I'm stuck writing my TDKR Bane/OC fic. Can't. Stand. Talia. Ugh…
And I happened to watch Taboo (because of course I did, come on), and guess what. I had a fit of laughter over a poem I used in my story. Byrons "The Corsair." It was actually published on February 1st, 1814. That's the year where our new favourite TV series starts. Coincidence?
Anyway, since Byronic tropes of incest, general debauchery and angst were already taken, I had an idea for this little piece. Just throwing it out there.
Let's see where episode 4 takes us tomorrow.
Also, I have read way too much Connie Brockway, Robin Schone and such...
James Keziah Delaney was not an easily shaken man.
He was ruthless. Unflinching in his convictions once he settled for an idea. Never shying away from truth, however difficult or repulsive.
He left the brothel in a hurry. Since his return to that wretched pit of humanity's asshole that was London, all day every day, during each and every hour of his existence he felt like he was surrounded by women. The thought manifested in a shiver along his spine, more often than not apprehensive more than exciting.
Women clawing on him, like talons ripping through his soul.
The Crow was always with him too, lurking in the shadows, beneath his eyelids, in dark alleyways while he strolled around the city.
Lately the feeling shifted to being surrounded by whores.
Like ones who occupied his warehouse at docks. Ones he saw for his own pleasure. Men and women selling themselves wholesale, from brothels through streets to quiet chambers of East India Company. Infuriating Lorna Bow selling her soul for few shillings each night at Drury Lane.
His own sister trading her dignity, their love, for peace of all things.
No, he won't think about them, any if them, not tonight. He had to focus on himself. He needed a woman now, however repulsive the inkling seemed to him right at this moment. Not a whore. A woman. One that wouldn't know his name, nor care for it, nor ask for favours. One who would pass him on the street the day after without so much as a smile, a nod of recognition, a shrug.
He hailed a cab. Asked for Vauxhall Gardens.
Four shillings sixpence and he was admitted along with England's most fashionable to a place of leisure and pleasure. Cheap lanterns basked the grounds in magical shimmering light, masking crumbling paint on haphazardly put together pavilions. Everything here was just a shell hiding emptiness, pretending to be Maharajas palace instead of simple sheds. Untrue. Dishonest. Unnatural.
Open air coursed through lit and shaded walkways alike stealing away odour of heated bodies and whispers, and moans of pleasure.
James put on a simple black domino, a precaution more than necessity. Should anyone familiar with his broad frame come by they would be sure it was him… But the beauty of being here with even the most nominal covering on his face meant that there was at least a hint of ambiguity implied. If the Company, or Americans, or anyone wanted him dead it would be the perfect moment and place to strike. But they would have to reveal themselves here as well, a feat he did not anticipate happening tonight. After all, his idea to come to Vauxhall was rash and impulsive one.
He installed himself by the tree and waited, scanning the crowds.
An hour in he found his prey. She was easy to stalk, a third wheel, deadwood to her friends. Impoverished cousin, perhaps? A companion to a frivolous lady? He noticed her somber face among the throng of revellers, pale, sharp, cold, framed by dark hair murderously pinned at the back of her head. Dark skirt hid her figure well, but fashionably tight and long sleeves of spencer betrayed frailty of muscles he expected.
She trailed few paces behind the group, silent and absentminded. It was easy enough to tug her to the side, away from prying eyes, into comfortable darkness of his hiding place. Palm covering her mouth he clutched her close to his chest. She was frail indeed, all too malleable for his trained muscles, effortlessly immobilized with a steady brace and grip of his left arm.
"Now, stay calm," he breathed right into her ear, low and sultry and sinful. "You did not seem to enjoy your night out. I wish to remedy that. However, I do not care for an unwilling partner. I will release you shortly, but in return I want you to turn around and consider carefully my entirely honest offer of a good fuck."
He let her go, moved a step back. A gamble on his part, and admittedly a foolish one. She could scream. Run away. Gut him with a knife, if she knew her way around one. He felt an elongated thin shape along the back of her upper thigh when he held her. Indeed she bunched up her skirt and after a brief struggle pointed the blade forward, pivoting to face him fully.
"That was not nearly as fast as I thought it ought to be," she observed mildly, eyeing the knife with disdain worthy of something much more than an inanimate object.
James noticed imprints of nails at the ball of her hand. He spread his arms a bit, empty palms upwards, turned slowly from side to side under intense scrutiny of her narrowed eyes.
"Yes or no, then?" he asked.
Shoulders straightening with a flinch, she frowned.
"I am not averse to your... merits, Sir, but I am not accustomed to fornicating out in the open."
He cocked his head to the side an arrogant smirk stretching his lips.
"There is a first for everything."
"Quite so," she agreed. "I am not keen on being entertainment for voyeurs, Sir."
"I am not a 'sir'. I am just a man, and you are just a woman. Nothing more here, nothing less. Take my offer."
"How about this then. I will join you in, what you so amiably called, a good fuck but not here."
James sneered. So it was another high strung lady, too prim to admit her base needs honestly even before herself it seemed. Shame.
She shifted back, regret filling her eyes at the look on his face.
"I am not keen on being discovered in flagranti delicto, or holding back, or keeping quiet," she explained, fishing for something with her unoccupied hand plunged into little purse she had hanging from her wrist.
"Where, then?" he barked.
She flinched and the blade scratched at her wrist as she produced a dance card with tiny pencil attached. She scribbled fast, short words on an unoccupied page, tore it out with a swift stroke and handed it to him.
"Come here at two, if you still would like to follow on your offer."
"No incentive?" he mocked.
Did he imagine dark stain growing on her sleeve?
"This is not a trade mister…" She trailed off expectantly.
He could be to her anyone he wanted to be.
"James. Just James."
"Either you will be there, James, or I will pleasure myself to the memory of our short bout earlier." She smiled.
He did too, when he finally took the paper, but not at her words. It was blood, he could smell it in the air. Nimbly he transferred paper to hold it with tips of his fingers, simultaneously grabbing her wrist with thumb and ring finger, exposing the gash.
She didn't stop him as he bowed down, a mockery of a gentleman. He did not kiss her palm. Hot tongue thrust between torn fabric, gathering what little moisture was available before it seeped away. Muscles in her arm spasmed in shock, but she hold otherwise still. And quiet.
He straightened, aware of her gaze glued to his lips.
"Pleasure yourself to this."
He looked at the paper for the hundredth time, and impatiently stretched his hand to hold it over a candle. It burned in seconds, bright flash in dim interior of a tavern. This whole idea was foolish. He should get back home. Another dose was what he needed, not a soft body begging to be ripped apart.
A nightcap and he would be on his merry way towards another day of duplicity and plotting.
Yet, he found himself in Mayfair, only a short hour later. He memorized the address, like he apparently did everything in his miserable existence. Every detail forever etched in his mind. Even when he was a bit under the weather, like now, he was thinking clearly. Always thinking clearly.
The garden gate was hidden well, but he specialized in finding and taking what was not his.
Carefully closing the iron grate, he heard a rustle of fabric to his side. His hand clutched on a delicate neck, pulse thumping underneath his palm. So very soft…
"So you have come," she said when he let up his grip, never leaving her skin. She breathed in his scent, pensive frown ever present on her forehead.
"You smell of alcohol. Different than before. It was heavy perfume then, but I like it better now. It seems more honest."
There was nothing honest about him, apart from what he had promised her.
A fountain had to be somewhere nearby, the water murmuring softly into the night. She led him through thick foliage to fake ruins, put together with Ill fitted stones. His mind drifted unpleasantly fast to the memory of Zilfa sitting across his lap, dispassionate kiss performed solely as proof of her indifference.
No, not now.
"What is your name?" he asked, looking around.
"You my call me Sophia."
Wisdom. Just what he needed. She seemed to lack it as well. A good match.
There were some blankets prepared on the ground, still folded, but she did not move towards them. Instead she unbuttoned her spencer jacket, slowly, deliberately. This one was different from the one she wore before, he noticed.
"What did you have in mind for me back at Vauxhall? Pinning me to fake ruins? Throwing me on the grass 'like beasts in woods' perhaps?"
"Perhaps."
She was making him angry now. The sensation, grounding in its familiarity, helped him focus. The air was cold, but he was warmed up from the inside. The woman seemed to suffer the same condition. They disrobed, she methodically with a flirtatious flair to her practiced movements; he quickly, impatiently tugging constricting fabric away.
He basked in unhindered wonder he saw in her eyes, her mouth agape in awe.
She was beautiful, pale skin gleaming in the moonlight. Lithe but not wiry, definitely feminine. Unblemished. A stark contrast to his sun darkened body, littered with thick black lines. But she seemed to appreciate him just the way he was.
She took the palm he extended towards her, stepped closer. Cold fingers danced delicately over his chest, irritating him with the way she shifted coarse hair growing there. His blunt nails sunk in the supple flesh behind her hips. Surprised gasp was cut short as he pressed himself flush to the woman. Delicate skin on her neck was sweet under his tongue, so was her shoulder and collarbone.
He heard her sniff again, felt slightly unsure palm sneaking up his back.
"You smell like danger."
If only she knew.
James shifted back a fraction, taking her injured wrist in his hand. He watched as she traced the path her limb travelled, all the way up to his lips.
The bite was cruel. He relished willingness with which she took the pain. Blood trickled slowly as he lapped at the wound, in his eagerness smearing the liquid down his chin. Sharp coppery taste was softened by velvety smoothness of the medium, undercut by unmistakeable savoury organic finish.
He flinched as she pressed on his bicep, exactly between the lines, deceptively brittle nail cutting through his skin like a razor.
"That is enough," she whispered.
She was right, the gash on her wrist was overflowing slowly with colourless watery fluid.
It was James's turn now to to follow movement of her hand with curious gaze. Index finger carefully gathered his blood, then transferred it to her seashell pink lips. Cupid bow shaped mouth closed on the digit. James did not hide the interest he had in finding out how the sucking he observed now would feel on his cock.
"Quite enough of that, I agree," he murmured.
She smiled, bloodstains on her lips nearly black in dim light of the moon.
He wanted to paint her whole body with swirls of darkness.
Alas, not tonight.
"Kneel," he rasped.
She started shaking her head, but he sneaked his palm to the back of her neck. Caress was unexpected and subtle, only after a while followed by insistent press on her shoulder.
Slithering down she did not look into his eyes, focused instead on planes of skin and muscle before her. Making use of her lips she mapped his markings and scars. Once her knees touched the ground he let her obsess over the fresh wound on his abdomen. The skin there was raw and doubly sensitive, but she ghosted her dry lips over raised flesh, licked and inhaled in a hypnotic nuzzle.
James kept a hold on her neck, shifting his palm slightly higher, just under fine hair at her nape. He toyed with the idea of using her like this, but decided against. Dewy grass was cold against his knees as he joined her on the ground. Toes digging into easily yielding earth he put his hardening cock between her thighs, simultaneously angling her face up to his.
He swallowed her gasp of surprise, and then moans of pleasure. Licked into liquid heat of her mouth, tasting foul remnants of blood. Maybe it was his vile essence he sampled, maybe hers, he did not care. Neither of them did.
He promised her good fucking and was intent on delivering just that, especially now that he could feel her arousal moistening his shaft, tendons in her thighs taut, muscles hardened in an effort to guide his cock closer. He sat down on his heels, guided her to straddle him kneading on her buttocks.
Bites to her breasts blossomed immediately with rapidly darkening marks.
She hissed and shifted away, but he still held her hips so the movement resulted in a surprisingly graceful tumble down on her back. James looked at her, mesmerized for a short minute.
Long hair danced in the air as she fell, fanning in a glistening dark shadow on her shoulders and chest, pooling like a stain of blood on the grass at the back of her head. Her fingers dug into the moist soil, cording lean muscles of her arms and stomach. Slender neck was accentuated by rope of strain as her her head lolled to the side.
He had her on display.
"Stay as you are," he commanded, thumbs deceptively gently circling her protruding hip bones.
It was easy to lift her a fraction with movement of his thighs, slide into her cunt without effort or resistance. The slickness he felt before was overwhelming now that it surrounded him completely. He moved back to sit, roughly pulling her closer.
Without any words, there was no need for those, she started moving. Soles of her feet dug deep into the grass, darkening wit dirt, same as her hands. James watched, enraptured in the way she impaled herself on his body, using him, letting him use her.
He could, he would, he wanted to bite into her soft stomach, open her up, bury his hands in her entrails. Sloppy, slick and hot, steaming in chilly air.
Alas, not tonight.
His more salacious desires overwhelmed his mind briefly. Another dose was imminent, but not just yet. Now he could simulate the rush with intoxication of quite a different type. Hands gripping her hips harder, pulling her in time with measured powerful surges of his body, he fucked her with abandon.
The woman moaned, throwing her head back exposed her vulnerable neck yet again, pressing up her chest she gave him an unobstructed view of her breasts bouncing rhythmically.
There was no uncertainty in his mind that she did not care for him as a person, his money, his connections, his mind or his soul. She used his body, his willingness to share it, with the same single minded focus he used hers with. A good fuck.
Yes, it was slowly shaping up to be one.
James smiled as their coupling grew more impatient, more needy. More true. Frantic. He grunted with each thrust, listened to soft moans from her in response. Soft, but not restrained. He was sure she would not be ashamed to scream. If only he gave her a reason to.
Alas, not tonight.
Slickness he felt around his cock in abundance was seeping out with his movements, the glide audible even despite their panting and moaning. She clenched around him and with last partly sane corner of his brain he slid out all the way.
Cold air hit him hard, but he welcomed it.
She narrowed her eyes and reached out one of her dirt stained palms. James lowered his face down to her pelvis holding her hips up to his lips, her whole body stretched in search of pleasure. She bit her lip when he licked her clit.
James hoped to see blood on her mouth once again.
He devoured her never taking his intense gaze off her face. Not even when she rubbed her fingers on his cheek, smearing dark stains on his sun kissed skin. Not even when he plunged two fingers deep into her cunt, making her release a loud, low groan through her teeth. Not even when she squealed, as he smeared her wetness beneath her cunt. Not even when he plunged his tongue into her cunt as his finger inched inside just below, separated only by a thin wall of tissue.
He stretched her, her juices more than enough to moisten his ministrations, watching as she fought shame and surprise, overwhelmed by dark pleasure he gave her.
He spit down when he inserted second finger, appreciating the way she once again welcomed the pain. Her teeth gritted, brows furrowed, she bore down taking him in without complaint. James moved up, thrusting roughly and carelessly into her, his cock throbbing just over her weeping cunt. He kissed her hungrily, rewarding her efforts. Pulled his fingers away. Straightening back up he contemplated his options, decided to fuck into her cunt again. Confusion written across her face made him grin, an animalistic, disturbing leer.
He pulled out again, lined up to enter her other hole.
"Yes," she hissed.
He pushed in slowly, but not really gently. Gentle sex was unpleasantness he wanted to save himself from as long as he could. His cock stretched her further than his fingers could, and he listened to her whining groans. Her nails dug at his knees, cutting through the excitement, sharp pangs of pain a distraction he did not mind. He moved, intoxicated, head lolling back with rapture.
He was alone in the sensation, but not for long.
The heat coiling up his spine started spreading to his stomach and abdomen again, betraying how little he needed to trip over the edge. He wanted to take her with him, to honour her courage and sacrifice and honesty. Briefly he allowed himself splaying his palm on her belly, imagining everything that was beneath. Then, his hand slid down, thumb smashing her clit, three fingers pressed firmly into her cunt, as he kept thrusting deep into her ass.
She moved with him now, moaned with him and raced towards the end with the same greediness. Their joined voices echoed into the night, an unmistakeable song of lust and fulfilment. Slap of skin meeting skin rose along with their quickening pants, the staccato of movement deafening in furious crescendo.
He watched her come apart, her glowing fair skin reddened with effort, lips bit raw, blackened fingers twisting her own nipples and tearing out grass.
Gritting his teeth he waited her out and then resumed his movements, only faster, and harder, and careless now. She whimpered, but did not utter a word of protest, even as his powerful thrusts rocked her hard against the ground. He snarled and doubled down, semen finally gushing in thick spurts deep inside her as he came, fighting the urge to bite into her, taste her blood again, make her his.
In the end they spent a good while on the grass, James hovering over her on outstretched arms, panting wildly, coming down in degrees.
"My head is spinning," she whispered.
Gentle shower drizzled down, making her shiver and shift away for the blankets. James laid on his back on the cool grass, arm thrown over his eyes.
He wanted a woman, and he got one.
He hoped he would forget the address and this night by the next time his need would rise again.
Alas, not tonight.