Author's Note: I do not own Riddick pouts, and considers a good sulk I did not create Slam, merely this interpretation of it. I did not have any hand in the creation of Pitch Black, or any of its characters. I did however create Spook, and the other characters not seen in Pitch Black.
Beneath the curve of his arm, Riddick could feel her soft breathing. Against his palm, her pulse fluttered slowly. Her hair brushed his shoulder in silk a caress. He bent his head, lips brushing those same soft strands.
Downy skin rested on his arm, her cheek pillowed on his bicep, her breath warming the skin in a slow tempo. The same cadence gently raised the arm he had thrown over her narrow ribs. Small noises, little soft sighs, wordless hums, danced with her slow breath.
And then the gunmetal eyes opened, staring into the dark, looking around them from a place just above the sleeping girl, where he moved into something of a crouch. Rough fingers moved to touch her cheek as he gazed down over her.
She was curled up on her side, knees pulled up towards her stomach. Sleep had softened her face, smoothing the traces of worry from around her eyes, infusing her face with a youth and serenity usually wanting in her waking face.
Gentle lips formed a soft pout, a little protesting noise escaping her when the arm beneath her cheek moved, and her fingers closed weakly about his wrist.
A chuckle rumbled in his barrel, a closed-lipped smile twisting his normally callous, maleficent mouth. The gunmetal in his gaze softened, brightened, his gaze falling carelessly over the sleeping girl.
So quiet. So still. So trusting. This poor little rabbit, little Spook. Again his fingers sought contact with her, this time lightly sending their roughened pads over the silken strands of her dark hair. When was the last time anyone was this comfortable in my presence, in this much contact with me. He closed his eyes, and softly drew her scent, savoring the sweetness of her, with its piquant undertones, the tang, where the flavor of her aroma mixed with the barbed undertones of his own.
She stirred, turning against him,
now snuggling her cheek against his hard chest, her hair fanned out over
his arm. More incoherent murmurs, lips moving faintly against the muscled
lines. It faintly tickled, bringing another soft rumble through him.
The corridor.
She thinks that we can make
the left corridor work, and the right hand is known to lead to the hangar
bay. She says the left is less guarded, being mostly medical personnel,
but it is also where the guards are taken for treatment, so there will be
some guards thee who, while not on duty and not capable of much else, can
still take shots at us. The right side is heavily guarded, and most of those
guards are in concealed positions, and those guards are armed against exactly
what we want to do.
Right side we have no idea how
many guards. Upwards of thirty was her guess. Left she said fifteen to
twenty, half of which are there for injuries. If that does lead to the hangar
bay, which makes some sense, then the left path is definitely the one we
need.
I can take several at once,
even with the gauges. Spook says she can hold the others, and I'm going
to have to believe her on that. She should know what she's capable of.
With that said, I'll take the first group, and then the others can be dealt
with one by one, or in pairs, depending on how she weakens.
At least she's being honest
with me about her level, about how she doesn't know how much stamina she's
got for this.
And that honesty means we do
this thing fast and hard.
I can live with that.
Her eyes fluttered, opened, met the gunmetal gaze. Soft lips pulled into a smile, and her lids sank to sleepily cover the soft silver of her own stare.
"hi." She blinked a few times, stretching in his arms, stifling a yawn.
The killer just let the barest hint of smile touch his mouth, and growled a soft, crooning note in response. The arms tightened around her briefly, then slipped away from her, letting the cool, sterile air flood into their warm place.
"It's time to go, little rabbit."