~*~
'Watch over the wielder. Watch over Sara Pezzini. Why must I just watch? Why could I not act on my instincts? Doesn't my master not see me fitting, capable of being the lethal weapon he wants me to be, what I've been created for? His master should be grateful that he did not turn into some emotional distraught despondent fool. A treacherous fool who let his guard down over a woman and her little toy.' Nottingham complained as he sat vigil on Sara's fire escape. He leaned against the wall near the window.
'I should not be here watching her. I should be back at the mansion dealing with my predecessor in the appropriate manner.' Staring at his hands his weapons. Yes, he knew how he wanted to deal with that weakling. Nottingham flexed his gloved hands then formed them up into fist. The leather of the glove made a stretching noise as he tighten his grip. His arms began to shake from squeezing his hands together so tightly. He snapped opened his hands and let out a frustrated rush of air escape his lips. Feeling the rush of blood flowing throughout his hand and fingers.
On impulse Nottingham tore the glove off his left hand. Even in the moonlight Nottingham could tell the deep contrast of his pale skin with the black color of his sleeve. Again he curled his long fingers into a tight fist this time nails were digging into his palm. Squeezing harder until the dulled nails broke the skin and cut through his flesh. Nottingham brought his fist closer to his face. Fascinated as dark lines of blood flowed down his arm. His grip was unrelenting even as the pain escalated and the thin lines of blood grew thicker.
He brought his face closer to his opened mouth. The tip of his tongue grazed against his wrist licking off a tiny amount of blood. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the acerbic taste and texture of blood on his tongue. Nottingham swallowed but there was still a faint taste of the red liquid on his tongue. With one last squeeze he opened his eyes. He uncurled his fist and everything from the palm to the tips of his fingernails was coated in blood.
"Pain and blood. This is what I want, what I need. Not to be stuck here watching over this whore."
Nottingham had seen movement in the apartment from the corner of his eye. He shifted slightly against the wall, turning his head to look inside Sara's apartment. From his position on the fire escape Nottingham had a clear view of Sara sleeping restlessly on her bed with the Witchblade glowing brightly on her wrist. Nottingham continued to watch irritably as Sara continued to toss and turn. She flipped from her stomach onto her back.
Nottingham was about to turn his head away when he seen a flash of creamy skin. Sara had her right hand over her stomach. Unconsciously she began to move her right hand to join with the left that was under the pillow near her head. Somehow the opening part of the bracelet had caught onto the hem of her shirt. She began to let her arm travel up over her chest along for the ride was her shirt. Inch by inch skin was exposed and as Sara's arm got higher so did the shirt. The mystery of what was under the shirt would soon be exposed.
Nottingham held his breath as he watched. The pain from this hand was completely forgotten. Soon another part of his body was quickly reacting. His mouth hung open as he waited for the inevitable. But Sara turned her body over lying once again flat on her stomach. He could see where the shirt stopped as it lay crumpled against underneath her body. Nottingham grinned perhaps he could understand his predecessor's physical weakness for the woman.
.. Do not make any contact with the wielder. If I find out you have disobeyed me the consequence shall be severe.
Irons' warning echoed in Nottingham's head. He looked at Sara again and where the shirt enticingly stopped. Perhaps he should add to his list of wants: pain, blood, and contact. He raised his left hand and with his index finger touched the cool windowpane. Stroking a small area of the glass as if he was touching her body. Leaving a long steak of blood on the window. His grin widen as Sara began to move along with the successions of his finger stroking the glass.
The Witchblade's red stone radiated on Sara's wrist as she continued to toss and turn. She clutched the sheets to her body as soft moans elicited from her lips filled the quiet loft. Nottingham stopped what he was doing and watched. Intrigued over the turn of events. The blade retained its blazing glow as more moans escaped Sara's lips. This time accompanied with whispers. Nottingham had to strain to hear what she was saying.
"Please.Now.Yes." three simple words that echoed into the night. It was a never-ending mantra with more words added here and there; ".Don't.Stop.No." and at times it weren't words but whimpering sounds. Sara's throaty whispers continued to fill the loft and Nottingham's ears. The way her body moved and the sounds elicited from her throat made his body react. It was obvious Nottingham was becoming aroused. His growing desire painfully contained in the confinement of his pants. If he didn't regain his control now he was going to loose it.
He turned his back against the image of Sara on her back, crushing the bed sheet in her hands. He blocked out the sound of Sara's cries and moans. He took his other glove off and curled both hands into fist. Squeezing his hands until the painful sensations he felt earlier had returned. Until his nails began biting then cutting through the flesh of his palm, until he could feel the sticky texture of blood flowing from the crescent wounds. He brought his hands up arms crossed and clutched them to his chest. Nottingham squeezed even harder welcoming the pain but it didn't hinder his arousal. In fact an inexorable pressure was building.
Perhaps this unyielding excitement wasn't about Sara now, though he still wanted her. It was his yearning desire for pain that was egging him on. Finally his aching release washed over him and he sank to his knees. In the distance he could hear Sara utter three different names in passion: Ewan, Christian, and, "Ian!" Sara yelled. But her last cry wasn't out of passion but out of panic. Nottingham realized something was wrong and if he didn't want to be seen decided it was best to move from his position. Quickly he got to his feet and left Sara's fire escape.
Sara sat up in bed her breathing ragged; sheen of sweat coated her body, and her heartbeat racing. Sara raked a shaky hand through hair letting out a deep breath. From the corner of her eye she had seen movement on her fire escape. Without a second thought she rushed over to the window to see what was out there but there was nothing. With a sigh she turned away from the window.
Sara made a detour to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. She raked another hand through her unruly hair and drank nearly half of the bottle. "Just what the hell are you doing to me?" she swore at the blade. Sara tired to recall what she had been dreaming but the images were already fading. Though she had this overwhelming feeling that it was a very intimate dream. She screwed the cap back on leaving the bottle on the counter. As she walked back to her bed a foreboding feeling washed over her. Something wasn't right and the blade's light show only confirmed it. She glanced at the alarm clock 3 A.M.
'Watch over the wielder. Watch over Sara Pezzini. Why must I just watch? Why could I not act on my instincts? Doesn't my master not see me fitting, capable of being the lethal weapon he wants me to be, what I've been created for? His master should be grateful that he did not turn into some emotional distraught despondent fool. A treacherous fool who let his guard down over a woman and her little toy.' Nottingham complained as he sat vigil on Sara's fire escape. He leaned against the wall near the window.
'I should not be here watching her. I should be back at the mansion dealing with my predecessor in the appropriate manner.' Staring at his hands his weapons. Yes, he knew how he wanted to deal with that weakling. Nottingham flexed his gloved hands then formed them up into fist. The leather of the glove made a stretching noise as he tighten his grip. His arms began to shake from squeezing his hands together so tightly. He snapped opened his hands and let out a frustrated rush of air escape his lips. Feeling the rush of blood flowing throughout his hand and fingers.
On impulse Nottingham tore the glove off his left hand. Even in the moonlight Nottingham could tell the deep contrast of his pale skin with the black color of his sleeve. Again he curled his long fingers into a tight fist this time nails were digging into his palm. Squeezing harder until the dulled nails broke the skin and cut through his flesh. Nottingham brought his fist closer to his face. Fascinated as dark lines of blood flowed down his arm. His grip was unrelenting even as the pain escalated and the thin lines of blood grew thicker.
He brought his face closer to his opened mouth. The tip of his tongue grazed against his wrist licking off a tiny amount of blood. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the acerbic taste and texture of blood on his tongue. Nottingham swallowed but there was still a faint taste of the red liquid on his tongue. With one last squeeze he opened his eyes. He uncurled his fist and everything from the palm to the tips of his fingernails was coated in blood.
"Pain and blood. This is what I want, what I need. Not to be stuck here watching over this whore."
Nottingham had seen movement in the apartment from the corner of his eye. He shifted slightly against the wall, turning his head to look inside Sara's apartment. From his position on the fire escape Nottingham had a clear view of Sara sleeping restlessly on her bed with the Witchblade glowing brightly on her wrist. Nottingham continued to watch irritably as Sara continued to toss and turn. She flipped from her stomach onto her back.
Nottingham was about to turn his head away when he seen a flash of creamy skin. Sara had her right hand over her stomach. Unconsciously she began to move her right hand to join with the left that was under the pillow near her head. Somehow the opening part of the bracelet had caught onto the hem of her shirt. She began to let her arm travel up over her chest along for the ride was her shirt. Inch by inch skin was exposed and as Sara's arm got higher so did the shirt. The mystery of what was under the shirt would soon be exposed.
Nottingham held his breath as he watched. The pain from this hand was completely forgotten. Soon another part of his body was quickly reacting. His mouth hung open as he waited for the inevitable. But Sara turned her body over lying once again flat on her stomach. He could see where the shirt stopped as it lay crumpled against underneath her body. Nottingham grinned perhaps he could understand his predecessor's physical weakness for the woman.
.. Do not make any contact with the wielder. If I find out you have disobeyed me the consequence shall be severe.
Irons' warning echoed in Nottingham's head. He looked at Sara again and where the shirt enticingly stopped. Perhaps he should add to his list of wants: pain, blood, and contact. He raised his left hand and with his index finger touched the cool windowpane. Stroking a small area of the glass as if he was touching her body. Leaving a long steak of blood on the window. His grin widen as Sara began to move along with the successions of his finger stroking the glass.
The Witchblade's red stone radiated on Sara's wrist as she continued to toss and turn. She clutched the sheets to her body as soft moans elicited from her lips filled the quiet loft. Nottingham stopped what he was doing and watched. Intrigued over the turn of events. The blade retained its blazing glow as more moans escaped Sara's lips. This time accompanied with whispers. Nottingham had to strain to hear what she was saying.
"Please.Now.Yes." three simple words that echoed into the night. It was a never-ending mantra with more words added here and there; ".Don't.Stop.No." and at times it weren't words but whimpering sounds. Sara's throaty whispers continued to fill the loft and Nottingham's ears. The way her body moved and the sounds elicited from her throat made his body react. It was obvious Nottingham was becoming aroused. His growing desire painfully contained in the confinement of his pants. If he didn't regain his control now he was going to loose it.
He turned his back against the image of Sara on her back, crushing the bed sheet in her hands. He blocked out the sound of Sara's cries and moans. He took his other glove off and curled both hands into fist. Squeezing his hands until the painful sensations he felt earlier had returned. Until his nails began biting then cutting through the flesh of his palm, until he could feel the sticky texture of blood flowing from the crescent wounds. He brought his hands up arms crossed and clutched them to his chest. Nottingham squeezed even harder welcoming the pain but it didn't hinder his arousal. In fact an inexorable pressure was building.
Perhaps this unyielding excitement wasn't about Sara now, though he still wanted her. It was his yearning desire for pain that was egging him on. Finally his aching release washed over him and he sank to his knees. In the distance he could hear Sara utter three different names in passion: Ewan, Christian, and, "Ian!" Sara yelled. But her last cry wasn't out of passion but out of panic. Nottingham realized something was wrong and if he didn't want to be seen decided it was best to move from his position. Quickly he got to his feet and left Sara's fire escape.
Sara sat up in bed her breathing ragged; sheen of sweat coated her body, and her heartbeat racing. Sara raked a shaky hand through hair letting out a deep breath. From the corner of her eye she had seen movement on her fire escape. Without a second thought she rushed over to the window to see what was out there but there was nothing. With a sigh she turned away from the window.
Sara made a detour to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. She raked another hand through her unruly hair and drank nearly half of the bottle. "Just what the hell are you doing to me?" she swore at the blade. Sara tired to recall what she had been dreaming but the images were already fading. Though she had this overwhelming feeling that it was a very intimate dream. She screwed the cap back on leaving the bottle on the counter. As she walked back to her bed a foreboding feeling washed over her. Something wasn't right and the blade's light show only confirmed it. She glanced at the alarm clock 3 A.M.