1.1.1.1.1.1 Chapter 6
1.1.1.1.1.2 Rhythm. Prose.
Disclaimer: Literary quote from Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' & characters' choice of novels does not necessarily reflect mine
Riddick's stomach had long since given up growling by the time scents of cooking seeped through the ventilation. It was the first time Jack had eaten a decent sized meal since being carried on board his ship. She'd scratched up a few bars of essential nutrients wrapped in tasty fibre, or so the packaging implied, but had shared even less with Riddick.
As a rule, she tried to avoid honing any skills that might be intrepreted as girly, but cooking had proven necessary on more than a few hunts. The Obsidian Sun's kitchen consisted of the regular cupboard with fold-out everything. She'd pulled the stove out and slapped on some bacon a few minutes ago. Riddick heard her humming while she thrashed at some eggs in a bowl.
Jack dug through a supplies drawer for salt and pepper. Her hand caught on a small jar and she pulled it up to read the label.
"Rubar."
Mmm, the man knows how to cook.
Jack looked at the gourmet spice with suspicion before tossing some of the ground leaves into her mix. Pulling the drawer out further, Jack delved in to find out what else Riddick might be hiding.
Riddick felt the familiar tug of his legs against the wall and stepped back. Whether he fought it or resisted it, Jack always won this squabble and his legs were just too sore to take the abuse today.
Jack slid through the door with her usual lithe saunter. She was carrying a tray that immediately permeated the air with an inviting aroma.
Still in her pyjamas, Riddick noted as she curled up on the bench. Setting the tray on her lap and picking up a book, she calmly flicked a page open and started eating.
"I didn't realize you could cook," Riddick commentated. He sounded nonchalant, but his stomach had caught up to him and was insisting he stage a revolt, break through the metal cuffs, and eat whatever the hell it was that smelt that good. And if what was on her plate wasn't enough, he'd damn well roast Jack and eat her too.
The innuendo took a moment longer to catch up with his mind. An image seared into his mind, igniting a hunger for more than food.
"Omelettes don't count," Jack muttered and took a slow bite from her fork. She chewed it slowly, enough to make Riddick wonder if she was eating it solely to tease him. Flicking the page, Jack's eyes continued to run along the story.
"What are you reading?"
"Something I found on your bookshelf."
Riddick nodded and sat back. He didn't feel like playing anymore. She could damned well find another way to amuse herself apart from him.
Jack looked over the edge of her page and saw her toy had lost interest.
"When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging through the wood with a staglike swiftness. What a miserable night I passed! The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth amidst the universal stillness."
"All, save I, were at rest or in enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me, and finding myself unsympathized with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin," Riddick completed.
"Mary Shelley," Jack replied softly. She'd considered the books might just be for decoration, but the chill of his voice over the words told her he'd studied them well. Maybe he'd seen himself there.
Jack closed the book softly and moved off the bench top. Riddick watched the way her legs rolled out from under her and her body arched away from the top. Her skirt consisted of two sheets of material on a band low on her hips. The front piece fell between her legs as her knees bent out and the back of her loose vest caught on the table, pulling up to reveal more of her abdomen.
It took only a moment and Jack was oblivious to the way Riddick's breathing had changed. For that moment her face had been sweet and relaxed, dark hair flicked over the front of her face as her body had spread in a way that was both innocent and immediately brought back the earlier fantasy.
Jack looked quizzically at Riddick as he shook his head suddenly.
She slid up in front of him and began feeding him from her fork.
Riddick chewed slowly, as she had. But for different reasons.
The warmth from her body rolled through the air and onto him. Her face was eye-level, giving him time to linger over the markings on her skin. Jack dropped her head to the side, flicking hair from her face.
He took another bite and swallowed slowly. Jack wet her lips casually and waited before taking the fork away from his mouth. She seemed to him oblivious to the fact that his eyes were boring through her.
Jack ignored him. He was attempting to intimidate her again, grinding at the food slowly and staring the hell out of her patience.
"Done?" she asked archly.
With the meal finished, she shot him a glare of disgust and left.
* * * * * * * *
Every day it was the same.
Jack would get up and train for a few hours. She'd pound the hell out of the punching bag before he'd hear the soft thumps of her landing on her feet or hands as she practiced combat.
"Get a better workout with a sparring partner," he'd mentioned one day.
Jack had smiled smugly, "I'd need someone with stamina, not a geriatric in bondage."
She'd usually grunt and groan, thumping things until she'd tire and bind him up against the wall before she strode in sweatily. Then the blindfold would go on and she'd shower as he listened to the sounds of water hitting her body, and inhaled the salt and soap. Afterwards she'd bring him food before retreating to reading. Jack had already made it through his collection of books once and was starting on her favoured ones again. He wondered if she'd be back arguing with him again today over his preferences.
Yesterday, she'd conceded to reading passages out of 'Neuromancer', but only after he had to spend three hours listening to mindnumbing Austen. She'd downloaded 'Pride and Prejudice' just to spite him, Riddick was convinced.
He had to admit he was strangely starting to enjoy the rhythm. The way Jack jolted him through the day, taunting and teasing, never giving an inch. She knew how to screw him up and make him want to squeeze her neck 'til it popped. And she knew how to resist him, and push him out of her whenever he gained an inch. What he enjoyed most were those rare moments when she didn't realize the game she was playing, staring with wide eyes and wet lips like the naïve Jack he'd taken pity on too long ago. Riddick wondered if fucking her would be the same.
She'd been working out far longer today. Every now and then he'd hear her grunt, almost painfully. There was a louder thump than usual, maybe her hip hitting the floor, and Jack cursed a stream of expletives. Riddick controlled his breathing, becoming silent to listen. But he heard nothing. Not breathing, not breaking, no more cursing. Sitting in darkness, he let all his senses concentrate on the girl outside his room, but there was nothing to sense.
Riddick almost jolted as the door slammed open beside him. Jack left it open as she tread in softly. Eyes open, he saw the way her shoulders were trembling. Barely audible gasps escaped her mouth, faced away from him.
1.1.1.1.2
1.1.1.1.3 Something slip your mind.
Riddick's legs were unbound, he had free reign. And she was utterly unprepared.
Edging up into a crouch, the hunter prepared for the attack.
Her hand shot out to her left, startling him, but it only reached for the tap on the shower. Water blasted against the floor and small drops alighted on him. She'd taken out the shower walls when she'd first put him in here, leaving no barrier between the jetspray and Riddick.
All the better not to hear me.
He would've attacked. Would've pounced and broken her neck with a sweet ease. And he would've realized later that he was still bound in chains that needed a key that wasn't on the corpse in front of him. They could have been two corpses in a pretty ship if Jack hadn't reached behind her then, and if the shiv hadn't caught his mercurial eyes.
Riddick's mind flicked to a decade ago, on the planet of three suns.
"I thought I said no sh-shivs."
"This? This is just a personal grooming appliance."
He scraped the grease off the blade before returning it to his scalp.
In his mind his hand had been wrapped around the same shiv that lay in Jack's palm now, only when she lifted it to her scalp she twisted the sharp edge around the long weave of hair. Instead of cutting, she drew the blade harmlessly along before lowering it by her side. Riddick's eyes caught the faint smear of red on the metal. She hadn't been readying to cut her hair, merely clean the blade.
Trembling fingers twitched and lost their grip. Riddick flinched as the shiv cracked onto tile and spun across the floor within his reach.
Rapt, Riddick ran his eyes along her form, searching for the cut. Jack's hands fumbled with something at her hip and the two pieces of fabric that formed a skirt fell to the ground. The thick tang of blood caught on Riddick's nose instantly.
Trails of blood had formed a maze down her left leg, but the source was still out of his sight.
Heavy training session.
Her hands went up to her back again, this time finding something in the strapping around her torso to release it. The band of material dropped to the floor, heavy with sweat. She twisted at the banding on her hair and released it into tangled waves.
Riddick's breathing stopped and he barely kept from dropping the shiv he'd retrieved, when Jack arched her back and raked her fingers through her hair. The dull light through the doorway sank along the curve of her spine and caught hues of red in the twisted locks.
Fuck me.
Riddick swore in his mind and swallowed on his dry throat. He licked at the droplets of shower spray that landed on his lips, suddenly thirsty.
One of her hands was moving at her hip again, this time undoing the knot on the last of her clothing. The scrap of underwear slid down her legs and crumpled on the floor.
Large hands clenched on toned thighs.
Jack brushed her fingers through her hair again as she tested the water with a foot. As she slid under the water she sighed softly. Riddick would've dismissed the sound as his imagination if he hadn't seen the wave of the sigh tremble down her body. It was a sound full of sadness, like healing agony.
Steam wisped down over the tiles and spread towards Riddick. He brushed it away with hands too solid, afraid it would wrench him into her world. But desperate to observe.
The water slipped over her body, bringing a blush of redness where it touched. He could almost taste the heat and knew it must be scalding her pale skin. Jack hadn't moved for a drawn-out moment and a thought crept into Riddick's mind wondering if she ever would. But even as it settled, a hand sought the scraggly washer. Scrubbing down her body, from her arms to her feet, the mercenary worked with a furious intensity. Riddick's eyes fixed where the washer scrubbed.
Jack clawed at her skin, almost desperately.
Strange, Riddick thought, how beautiful some are even when they're broken.
He felt something wanting to reach, and something just wanting to laugh. A piece inside him grated against the walls, twisting its corners into soft flesh.
Her face turned up into the shower, her hands scouring through wet hair even as she turned. Her body faced him and he watched as the water formed streams between her breasts, over her stomach before curling around her thighs. Red water at her hip coursed from the gash. It looked angry even in the half-light.
Riddick ran his tongue over his lips, trying to taste the blood in the steam.
Jack dropped her head abruptly. Fingers scrunched at the hair at her forehead. She slid down the wall, dropping into a huddled position. Arms wrapped around the legs, pushing them against her full breasts. Her face pressed into her knees and her shoulders shook.
"Riddick," she whimpered.
Somehow he knew it wasn't to him. It was a cry of help to a man she never even knew.
Cut on the leg. first blood.
A splint of memory shot into Riddick's mind. She'd been cut there first, by his shiv, but she'd refused to believe it was him at first. There had been a chilled darkness settling over the evening, enough to obscure him sufficiently for her pretense. She'd screamed for him then.
It was only near the end she realized he wouldn't come to save her.
He remembered that moment.
Hunched over herself on the ground, clasping her knees. And the way her mouth formed a soft oval as she whispered "Riddick" with pure surprise. He'd laughed brusquely, wondering how she couldn't see the irony of it all.
She'd been dressed in a thin oversized shirt, to cover her nascent body. Not quite like the soft curves of the woman she was now, huddled under a shower. Not exactly the same position, but the fear embedded in her had found its physical form.
"Riddick," Jack whispered again. So sadly.
He reared forward and was caught short on his restraints as they reached their limit. His arms were spread behind him, but Riddick's face was level with hers when it shot up.
Jack's skin was white. Her eyes were darker than he could remember, but not as black as the painting over her face. Rain was washing over in trails, dripping off her nose and trickling into her mouth, and only the salted scent reminded him not all the water was from the shower.
Slowly she moved forward.
Closer.
Riddick pleaded with his eyes. She brushed her nose against his before shifting her face to his neck. Wet arms settled around his back and Riddick felt an arm and chestful of saturated Jack pushing into him. They stayed like that until Riddick couldn't remember how long, and the water wasn't any temperature but there, and the sensation of soft heat tight against him - Jack's body - became something more than novelty.
Then she moved. As slowly as she'd leaned against him, Jack pulled away.
Riddick felt her fingertips trail down the side of his face and scratch over the stubble. Her head sank to the side gently. Jack laughed softly. She wouldn't meet his eyes.
Her fingers dropped from his face and Riddick felt his face pull down with the weight they left.
Jack pushed herself back up against the wet wall and left in darkness.
The water tapped on the floor, as unhurried as the ocean.
* * *
1.1.1.1.1.2 Rhythm. Prose.
Disclaimer: Literary quote from Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' & characters' choice of novels does not necessarily reflect mine
Riddick's stomach had long since given up growling by the time scents of cooking seeped through the ventilation. It was the first time Jack had eaten a decent sized meal since being carried on board his ship. She'd scratched up a few bars of essential nutrients wrapped in tasty fibre, or so the packaging implied, but had shared even less with Riddick.
As a rule, she tried to avoid honing any skills that might be intrepreted as girly, but cooking had proven necessary on more than a few hunts. The Obsidian Sun's kitchen consisted of the regular cupboard with fold-out everything. She'd pulled the stove out and slapped on some bacon a few minutes ago. Riddick heard her humming while she thrashed at some eggs in a bowl.
Jack dug through a supplies drawer for salt and pepper. Her hand caught on a small jar and she pulled it up to read the label.
"Rubar."
Mmm, the man knows how to cook.
Jack looked at the gourmet spice with suspicion before tossing some of the ground leaves into her mix. Pulling the drawer out further, Jack delved in to find out what else Riddick might be hiding.
Riddick felt the familiar tug of his legs against the wall and stepped back. Whether he fought it or resisted it, Jack always won this squabble and his legs were just too sore to take the abuse today.
Jack slid through the door with her usual lithe saunter. She was carrying a tray that immediately permeated the air with an inviting aroma.
Still in her pyjamas, Riddick noted as she curled up on the bench. Setting the tray on her lap and picking up a book, she calmly flicked a page open and started eating.
"I didn't realize you could cook," Riddick commentated. He sounded nonchalant, but his stomach had caught up to him and was insisting he stage a revolt, break through the metal cuffs, and eat whatever the hell it was that smelt that good. And if what was on her plate wasn't enough, he'd damn well roast Jack and eat her too.
The innuendo took a moment longer to catch up with his mind. An image seared into his mind, igniting a hunger for more than food.
"Omelettes don't count," Jack muttered and took a slow bite from her fork. She chewed it slowly, enough to make Riddick wonder if she was eating it solely to tease him. Flicking the page, Jack's eyes continued to run along the story.
"What are you reading?"
"Something I found on your bookshelf."
Riddick nodded and sat back. He didn't feel like playing anymore. She could damned well find another way to amuse herself apart from him.
Jack looked over the edge of her page and saw her toy had lost interest.
"When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging through the wood with a staglike swiftness. What a miserable night I passed! The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth amidst the universal stillness."
"All, save I, were at rest or in enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me, and finding myself unsympathized with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin," Riddick completed.
"Mary Shelley," Jack replied softly. She'd considered the books might just be for decoration, but the chill of his voice over the words told her he'd studied them well. Maybe he'd seen himself there.
Jack closed the book softly and moved off the bench top. Riddick watched the way her legs rolled out from under her and her body arched away from the top. Her skirt consisted of two sheets of material on a band low on her hips. The front piece fell between her legs as her knees bent out and the back of her loose vest caught on the table, pulling up to reveal more of her abdomen.
It took only a moment and Jack was oblivious to the way Riddick's breathing had changed. For that moment her face had been sweet and relaxed, dark hair flicked over the front of her face as her body had spread in a way that was both innocent and immediately brought back the earlier fantasy.
Jack looked quizzically at Riddick as he shook his head suddenly.
She slid up in front of him and began feeding him from her fork.
Riddick chewed slowly, as she had. But for different reasons.
The warmth from her body rolled through the air and onto him. Her face was eye-level, giving him time to linger over the markings on her skin. Jack dropped her head to the side, flicking hair from her face.
He took another bite and swallowed slowly. Jack wet her lips casually and waited before taking the fork away from his mouth. She seemed to him oblivious to the fact that his eyes were boring through her.
Jack ignored him. He was attempting to intimidate her again, grinding at the food slowly and staring the hell out of her patience.
"Done?" she asked archly.
With the meal finished, she shot him a glare of disgust and left.
* * * * * * * *
Every day it was the same.
Jack would get up and train for a few hours. She'd pound the hell out of the punching bag before he'd hear the soft thumps of her landing on her feet or hands as she practiced combat.
"Get a better workout with a sparring partner," he'd mentioned one day.
Jack had smiled smugly, "I'd need someone with stamina, not a geriatric in bondage."
She'd usually grunt and groan, thumping things until she'd tire and bind him up against the wall before she strode in sweatily. Then the blindfold would go on and she'd shower as he listened to the sounds of water hitting her body, and inhaled the salt and soap. Afterwards she'd bring him food before retreating to reading. Jack had already made it through his collection of books once and was starting on her favoured ones again. He wondered if she'd be back arguing with him again today over his preferences.
Yesterday, she'd conceded to reading passages out of 'Neuromancer', but only after he had to spend three hours listening to mindnumbing Austen. She'd downloaded 'Pride and Prejudice' just to spite him, Riddick was convinced.
He had to admit he was strangely starting to enjoy the rhythm. The way Jack jolted him through the day, taunting and teasing, never giving an inch. She knew how to screw him up and make him want to squeeze her neck 'til it popped. And she knew how to resist him, and push him out of her whenever he gained an inch. What he enjoyed most were those rare moments when she didn't realize the game she was playing, staring with wide eyes and wet lips like the naïve Jack he'd taken pity on too long ago. Riddick wondered if fucking her would be the same.
She'd been working out far longer today. Every now and then he'd hear her grunt, almost painfully. There was a louder thump than usual, maybe her hip hitting the floor, and Jack cursed a stream of expletives. Riddick controlled his breathing, becoming silent to listen. But he heard nothing. Not breathing, not breaking, no more cursing. Sitting in darkness, he let all his senses concentrate on the girl outside his room, but there was nothing to sense.
Riddick almost jolted as the door slammed open beside him. Jack left it open as she tread in softly. Eyes open, he saw the way her shoulders were trembling. Barely audible gasps escaped her mouth, faced away from him.
1.1.1.1.2
1.1.1.1.3 Something slip your mind.
Riddick's legs were unbound, he had free reign. And she was utterly unprepared.
Edging up into a crouch, the hunter prepared for the attack.
Her hand shot out to her left, startling him, but it only reached for the tap on the shower. Water blasted against the floor and small drops alighted on him. She'd taken out the shower walls when she'd first put him in here, leaving no barrier between the jetspray and Riddick.
All the better not to hear me.
He would've attacked. Would've pounced and broken her neck with a sweet ease. And he would've realized later that he was still bound in chains that needed a key that wasn't on the corpse in front of him. They could have been two corpses in a pretty ship if Jack hadn't reached behind her then, and if the shiv hadn't caught his mercurial eyes.
Riddick's mind flicked to a decade ago, on the planet of three suns.
"I thought I said no sh-shivs."
"This? This is just a personal grooming appliance."
He scraped the grease off the blade before returning it to his scalp.
In his mind his hand had been wrapped around the same shiv that lay in Jack's palm now, only when she lifted it to her scalp she twisted the sharp edge around the long weave of hair. Instead of cutting, she drew the blade harmlessly along before lowering it by her side. Riddick's eyes caught the faint smear of red on the metal. She hadn't been readying to cut her hair, merely clean the blade.
Trembling fingers twitched and lost their grip. Riddick flinched as the shiv cracked onto tile and spun across the floor within his reach.
Rapt, Riddick ran his eyes along her form, searching for the cut. Jack's hands fumbled with something at her hip and the two pieces of fabric that formed a skirt fell to the ground. The thick tang of blood caught on Riddick's nose instantly.
Trails of blood had formed a maze down her left leg, but the source was still out of his sight.
Heavy training session.
Her hands went up to her back again, this time finding something in the strapping around her torso to release it. The band of material dropped to the floor, heavy with sweat. She twisted at the banding on her hair and released it into tangled waves.
Riddick's breathing stopped and he barely kept from dropping the shiv he'd retrieved, when Jack arched her back and raked her fingers through her hair. The dull light through the doorway sank along the curve of her spine and caught hues of red in the twisted locks.
Fuck me.
Riddick swore in his mind and swallowed on his dry throat. He licked at the droplets of shower spray that landed on his lips, suddenly thirsty.
One of her hands was moving at her hip again, this time undoing the knot on the last of her clothing. The scrap of underwear slid down her legs and crumpled on the floor.
Large hands clenched on toned thighs.
Jack brushed her fingers through her hair again as she tested the water with a foot. As she slid under the water she sighed softly. Riddick would've dismissed the sound as his imagination if he hadn't seen the wave of the sigh tremble down her body. It was a sound full of sadness, like healing agony.
Steam wisped down over the tiles and spread towards Riddick. He brushed it away with hands too solid, afraid it would wrench him into her world. But desperate to observe.
The water slipped over her body, bringing a blush of redness where it touched. He could almost taste the heat and knew it must be scalding her pale skin. Jack hadn't moved for a drawn-out moment and a thought crept into Riddick's mind wondering if she ever would. But even as it settled, a hand sought the scraggly washer. Scrubbing down her body, from her arms to her feet, the mercenary worked with a furious intensity. Riddick's eyes fixed where the washer scrubbed.
Jack clawed at her skin, almost desperately.
Strange, Riddick thought, how beautiful some are even when they're broken.
He felt something wanting to reach, and something just wanting to laugh. A piece inside him grated against the walls, twisting its corners into soft flesh.
Her face turned up into the shower, her hands scouring through wet hair even as she turned. Her body faced him and he watched as the water formed streams between her breasts, over her stomach before curling around her thighs. Red water at her hip coursed from the gash. It looked angry even in the half-light.
Riddick ran his tongue over his lips, trying to taste the blood in the steam.
Jack dropped her head abruptly. Fingers scrunched at the hair at her forehead. She slid down the wall, dropping into a huddled position. Arms wrapped around the legs, pushing them against her full breasts. Her face pressed into her knees and her shoulders shook.
"Riddick," she whimpered.
Somehow he knew it wasn't to him. It was a cry of help to a man she never even knew.
Cut on the leg. first blood.
A splint of memory shot into Riddick's mind. She'd been cut there first, by his shiv, but she'd refused to believe it was him at first. There had been a chilled darkness settling over the evening, enough to obscure him sufficiently for her pretense. She'd screamed for him then.
It was only near the end she realized he wouldn't come to save her.
He remembered that moment.
Hunched over herself on the ground, clasping her knees. And the way her mouth formed a soft oval as she whispered "Riddick" with pure surprise. He'd laughed brusquely, wondering how she couldn't see the irony of it all.
She'd been dressed in a thin oversized shirt, to cover her nascent body. Not quite like the soft curves of the woman she was now, huddled under a shower. Not exactly the same position, but the fear embedded in her had found its physical form.
"Riddick," Jack whispered again. So sadly.
He reared forward and was caught short on his restraints as they reached their limit. His arms were spread behind him, but Riddick's face was level with hers when it shot up.
Jack's skin was white. Her eyes were darker than he could remember, but not as black as the painting over her face. Rain was washing over in trails, dripping off her nose and trickling into her mouth, and only the salted scent reminded him not all the water was from the shower.
Slowly she moved forward.
Closer.
Riddick pleaded with his eyes. She brushed her nose against his before shifting her face to his neck. Wet arms settled around his back and Riddick felt an arm and chestful of saturated Jack pushing into him. They stayed like that until Riddick couldn't remember how long, and the water wasn't any temperature but there, and the sensation of soft heat tight against him - Jack's body - became something more than novelty.
Then she moved. As slowly as she'd leaned against him, Jack pulled away.
Riddick felt her fingertips trail down the side of his face and scratch over the stubble. Her head sank to the side gently. Jack laughed softly. She wouldn't meet his eyes.
Her fingers dropped from his face and Riddick felt his face pull down with the weight they left.
Jack pushed herself back up against the wet wall and left in darkness.
The water tapped on the floor, as unhurried as the ocean.
* * *
