albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[It's unexpected enough (and pleasantly so) that Nisha chokes out an involuntary gasp before settling back into laughter again. Mask dropped just behind him so her fingers can move up to catch and pull at his hair, hips arced up into his hand for the sake of bracketing his sides with her legs. Cool metal digs into her shoulderblades through the fabric of her shirt and-- god, she loves it. He was always handsome enough to at least have her attention, but after Helios...

Goes without saying she loves it when he's wild-- and submissive for that matter. It's all pretty much a constant so long as they've got people to kill and places to fuck.]

Best damn comedian on Pandora. [Is all she manages to get out, thumbs scuffing the edge of his sideburns where the magnetic bolts keep his mask steady.]

[What Nisha gets out of him is a drawn out raspberry into her neck as he tries to hold down an exaggerated scoff.]

Ha ha ha. Oh boy. You have some pretty steep competition for that title, kiddo. Some prit-tea funny stuff happens on Pandora.

[But the humor is a cover-up for his discomfort. Luckily, the fingers pulling at his hair is a perfect distraction. He scrapes the lower line of his teeth roughly against the corded muscle at the front of her neck, loosening his grip on her just enough to make it easy for her to settle in over his hips. Its not much contact, but its enough for him for now.

The anticipation would just make it better.]

[Well it certainly doesn't stifle the laughter on her part, at least, half-cringed as her chin drops down to try and block him off from snorting against her skin. Her collar at least blocking off some of it, though the scrape of teeth he follows it up with helps ease her back off the defensive, helps her relax her spine so that her weight rests in part against the high point of his hip bones while the rest stays supported by the wall itself.

But he hasn't dropped her to retrieve the mask - there's something peculiarly charming about that, despite the fact that she'd never begin to expect it. And it means her nails at his scalp are more a comfort than just dug-in pain to spur him on.]

--Mm. Speaking of, you really ought to pay a visit to Lynchwood sometime. [She rolls against him, using leverage to apply pressure. He wants anticipation, he can have it.] I killed this guy the other day? Choked him out with barbed wire. Real slow.

And just-- the noises he made, I swear-- [Guess who's amused by her own inside joke enough to be on the verge of laughing again? Just guess.]

[He plans on going for the mask as soon as he puts her down, but for now she has her hands in just the right spot and he's got her pressed against a wall.

Jack pauses briefly when she starts to tell her tale, pausing to let the visual form. His imagination was always overactive, and where Nisha manages to suppress her chuckle, he does not.]

No kiddin'. Did he cry? Bet he wet his pants when you brought it out.

[He removes his grip from her hips entirely then, leaving her to support her own weight against the wall and his waist. Jack's hands immediately start to wander under her shirt, dragging his nails, practically begging for more detail.

If he focuses on that enough, if he keeps his face close enough to her, he can forget the mask is off. Maybe.]

[She almost tells him then, half out of pride and half an instinctive itch to just get the rest of the story out, but his nails are a sharp, crystal clear focus, and it drags her back to the more important bottom line:] Might have. Moral of the story is it's better than the entertainment you've got here in your ivory towers.

[And supporting her own weight means rutting up against him is a process that's entirely under her own control: slow and steady and with enough pressure that the buckle at her waist bites into him at the lowest point.]

Oh come on, you can't start a story like that and not finish.

[His weight presses into her's when she starts to move, but this dog isn't dragged off its t-bone quite so easily. He drags his nails down her back and burrows his face in her cleavage with a heavy sort of inhale--

The skin on skin contact gives him pause, and a shaky exhale. The mask was enhanced to act like a second skin, but science and engineering could only do so much. The sensation just reminds him that the mask isn't on, and its enough that he squints his eyes slightly against her.]

Did you strangle him to death, or did he bleed out first?

Bled out. Was doing fine till he started really struggling for air. [The hesitation's easy to spot. Probably not a good sign, but part of her still wonders if he's half-enjoying the feeling of cool air and warm skin. Breath and sweat and a lack of pressure from the looks of it.] Tore somethin' before I could stop him - real shame.

[Her eyes flick over towards the skyline behind him. Skyscrapers and sand. Ocean beyond that.] Fun while it lasted, though.

[None of the memories associated without the mask are good, and the lack of mask doesn't feel different enough to block them out. But to get at the mask, he has to put Nisha down -- something he knows won't be a task she'll approve of or necessarily cooperate with.

He keeps the image she's provided him with at the front of his mind as he pulls them off the wall. He gives her just one last bite where shirt meets skin before he pulls his hands away and tries to let her down. His intentions are clear, as he's turned to face the mask she had dropped.]

I wouldn't be opposed to a repeat showing.

[Nisha doesn't fight him on it (again, him getting his way isn't exactly uncommon or difficult) dropping her grip so her heels can find the floor before he's fully turned away. To a certain extent she gets it; has that thick collar over deep, deep scars that've long since tried (and failed) to heal entirely. So if he needs his security blanket, he can have it and she'll be happy for what few minutes without it she'd stolen without backlash.

That and bending over gives her a real A+ view of that ass.

Meaning that once he's done and working to secure the latches, Nisha unhooks the whip at her side, slipping behind him along the curve of his spine to wrap it neatly around his throat; the difference in height between them's so minimal she doesn't even have to strain to set her teeth to Jack's ear.] How close to the action do you want to be, sweetheart?

[The latches dont take long to secure -- its the way the cybernetics latch and seal to keep the illusion that it wasn't a mask at all that takes the longest. There's a loud snap of metal on metal in triplicate, but that's after the whip has found its way around his neck.

He's completely stiff under her teeth, but not entirely in a bad way. He was a paranoid man always guarding his own life and interests, true and true, but--well there's just something about the danger that gets the adrenaline flowing, that turns him on.

And she'd already started the job with her hips and lovely imagery. He manages to keep himself from laughing at his own joke, but barely.]

Not "barbed wire" close.

[He turns his head just slightly toward her, though his movement is restricted because of the teeth at his ear and the noose holding him in place.]

[The bite she leaves behind gets finished off with the slide of her tongue, grip shifted so the whip's held in place via her left arm and what corded leather of its tail is currently wrapped neatly around her wrist. It gives him room to breathe, but only just, and how much is a factor Nisha clearly plans on leaving more flexible than defined.] Not until I've perfected it, anyway.

[Her lips move to the base of his neck, voice a low whisper that pools against the collar of his coat.] On your knees, Hyperion.

[Had it been anyone else who had said that to him, they'd be on the floor with a pair of busted kneecaps and possibly worse. Even Nisha gets a little bit of lip from him in the form of an 'OK I'll play along I guess' scoff.

The cord is tight, and it doesn't need to be much tighter to make his heart immediately start racing. He's strangled a fair share of people -- he knows how little effort it takes once you've got something around their neck. He's already half way down from having knelt to pick up his mask, so he simply completes the motion with both knees hard on the elevator's metal grate.

Its not comfy. He holds out his hands expectantly, making light as always (she would have to be a husk to not feel how hard his heart is pounding, how hot his skin has already gotten from nerves).]

Anything else, your highness?

[Yeah, she hasn't missed it-- any of it-- as the makeshift noose she's tied off around his neck slides into place along with him, catching on itself only slightly once he's settled down on his heels like a leash. One that's tied off on the elevator railing so that Nisha can step easily out into his office without having to bother dragging him along.

She drops her hat first. Jacket second. Back to him for all the slow, easy steps that it takes to find her way to the front of his desk.] Highness. Like the sound of that.

[The shirt comes off after she's turned to face him, small of her back set lazily against the edge of his desk, dark hair wild from the pull of fabric as it frames her face. He could pull himself loose if he wanted to now. Easily.]

Stay.

Yeah well, don't get used to it.

[He feels more like himself now that the mask is in place. When she gives that command, every inch if him wants to defy her -- she's probably expecting it. Or maybe she knows he'll react that way and is purposefully trying to goad the reaction out of him.

His head rubs circles around itself, which let's him sit there and stare with a slight furrow in his brow. She's all the way over there and she isn't touching him anymore.

This isn't fun.]

I thought you wanted to know how close I wanted to be near the action, Nisha. Close. Not far. You're literally across the room right now.

[Column A column B - is there really any difference? The buckle at her waist that sits low across her hipbones lets out a little metallic clink as she unlatches it, slides a few fingers down along the seam of her zipper to undo it right after with minimal effort. Boots off, holsters next, jeans right afterwards so that her contours are a sharp silhouette against stark, controlled daylight.]

Anticipation, Jack. It's typically a big deal for most people. [And just because you can have everything at the snap of a few fingers doesn't mean you should.]

I know what anticipation is. What the hell do you take me for, huh?

[Jack balls his fists in his lap, much like a pouting child who got told he couldn't have a cookie by his mother. That doesn't mean she doesn't have his attention though. His eyes are tracing what he can see from her silhouette and filling in the blanks with imagination when he can't.

Which is why his witty retort takes a second to deliver, straightening his shoulders from their half-hunched position.]

And I'm not most people.

If you were [She starts, leaning back on her palms and feeling out the frigid, mirror-glass surface.] I wouldn't be here.

[But it's the fact that in spite of all his protesting and huffing, he's still settle there with his knees to the floor, hands clenched, teeth set, whip lashed around the low point of his throat.

God, she loves it.

Handsome bastard set himself up in the seat of an empire, ready and capable of wiping the entire slate of Pandora clean, and he's there under her thumb waiting for permission to run wild. Who wouldn't want that kind of control? Devotion or loyalty or respect or pure admiration-- whatever you want to call it in any amount it's the facts that matter to her mind more than motivation: if he's not getting off to it, the moment's still not wasted.

She's sitting down now, hip raised just slightly to one side where her posture's more open. Accessible despite the fact that the line of her bare thigh's only limned with light.]

Come on, then.

[Jack doesn't scramble to his feet when he's given permission to rise. He carefully reaches for the whip around his neck, removing it in a slow and far too dignified manner. As he stands, he spends time unhooking it from the railing and rolling it back up neatly.

Nisha's features only become clear when he finally reaches the front of his office. By this point, he's found the handle of the whip and waits until he's generously in range to suddenly lash out with it toward one of her forearms. The idea of waiting until he was closer than he needed to be was to have the recoil tie a knot, so he could pull her toward him.

Whether he picked that up from watching Nisha or taught himself just in case...well, that was anyone's guess. Either way, he looks pretty pleased when he does it.]

[And oh, it stings. Even Nisha-- a cold-blooded killer that lives her life for the surge of adrenaline in her veins-- doesn't have either the foresight or iron-clad nerves enough to stifle a cry of pain for it. It's a weapon. It kills. Whatever it's used for beyond that never negates the fact. Blood is quick to swell up under where Jack's managed to tangle it across the fine bones of her wrist, and her lips are parted, sharp edges of her teeth exposed as she shuts her eyes to inhale the lingering rush.

As he yanks her towards him with enough force to pull her from her perch.

There's something feral in those gold eyes when they open again. Predatory, charged-- instinct wanting to override familiarity or reason. He doesn't know how lucky he is: she'd bleed him out, tear his throat to ribbons with her teeth - and somehow she loves him too much to do either on a whim.]

Edited 2015-02-15 05:04 (UTC)

[There's some kind of sadistic delight that sits in his eyes, both artificial and pure. He's well aware that he might be pushing the envelope of her trust, but at the end of the day, the weapon is in his hand and not her's, so even if she wanted to do something about it...she couldn't.

But he doubts that she really wants to, deep down. And that's all that matters for the moment. She's not an innocent person, there's no guilt for harming her for his own pleasure -- a reminder of exactly who is in charge, and a way to light the angry fire he knows is burning beneath the surface of her skin. If she expected him to trust that she would not kill him with it wrapped around his throat, then surely she could deal with a little retribution.

And if not, then maybe one day he really would reconsider his position on Nisha the Lawbringer.

On his way across the space between them, he peels off his jacket and deposits it in a guest chair. He catches her other arm with his free hand when she's pulled down to him, and he reels in the whip enough to pull the swollen bleeding wrist to his mouth, where he bites her knuckle and bats his eyelashes like an innocent child. He's so pleased with himself that he can't hold down a deep, throaty little giggle.]

You rang, beautiful?

[His eyes sweep downward to her bare thighs, and then back up again. He knows exactly why she coaxed him over before he had turned the tables, after all.]

[She's more than just a feral dog. Always has been. So when he coyly plays up his response, Nisha's frigid stare doesn't wilt, pressing in against his hold to set her profile over his, breathing tense and shallow.] That's not yours, you know.

[A nudge more than it is a serious challenge, posturing over sinking in her teeth - it's a game. All of it. He wants to act like a badass, he'll go toe-to-toe with the one that guarded his back when he was just some fledgling code-puncher.

Anything else would just be boring.]

Maybe you shouldn't leave your stuff just lying around then, huh pumpkin?

[He releases her knuckle, and also takes the time to pull apart the constriction around her wrist, letting the raw, bloody skin take in the cool flow of air. The whip is dropped to the desk without ceremony, splattering a bit of red across the once pristine glass surface.]

I see something I want, and I take it. You should know how it goes by now.

[And to accent his point, he leans in on her again, moving her hand down to the hem of his pants. Because that's where he wants her hands right now, blood or no blood. This time, it'll be Jack that initiates the kiss, open mouthed and hungry.]

[Her fingers stay where he sets them, curling in to bear down through thick fabric across half-present contours. But the kiss is sharp. Draws blood with the rough pinch of her incisors where the seam of his mask hits as retribution. If she's bleeding on him, he's returning the favor - in part at the least.]

Love you, too. [Is the only verbal response he gets, lips stained with red on either the recoil or his next gasp for breath. Or both.]

[He makes a noise when her teeth clamp down, something torn between surprise and delight. Ok, so bleeding his own blood wasn't meant to be the end result of the exercise, but fair is fair. He'd gotten much more out of the deal than she had anyway. He's pushing back, bearing down on her over the glass desk and pushing his hips into her hands to encourage her to continue with her task.

He's practically climbing on top of her for how hard he's pushing his hips toward her's, bracing himself against the glass and shoving the whip out of his way again. He doesn't miss her words, despite the fact that he seems to be very singularly focused at the moment.

And to make that point, he relaxes his advance just long enough to breath into her profile.]

Well, that's a relief.

Should be. [Her forearm aches where he's buckled against her, adrenaline finally starting to take the edge off and leaving her acutely aware of the texture of jeans against bare skin. Her thighs against his and the glossy, chilled surface of his desk with every inch he moves in to take. But Nisha's proud when she says it, chin tilted upwards to grant him access to the corded muscle of her throat-- her collarbone and the long, lean lines of her chest.

Permission passed out like a reward-- or maybe just a truce on middle ground.] Otherwise the Sheriff of Lynchwood might have to take you down.

[Voice low and tinged with amusement to emphasize her own morbid brand of humor.]

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