Author's Note: My first Discworld story, dedicated to a c(r)ackling ship. I hope you like the bad, crazy, mean wickedness these two get up to! (Ah... and review, if you want to make me happy.) Enjoy!
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, but to the brilliant Mr. Pratchett. The story, however, does.
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A Game of Poker
She giggled. Saying that she had a sexually dissatisfying life had been a mistake. But why be sad about it? She now had her headmistress's necklace. And she'd only had to take off the head.
There might have been a grain of truth in it, however. She giggled again, as she fumbled with the key to Death's study. But the reason for her comparative grumpiness in class was definitely not the lack of sexual action. She was a bit harsh with her pupils because she knew she couldn't kill them. No offence meant, but she'd have liked to see them dead. She generally liked seeing people dead. The missing parts made them so much more interesting.
Another giggle was drowned out by the sound of an unnatural creak as she opened the study door. She'd have to tell her grandfather that doors didn't usually whine "please enterrrrr" as you opened them. Actually, she hadn't seen a lot of him lately. Had she killed him? She giggled. It might not have been possible. But then, that had never held her back.
She took purposeful strides over to one of the racks. After a brief inspection it became apparent that some more purposeful striding would be required until she got to where she wanted. Sex... Another giggle. She'd never doubted it's importance. It's just that she hadn't found the right person yet. Nobody had managed to stay alive until the end. Giggle. But at least she knew where to look.
Yes, she had to admit to herself that all of her previous lovers had been wimps. Imp? Please. He didn't even last a minute. Not after she'd introduced an axe as a love-toy. Lobsang? She had had to keep him down with the paper-knife. Well, time heals all wounds, they say. A 100 years back he will have been ok.
Compared to that, a poker was a petty toy. A lovely toy that got so interestingly stuck in people. The way he went down that night... In different circumstances, she would have gotten on top of him.
As she got to shelf number 125, row 3, first one from the left, she figured that theses circumstances were now. She glanced at the name tag on the hourglass, and did not feel very worried about the empty top bauble. The sand at the bottom had a slightly blueish glow to it. She giggled, and turned the life-timer over. This would definitely be fun.
She hated her mother's old room. The pink rabbits distressed her, and the lace on every surface made her head spin. As she undid the last strap on her corset she thought that she'd have to remove all of this sometime. It'd have to turn black, maybe with a few specks of red. But that could certainly be arranged.
She flexed her fingers over the poker she was holding. Why did it take him so long to turn up? It was making her angry; and if he wouldn't immediately... Suddenly, a cold blade was pressed to her neck from behind, and an arm curled around her bare waist. "Someone has already unpacked my present?" The unnaturally high voice felt familiar. She grinned. "You've been a bad boy, so you should be happy you got one at all." She reached behind her at groin level, and felt the boyish frame stiffen. "But you do know what happens to ungrateful little kiddies?" In the fraction of a second it took him to clear his head, decipher her sentence and make up an answer, she thrust the poker down on his left foot. He yelped and pulled back, while she wrestled the knife out of his hand and heard it clatter on the floor. She was very much aware of her lack of corset as she pushed him down on the bed, straddling him. She'd pinned down his head and his hands with the poker, using it to severely crack down on his excessive use of air. There was only so much of it in this room, after all. You'd have to be strict about the little things, or the big ones would get out of hand. Your hand. "Don't you want to say hello, little one?", she cooed. He vaguely flapped a hand. "Te-ah-ti-me at your service, Miss Susan.", he said in a blissfully strangled voice. When she bent to kiss him, she made sure to bite down hard. He didn't seem to mind. "There is a problem, Miss Susan." He was smirking. She watched a tickle of blood run down his chin, and frowned. "What? You... Oh!" He had made it very clear that there was cloth between them that should not have been there. He raised his hips and pointed out effectively that these circumstances were utterly dissatisfying. "I am afraid I'll have to use my hands, Miss Susan.", he croaked out sweetly. "I am armed, man", she grunted, and lifted the poker an inch. It definitely was an inch too much. Before she knew it, she was on her back, and not quite alone in her body. Teatime could out-undress any model, when it came down to it. It was not at all an unimportant qualification.
Even though he did seem a hell of a straight-A-student in this department, he was too confident of the magic he could do. Her hands were free, and the poker was lying beside them, unregarded. The silly little bugger! If she'd just reach out she could... OH GOD! "What was that, Miss Susan?", he smiled sweetly as he picked up a beat he'd probably found lying in a dirty corner somewhere in hell. In a tacky shack with a red lantern over the door. She felt her mouth open and waited for it to speak. Where had he learned to...? " . . . " , she said and thought, had she just said it? "Yes, Miss Susan?" She stared into this magnificently blue eye, into this angelic face, and somewhere in there she found herself again. He didn't even try to stop her. He knew he didn't have to. "You really thought you...", she revelled as she was on top again, "You really thought you could do this?" To her horror she realised that she was panting. "No, not a second, Miss Susan." "Then why... w... oh... oh, damn WHY did you dare to..." He probably knew she was incapable of a more eloquent reproach. Her head was spinning. "Just to tease the teacher, Miss Susan", he said and she knew and she gripped the poker and probably cried out and with his blinding smile she exploded.
As she lay next to the suspiciously quiet Teatime, and observed the strange angle in which the poker was sticking out of his chest, she was a bit annoyed that the blood should strain the sheets so much. He always had to overdo it.
She took his limp hand into hers, and twisted his fingers until they cracked. But then... this had definitely been fun. Against all pretensions, she liked stiff objects, and he had seemed to be disposed to supply at least one. She softly smiled to herself. Who knew about tomorrow? The notion was so insignificant if you knew you would always have a hell lot of today. She turned over and tried to fall asleep, one finger still in hand.
There would be business for her in the room of life-timers. There would be things to look after. 125th shelf, 3rd row from the bottom, the first one on the left... she sighed contentedly and snuggled deeper into the sheets. They were still a little damp, but the blood would dry quickly. Oh yes, she definitely wanted to see the glowing sand tickle down again. But only because she longed to make it stop.