Something a little different in tone this time. This short scene was written for Lianne of the wicked mind. Thank you to Leian for beta-reading this. It fits roughly between Chimera and The Edge of the Horizon. I hope you enjoy it. Comments are much adored ;)
Ki
Vice
It was time.
Some moments were all the better for the waiting, anticipation made sweet and tight.
He surveyed the bathtub with a critical eye. Steam rose off the water, swaying like Eastern dancers, beading on the hand he held over the water. Carried on the miasma was the lightest breath of mint, mixed with apples; two scents of seduction. It always felt like something was missing, though, and he couldn't quite place it.
Still, there was nothing quite like this, no indulgence quite so sublime, no fleshly pleasure that rang such low, gratifying chords along his soul.
This, after all, was one of those rare occasions when Blue Malefici knew pleasure without pain.
The two had been so long connected in his mind that it had taken him some time to untangle them. Nightfire had done nothing to help; they made pain a pleasure, and the screams sounded just the same. His family had hoarded all their pleasures for themselves and heaped the best part of their pain onto him, lash after lash, blow after blow. Others seemed to find pleasure in their paltry friendships, but he had found only a shared knowledge of pain, of wounds half-healed and boasted of, nothing more than a thin pretence of pleasure.
And so until the moment when he first discovered it, that sense of wonder and contentment, he had walked the world as one devoid of his senses.
Pleasure had burst into his life, sharp and cold and alarming in its intensity, and in some small and indefinable way, changed everything.
He'd never viewed the world in quite the same way afterwards.
The water was just right: just that one degree below unbearable, a heat that would sweep over skin like a thick blanket, heat to liquefy and - and well, he knew what came next.
One last look, one final breath that confirmed temptation lingered coyly in the air.
Perfect.
Seduction: he always thought of himself as the one in control, the one who used words as gossamer chains, who could touch and never be touched, who mesmerised and charmed and lured forth desire with each move he made.
Not now. Somehow, the game had changed. Unable to vocalise, he was reduced to disjointed instants, passing in a flash of sensory indulgence. Too much, too soon, not enough, never enough.
White; a long stretch of flawless white that was smooth under his tongue, with just a hint, a tantalising hint of creaminess. All his attention was on laving every inch of those ivory curves, eyes half-closed, only a knife-edge of deep blue peeking out form beneath the long eyelashes.
Sublime: simply sublime. His senses were overrun once more, he was conquered by something so simple as taste and sensation. That fragrant, sweet scent had crept into his lungs, saturating him with an urge to consume - and in doing so, to be consumed, to roll that bewitching flavour around on his tongue, to sink into velvet and ice, to hear that chilly front crack beneath his teeth and-
Chatoya had never seen him quite like this: so utterly distracted by anything. Of course, she had never really looked at his face before and noticed more than the graceful lines of it before the inevitable cruelty of his words stole reason from her. Maybe if she had, she would have seen this same expression: the lazy motion of his mouth, the tension in his fingers, the first curving of a smile.
"What are you-" she began from the doorway.
Blue jolted bolt upright, and there was a splash as something plopped into the water.
He looked into the bathwater for a long moment. The steam obscured his expression, but despite that, she had no trouble reading the menace on his face when he slowly turned his head to stare at her.
"You just dropped your Magnum, didn't you?" Chatoya debated taking a step back. But then again, she wasn't the one who'd just been caught in the bath with the culinary equivalent of pornography. If she was clever, she might get out of this situation ahead; surely a fondness for ice-cream and hot baths wasn't going to do his reputation much good?
His eyes slowly filled with golden light, and he stood up in the bathtub, apparently not caring that he was naked, dripping water, and now somewhat chocolate-marinated.
"I have a doorbell," he said in a voice that was as cold as...well...his white-chocolate Magnum had been a moment ago. "Because you didn't use it, I don't have a sumptuous, tasty and yet seasonal treat in my hands."
"Well, if you put out some sherry and mince pies tonight, I hear the old boy's doing the rounds, so you can probably catch him later," she threw back, staring fixedly at the shower rail above his head. Steam really didn't provide quite enough gauziness for her peace of mind.
His expression was absolutely empty. "Out."
"This is a business call," she offered.
"Do I look like I'm interested in doing business?" His voice was a whiplash, but she couldn't help but notice it was lacking his usual glacial bite. Maybe he was feeling just a tad self-conscious.
Chatoya coughed politely. "Depends on the business, I suppose. I mean, there isn't much call for naked assassins-"
"Lance has obviously been hiding things from you."
She ignored that, despite the flurry of disturbing mental images that assaulted her and bravely continued, "-but you could probably take this show on the road."
"Why don't you take your show on the road?" he suggested with a gesture towards the door. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little preoccupied."
"Well, you look like you're getting cold," she observed helpfully. She could feel the laughter starting to bubble up in her chest, but she had the feeling that he was only hanging onto his sugar-deprived rage by the slimmest of threads.
For a moment, she thought the old ice would be in his voice, daggered and dangerous, but then his eyes narrowed. That familiar wicked smile, frosted about the edges, curved over his mouth. "Well, witch of mine, if you're so concerned...a little vice would be good for you."
Uh-oh.
"I'm not into chocolate," she said hastily, clutching her coat about her. Neatly as that, he had turned the tables on her, and she was unnerved, unable to cope with this flamboyant, sinful side of him at a time when everyone seemed to be demanding too much from her. "In fact, I'd better go."
She backed out of the door, half-scurrying out of his house. But like a devilish echo, his voice came after her, one last wound, one last blessing - she didn't know which.
Who said anything about chocolate?
Blue sank back into the bathwater, his witch fading from his mind and home to leave nothing but a lingering scent he couldn't quite place, something fresh and green.
Mint, someone better trained might have told him. Mint, and apples and honeysuckle.
He put it from his mind, and let his head loll back, eyes half-closing once more as he gave a small, feline stretch. The scent of the ice-cream hung even more thickly in the air now, clinging like incense, and he barely noticed the last traces melting into the water.
His hand reached down to the ice-box that held his painless pleasure: white-chocolate Magnums by the dozen, his personal vice. Well - one of his vices.
The other one... Pain and pleasure mingled. He put her from his mind.
And as his teeth cracked opened the chocolate, and ice-cream chilled his tongue, for some reason he couldn't fathom, he thought: honeysuckle. That's what's been missing.
That was the absence he'd felt.
Author's note: Just to clear up any confusion, on my side of the pond, a Magnum is not a gun, but a tasty ice-cream coated with chocolate. And yes, it really is that much of a sensual pleasure ;)
And if anyone's wondering why this is categorised as 'tragedy'...you can't tell me dropping ice-cream in the bath doesn't class as a tragedy. Very much tongue-in-cheek, Ki