She doesn't know how to react – not when Ruby is dragging his manicured nails across her thigh, not when his breath sounds almost feral against her ear, and especially not when he presses her body further, making her sink further against the plush bed and into bliss. The air is thick inside his bedroom, and the summer heat outside reminds her of afternoons spent playing with little boys. Ruby shifts imperceptibly from himself to the one he used to be, and Sapphire struggles to regain command of the situation. When she grabs him by the jaw, squirming and pushing, because she isn't really sure of who she's fucking with, his hair is pulled along with her fingers.
Her breath hitches. Ruby grins at her when she stiffens beneath him, and grabs her chin, yanks her up and kisses her. She traces the contours of his scars, fingers trembling each time he breathes, skin sliding against hers. Her eyes are closed, but she knows him by heart; she knows that he is breaking inside, knows that pretending that he is a previous segment of himself is the only way he has to posess control.
Sapphire lets him (and she too, pretends).