(Disclaimer: If you've heard of it, it's not mine.)
(Letreen: Riddick? Half-naked? Do I mind? I think my logical answer would be a big fat "Hell NO". Followed by me clicking to your story and drooling.)
(QUICK A/N: How do I summarize this chapter? Oh right. SMUT. Just pure fluff and hatred. I WARNED YOU.)
"You're gonna to get an eye disease or something."
He didn't respond, his silver eyes still scanning the screen. His hands were clasped in front of his mouth as the images flashed against the screen. The memory-builder was humming, set on full-speed and I just stood there, staring at Riddick. I sighed. His brain was going to be fried. I reached for the SHUT DOWN button and his hand shot up, firmly holding my wrist and keeping me from turning off the machine. He just turned his head up and looked at me. Six months and the menacing look hadn't changed, but it still scared the little part of me that cowered at him. He let go and snapped his head back to the screen, eyes moving in rhythm with the flashes. I sighed, shrugging and went to go put my things back on the kitchen table.
"Ma?" I called but there was no answer. It wasn't 9 yet, so her shift hadn't begun.
"Riddick, did you see...?" But it was hopeless. His eyes had probably been glued to that damn screen all night, trying to decipher the configuration of different ships; with over 10,000 models in circulation, the more information you had on each one, the better chance you had at escaping.
"She left an hour ago. Goin' on about Mary and virgins." His head didn't even move from the screen.
The church. Ma had always been an avid repenter, though she only went when she really needed something to repent about. What was it this time?
"Maybe you should've gone with her, Riddick. Learn something about being nice to other people." It was just a tease but he didn't seem to think it was funny. He never thought anything was funny, except if it involved me being hurt. Yeah, he liked to laugh every time the umbrella clipped my finger as I tried to open it. If blood was drawn, it was a riot. I began to load the food synthesizer with packets of powdered food, trying to decide how much I should hydrate. It began to churn and smells of meat and potatoes wafted through the air and I went back to my things on the table. My job at the assembly line wasn't the best of jobs, but it paid some of our bills, mainly the alcohol and food bill. Ma disliked us drinking in the house, but she allowed it every time I gave her those eyes...the eyes I used when I was kid and wanted something really bad.
I extracted a bottle of wine when I felt a slight shift at the doorway. It was very small but I had learned to pick up on Riddick's movement. Enclosed spaces make you more aware of whom you're sharing them with.
"Here." I tossed him a small flask of whiskey and he grinned.
"Haven't had this since my first Slam." He popped the top off and took a large swallow, wiping the remainder from his lips.
"Thought so. Consider it a birthday present, because I know, deep down in your black heart, you miss celebrating some sort of holiday," I smiled.
He took another hit and tossed it back to me. "I don't miss it." I took a swipe from the bottle and set it back down, letting the liquid burn and slide down my throat. He walked closer as I put the wine in the fridge and as I stood up, his chest pressed against my back. His nose was close to me, smelling my hair.
"Did you take a bath this morning?" he asked, stepping away and going toward the steaming food synthesizer. I wrinkled my nose. Now he was just being mean.
"Did you?" I retorted but he was shoveling food onto his plate, ignoring me. I sighed and picked a plate up for myself, setting it firmly beside the synthesizer.
"Maybe you should bathe more often," he grunted, pushing into me as he headed for the table. What was keeping me from tossing this bastard out? He wasn't capable of regular interaction, the kind where you keep your big fat mouth shut and just nod like you're interested. I sighed, putting food on my plate and walking to sit across from him. We ate silently, him inhaling his food like a beggar and then standing to put it in the washer. Instead of disappearing into the den, he took his seat back and folded his arms across his chest. I stopped eating and he smiled. I put my fork down.
"What is so goddamn amusing about me? Am I entertaining you? Are you getting your fill?" I was pissed. Sick of his attitude, his remarks, his generally shitty face.
"Temper's not good," he answered, setting his elbows on the table.
"Is that it? I have a temper?" I retorted.
"Not good for a woman."
"What do you know about women?"
He smirked. Licking his lips, he sat back in his chair and tipped his chin up, thinking. "Touch 'em in the right spot and promise 'em the world and they spill their guts," he replied, "blood's a little sweeter, too. Like it better than a man's."
"And?" I was waiting. Tell me something I don't know, Riddick.
"And if they get a temper, they die quicker. Gotta toughen 'em up. But you're just one fat-assed stubborn woman. Turns me on sometimes."
"Well, I'm glad someone is at least getting hot off it," I smiled sarcastically, picking up my plate and taking it to the washer.
"Thing is, you gotta let a man get in some times. Not that I'm sayin' I'm your man, but a little pistol like yourself might make someone happy." And he was gone. Once again, leaving me feeling confused. I sniffed the air. I did smell bad.
- - -
The water came out slowly at first and then in a scalding blast, making my hand pull away. When the water was hot and steam began rising, I stripped off my greasy clothes and stepped in, letting my skin retract and then ease at the temperature. First over my shoulders and then through my hair the water flowed, washing away the dirt that came with being stuck in close quarters with grime flying through the air. I closed my eyes, letting my body grasp the feeling of the water.
Was I really that stubborn? It was a defense mechanism. Don't let anyone get close so they don't know me. Hell, even my mother barely knew me...Royston was probably the only person who had cared, in a sick, bad, twisted sort of way. Riddick was just an accessory; not a lover nor a brother to me. He wasn't worth risking my wall for. It had taken me a long time to let go of the trust that I had before getting in the Slam. As a kid, you trusted everyone you met. But in the Slam, you never met a person you could trust. Even those sworn to protect you fell away from promises. You didn't deserve to live if you couldn't keep a promise. Maybe that was the reason I had shot them.
"Thinking?" My eyes shot open. Complete darkness. It was like I hadn't even opened my lids. I still felt the steaming water hitting my skin, and a small blue line of light appeared on my stomach. Someone had opened the window, letting in the moonlight. I looked up, my heart thrashing against my chest. The shower curtain shifted slightly and I felt the vibrations of feet hitting the ground behind me. A rapist, a crazy man, in my shower, ready to kill me...where the fuck was Riddick?...he's supposed to be the violent sociopath...
A hand slipped across my stomach and I looked down. Long fingers, the nails dirty and worn, and rough fingertips, the skin darker than mine. The hand pressed against my stomach, pulling me back until my ass hit a hard thigh and my shoulder blades dug into a chest. The hand on my stomach traveled up, fingers spread and palm running between my breasts. Tears ran down my face. Helpless.
"Women. Touch 'em in the right spot..." A shiver ran through my body. I didn't need to see the face. The rough fingertips passed over my breasts, tracing the outer swells gently, tickling the bottom and then caressing the apex. My skin reacted harshly, everything tense and hard. The other thick hand was roaming down my hip, tracing over the bone indentation and heading for the perfect V formed by my legs. I leaned my head back and took in a breath, swallowing. The hand on my breasts moved to my throat and he traced my collarbone to my shoulder.
"Promise 'em the world..." he moaned in my ear and I gasped as he touched the point of my V. My knee lifted slightly and he took his advantage, slipping a finger deeper. The fingers on my neck pressed firmly on my pulse, my heartbeat getting faster. I was completely disoriented at his touch, dizzy and angry. Wasn't this just the man who had insulted my hygiene but now had a finger slipping inside me, pushing my buttons?
"Riddick." It was more a moan than the protest it was supposed to be.
"What? No fighting? I'm surprised, Baby." The finger between my legs slipped out and went back up to my hip. He gripped my waist and turned me around, my eyes searching for the two shining orbs. But just darkness. My head went back under the shower and my chin was tilted up. An open mouth and eager tongue found my lips, drawing in mouthfuls of water. I tried to keep up with the kiss, the tongue darting in and out of my mouth, but hot water filled my mouth. The kiss quickened, mouths melding into one and I gasped for a breath amidst the tongues and warm water. The large hands slid down to my ass, slowly tracing the roundness and then lifted me up. My back pressed against the tiling, foot resting on the side of the tub, his hands grasping me by the thighs. He took me slow at first, then sped up, his breath becoming more ragged as his movements quickened. But the angle was miraculous; nerves I never knew existed were ripped to shreds and my own voice was taken from me. Panting, sweaty, and strangely comfortable, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. I followed, not bothering to grab a towel. I didn't need one, as far as I was concerned. We were only going to stumble back into my bedroom for a second round.
The light beside the bed only heightened my senses. Oh my God, his skin...the color of coffee after you put in those little cream cups and mixed it up with your flimsy plastic straw. Steaming like coffee too. Water droplets began making trails in the crevices of his muscle and I sighed, lying down and stretching my body across the bed. He flexed slightly, the veins in his arms suddenly bulging from beneath the swollen muscle. I hated him immensely. But his body was making promises. Promises that might be broken, but seemed honest at this moment.
"I hate you," I whispered, my lips brushing his lightly. He didn't speak, but moved closer, hand outstretched.
"Lights off."