A/N - Complete this scene:
Servalan moved with feline grace towards Avon who remained seated. Her immaculately manicured nails slid across the smooth polished surface of the table before trailing across his face. She stopped behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as she lowered her head to speak softly in his ear.
"Did you really think you could outwit me?"
Folly
Servalan moved with feline grace towards Avon who remained seated. Her immaculately manicured nails slid across the smooth polished surface of the table before trailing across his face. She stopped behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as she lowered her head to speak softly in his ear.
"Did you really think you could outwit me?"
Avon twisted as he rose abruptly from the chair and they stood toe to toe. He looked into her dark eyes that were full of danger and desire, power and promise, and saw himself reflected there. He dipped his head until he could feel their breath mingle, could see her painted lips part. His voice was just as quiet as hers had been, but there was no softness, only steel.
"And did you really think I could be distracted?"
Avon clasped her to him, claiming her mouth in a fierce kiss, before breaking away so suddenly that Servalan sagged momentarily at the loss. She recovered quickly, striking an elegant pose.
"Distracted?"
Wiping the lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand, Avon wondered how she could seem so invincible while wearing a thin slip of silk. He felt oddly exposed in contrast, despite his heavy layers. He bolstered himself with a snarl.
"Do you think I would not see through such obvious deceptions of alternate realities and manufactured dreams?"
His voice took on a more strident tone.
"Or that convoluted tales of small storage buildings and utility closets, infantile games and dessert would divert my attention from the truth? "
Avon took a deliberate step forward, then another. There was something in his manner that exuded menace and Servalan felt the urge to back away. He continued:
"I know the truth. I know –"
It was Servalan's turn to inject a note of scorn into her voice, a valiant attempt to regain lost ground.
"Just what do you think you know?"
"I know he's dead. I know they're all dead. I cannot refute the evidence of my senses; the sight, the sounds, the smell. The feeling as the blasters tore..." Avon faltered, but quickly recovered. "I am dead. And so, my dear outwitted Servalan, are you. It's the only logical conclusion."
Servalan's mind reeled. Questions, there were so many questions. Never one to dwell on the past, she shoved aside the 'hows' and 'whys' and asked;
"Then where are we? Hell?"
Avon smiled; a chilling smile, an echo of his final living smile.
"Much worse..." His voice dropped to a whisper and despite herself, Servalan leaned closer to catch his words. "We're in the mind of a fanfic writer."