.
.
She drags him into the hallway, throws him against the ground and kicks him in the stomach.
"Please," Karl says. Begs, as if he has the right. "Diva-"
But she silences him with one well-timed strike, fist whacking hard into Karl's windpipe. Karl reaches out for her, but she pulls her hand away.
"Pathetic," Diva says. "You're pathetic."
And Karl curls up into himself, his erection throbbing shamefully against the hardwood floor.
xXx
.
In the bedroom, she fucks him in the dark. She's brutal, slamming him against the head of the bed and driving him into the mattress. He feels her teeth tear into the tender flesh of his neck, and it hurts. It hurts him but he doesn't want it to stop, doesn't want to miss the ragged, harsh sounds of her panting against him, the warmth of her skin and the wet, desperate sounds of her pistoning herself on him. He feels her nails digging into the skin of his bicep, but already the wounds are beginning to heal.
Somewhere, between the smacks and the bites and the harsh, brutal thrust of her body grinding against his, Diva stops hitting him, and pretty soon she's concentrated on the place where their bodies are connected, just Diva and Karl and the furtive silence of the room. When Diva comes, it's something beautiful, mouth half-open with a hoarse, shuddered cry before she drops her weight onto his chest, exhausted. He's still hard when she pulls herself off him, but he doesn't mind; the fact that Diva chooses him at all is enough. He nudges his head against the space between her neck and shoulder, and he's rewarded when she turns and begins the slow drag of her tongue against his jugular.
"Ne, Karl," she says, breathes into his neck and the back of his shoulders there. "What are we doing, anyway?"
The question confuses him; he pulls back slightly, searching her eyes.
"Making love," Karl says, and Diva starts to laugh, blue eyes cruel and amused and her laughter rolling out of her like fog.
xXx
.
This is not the first time she's hurt him. Diva stands at the foot of the bed, her revulsion for him clearly on her face. "I'm bored," Diva says, and she sweeps on her clothes, her dress and shawl with a single flourish. "Perhaps my Solomon will let me feed. I could go for a good drink." She looks at him but Karl says nothing. He does not offer her the gash on his arm, which is fresh and still weeping blood.
In the bathroom, Karl silently stares at his reflection in the mirror; his face is gaunt and his eyes are bruised, and the cut across his chest seems to leave an ugly scar. But it doesn't; it is just a trick of the light, as if his heartache had manifested on his chest, while the pain of his solitude burns at the back of his throat.
"I think you'd better leave," Diva says. And Karl picks up his things and softly closes the door.
A/N: originally published as a compare/contrast Saya/Haji vs. Diva/Karl. Everything from here on out will be new content, pinky promise, lol :)