'Twixt
5: Heat

He had to get that monster's scent off of her. Everywhere along her body, he could smell the hands that had touched her, hurt her, spiked her with violence. His Evey. His woman. He had already broken Lilliman, slowly. As he returned to the Shadow Gallery, his only thought was of cleansing her in the same fire that had set him free; he would give her a much different type of scar, however. A brand across her mind -- she would see no one beyond him.

He tore into his home, the air stilled from lack of motion. Evey had already gone to bed, he was sure; he didn't bother going to her room to check. He knew she wouldn't be there.

He dropped the ebony fedora and cape on the threshold, carrying only his second skin with him across to his bedroom. A single candle burned, and she slept dressed in one of his shirts. It rode past her hip, and the bite mark he'd left glowed like one of his scarlet carsons in rain; in her sleep, he tied the blindfold across her closed eyes. And then he was upon her.

"V!" she woke to the night with a gasp as his hands roved her skin, her eyes blinking into the inky black of the blindfold. In a panic, she reached for it, but leather stopped her; as if by instinct, she stilled. She gripped his hand in her own, forcing her other to still from reaching to him lest the mask lay on the vanity. Its rightful place, she thought ruefully.

"Are you alright?"

An intake of breath. Exhale. Creak of leather; was he making a fist?

"Evey," he said, husky silk that traveled like fur across her. "I deeply apologize. I hesitated."

"No, please. I'm fine. He didn't wound you, did he?"

Suddenly, like a match on a pool of gasoline, she was thrown backwards into the pillows. His face drew very close to her ear, and she could feel his breathing; so, the mask lay discarded somewhere. "I'm ashamed you could think him capable," he growled low in his throat, letting the possession he'd felt at the sight of Lilliman's hands on her come through.

His warmth withdrew, and there was another rustle, followed by two smacks. Were those his gloves hitting the floor? Hands, not made of leather, gripped her wrists and raised them to the headboard, thumbs pushing into the veins at her joints. They pushed, pulsed with her heart as if they were feeding off of how quickly she was breathing, how fast her blood was flowing.

"Can you feel it, Evey? His scent on you?"

"I feel..." a pause, a hitch in her breath as he brandished another strip of silk and laced her hands together, then to the bed.

"You feel," he began, finishing the knot, "what?" Tightened. Strong, like his lithe body. She could move her hands, couldn't move at all for want of the pressure of him. She wasn't even sure if he were actually on top of her, or if it was the power that rained off him in sheets.

"His hands," she began, a choked voice.

"Where?" he demanded, voice no longer silk but molten, ridged with hidden intent much like his hands.

She hesitated, unsure of where to begin. She felt his face press into her neck, teeth hovering just above the skin. He bit, pulling back with him; "Where?" a hotter demand this time, harder.

"Thighs!" she pinched out, and before the word was finished, his hands were there, scars bruising into the smooth planes of muscle, moving her legs wider with the pressure but lacking an interest in anything deeper. Despite the absence of anything beneath his shirt, despite his possessive nature, Lilliman had pushed her by force, and he would do nothing without her permission.

Evey gasped when she felt breath behind her knees, roughly strewn kisses searing her thighs. His mouth followed everywhere his hands did, coarsely burning away all traces of the reverend, of the poison that sucked life from England and had somehow managed to touch his Evey.

"Where else?" he managed, his voice no longer suave but ragged; that of a man heavily laden with the weight of the vulnerability of the charge placed before him. She was all trusting, moving where he wanted her to, begging when he wanted her to; would she scream, as she had with Lilliman, but this time with his name? He wanted to know if she were completely pliant, if she would let her throat cry her raw thoughts.

"My hips." Shaky, yet certain. Good. She was not afraid of him, despite what she knew he had done to the bishop.

A squeeze. Powerful thumbs dug in painfully, and she struggled against the bonds; they proved as unbreakable as his grip. As swiftly as the pain registered, it receded, replaced by his lips and light nips of his teeth.

"Where else?"

She was as rough around the edges as he, now. "Stomach."

A soft sigh, a dip of his tongue into her bellybutton; his hands roamed her ribs.

"Where else?"

A pause, so long it was almost awkward. His words came at an accelerated pace now, almost impatience. The night weighed heavily, trying to balance between the two forces. "Inside."

His paused, and withdrew, pulling back the heat she had begun to feed off of. She whimpered, seeking him out blindly through the softness of her bonds. His breathing came in pants, as if his body were trying to suck in extra air to make up for the absence of her skin at his mouth.

"Sweet Eve. I'll make it so you can't feel him anymore, can't taste anything but me."

His mouth crashed on hers as his hand collided with her, skin on raw liquid heat, as he cupped her. She gasped into his mouth and his tongue tore after hers, chasing her down like she had any hope of escape. One finger, more daring than the rest, pushed just under the surface, circling the velvet he found there. She was straining harder than ever, not to free herself but to clutch at him, pull him to her as completely as she saw him in her mind's eyes.

She whimpered when a second finger joined the first, still pulling lazy circles just outside where she craved him. "V..."

"Ask me again."

"V," her voice pleaded, and he pushed a fraction closer. She couldn't stop the moan this time, the yearning that tugged from her throat.

"Again."

"V!"

And he rammed into her, no pretense, just a push of flesh. Each could have sworn the candle had fallen over; surely the gallery must be ablaze. Evey felt consumed as he moved, his skin rough inside her, breath coming in pants so close she was breathing him more than the air within the room. Smoke, that had to be it; they were thriving on the smoke in the room as they burned each other alive. He couldn't stop his hands from moving faster as he healed her while tearing down a wall her own body had made; she couldn't stop herself from screaming as she came, the primal sound echoing against his neck. He stayed moving inside her, slowly, fluidly, as her body relaxed and her muscles stopping pulling him in deeper of their own accord. He sighed, hesitating to withdraw, leaving her to recover and resting his hand on her hip just the same. He laid across her, spreading one leg over her completely bare hip, as they both relaxed.

The candle flickered out as it reached the end of its quick, leaving V in darkness and Evey in the familiarity of it.

"My sweetest Eve," he said, undoing the bonds at her wrists and caressing them before they wrapped around his shoulders. The tie around her eyes remained, as part of a bargain; she would not see, and he would lose his facade for her. She was happy to stay blind the rest of the night; her body was adjusting to seeing for her.

She murmured something incoherent, exhausted, cleansed, into his throat. She no longer felt violated; only as if she were flying from the mattress, even as she sunk deeper into it.

"Rest. I will be here when you wake up. " He paused. "Eve?"

"Yes, V?" a murmur, softer than the scarlet carsons he grew without sunlight. Softer, more open, more achingly drinking him in.

"Next time, I will not hesitate. I will make it in time."

A smile, a soft squeeze, as she let sleep and the embers of the room claim her. "You always have."