Violent Delights
Synopsis: Takes place after the Halloween Part 1 episode.
"The Violent Delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder
Which, as they kiss, consume" William Shakespeare "Romeo and Juliet"
Chapter 1 "Fuel"
The press of leather against chapped skin is arousing; the sharp pain of it, the roughness of the caress. The sudden dampness between her thighs is almost enough to distract her from the realization that she is in the firm grasp of a strange body. They hold her in such a way that she can't even turn her head to see who it may be, their leather wrapped arms are tight against hers, pinning her arms to her sides and bruising her ribs.
It feels as though her skin is on fire and she hardly takes the time to notice that her heart continues to beat normally, her pulse doesn't race nor does she break out into a cold sweat like a normal person would. It is then that she remembers the touch of leather against her lips and face and she knows it must be Tate in that stupid costume again. Leave it to him to take Halloween entirely too seriously. She takes a moment to catch her breath.
"Tate, what the fuck are you doing?" she doesn't squirm against him, she goes stone still, denying him any excitement he may get at feeling her struggle.
There is no response, not even the sound of his breathing. The chest she can feel pressed against her back doesn't even rise and fall with each expulsion of lungs and she can almost feel the cold seep into her skin as the embrace tightens. She wants to call out but she doesn't, refuses to appear weak. Even as a child she never showed any fear. She buried her fear and uncertainty deeply enough that it finally faded away completely.
"Violet?" Tate's voice coming from the porch –does- cause her heart to skip the tinniest of beats and then she realizes she is alone in the house as she gasps for air, suddenly noticing she hasn't taken a breath. She fights the urge to look over her shoulder, not wanting to know what she may or may not find. She instead steadily places one foot in front of the other and walks to the front door, not even bothering to look through the peep hole before she opens it.
"My dad is on the way here." She skips over the conversational necessities that society deems appropriate. He doesn't need her to say hello every time they see each other and she doesn't need to verbally express her delight in seeing him. "You know he would be pissed if he saw you here."
Tate doesn't respond, he just shoulders his way through the door and past her, into the foray. He eyes the room, much like a predator sizing up his hunting territory, before turning to look at her again, his blue eyes are piercing and inquisitive, as though they can see into the very essence of her. If she believed in souls she may have the cliché thought that he was peering into her and finding something that reminds him of himself but it seems more likely he is sizing her up much like he had just done the room. Assessing her.
"Happy Halloween." He smirks as he says it and the absurdity of him observing something so normal actually makes her chuckle.
"Mom went crazy on the gays and then had to go to the hospital. Probably another miscarriage." Her words are without inflection as she speaks, not allowing herself to feel hope or worry about the situation.
The sound of squealing tires in the street causes her to turn for a few distracted seconds. When she realizes it is just her father rushing home to rescue her from the creeptastic events of the night thus far, she turns back to look at Tate but he is no longer standing across from her. Violet doesn't even bother to scan the rest of the room. He will show up when he wants to. She shakes off the questions that try to bubble up about his odd ability to appear and disappear and meets her father at the door.
Later that night when Violet is alone in her room she allows herself to think about what had happened earlier. The fingers of her left hand idly trace down the outline of her right arm, pale flesh against pale flesh, as she remembers the harsh feel of leather against her unprotected skin. Those same fingers begin to trail their way across the flat plane of her stomach, palm flattened against her belly button as she just observes the rise and fall of her lungs providing her body with live sustaining oxygen.
It is in that moment of appreciation that she brings her free hand to her throat and splays her fingers out against her collarbone, the pads of her fingers teasing against the thin, fragile skin of her throat. She lets her nails press in first, hard enough that they leave little pink half-moon marks in her flesh. Then she wraps those fingers around her neck and squeezes until she feels her lungs pause and begin to ache with need. She doesn't release her fingers until she begins to see blackness creep in at the edges of her vision and her lungs feel as though they may explode from deprivation.
Violet had always been a cautious child and, even at her young age, had locked her door out of concern at what may lie in wait on the other side once the shadows had fallen and nothing but pale moonlight filtered in to illuminate the floorboards.
She was now 17, though she felt older and more world-weary, and even though she had pleasured herself nearly every night for many years she had never actually had sex. She had often tried to bring various boys from school into her nighttime imagery and masturbation but the act had always seemed tainted, forced. And she received no real pleasure from the idea of allowing herself to be objectified by any of those boys. She was not a fragile flower that needed to be handled delicately, she was a vicious siren that demanded to be fucked well and proper by whomever she deemed lucky enough to dominate her. Because that was what sex was to her, all harshness and brutality.
Mind still slightly fuzzy from oxygen deprivation, she allows her fingers to brush along her inner thighs, teasing herself with the softness of the caress. She could feel the heat from her sex as it pulsated, dripping her sweet nectar into her freshly washed bed sheets. Her fingertips are cold against the warmth of her skin and as she grazes the pad of one finger against the hidden pearl of her clit, she can't help the tinniest of hisses from rustling past her chapped lips.
The feel as the air moves past her slightly parted lips reminds her of Tate, the harsh feel of his lips against hers. Kisses in the movies were always soft, passionate without any real fire. Their kiss had been real, rough and addictive. She hadn't been prepared so her lips had been chapped and dry against his. They cracked beneath the force of his lips and she remembered the salty, metallic taste of her blood on her tongue and how he had licked it away as he deepened the kiss. His lips had felt like liquid fire, burning away everything that they touched. That same fire had woven itself into her, keeping her awake at night with desire and need. Every night for the last two weeks she had thought of him as she touched herself. His eyes that she could never bring herself to look into for more than a second, the feel of his musculature beneath that tight black shirt, the heat that seemed to radiate off him like a summer blaze against the chill of winter.
She writhed against the sheets, still denying herself what her body screamed for. Her sex clenched at air, demanding violation of some sort. She had never been one for toys, opting to use her own fingers instead. She dipped her index finger into her drenched folds, scooping up some of the wetness she found there and pressing it to her lips, bitter sweet and enthralling.
"I bet you taste amazing." Of course it was Tate, the object of her current imagination, standing in her doorway. He was watching her with an unreadable expression. He would expect her to stop and rage at his intrusion. He would expect anger and outrage from her. She knew what he expected so she surprised him by giving him the exact opposite.
She continued her teasing strokes, fingers caressing her clit, eliciting shudders that reverberated throughout her entire body. She let out a little whimper of need as she slipped one finger inside of herself. She had never been this wet before and even through she tried to hide it she knew that they both knew why. It was his ferocity that had started this and it was his intensity that electrified it and propelled it. She found that she couldn't stop squirming in front of him, even while trying to be the seductive vixen he had her enthralled.
They didn't need words. He didn't need a verbal invitation when her body was sprawled out in front of him in an almost grotesquely open fashion. He shouldered his way through the door, leaving it open and adding to the depravity of the act. She was in no way quiet and she imagined he wouldn't have allowed silence anyway. The bed moved, sheets rustling as he found his way between her knees, sniffing the air like some wild animal on the hunt.
"Intoxicating." He remarked, his eyes locked on hers, refusing to let her look away. "I want you to look at me while you finger yourself." He snarled and the harshness in his voice nearly made her topple over the edge of ecstasy right then and there.
She didn't speak. She simply obeyed, relinquishing control for the first time in her entire life, allowing him to possess her. She pumped her single finger in and out of her wetness, whimpering quietly as she teased herself. She knew one finger would never get her off but she was awaiting his next command.
"Three fingers. Now." He nearly growled at her, eyes still locked on hers as he watched her expressions change while she fucked herself. She knew he had to see the need in her eyes, he must know what she craved most. She found herself momentarily distracted as she wondered if he would give it to her or if he would leave her feeling unfulfilled.
She hesitated only briefly before slipping two more fingers into her tightness. Her virgin sex burned in protest but the pain quickly subsided into a pleasure she had never known. She cried out, an animalistic sound, primal and full of desire as she furiously fucked herself, enjoying the sweet rapture of pleasure brought on by pain. Her eyes burned into his, her mouth open, breasts heaving as her body shook, the bed creaking at her abuse. When she was on the verge of orgasm he grabbed her wrist and yanked her fingers free from her body, a cruel smirk visible on his lips.
"I jerk off to imagines of you displayed like this for me all the time. When I tell your dad about them he gets really uncomfortable, I can tell. Does it make you uncomfortable to think of the joy I get from violating you in my dreams?" She shakes her head, words escaping her.
"I imagine that you do just this. Give over your body to me, obeying my every command. I can smell you as the scent of your arousal hangs in the air, your virginal pussy screaming in protest as I take you, as I possess you." The last words are emphasized by a moan of primal desire and he leans in quickly to press his lips to hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth as his fingers find her sex and slam in, three at once, no preparation or gentleness, just rough, raw need. Before she can even grow accustomed to the invasion he thrusts his soaked fingers into her mouth, watching delightedly as she licks them clean. She has always enjoyed the taste of herself, leaving the sampling of her juices as a final treat to herself after her climax. She can feel a bulge beneath his jeans as he presses himself into her and her mind runs rampant with fantasies.
They both wanted to be consumed by one another. Devoured there was nothing left but the bare bones of their fervor.
He studied her face for a moment as though he needed to commit it to memory. She heard the sound of his buckle being snapped open and felt the rough stroke of his jeans as they slid off and onto the floor. And then she felt it, the heat that radiated from his cock was overwhelming, it blazed against the heat of her own sex and overtook her. He took her arms and placed them above her head, his hand wrapped around her wrists, holding her down as his eyes found hers again and refused to let her look away. It was while lost in his gaze that she felt the first thrust of his cock.
He didn't enter her slowly or pause to let her adjust to him, he simply slammed into her so far and so hard that she could feel and hear his balls slap against her ass. Her wrist bones rubbed against her skin in protest as he tightened his grip on her, pulling all the way out before slamming all the way back into her again. She whimpered and moaned, crying out in pleasure even as she felt the cool drip of blood against her thighs. She could smell the bitter tang of it as it mixed with the smell of sex and sweat and she shuddered in pleasure.
"I saw you wrap your fingers around your neck, Violet…" He leaned in close to whisper into her ear. His breath felt oddly chill against her fevered flesh and she cringed away from it at first, even as her pussy clenched hard around his cock, wanting him deeper. He didn't ask permission, he just took his free hand and put it around her throat, his fingers pressing roughly into her skin. The affect was instant and earth-shattering as she came harder than she ever had, her pussy fluttering around his cock, milking him and begging for more. She maintained her gaze, her eyes burning with a fire she had never known as she started to see spots and that blackness began to creep into her vision again. He didn't stop even then, when she would have normally released her throat he pressed in tighter. She realized, in that moment, that she was completely helpless against him. His weight pressed her firmly into the sheets and his grasp around her wrists was like a vice. She suddenly had an imagine of him standing over her dead body, covered in the after affects of their desires, blood and sweat and come. She came again at the thought that he wouldn't release her throat, that he would and could take her life right now if he so desired.
Perhaps he saw that imagine, somehow, as she saw it, because the look in his eyes was dangerous and feral. He bit his lip hard enough to break open the skin and she was momentarily surprised by this display and temporary loss of control. When, finally, she felt as though she would faint from oxygen deprivation and perhaps not awaken, he thrust into her one final time and she felt the burning heat of his seed as it coated her insides. He released his grip on her wrists and finally removed his hand from her throat and she gasped for air, at the same time releasing a shuddering moan as she came one last time around his expelling cock, pulling his seed deeper inside of her.
They didn't speak afterwards; there was no need for words. Her body was worn and exhausted and she quickly fell asleep with him lying beside her. They didn't hug or caress like she knew couples in love did and when she woke the next morning he was gone. She had expected his absence but it affected her more than she had expected. She didn't know what she felt for him, whether it was love or lust or something else entirely, but she knew that she would never be the same and that he somehow made her feel whole in a way that no one and nothing ever had before.
Chapter 2
I will be adding another chapter soon if anyone reads this! It seems there aren't very many American Horror Story enthusiasts yet!