Knight Lost
It was silent, apart from the noise.
Its a coldness against her in intimate places, metal-cold air and metallic gun that keeps her mindful of letting him get too eager. She pushes his hands away and tugs her shirt back into place. His own is unbuttoned, hangs loose, a slight expanse of narrow, hairless chest which she eyes compassionately for a moment, then takes his hand in hers; the one that doesn't hold the gun.
"Do you need this?"
His fingers tighten on the grip. Which? Does he need the gun? Or does he need her? He's assuming the gun, and she can tell. It disappoints her, this necessity of lethal weapons over herself. Let him try to kiss that metal, see how far he gets.
He might very well have already tried that.
She moves around him slowly, carefully, and trails her fingers down the line of his neck to that beautiful scar. He reaches up to catch her hand in his, his breath stopped audibly.
"You made your mark on me," he says, as though acknowledging a victory on her part, and her smile was not lost on him. The edge of his lip curl upwards in a sneer. "You're worse than I am," he says. "I was trained to be this way, to enjoy other's pain. You're like that naturally."
"Not normally," she contradicts him, and kisses his throat. "You bring out the worst of me."
"And you bring out the worst of me," he says, nodding so abruptly and so deeply that his chin strikes the top of her head, and she takes a step back, flicking her hair out of her eyes, tucking the strands behind her ears with both hands. "We're really very bad for each other, aren't we, Leese?"
"Positively lethal."
He reaches out and catches her chin, tilting her head sharply to one side, eyeing her neck hungrily. He looks like a wolf; a vampire who hasn't fed in far too long; a desperate man. "All in all it wasvery stupid of you to come here after me, Leese, notwithstanding the fact that I don't know how you managed it in the first place. Brilliant and resourceful you might be, a true modern empowered woman, but still amazingly, astoundingly stupid when it comes to things like these. You can chase me lustfullyall you like, but it really would have been much easier to hire someone closer to home." That smirk burns her, and her eyes narrow at him in definite anger.
"You're a jerk," she says flatly.
He laughs.
"Its very sad that you wouldn't have me any other way."
"How would you know how I'd have you?"
The gun is between them, ice cold presence forcing them apart. He steps towards her and she steps away. A neverending dance, a game, one for which there is no time. It makes her want to cry, that they can't seem to bridge the gap and stop wasting what little time there is left, but they are both too stubborn to let go. To fall. They both want to be the last one standing.
Another step forward, another step back. Ice blue eyes narrowed, trained on hers. His body tenses, his knees bend. Stalking her.
"Feel free to tell me." Rasp and whisper.
"This is ridiculous," she raps out, and turns away from him, folding her arms, striding towards the door. "I came after you for a reason, Jackson, and this... this isn't it."
He lets her reach the door.
"Please," he says.
So quietly as to be almost inaudible, which quite apart from the quality of his speaking voice, he might have intended it to be anyway. Nevertheless, its spoken, and she hears. She pauses at the doorway, one hand on the wood, sliding her thumb rhythmically over the grain, following the path laid out for her.
He doesn't want it to be acknowledged; just responded to.
"A little guidance would be helpful," she says, and neither are sure if its a plea to God or to him. His footsteps are light as always and she doesn't even hear him come up behind.
"I can't," he tells her, apologetically, "I don't know the way."
But they can turn together and hold each other, and still he can follow, himself, the path laid. Its easy to share dreams when you share sleep.
The knight strikes, once or twice, and goes clean through.