Conflicted

by The-Burnished-Biblio

Beauregard is the one who leads. The one who is in control. She's teeth and nails and bruises and cuts. She's rough. That's always how it's been, that's how she likes it and that's how it will stay. But then Yasha happened.

Pain bursts behind her eyes as a solid fist connects with her jaw. A knee to her stomach knocks the air from her lungs and she crumples to the ground, winded. The dirt below chafes at her skin.

Another fist, this time to the nose, and a torrent of blood spills forth. Hot breath caresses her face, humid and imposing.

Powerful thighs pin her in place.

Anger

A strong hand on her throat, occluding vital arteries. Sweat beading on her brow, rivulets running down into her eyes, blurring her vision. She can feel the blood, taste it, its coppery tang singing on her tongue and setting her veins ablaze.

Fear

Two eyes stare down at her, one blue, one purple, but both burning with anger.

A rough hand tears at her shirt. Jagged nails leave crimson furrows in her skin, they sting but the sensation is distant. The rough hand in her hair is more immediate, wrenching her head to the side. Her scalp burns as strands are pulled loose.

Pain

Perfect white teeth bear down on the exposed skin of her throat. She's hesitant to breath, as the sharp incisors threaten to pierce her skin. They pull away, dragging the skin with them, then release.

Vulnerability

Painted lips catch hers and she exhales.

The same teeth that were just on her neck now worry her lower lip. Rough nips are soothed by a warm tongue and the hand on her stomach slowly strokes the smooth expanse of muscle. She moans and the tongue enters her mouth.

Pleasure

Calloused fingers play with the waistband of her pants and her hips buck up to meet it. A whine escapes her lips. The eyes stare down at her still, unwavering and still burning, but no longer with anger. Heat pools low in her stomach. All she feels is need.

She reaches out to pull at grey and black cloth, but her fingers only meet air.

Alone

Light streams in from the open window in Beau's room and the soft song of birds drifts through the air.

The first thing Beau notices is that that her vestments are soaked with sweat.

The next is that her heart is racing.

She lies there for a moment.

It takes her a while to realise that the stickiness between her legs isn't just from the sweat.

When she does, she curses and takes a cold bath before heading out to find something to punch.