And will you be able to keep your eyes on the match?
( he's not even pretending not to taunt her, now. working his shirt open and bearing the sunburst scar to the open air — if anything, that is the true sign of her ownership, more than the collar will be. )
[ but her heart beats faster, seeing that scar on his chest. her fingers twitch with the desire to reach out and touch it, to trace the edges of her good work. she redirects her attention down to the arena, where the contenders have begun grappling with one another.
it seems messier, somehow, now that she can see at least one of them is hard. dangerous, in a way, because they're more likely to get injured than the women had been. ]
( his voice drops lower, like they're sharing a secret or perhaps that's real anger edging the words. who can tell with him? )
I might get jealous. ( the shirt joins the jacket on the seat she kept him from taking. and the thing is, he's not joking. unspoken goes the fact that he might feel inclined to do something unpleasant to remedy those feelings. )
[ it's almost disappointing how predictably her eyes snap back to him. fear jumps up in her chest, stomping its feet to be heard like a tantruming child. that's what he's doing, she realizes. trying to throw his weight around and prove he still has some power, some authority, no matter where she tries to set the bounds.
she smothers the fury in her eyes. ]
You had best learn how to deal with your jealousy, then.
[ it felt like something slipping through her fingers. something so fragile it'd shatter when it hit the ground. alina's whole body tenses in anticipation. her voice drops to a furious whisper. ]
This was the deal. You do what I tell you. You don't argue with me. I'm the Dominant.
You can bend me to your will in many ways, Alina Starkov. ( he says, tugging the belt from its loops and letting it fall casually to the ground. ) Some I enjoy more than others.
But even you can't tell me what to feel and what to think.
I can damn well tell you not to act on those feelings.
[ she spits it out, too panicked by the still present threat of him lashing out. he hadn't spoken it. but they both knew her real concern over his jealousy. ]
[ alina gets to her feet with him. sitting would only mean having his cock hanging in her face, and she has enough sense not to be thus insulted. but she's still smaller than him by a longshot, so it could not look more like a mouse snarling at an elephant. ]
If you think I have not imagined a thousand ways to make you regret what you've done ... [ but he hasn't done anything yet. he's baiting her. as of now, all he has done is obey her orders and taunt her. and realizing it turns her face red with the greater fury of humiliation.
she takes a deep breath. gets quiet instead of loud. the way he does. ] Perhaps you should consider what other parts of you I might brand with my mark.
( to his credit, his expression doesn't so much as ripple in the wake of her fury. it remains calm and settled despite the charge that hangs in the air between them. a charge that has nothing to do with the roaring crowd and the sound of the fighters below. )
And you do so relish the thought of touching me, don't you?
( his voice is pitched low, soft and knowing. she might despise him — and truth to tell there are times when he feels similarly of her — but that is the one inalienable truth of them. that they will always be drawn to each other. )
( again, the corner of his mouth edges upward. this is absurd, honestly, and perhaps it's because of that absurdity that he just keeps digging a deeper hole for himself.
it helps that she's right there alongside him, racing him to the bottom.
silence settles between them as the match continues. the pair are well-matched with just the right amount of brutal theatricality. it's almost, though not quite, enough to distract from the chill in the air or the awareness of eyes on him. )
[ when it becomes clear who the victor will be, though the match is not yet over, alina slides her fingers through the darkling's hair. a gentle warning before she leans in over his shoulder, breath against his skin, and asks, ]
Would you like to visit the temples now?
[ she had promised they'd return home, after that. there's something gentler to her tone of voice, as if the stretch of good behavior had softened her. ]
( what does it say about him that so casual a touch does more to him than the match ever did?
he exhales through his nose, feels some of the tautness in his muscles ease. it's uncomfortable, being in this position for any stretch of time. then, nodding. once, twice. a slow and careful motion. )
[ the effect she has on him surprises even her. she plants her palm more solidly against the top of his spine, fingers curling over his shoulder at the slope of his neck. a steady, firm, steering grip. ]
Biom is the closest.
[ the god of war and violence. bloodshed. it seems fitting, too, for the two of them to visit together. ]
Don't be sour. You seemed fond of public humiliation at the car wash.
[ she hasn't forgotten, either. her thumb brushes the leather band of his collar, both idle consideration and a reminder. then she stands and picks up the bundle of his clothes, stacking her shoes on top with his.
she nods for him to lead the way out of the row of seating. she's not so kind as to walk in front of him, either. ]
( the words cling to the air like smoke, curling in his wake. a reminder that while she presently holds the advantage it won't always be so. that the city is as likely to bite her as it is him.
some eyes follow him as he passes. this probably isn't the strangest sight that some have seen, but that doesn't mean he isn't bristling ever so slightly at the scrutiny. watching them without seeming to watch and wondering what, if anything, he can do in response. imagining unleashing a wave of nichevo'ya of the gawking locals helps his temper to recede a fraction. )
[ it won't happen again, she thinks, as with the same overconfidence she lets her gaze drag down across his back, over the curve of pale muscle that's tight at his backside.
something possessive and dark curls in her chest, and alina tries to snuff it out, drawing her eyes back upward, taking her place beside him as they exit the row and make their way out of the arena. but it's too late. she's let it in. it is too easy to let it in when she feels in control of it. ]
( despite alina's assurance, the walk to the temple seems to be without end. and while he's not the only submissive in a state of undress, none seem to be entirely naked.
he wonders, idly, if this is due to the festival itself. it would ironic, wouldn't it, to land themselves with a citation just because alina starkov decided to prove a point?
biom's temple isn't much of a temple at all, it turns out, but more of an open air shrine surrounded by symbols he assumes gives a clue to the god's nature. )
Spears and shields, I understand. Even the boars and the dogs make a measure of sense. But serpents?
Especially curious, given that I haven't seen a snake since arriving here.
[ they aren't terribly common in ravka, but she'd seen her fair share in novyi zem. then again, she hasn't left the city limits except for camp. she carries his clothes and her shoes right up to the front of the temple, where the offering plate rests.
alina produces her coin from inside her bust. it clangs as she tosses it into the plate. then she fishes in the pocket of the darkling's trousers for his. she offers it out to him. ]
But a saint's a saint. What difference does it make what symbols they use?
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( he's not even pretending not to taunt her, now. working his shirt open and bearing the sunburst scar to the open air — if anything, that is the true sign of her ownership, more than the collar will be. )
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[ but her heart beats faster, seeing that scar on his chest. her fingers twitch with the desire to reach out and touch it, to trace the edges of her good work. she redirects her attention down to the arena, where the contenders have begun grappling with one another.
it seems messier, somehow, now that she can see at least one of them is hard. dangerous, in a way, because they're more likely to get injured than the women had been. ]
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( his voice drops lower, like they're sharing a secret or perhaps that's real anger edging the words. who can tell with him? )
I might get jealous. ( the shirt joins the jacket on the seat she kept him from taking. and the thing is, he's not joking. unspoken goes the fact that he might feel inclined to do something unpleasant to remedy those feelings. )
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[ it's almost disappointing how predictably her eyes snap back to him. fear jumps up in her chest, stomping its feet to be heard like a tantruming child. that's what he's doing, she realizes. trying to throw his weight around and prove he still has some power, some authority, no matter where she tries to set the bounds.
she smothers the fury in her eyes. ]
You had best learn how to deal with your jealousy, then.
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I think not.
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[ it felt like something slipping through her fingers. something so fragile it'd shatter when it hit the ground. alina's whole body tenses in anticipation. her voice drops to a furious whisper. ]
This was the deal. You do what I tell you. You don't argue with me. I'm the Dominant.
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But even you can't tell me what to feel and what to think.
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[ she spits it out, too panicked by the still present threat of him lashing out. he hadn't spoken it. but they both knew her real concern over his jealousy. ]
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( he smiles and, oh, it is not a nice smile at all. it's a smile that's all teeth and challenge.
a smile made even as he pushes his trousers down over his hips, baring himself to her and anyone else in a mind to look. )
Punish me?
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If you think I have not imagined a thousand ways to make you regret what you've done ... [ but he hasn't done anything yet. he's baiting her. as of now, all he has done is obey her orders and taunt her. and realizing it turns her face red with the greater fury of humiliation.
she takes a deep breath. gets quiet instead of loud. the way he does. ] Perhaps you should consider what other parts of you I might brand with my mark.
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And you do so relish the thought of touching me, don't you?
( his voice is pitched low, soft and knowing. she might despise him — and truth to tell there are times when he feels similarly of her — but that is the one inalienable truth of them. that they will always be drawn to each other. )
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Fold your pants. You look ridiculous.
[ with them hitched halfway down like they are. she turns her gaze back to the fighters and resumes her seat. ]
I contracted with you because I believed you could behave yourself. Don't prove me wrong now.
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well. his smile tugs into a smirk, because she is ruffled enough to satisfy him for the moment. misery does love company, after all. )
Wasn't that the point?
( said as he does as he's told. see? he can behave when he has a mind to. )
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Kneel. And watch. [ if the point was to humiliate him, it'll only be his arousal at the sight before him that does it properly. ]
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it helps that she's right there alongside him, racing him to the bottom.
silence settles between them as the match continues. the pair are well-matched with just the right amount of brutal theatricality. it's almost, though not quite, enough to distract from the chill in the air or the awareness of eyes on him. )
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Would you like to visit the temples now?
[ she had promised they'd return home, after that. there's something gentler to her tone of voice, as if the stretch of good behavior had softened her. ]
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he exhales through his nose, feels some of the tautness in his muscles ease. it's uncomfortable, being in this position for any stretch of time. then, nodding. once, twice. a slow and careful motion. )
Have you decided on which?
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Biom is the closest.
[ the god of war and violence. bloodshed. it seems fitting, too, for the two of them to visit together. ]
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How generous of you.
( i'll be sure to remember that, he doesn't say. he doesn't need to. he has always had a long, long memory. )
Don't forget my suit.
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[ she hasn't forgotten, either. her thumb brushes the leather band of his collar, both idle consideration and a reminder. then she stands and picks up the bundle of his clothes, stacking her shoes on top with his.
she nods for him to lead the way out of the row of seating. she's not so kind as to walk in front of him, either. ]
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( the words cling to the air like smoke, curling in his wake. a reminder that while she presently holds the advantage it won't always be so. that the city is as likely to bite her as it is him.
some eyes follow him as he passes. this probably isn't the strangest sight that some have seen, but that doesn't mean he isn't bristling ever so slightly at the scrutiny. watching them without seeming to watch and wondering what, if anything, he can do in response. imagining unleashing a wave of nichevo'ya of the gawking locals helps his temper to recede a fraction. )
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[ it won't happen again, she thinks, as with the same overconfidence she lets her gaze drag down across his back, over the curve of pale muscle that's tight at his backside.
something possessive and dark curls in her chest, and alina tries to snuff it out, drawing her eyes back upward, taking her place beside him as they exit the row and make their way out of the arena. but it's too late. she's let it in. it is too easy to let it in when she feels in control of it. ]
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he wonders, idly, if this is due to the festival itself. it would ironic, wouldn't it, to land themselves with a citation just because alina starkov decided to prove a point?
biom's temple isn't much of a temple at all, it turns out, but more of an open air shrine surrounded by symbols he assumes gives a clue to the god's nature. )
Spears and shields, I understand. Even the boars and the dogs make a measure of sense. But serpents?
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[ they aren't terribly common in ravka, but she'd seen her fair share in novyi zem. then again, she hasn't left the city limits except for camp. she carries his clothes and her shoes right up to the front of the temple, where the offering plate rests.
alina produces her coin from inside her bust. it clangs as she tosses it into the plate. then she fishes in the pocket of the darkling's trousers for his. she offers it out to him. ]
But a saint's a saint. What difference does it make what symbols they use?
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( he turns the coin over in his hand, studying it as if it might offer some answer before he finally drops it into the tray. )
Venom, in the right doses, can be a curative.
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