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A/N: Crazy River imagery again. River PoV, Rayne Implied. Read, enjoy, let me know what you think
She promised Daddy, stood in front of him like a little girl even as the world pushed in on her and swore not to.
No touching guns.
But her palms itch now, fingers curling with desire to run along the warm lines and tight cords of flesh and mass that make him. Wants to find the trigger, take him apart as easily as he takes apart his girls at the table, piece by piece, discover all the parts of him that make him work.
He burns her from the inside without contact, fills the pits with red and black and rays of crimson-gold, threatens to turn her insides to ash with dreams and thoughts and eyes that make holes in her back—pin-pricks of pain and passion that leak and leave trails on the floor.
She wonders if he'll follow, smell the blood and lust and follow after, allow her to revel in all the components that make him, and her, living weapons others cannot comprehend.
His dreams catch her at night, a drifting cord that ties in knots behind her eyes—sees herself, blood drenched and wild eyed, body up held with grace and power and, if he were ever the kind of man who used words of that nature, beauty—surprisingly delicate among the tangle. He sees her seeped in death and blood and she finds the image jarring even as it adds kindling in her veins, smoke curling in the hollows of her body like the phantom hands that draw her to him.
But rules are broken among thieves and pain comes even when safety is promised.
'Won't touch,' she whispers against his shoulder as red escapes from the wound in her belly, carefully cradled by twin stained hands, red and crimson and violet all can see now, literal and in place outside her head.
'Just keep talkin' there Girl and you'll be alright.' He says, and she feels the gruffness of his tone against her side rather than hearing it, feels the pin-pricks of his eyes on her face and his breath, wet-warm, against the side of her face.
Shakes and lulls her as her body burns inside the shelter of his arms.
'You still with me, Crazy?' he demands as silence slips between them, his hand coming up her back, hot through thin fabric that sticks to her with sweat and blood.
'Not suppose to touch guns…'she mumbles as he sets her down for Simon, careful now.
'I know mei-mei.' Simon says mournfully as he works on her, numbs her to her pain and makes her drift away from ash and steel and the overwhelming heat of the towering presence at the foot of her bed. Simple Simon works but doesn't understand.
She slips away and dreams of red and copper, the world tinged with steel and flames and his presence watching over her.
And when she wakes he is still there, persistent like the ache that encompasses her body and the humming within her temples. His hand is rough and scorching and she thinks she might crumble there, hollowed out by fire and pain.
'Won't hurt you none little crazy.' He promises, voice fleeting in the space between their skin.
'Lies do not become him.' She slurs and falls into his touch.
End
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