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Special Trick
Three o’clock in the morning and don’t-care drunk and she’s kissing him, pressing her long tongue into his mouth, grinding up against him with everything she’s got. He tastes like warm tequila, tingly and bitter. His hands are on her breasts, just like she remembers from men before the change, just like she’s a real woman. He wants her, he really wants her, he’s thick and hard against her thigh to prove it, and his breath is coming hot against her neck as she backs him up against the wall, slams him into it with all her strength. His head hits it with a crack but he doesn’t seem to care; he bites her mouth and makes her bleed and she grips his hair, tugs his head back, bites at his neck and at his shoulder as he makes a harsh little guttural sound of encouragement. He’s not like other men, this alchemist; he’s not easily broken, but he’s still human, and she has to remember that.
He pushes off the wall, shoves her backward by the shoulders and she staggers against the bed, sits down hard on it. And then he has her on her back, pinned, however briefly, and it’s scary, not like with Greed, because, she realises, she trusts Greed. She flexes her legs, tangling his in hers, jerking his apart, and rolls them over; now he’s the one trapped, and see how he likes it. Not much, apparently. He pushes up at her hard with both deadly hands, eyes unguarded and stunned at how swiftly his plan has been upset, but she catches his wrists and stretches her arm just a little over its natural reach to pin them firmly above his head. He tries to throw her off, jerking up with one sharp hip, but she holds firm. ‘Relax,’ she breathes to him, sliding her hand smoothly down his trousers, flexing long mobile fingers against his cock, ‘relax, baby,’ and to her chagrin there’s a definite hiss on the ‘relax’.
He gives a little shudder, clenching his trapped hands. ‘You’re not right, you’re not—’
She presses her cool mouth to his and his words are swallowed. He’s drunk but he’s not that drunk. No matter what reservations he might be entertaining now, she’s not come this far without going home satisfied, as it were. If she’s honest with herself, and she always is, this is hardly an accident. She doesn’t drink much, and she never drinks with Kimberly. But she hasn’t been this honest-to-god horny in weeks, and if Greed is just going to ignore her every time some new whore comes along with bigger tits – what a dumb irritating slut tonight’s one is; she thought Greed had some taste – what else is she meant to do? She has needs.
She stretches her body along his, rippling her skin. Getting off by yourself is no substitute, after all. He tenses a little at the sensation, bizarre as it must feel. He’s stopped trying to pull away, though, so she releases his hands and he immediately grips her shoulders unnecessarily hard, pushing his cock demandingly against her thigh. All the men she’s been with, all three of them, since the change – except Greed, but he doesn’t count – act like this, as if they feel emasculated by her strength, no matter how she uses it to please them. Stupid bastards, the lot of them, don’t know a good thing when they’ve got it. Why should this one be any different just because they say he’s crazy?
‘Are you?’ she finds herself asking him, lifting her hips up a bit to help him as he pulls off her knickers and tosses them on to the floor by the bed. She gets off him and sits patiently as he kneels up to undo his own trousers. He doesn’t answer her, working at buttons with impatient tipsy hands. She pulls her vest over her head and, having wriggled rather charmingly out of his trousers he immediately goes for the clasp of her bra, pulling her to him and reaching both hands round her, pushing the hooks together and then releasing them nimbly, flinging that over his shoulder, also rather charming. She’s impressed with how deft he is with it, particularly when he’s drunk. Still not as quick as Greed though, who barely has to look at it for it to pop open. Greed, Greed, stop thinking about fucking Greed fucking that stupid brainless bitch. Since when did she need him to have a good time?
Kimberly has his hands on her breasts, squeezing them gently together, looking just like all men look faced with breasts, kind of rapt and concentrating, and she almost smiles – but then she’s suddenly extremely aware of those arrays next to her skin, next to her heart. He could kill her now, and Greed isn’t here to protect her. Shouldn’t have let go of his hands, she thinks. Her nipples stiffen against his roughish palms, all the same, and she gives a little uunh sound when he tweaks one, none too gently, as if reminding her what this is, after all. A tingling sensation, what feels like a little rush, just like a little dam breaking between her legs, and she knows she’s all wet for him already.
‘Are you?’ she says again, as he pulls her on to his lap, so that she’s straddling his thighs.
‘Am I what?’ He licks a stripe of heat up her neck, a peculiar, feline thing, and it makes her twitch, not unpleasantly. ‘About to fuck you?’ He strokes his left hand down her side, over her belly and between her legs. She watches, almost breathless with anticipation as he places one finger against her clit. He’s barely touching her with his fingertip, but just the promise of it is enough to give her that rushing feeling again.
‘Crazy,’ she manages, squirming in his lap, pressing her wetness against his thigh, into his hand, making him feel what he’s done.
He takes his hand from her breast and cups her face, not particularly gently, but it still makes her feel suddenly as if he really thinks she’s pretty. ‘Who knows?’ he says softly. His yellow eyes are cool as ever, not warmed at all by drink, even though by contrast his skin feels incredibly hot pressed to hers. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly. What a good-looking man, she thinks, finally letting herself think it, now that she knows she can blame it on the alcohol tomorrow morning. ‘Are you willing to risk it?’
She is, she definitely is, as he strokes his fingers up either side of her cunt, where there used to be soft blonde hair before they messed her up and is now only unnaturally smooth skin. He seems to like it, though, running his fingers back and forth: they all like it, reminds them of sixteen-year-old girls they can’t have. It’s unbearable, the ticklish pleasure almost in the right place but not quite, not quite. She almost grabs his wrist to force the issue and stop his goddamned clever teasing but pride makes her hold off. She braces her hands behind her instead, lifting her hips slightly, offering him a shamelessly better angle. He’s moving his finger in slow, lazy circles, now, closer and closer, and then suddenly he touches her clit and her whole body jerks upward as he presses the little nub and then makes lazy circles over it, around it, dipping into her cunt for lubrication, and oh, god, oh, god, he’s a fucking artist at this!
‘You’re wasted on him,’ she gasps, only feeling the tiniest prickle of disloyalty as her cunt tightens and relaxes wonderfully in the familiar rhythmic prelude to orgasm. She’s so wet his finger slides on her totally without friction, as if on oiled glass. She could come if he just keeps going, quite easily; once she starts it’s hard to stop herself – but she doesn’t want to, doesn’t want the same empty orgasm she can give herself in two minutes flat, and probably better. There’s no point having a man do it unless you get what only a man can give, after all. ‘You’re fucking good—ah, god!’
‘I know,’ he says, not stopping, with a lazy, sexy grin that sends a shiver of recognition down her spine. He looks just like Greed when he says it, with that expression, a warm-blooded yellow-eyed human version, and before she can stop herself she’s on him like a coiled spring released, like a lioness, knocking him flat on his back. She’s hungry and needy and powerful all at once; she feels invincible as she grabs a fistful of his hair and kisses his hot human mouth, greedily, not caring that she’s letting her tongue flicker or that she’s slithering against him in a way that no human woman could ever hope to do. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, judging by the fact that he’s harder than ever against her stomach. As she reaches down for him, flexes her fist around his cock, he moans into her mouth, one hand kneading her ass and one gripping her short hair so hard it hurts. Breaking from her mouth to breathe, he exhales on a groan as she runs her nails over the head; he catches suddenly at her wrist, pinning it to the bed. ‘Come on,’ he almost gasps, ‘I’m not going to last if you keep that up, I’m—’
‘Only human,’ she says, and savours the words for a second. This is all so new, so exciting she can barely contain herself. When was the last real, human man she had? Three years ago? Four? Her whole body is thrumming with blood in a way that a reptile’s never could, pulses she never even knew she had beating hard in her thighs, in her throat, in her ankles and behind her knees. She’s alive, she’s really alive. She goes limp with relief for a moment, sagging against him.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Kimberly almost growls, frustration in every wire-tight line of his body, grabbing her shoulders roughly and yanking her off him. She sprawls on her back and he’s on her in a second, lean but strong, cupping her left breast in his right hand, and she opens her legs under him, feeling the head of his cock just press barely inside her wet cunt. She runs her nails over his back, almost possessively, just because she can, tracing new hard muscle and the line of his vulnerable spine, so easily cracked. He rests his forehead against her shoulder, shoves his hips forward viciously and he’s inside her, sliding in effortlessly, frictionlessly. She lets out a little cry of pure pleasure and he exhales in a groan. She bites at his neck with her small white teeth, hard enough to taste blood. He won’t mind, though, she knows he won’t mind, not like the others she’s tried. He’s keeping still inside her, as if savouring the moment. He’s not as big as Greed – few are – but he’s far from small. Perfect fit.
‘Fucking tight, oh, god, you bitch,’ he groans into her ear, and nips at it with his teeth as if even now he can’t control his bloodlust, and it’s fine with her. ‘You’re so fucking tight.’
Since he’s talking so nicely to her, she decides to oblige him a bit further. Taking a deep breath, she clenches every muscle tight, tight, and then – she can never describe even to herself how she does it, it’s like wiggling your ears, inexplicable – flexes her body in a languorous tight ripple from her shoulders right down to her toes, pressing against the small of his back, strong enough to crack bone if she’d let it. He goes rigid, actually cries out, the first time she’s heard him do so, a sharp ecstatic sound that makes her shiver with pride.
He raises his head and looks at her with the yellow eyes she supposes are quite all right, really, when you get used to them. She grins a triumphant grin at his expression: classic, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open. ‘What the hell was that?’ he says hoarsely. ‘Did you just come?’
She laughs and says, ‘No,’ feeling a rush of something dangerously close to fondness at the naivety of the question. He closes his eyes briefly when she laughs, because he can obviously feel it, her muscles contracting like that. She strokes her hand through his short hair, down to the long part at the back, which she gives a lazy tug. ‘That was just something special I can do. A trick, if you like.’
‘Care to give me a further demonstration?’ he says, cocky again but still watching her with those wary eyes, like he’s almost regretting getting mixed up in her at all, no matter what special tricks she can do.
About time to wipe that doubt off his face, she thinks.
‘God,’ he says through gritted teeth, actually trembling so much that she can feel it inside her. When she licks the place just under his ear it tastes salty; he’s sweating, obviously extending every ounce of control he possesses. ‘Oh, fuck, stop, stop it you fucking bitch I’m going to come—’
‘Say please,’ she whispers in his ear, sending another, smaller ripple through her own body and making him dig his nails into her shoulder hard enough to raise five bloody crescents she can see out of the corner of her eye. Stupid, she tells herself lazily as he shudders, not really caring except for her own pleasure. She’d almost forgotten that he’s not like Greed: he can’t go twice in ten minutes. There are one or two points in Greed’s favour, she concedes.
‘Please,’ he grinds out, hating having to say it, hating her, she can see it in his eyes but she doesn’t care, he’s too keen to fuck her to come so soon.
‘Only because I haven’t had mine yet,’ she murmurs, and goes still.
She lies there under him for a moment, letting him regroup a bit, with his forehead resting against her shoulder, breathing hard. Slowly she begins to move under him, pressing her hips up into his in a lazy, rolling rhythm, fucking herself leisurely on his cock. The angle’s nice.
‘Come on, soldier,’ she says, nudging him with her shoulder. ‘Surely I didn’t wear you out alre—’
‘Bitch,’ he says and suddenly as if galvanised he pulls back and out, leaving her gapingly empty. He leans back on his heels, grabs her by the wrist and jerks her on to his lap. He smiles coldly right into her eyes for a second, bizarrely making her want him with a sudden, almost sickening throb of desire, as if she’s only been playing at arousal before. She wonders, panicking, if it’s so obvious that he can see it, then he turns her roughly round so that she’s facing away from him, throws an arm around her waist and pulls her down on to his cock, all at once.
It’s so deep and sudden it almost hurts, it’s almost too much, almost. And then his fingers press into her mouth deep enough that she gags and bites and then he uses them, wet with her spit and his blood, to rub her clit in the same maddening slow circles as he did before. His other hand holds her to him at her breast, rolling her nipple between finger and thumb until it almost hurts. Everything is almost with Kimberly, almost dangerous, almost painful, almost don’t want to, almost don’t need this – but then his teeth are against her neck, burning little painful kisses, against her ear, and he’s fucking her hard, steady, slow, whispering obscenities with what can be nothing other than a soldier’s mouth.
‘You love me fucking you,’ he breathes, ‘in your tight little cunt—’
‘Yes,’ she gasps, ‘yes, fuck,’ she’s never been ashamed of anything she wants and she’s not going to start now just because Kimberly wants her to. And then he slips his hand from her breast, leaving it aching and feeling bruised, and reaches under her. He cups her ass, squeezes roughly, slides his fingers up, circles, teases her with the tip of one finger before pushing it inside her. She shudders, moans, leans back on him as hard as she can. It feels incredible, hurts but good. He makes her ride him slowly and deeply until she can’t bear it any more, until she slams her head back hard against his shoulder and almost sobs ‘I’m coming,’ and does, hard, unbelievably, wonderfully, cunt convulsing over and over around his cock until she hears him swear distinctly but as if from very far away and he’s holding her hard, fingers digging into her upper arms, teeth vicious on her shoulder, and she can feel him shaking as he comes inside her.
She falls forward on to her hands in front of him, exhausted, sweaty, aching, inner muscles still giving an awkward jarring tick every few seconds in the wake of her orgasm. He runs a lazy finger down the cleft of her ass, barely ghosts over her unbearably sensitive cunt, but still she shudders and twitches away. She can feel his come dripping down her thighs. She bets he’s enjoying that sight. Most men do. But she can’t really feel the same kind of irritation she usually would, not when she just wants to curl up and sleep for ever so as to never lose this – it’s no overstatement to call it euphoria. Dry-mouthed and more or less sober now, much like him, she would guess, she’s more than a bit scared of her own reaction. It’s Kimberly, after all. She doesn’t even like him very much.
She crawls up the bed, not bothering to look at him, and gets in under the blanket, not caring that she’s made it damp. Best just to go to sleep and forget it. Buried in the safety of the covers, though, she can’t resist risking a glance at him.
Kimberly’s reclining against the headboard, hands behind his head, watching her from the corners of his yellow eyes. She studiously ignores him and sinks into the lumpy pillow, facing away from him on her left side, closing her own eyes. If this isn’t a hint she doesn’t know what is. Go away, she thinks, wills him. You’ve done your bit.
‘Is it true, what it says?’
‘What?’ she mumbles.
He doesn’t go away, but repeats the question.
‘Who’s it?’ she mutters, but with no real heat. She’s so nearly asleep, and she can feel a tequila headache just lifting the corners of her brain, ready to creep in, and she wishes he would just fuck off. No more questions, no more talking, just sleep for ten hours or so and then food. Yes, lots of food. She fancies red meat of some kind tomorrow, she hasn’t had that in a while…
He says something else she doesn’t catch clearly through the warm tempting fug of sleep – something about you and true and floor or something, answering a totally different question. That’s so typical, she thinks, fuzzily annoyed, and hopes he’s not planning to sleep here. Surely not. Not Kimberly. At least that’s one thing going in his favour: he knows the value of privacy. Sure enough, there’s a creak as he gets up off the old mattress. Eyes closed, she listens to him getting dressed, each tiny sound clear and loud as if they’re being played on a record at full volume. Sometimes the hearing she has is a blessing, and sometimes it’s not. This, and when she has to listen to Greed and Kimberly or whoever else he’s found to fuck that isn’t her, is one of the latter times. She frowns and puts her fingers in her ears.
She counts off a full minute.
Maybe he’s gone.
Surely he’s gone by now.
Cautiously she takes her fingers out of her ears, opens her eyes. He’s standing right in front of her, hands in his pockets, smirking. She flushes and scowls up at him, pulling the blanket up to her chin in a pointless defensive gesture.
‘I said,’ he says, and a slow, obscene grin spreads over his face, ‘is it true you can unhinge your jaw?’
She stares at him for a few seconds, then, she turns her back on him deliberately, curls up and closes her eyes.
There’s a silence, then footsteps, she counts them, five, and the sound of the door opening.
‘Maybe,’ she says. The footsteps pause.
‘Maybe I’d like to see that, then.’
‘We’ll see,’ she murmurs, with a private half-smile, and then she’s asleep.
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