A/N: Oh the angst, the long drawn out angst that I love to write so much :).
Demons of Violence
It doesn't take as long for the next time that she comes to see me, both of us crash through my bedroom door in the middle of the day, a blur of lips and tongues only breaking briefly for me to tear her shirt up over her head. She pushes me against the wall, and almost as soon as my back hits it, I flip us and keep her pinned against me where she belongs.
My lips trail across her cheek, nipping at her ear gently, before taking residence on her neck.
"This is wrong." She whispers, "So wrong." It sounds as though she's almost saying it to herself, and it also sounds like she's not too upset about the obvious realization.
My teeth run along the tendon in her neck, memories flowing of bruised snow white skin, and with the soft moan Mary gives at the feeling, there's a clenching in my gut that causes me to suck hard at the flesh under my lips.
Just as soon as I do though, she's pushing me away with all that strength she pretends she doesn't have.
"What are you doing?" Her voice is hard and eyes angry, but I'm still too lost in the moment to care.
"Marking you." I say with dark intentions, and make a move to lean into her again.
"No." Her hands stay firm on my shoulders. "You know you can't do that anymore." Because of them. Because of him. It makes a rage surface that's easy to feel when it comes to her. I knock her arms off of me, just to grab her and slam her once against the wall.
"Do you think I care if everyone knows what a whore you actually are?" I snap, my voice echoing in the room. She closes her eyes briefly, taking a steady breath, before she looks back at me with a feigned calm, as if to sooth the demons of violence that rips it's way between us. Though, it only ever makes me angrier.
"I know I have much more to lose than you, but the one thing you still need is Henry." She says with a level tone, and my hands grip her arms tighter at the mention of Henry's name. "Do you think you'll have a chance with him if Emma finds out what you're doing?"
My eyes narrow.
"What we're doing."
Because it was never just me. The first time—the very first time—I ever looked at her with a cautious immorality, she noticed. When my violent fantasies of strangling her, or running a blade through her chest, changed into something less violent and more depraved, she knew. She must have, because her looks began to linger, my silences started to grow heavy, and I swear—I swear on everything I have—that the only reason I kissed her was because I wasn't strong enough to kill her.
Besides, she kissed me back. She was ready for me in ways that no one who was good or pure should be. I lied to her though, while in her bed chambers or in the never ending dark hallways of the castle, I lied so that she would have nothing to tell in a hushed whisper to the king. A lie that sometimes I can delude myself into thinking is truth.
I told her,
"What we're doing means nothing." She says, so smug for remembering the words I've said to her so many years ago. I mentally shake myself out of the haze her presence condemns, and sneer at her, ready to shoot back some biting insult, when a thought strikes me.
"I could heal you with magic afterwards."
Mary pauses at that, looking at me with doubt. So ready to give in, but still holding on to her stubborn attributes.
"Will it work?" It's almost a whisper when she says it, and it makes me move my hands up the length of her arms, soothing her defensive stance—breaking down her resolve.
"If it doesn't than tell them whatever you want," I respond flippantly, already mentally plotting out the path of scorches I plan on leaving on her, moving in closer. "That I'm a horrible person, who stole your innocence."
"You are." She says seriously, looking up at me and searching my eyes for something I won't let her see. But it's there, a pressure in my chest at her words that leaves a pain that only she can bring out. I hate her more for that, because as sure as I am, she brings out an uncertainty in me. Perhaps my memories are more faded than I think. Maybe she fought and cried, and the insanity inside me is the only thing I have left. I won't let her see it, though, because it's just a thought—and she's here now—she's mine now.
After a beat, I raise an eyebrow.
"Do you want it or not?" Mary breaks eye contact with me and look down guiltily, making my smirk soon to follow. "Do you want me to mark up and down your body, leaving you bruised and swollen like I used to?" My voice changes to a more natural dialect, one that's darker and one that she remembers well, as my lips brush against her ear. "You want to be punished, don't you? All these dirty little things I make you do…" Her breathing is shallow now, practically leaning into my lips, to create more contact. I nip at her earlobe quick before coming back around to face her. She's still keeping her gaze downcast. "Tell me you want it, Snow."
Her breathing is heavy for a long moment.
"I want it." I knew it. There's a want in her that's too familiar, too much like something that's always been there. Then her eyes are on me, dark and deep. "…My Queen." I crash my lips against hers at her response, just so she doesn't see how much it affects me. Because it's been a very long time since she's called me that, and I feel my knees weakening just at the sound of it. God, I hate how I react to her.
But I missed this.
My hand wraps itself in her short hair, holding her steady as I tear my lips away from her, just to move them back down to her neck. I suck hard, no protest this time, raking my teeth along the reddening skin for good measure. And there's such a moan that comes from her throat, like that of a siren's call, seducing me farther down. And I growl, out of appreciation—out of frustration—out of my mind, wrapping my knuckles around the waistband of her jeans, and pulling her away from the wall to spin us and toss her unceremoniously onto the bed.
I'm on top of her in an instant, legs straddling her hips, hands gripping her wrists and pinning her down. It almost looks like it was, aside from glaring differences. My mind pushes it back quickly though, because this isn't about reliving those few memories that I'm not sure are even real. It can't be about that, because then I would be lost.
We're kissing again, as if it's impossible to stop, as if this is the only way we can breathe. My hands move, running nails down her arms, fingers reaching behind her back and undoing her bra before pulling it away from her body. The lips that were conquering her mouth move to decimate other parts of her, biting at her chin, sucking at her collar bone, licking my way down to the peak of her breasts, and all the while she's squirming—eyes shut tight—rocking her hips against mine in a sporadic rhythm—gripping the sheets as if it they were sanity itself. And when my mouth lands on her nipple she whispers, "Harder", and a moan comes from my chest before I have time to stop it.
None the less, I give her what she wants.
I move over her, blackening her body with mine, corrupting her—claiming her. And I think the novelty of this obsession should have worn out by now, or at least dimmed in its velocity. Though it still gives me a feeling of power and control, and those moments come far too few for someone who sought so hard for it. She made sure of it, running and fighting and not just dying like the good girl she pretends to be. She stripped me of my worth back in our world, and her daughter did the same in this one. And Mary tells us all that it was for the good of being good, and all the woodland creatures follow her mindlessly, because what else is there to do when she's here to distract them—like something shiny swinging in front of their face, and that bright light is her disgustingly pure heart. She tells us she was fighting against evil—against me, but she wasn't. She was fighting for her kingdom, for power. Because she could have run. She could have gone to any other land and had her happy ending with Charming, but she wanted to fight for her rightful place as Queen. She's more like me then she cares to admit.
And as I suck and bite at the valley between her breasts, I leave a black and darkened bruise where her heart lies—making it match mine.
Then, lower I go, positioning myself between her legs. Over soft curves and hard muscles, faint scars and white skin, down to the waistband of her jeans, all the while her breathing gets heavier. She's having bad thoughts about what I'm going to do to her, and it causes her leg to run up the length of my arm slowly, wanting so badly for me to use my mouth where she needs it most. I know her well.
"Wouldn't it be quaint if they were to find out about us?" I murmur, before raking my teeth against her hip bone.
"Not the word I would use." Mary whimpers, as I raise back up and away from her need. I'm kneeling as my hand deftly works the button of her pants and pulls them off of her, with her grateful help.
"Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as you think, if everyone were to know." There's a casual and airy tone to my voice, and I toss her jeans to the side, allowing them to join the growing pile of her clothes. Then my body comes back down, bringing our faces close. "Perhaps they would just be happy we were getting along." She chuckles humorlessly and in disbelief. I nip playfully at her bottom lip, a soft smile lining mine, and it causes Mary's gaze to grow suspicious at my suddenly light-hearted mood. She knows me well. "Perhaps they wouldn't be disgusted and sickened at the sight of you." Her eyes blink away, trying to cover for their watering, and I maintain my nonchalance. "Perhaps David could even be able to touch you without thinking—" Five nails lightly trace down her body running in the valley between her breasts, goose bumps rising in their wake. "Without knowing that anything—" They move down her stomach, "and everything—" Trace the elastic band of thin cotton. "He could ever imagine doing with you—" They move past the material quick, just to swipe along her folds and collect the very abundant moisture. "I've already done." The fingers move up to her face, greeted by quickly parting lips, like magnets attracting and rebelling all at the same time, "Over and over again."
I trace my wet fingertips on her red and swollen mouth, with an almost dream-like expression on my face. My tongue is quick to swipe at her bottom lip before crushing her in a kiss, reveling in the taste of her, as she does the same. When my nails make their path back down her body, I use more force, causing red streaks to follow. Mary gasps and pulls away from me.
"You never loved me." Her voice is breathless, but calm. Almost stern. And so very stubborn. I look at her confused for a moment, before understanding her meaning—that's the one thing David does that I never will. My immediate snide sneer shows how very little I care about such things that I'm incapable of.
"Is that why you come here, dear?" I sit up, kneeling between her legs, taking away my body heat as a punishment. "Do you want me to love you? The whole world is not enough for you?" My anger is rising as I grab the top of her thighs and pull hard, sliding her down and slamming her hips against mine. The sound of surprise comes squeaking out of her throat. "Do you think spreading your legs for me will make my heart melt the way you do around my fingers?" My voice is louder and darker with the passing words, and nails are digging into her hips. She does very good at not flinching at the pain, as I feel the breaking of her skin around my tight grip.
"That's not why I come here." Her voice is just as steady, tone calming, and I think she knows—she knows how it just makes my hate for her grow. She uses it to make me lose control, I know she does. Power, control, hate, and more hate—and dammit, she doesn't get to do this.
"I don't care why you come here." Teeth bared as I practically hiss at her. "All I care about is that you do. And you will, you stupid child—" My hand is around her neck, as my body crashes over hers, lips moving roughly against her ear. "You will come for me."
Mary gasps against my ear in return. It causes my mouth to twitch and curve up just a little. Taking away her power—even if it's just a little. I pull and rip her underwear down her legs, my hand quickly replacing what the fabric was hiding. The heat between her thighs has cooled slightly, but it's still there, and it's still drowning. I know that all I have to do is slide down her body and use my mouth on her, and it would be over. She would be worked over so quick, she wouldn't even know what hit her until she was walking home on shaky legs. I won't though, not this time. It's better when she's looking in my eyes, better when the burn inside her is slow and torturous.
It hurts more that way.
And it does look like pain, the way her face twists up as my thumb rubs against a bundle of nerves and fingers move inside her. I don't look down at her, I don't move away to get a view of her body, no matter how much I want to. For the simple fact of wanting to, for the simple fact that it would weaken me just as it always does, so the feeling of heat radiating through my cloths as she arches into me will have to be enough.
I move slow, building up a tension between us as my gaze pierces hers, and it doesn't take long before she's leaning in towards me.
"Do you want a kiss?" I whisper, slight mocking lining my tone.
"Please?"
My mouth opens to deny her, to make her suffer for a little while long—for the rest of her life—but the way she begs, doe eyed and submissive, like my own personal punching bag. It's something I find very hard to resist, so I find myself unable to, kissing her fast and hard, as my fingers speed up to keep time. I'm swallowing every noise that comes from her throat, as they get higher and louder.
Once I feel the tightening around my fingers, I break away to look at her, both of us breathless.
"Come for me, Snow White."
Oh, and she does. And it makes me just—clench for her. My hips bucking just a bit at the feeling of her. Mary's hands go on me for the first time, fingers digging into my back and pulling her against me as the breath freezes in her lungs, and her body tenses around me.
After what seems like eternity, I finally pull my hand away from her, and the loss causes her to whimper, either out of relief or disappointment, I'm not sure which. She holds onto me a moment longer before she does it. This devious little liar,
"My Queen…" Mary murmurs against my cheek, and it's like electricity shooting down my body, and I feel it—it makes me be the one to linger this time—and she takes advantage of it, fingers gently running through my hair, kissing me slow and deep. It doesn't take long though, for her pace to annoy me along with everything else about her, so I rip my mouth away and roll off of her.
She tries to catch her breath as I sit up next to her, and I have no choice now, but to look down at her body—it it's frightening, just a little, at how much hesitation it causes me. How much I want to move my hands back over her form and never stop until both of us are dead.
My hand does hover over her stomach, palm open and close to her skin, and she's watching me with an intensity that I can't match. As if she's found a moment of clarity in a lifetime of being constantly lost. That must be nice.
"Could we—"
"Don't talk." I interrupt, voice raspy, and my fingers staying still above her body. I feel the heat cooling off of her and into my skin. "I'm trying to concentrate."
She finally looks along with me as the slightest of a purple haze follows my hand as if it was burning, and I move it slowly across her body—the bruises on her neck, down her chest, over the red crescents I left on her hips—and one by one, every violent strike, every show of dominance, every mark of the beast—
Every single sign of corruption, simply disappears—
Into her pure snow white skin.
As if it means nothing.