Disclaimer: I do not own Life With Derek or the Lyrics to Nine Inch Nail's Closer.
A/N: New chapter. Heh, I love Closer. Thank you to all my lovely reviews. You guys rock!
Warning: Dark, sadistic and very sexual theme. I am not your mother so I really can't stop you, but if you are underage , or not mature enough to read this, I highly suggest hitting the back button. BDSM.
Veil
It is always interesting to watch him interact with Marti.
In her attempts to build a strong enough barrier against him, traits that only she has noticed have slipped through her poorly built walls to be memorized and categorized in her traitorous brain. She grudgingly has come to learn things about him that others, who pine disgustingly for his affections, would be delighted to know. One of the most important of these is the fact that Derek hardly ever truly smiles.
Many would argue that he smiles quite often, but there's a difference between a smile and a simple tug of the lips that doesn't reach the eyes. It's not hard to figure out why he fakes it. Why he hides himself behind a false charm. It's one of the oldest tricks of building self image.
Wear a veil so no one sees the fangs.
What would happen if people were to see the sadist behind those pearly whites? What would happen if he didn't hold up the act, and the world saw what type of man Derek Venturi really is? No, that wouldn't do at all.
So he fakes it.
And Casey would laugh at the fact that Derek is actually a damn good actor, if the punch-line was funny at all.
However, with Marti the smiles come easy and frequent. Whether it's a simple pat on the head or a full blown game of Hide 'n Seek, they're real, genuine, simple to Casey's eyes. If Derek loves anyone in his fucked up mind it's Marti.
He's human after all.
That fact is something that hits Casey hard. It doesn't take proof of his blood to show Casey that he is in fact human, it just takes a smile. Something that is so frequently seen and taken for granted in everyday life.
As she watches the two play together she almost forgets the Derek that has brought her to her knees figuratively and literally so many times before. She almost forgets the Derek that takes delight in watching her crumble.
She almost forgets.
But it only takes a moment for her to remember. It only takes one second of pause in the game that he's playing with Marti for brown eyes to meet hers and for a pink tongue to dart out from a parted mouth to run suggestively over lips and she remembers. She remembers it all so well as she bolts from the room to find refugee in her on room, protected from the devil behind a locked door.
She picks up a book randomly from the shelf and thumbs through the familiar pages of Pride and Prejudice. Ah, one of her favorites. Books, she loves to read books. It's easy to forget yourself in between the lines of strategically placed words. She sinks into the pages, into a world were chivalry is not yet dead.
Until she is yanked roughly away from that world.
The beat from the loud music penetrates through her walls and into her head. A familiar beat, to a familiar song. One that she dreads to hear, because she knows he only plays it for her.
You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you.
She slams her fist into the wall in frustration, the words ringing in her head as if trying to mock her. She hates that song. Hates it because he loves it. Hates it because he loves what it suggests to her. Hates it because it so much more then mere lyrics. You let me complicate you.
She pulls her headphones out from under her bed and slams them almost forcefully into her ears. Not really caring what music is playing, only attempting to block the other music out.
It isn't long before she's lost herself in the flow of the music that blares from her headphones. It's peaceful like this. It's nice to close her eyes and forget. It's a wonderful thing to not have to think.
That is until she feels a hand sliding up her leg.
She opens her eyes abruptly as she jumps from the unwanted touch, barely managing to suppress a scream. There he is, sitting comfortably on her bed, hand still resting on her leg , as if waiting patiently to slide further up.
"I locked the door." She says quietly, her tone icy as she slips the headphones from her ears. A feral grin sets itself upon his handsome features as he holds up a small, black hairpin.
Bastard.
"Get out." If possible her tone has become even colder, but his grin only widens as he moves closer to her.
"Now Case, since when has that ever worked?" His hands come to rest on her shoulders before pushing against them until she finds her back against the mattress with the devil himself hovering over her. His hands are on either side of her head now and she barely registers her legs opening wider to accommodate him. "So why don't we just skip that part and move on to me fucking you into this mattress?" His lips hover dangerously close to hers and shivers slightly as she feels his breath caress her skin.
"Get the fuck off of me." She tries to keep her voice free of the tremor that she is sure is there, but fails miserably in doing so.
"Oh but Casey, I want to fuck you like an animal." She would laugh at the cheesiness of this statement if it weren't for the small detail of his hips rolling rhythmically into hers as if confirming his words.
"Derek, I said get off me." These words are meant to be commanding. They are meant to have power and determination laced tightly around them but they come off as mere gasps and pleas as he ducks his head down to take her bottom lips between his teeth, biting down until he tastes coppery blood, and then sucking gently as if in apology. He pulls back to look at her, and he notices the way her lip swells and trembles, before he leans in again, this time his hot breath ghosting across her ear.
"Tell me something Casey. Why don't you fight this harder? If you hate this so much, why don't you push me off of you? Why don't you call for help? Kick me in the balls? Do something, anything? Why instead do you use stupid fucking little words that you know wont have any effect?" His hand has slid up to lightly cup one her breasts and his eyes scan her face as she gasps as he grazes his thumb across the tip, already feeling it harden through the fabric of her shirt. "You're so responsive to it all." Against her will she feels her cheeks heat at his words and she turns her face away from him. He grabs her chin almost roughly, forcing her to look back at him. "Look at me!" She finds herself obeying him as his hand moves to make work of the buttons of her shirt.
He leans down to lick a trail along the line of her jaw and back up to the shell of her ear before continuing on with the words that are meant to break her even further. "Do you touch yourself to the image of Sam? When he fucks you do you scream?"
"He doesn't fuck me, he makes love to-"
"Do you scream, Casey? Do you tremble under his touch like some wanton whore? Do you claw at his back and plead for him fuck you harder, faster? Does he slam into you so hard that tears come to your eyes? And not because you're in pain, though you very well may be, but because you love it? Because you can't get enough of it? Because it feels so fucking good that nobody could ever begin to compare? Does he tie your wrists to the bed frame? Does he know what a little masochist likes to hide behind that wall you put up? Does he flip you over and pound into you until it's not even worth the effort it takes to hold back the screams?" And suddenly deft hands are unfastening her jeans and sliding them down her hips and she doesn't even move to stop him, lost in the words he whispers in her ear. "Does he fuck you like I do?"
She can't think. She doesn't want to think. She's doesn't want to have to acknowledge his words, to voice a truth she can't even bring to admit herself.
But he can see it in her eyes.
He's won.
"Answer me, Casey. Does Sam fuck you like I do?" One of his hands reaches out to firmly grip her wrists as his other hand pulls a length of cloth from his back pocket. She watches in a daze as skilled hands work to tie her hands to the headboard behind her. She shivers, a surge of excitement that she cannot deny racing through her. "Answer the question, Case."
"No, no he doesn't." And the look of triumph that falls across his face makes her want to vomit. He's destroyed her and it seems that nothing in the world could make him happier. "Why do you do this Derek?"
"Easy question. Why does the kid hold the magnify glass over the ant pile? It's fun to hold destruction in your hands." His teeth latch on to the sensitive skin of her collar bone and she attempts to hold back the moan that rises in her throat, but he is careful not to leave a mark.
"What if I said I didn't want this?" He stops abruptly, his eyes darting up to focus on hers, before his hand snakes down to her ass to push her hips roughly the only proof that he feels anything for her.
"Then I'd have to punish you for lying."
"What if I said I hated you?"
He laughs against the skin of her neck before reaching down to unfasten his own belt. "That, my dear sister, is a truth I know all to well."