blood on my tongue, metallic, and in a sick way, leaving me wanting more. Where the knife had been was now a tiny red cut, not bleeding, but sensitive. My captor's teeth assaulted the cut, and a wave of pain shivered through me, agonizing yet beautiful. My toes curled as adrenaline pulsed through my system and my heart throbbed louder.
His fingers trailed along my bare arms, sending a shiver to my very core and leaving goosebumps in their wake. I melted at his touch, despite the cold stone behind me and the cool midnight air that drifted in through the open window. I could feel his hot, slow breathing on my neck; on my collarbone; travelling down to the neckline of my dress. He snatched the knife out from between my lips, and I let out a gasp that I had been holding up. I saw the corners of his thin mouth turn upwards, and watched the unforgiving steel slice neatly through the flimsy fabric of my bodice.
As soon as my virtuous breasts were exposed to the chill of the night air, I tensed and shivered. Previously untouched, and covered with a thin sheen of cold sweat, my nipples were teased by Basta, with his serpentine aura and similarly nimble tongue. He drew circles around them briefly, before turning his attention to his knife - it was now around my naval. He swiftly and skilfully placed it against my neck again; my breath caught in my throat and shuddered through my chest.
I heard a thick growl of desire echo from his throat, and I was vividly reminded of a wild animal - like the vicious cats that stalked the Wayless Wood - about to kill; eyes glinting at the promise of blood. In the edges of my sight, I saw his hand stray, moving the blade from my neck to my collarbone. It scraped along it; the shocks shook through my body like a salvo. My muscles loosened: I was a helpless puddle in his arms. Much to my embarrassment, a fervent moan escaped from my mouth as the blade grazed along the edge of my breast.
His fingers tickled the small of my back; the intoxicating touch made my spine arch, pressing my body deeply into his. I heard him groan intensely as my abdomen met with his erection. I found myself yearning for him to be inside me; longing for the teasing to end and for my virtue to be lost to him. I whimpered pathetically as a response to this desire, but I was met with nothing but a dark chuckle. I bit my lip, and found out that the gag had made a cut in it; sore, swollen and beginning to bleed.
Basta soon noticed this, and dared to bite it with his devilish fangs. Pain pulsed through my body like venom being pumped around my veins, and I was powerless to do anything but moan gloriously into his mouth. My desire to be taken screamed louder than ever in my ear: I didn't care how, all I knew was that it had to be as soon as possible. I wanted to feel his slow thrusts; his hips against mine; our bodies moving in euphoric harmony with each other - the thought alone was like the gratification of a beast of prey as it sated itself on its catch. The drug of pain still diluted my blood as the scarlet liquid began to flow freely into Basta's mouth.
I could taste it myself; the familiar iron mixed with the sweet hormones of sex. I was too absorbed with this flavour and the venomous throbs of pain thrusting themselves through every artery to notice that Basta was reaching to silently and subtly unzip his fly. I only became aware when he gagged me again with the blade and slid his hands beneath the waistband of my black skirt; his touch on my burning thighs sent chills through my whole body.
He ground his hips against mine, and at the same time, pulled mine to meet his. The result was euphoric. I found myself gasping from behind the gag, and I heard him trying to stifle a moan - it came out instead as a low rumble deep in his chest. I felt a tiny splash on my breast: a drop of blood from my lip that had made its way down my chin. I must have looked a sight: a swollen lip that was bleeding profusely; a knife in between my teeth; a dress that was ripped to shreds.
I suddenly saw an eerie light behind Basta's head; a faint orange glow. It gradually revealed a scarred face as it grew; sandy hair; the collar of an old coat. Dustfinger held a match in his nimble fingers, moving it ever closer to Basta's hair as he stood behind him, yet unnoticed. I tried to warn him - my gag jumbled any words my tongue managed to form, and although I attempted to make my eyes speak volumes, it was too late. The familiar and strangely comforting smell of singed hair hit my nose - and Basta's too. His hand flew to his head.
"Son of a…" Basta spun around, but shied away from the small flame the fire-eater held. I saw anger flash across his face, though muted by a certain fear.
"Hello, Basta. Still scared of fire, my friend?"
"What are you doing here, you little…" Basta sought for an appropriate insult to spit in Dustfinger's face, but none came. Instead, he set his eyes warily on Dustfinger's hand, which still held the match.
"I'm here to save Maria." He gestured towards me, and I felt my cheeks turn red.
"Maria?" Basta laughed derisively. "She doesn't need saving."
"Yeah, she looks like she's having a whale of a time," he said satirically, casting a suspicious glance at the blade between my lips. He reached out a friendly hand to take it, and even though my mouth was now free, I had nothing to say. Dustfinger then casually tossed the knife out of the open window and hurtling to the ground below, much to Basta's sorrow.
The fire-eater firmly took my shoulder and pulled me away from Basta. He simply stared, frightened and envious of the man who could summon fire. Dustfinger offered me his old coat; I took it, glad to find myself decent again, and protected from the cold night air. We walked, my mind blurred, each step taking me further and further away from where I wanted to be. I stumbled over tiny rocks that would not normally faze me; stepped into potholes I knew existed, and yet failed to avoid. Finally, Dustfinger spoke.
"Aren't you going to thank me? I rescued you from a vicious sadist!"
"Thanks," I said bluntly, disappointment running clear and true in my voice. I faltered, losing time with Dustfinger's strides and thus abandoning the protection of his torch against the unfamiliar darkness that surrounded me. I didn't mind; there was a part of the danger that excited me…I couldn't quite place it. Dustfinger turned around, the firelight casting odd shadows across his scarred face.
"Come here, Maria; stay close to me," he said firmly, casting a glance into the darkness. "Who knows what's in those hills?" I obeyed, hesitantly. I didn't trust the fire-eater: what business was it of his what Basta did and who he did it with? He was a guest in this village: allowed to remain through Capricorn's very limited mercy. In fact, Basta, through rage, might persuade his master to banish Dustfinger from the village.
I would keep my fingers crossed.
A/N: There is, in progress, an alternate ending to this story, where Dustfinger doesn't barge in and things go a little further. . .woot!
Review please! Even if it is to say you hate me and want to burn my guts. I don't mind. I'll still reply :D