I don't own the SOA characters and universe, boo! They all belong to Kurt Sutter. I own Esther, Jack and Everett, and that,s it!
Little memory/dream sequence, because fun!
Esther is laying in the corner, there's a smile on her face, as he's sprawled against her, his head laying on her bare chest, her arms are draped around his neck, resting on his tattooed chest, her hair is short. Himself is indecent, but covered from the belly button down by her pink comforter. There is music. The Moody Blues, satin. She's singing.
First time she sang for him. She had stripped plenty of times, had sex with him a handful of times. And last night, she had admitted to singing. And being good at it. She had hopes of being known for her singing one day, more than her ability to shed her clothes.
One of his hands is resting on hers. Rubbing them as she sings. The other one is hiding under the blanket, stroking suspiciously at her leg. She had perfect little feet. He sort of was obsessed with her feet, and since she had experienced a lot stranger being a stripper than his mild-to-moderate fascination for her feet, she had never said anything, or wrote him off to being just another creep.
She stops singing, he feels her huff of breath on the top of his bald skull, her lips resting where her breath hit.
-That was beautiful, babe.
-Don't call me babe. I'm not one of the sluts that hangs around your MC.
-I don't like your stripper name.
-What's wrong with Terra?
-How much time you got?
-Well I'm not "babe".
-I won't call you that name. So either you give me something to work with, or you put up with babe.
She moves one of her hands, there's some Hispanic song playing, it's annoying, but she starts tracing at the snake that ornate his head, before laying a kiss down on it, and leaning her cheeks against it.
-Esther.
-So your parents never loved you as a child? Esther?
He had a scoff, it earned him a sharp slap at the back of the head.
-Yeah? And what the heck is your name, then, hm? Who are you to judge?
-Name's Happy.
-Yeah, your big, bad, biker name.
-No. My mom called me Happy.
-So your parents never loved you as a child?
-She did, still does. She had it really rough. And I made her happy before I was even born. Still wasn't easy, but she was happy. So she called me that.
-I'm sorry.
-I love my mom.
-Who was Hispanic? Your mom?
-Why does everyone always assume that?
He pulls away, tossing the blanket aside, uncaring to leave her naked body exposed as he grabs his boxer shorts to slide them back on, grabs his rings and his pack of smokes from the nightstand. Why doesn't she mind her own business?
-Really? You're gonna throw your little gangsta on wheel pissy fit at me because I asked a question about your cultural background? What are you? A God damn diva?
-Shut the fuc...
-No. You didn't want the post-fuck chat, well you should have put your clothes back on and left. You didn't. You stayed, cuddled...
-I said shut the fuc...
-...asked me to sing you something, then sustained yet another conversation. Instead of remaining normal, you go and get all defensive. YOU started this whole conversation about our moms. You know what? Get out!
The club didn't hurt women. That was a rule, and he mostly stuck to it, but sometimes, it was just too personal. So he stuck his cigarette between his lips and stalked towards the bed with the firm intention of showing her how to shut up. Kneeing on the bed, he reached towards her throat, maybe? He had no concrete plan in mind, he was much better at this when he did not think ahead of time.
Girls usually got scared, promised to shut up, just please, don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you want, Happy. I'll choke back my tears while taking your dick...
This one smirked, as he went for her neck. Smirked, before launching herself forward to headbutt him so hard that his cigarette fell into the bed, and he tumbled backwards. She had a loud screech, he heard her tumble as well, and when he opened his eyes, she had half fallen off the bed, she was holding her forehead, pain reading all over her face. She was going to have a taste of her own medicine, that had probably hurt her more than it had hurt him.
Happy couldn't help the smile on his face as he shook himself back into the situation, and rose to his full height, it was the first time ever a girl fought him back, and called him out on his contradictions. She would be in a world of hurt for it, and he would enjoy every second of it. Then he would bang her again, and get on with his life.
He heard a gun shot, and looked down, she was scattered on the floor, and now scampering away from him as panic was reading her face. He looked down at himself, she had shot him on his right forearm, he had lost most sensations on that arm nearly a decade before, after hitting the dirt hard, too hard during a motorcycle run, asshole had cut him off on the highway and sent him down a 25 foot ditch.
Esther shot again, this time he felt it, in the right shoulder. Oh, that hurt, it really did. But it also proved that this girl wasn't scared to pull the trigger, she was in fact a very good shot, she wanted to incapacitate him, scare him, so she could figure out her next move and get out of his cross-hairs. She would shoot again. She would if she had to.
-Now that wasn't very nice, babe.
He has a step forward, and she changed the trajectory of her aim. Straight to his heart. Another step, she pulls the trigger.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Her eyes become wide with disbelief, she almost looks like an Asian Doll, pale skin and big blue eyes, she had long, black eyelashes and her lips are perfectly drawn. She ran out of bullets. Something flashes across her eyes, never reaches the rest of her face, he couldn't quite tell what, but it's not the resolve she shows him as she tosses the gun aside and rises to her feet, before grabbing the bottle of Jack Daniels they shared together overnight, it's half full, she chucks it at his head. It amuses him to dodge it, Matrix style, when he faces her again, he knows he did a mistake and he would have been better off taking broken shards of the glass bottle and the burn of the alcohol in his cuts.
She was already on him, wielding his own knife she had unsheathed from the belt of his jeans that were laying on the floor, he managed to grab her wrist, twist it behind his neck, not without damage, a long cut on his rib cage, not deep at all, just enough to draw blood, probably wouldn't even leave a scar once it healed. He grabs her neck, squeezes both her wrist and constricts her airways, to pull her into doing whatever he wanted.
Underestimating her again... Bad idea, he thought as he felt her ankle hitting his manhood, he kept grip on her wrist, but had to let go of her throat. She coughed, before crushing his nose with the back of her head. Ok. Now it was on. Didn't feel broken, but definitely hurts a lot.
She's bent over, he grips at her hair, while giving a thrust of the hip at her bare butt, he pulls back, she's holding the bottle of Jack and she's got the full swing motion to crash it against his temple. His left wrist hurts from the cuts as he shields his face and neck, alcohol goes splashing on them both and onto the bed. Great... Why does she waste a perfectly good half bottle of JD, now?
She stumbles back, he let her go, he's not going to underestimate her again. If he was to bend over and pick up his knife, she would probably kick him in the face. Shit, fifteen minutes ago, they were having sex.
She growls as she runs his way and launches herself from the ground towards him, he catches her, right under the arms as she's going for his throat, he slams her back into the wall as a "woosh" rises from behind them, her eyes are glazed over with the determination of having the upper hand and walk out of this room alive. But then the determination vanishes, replaced by concern, a concern that can't be faked. He looks back, flames are rising from the bed they were in not even five minutes ago, how?
His cigarette. And her bottle of Jack. Her pink comforter is burning rapidly, all of her bed sheets, and the flames are licking at the wall and cascading down towards the carpet to burn the alcohol that splashed on it. Fuck this, he's on probation again, he doesn't need to be linked to arson.
He has no care as he drops her down on her ass, he pulls his pants from the ground, and jumps in them, she crawls hastily past him to grab her dress, shoves it over her head as he grabs his kutte that's on the back of the chair near her bed, she's jumping into her pink sneakers, the idea of trying to extinguish alludes him, but from his experience, mattress fires were a bitch to put out.
His knife on the floor as she's grabbing her purse, he jumps into his boots, and for some reason grabs her hand to pull her out of the room, but she's pulling back violently.
-The gun!
-Leave it, it's not registered.
-No! They have my prints! I'm in the system!
He lets go of her hand as she lunges to the floor for the gun, she shoves it in her purse, before grabbing her bag that's by the door and following him out. By the time they reach the parking lot, her hand has found its way into his again, her heavy bag is hanging from her elbow.
He grabs his keys from his pockets, as she tosses her bags into her car, a Honda Civic, the windows were down, she pries the door open and jumps in, follows out of the parking lot. He takes a right, and she hurries left, he only stopped one second to throw his kutte on.
-No, you're not getting away.
A U-turn, he pulls right behind her, follows her several miles until she pulls over in another parking lot, behind a pharmacy. He pulls on the street, hops off his bike and rushes to the parking lot to see her come out of her car with her wallet in hand, she's trying to fish some change out.
He runs behind her, grips her hair with the firm intention of bashing her head into the brick wall when she flips around, her back takes the big of the hit, her bangs fell in front of her eyes, and when she looks up, she had a very desirable pout. Her left hand raises, scratches at his neck, it feels warm, he's sweaty and soaked in Jack Daniels, it burns a very sweet burn, her eyes flicker down before sustaining his gaze again, she does it again, but this time, he pulls her to him, and captures her mouth with his.
Happy would have thought she would grant access to his tongue only to bite it off. But her kissing back was fervent, and the skirt of her long dress in the way of her trying to wrap her legs around his waist. He heard change falling and rolling on the asphalt of the parking lot as he hiked her skirt up, carrying her towards her Honda. He slammed her into the hood, as she pulled on his belt, it cracked a chip into her windshield as she carelessly tossed it, she was using her feet to try and lower his jeans.
-Happy! Happy...
Thoughts? Reviews? Thanks for reading!