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Entry tags:
.....
Um. ok. So, apparently, my brain is in a strange place. I nearly used the 'Ghost in the Machine' title, but that's cliche.
Ended up fixating on '3'. Dunno why.
On the other hand, it's highly disturbing.
Rating: R, definitely, graphicy things like sex and violence.
Spoilers: up through Bad Timing.
Three drops of blood, three broken limbs, three strands of hair, three shattered wine glasses, three, three, three, three--the word echoes around her pulse as she runs. Echoes in her skin and bones. Pulls at her clothing, tugs at her hair.
And it's her hair and skin and bones, and it's not his, never his. Because it's not supposed to be like this.
When he bites, when he growls, when she hisses and screams. This is not them.
It can't be.
No possibility. Not in this universe, not in a hundred thousand unrealized realities--and she has Crichton to thank for knowing that phrase.
When he puts her in the aurora chair, when he asks her about the changes made to her body, then it's him. It has to be him. Because she can't allow it to be anyone else. Can't believe he could betray her like this.
But he wants the secrets her manufactured genes carry.
And so she watches Braca through the window, and tries to pretend it's him. And not the hybrid who's destroying her.
Scorpius was about control. And this is as far from control as three people can get.
There's surprise, sometimes. When Braca finds her, when he backs her into a wall. And she can't stop him, can only watch from somewhere deep inside as he vents a rage that not even Scorpius knows he has.
It's their little secret, he tells her, his tongue dancing over her skin. And Scorpius did that, first. Held the cloth at her throat, arched her back against him.
And Braca watched, torn between loathing and lust and something that had to be hatred.
She can feel that hatred, now, as he slams her against the wall. Can feel his fingers tighten on her corded muscles, can taste his blood as she drags her mouth across his shoulder.
It's sweet, like nectar.
But secrets have a way of coming unraveled at the seams, like abraided skin that first time you're slammed against metal grating. And that time *was* Scorpius, and even he was surprised at his reactions.
There's never a time when any of them know for certain. Never a moment. But then she's spilling her guts into the relentless pounding of the aurora chair, and Braca's next, and suddenly, it's too much. Because this isn't the way it was supposed to be, and Sikozu is so NOT the weaker species.
(I should note that the last paragraph was written to Poe's "Trigger Happy Jack"... Not that I realized it until I was done typing, and heard. My roommate gave me a strange look when I began giggling...)
Ended up fixating on '3'. Dunno why.
On the other hand, it's highly disturbing.
Rating: R, definitely, graphicy things like sex and violence.
Spoilers: up through Bad Timing.
Three drops of blood, three broken limbs, three strands of hair, three shattered wine glasses, three, three, three, three--the word echoes around her pulse as she runs. Echoes in her skin and bones. Pulls at her clothing, tugs at her hair.
And it's her hair and skin and bones, and it's not his, never his. Because it's not supposed to be like this.
When he bites, when he growls, when she hisses and screams. This is not them.
It can't be.
No possibility. Not in this universe, not in a hundred thousand unrealized realities--and she has Crichton to thank for knowing that phrase.
When he puts her in the aurora chair, when he asks her about the changes made to her body, then it's him. It has to be him. Because she can't allow it to be anyone else. Can't believe he could betray her like this.
But he wants the secrets her manufactured genes carry.
And so she watches Braca through the window, and tries to pretend it's him. And not the hybrid who's destroying her.
Scorpius was about control. And this is as far from control as three people can get.
There's surprise, sometimes. When Braca finds her, when he backs her into a wall. And she can't stop him, can only watch from somewhere deep inside as he vents a rage that not even Scorpius knows he has.
It's their little secret, he tells her, his tongue dancing over her skin. And Scorpius did that, first. Held the cloth at her throat, arched her back against him.
And Braca watched, torn between loathing and lust and something that had to be hatred.
She can feel that hatred, now, as he slams her against the wall. Can feel his fingers tighten on her corded muscles, can taste his blood as she drags her mouth across his shoulder.
It's sweet, like nectar.
But secrets have a way of coming unraveled at the seams, like abraided skin that first time you're slammed against metal grating. And that time *was* Scorpius, and even he was surprised at his reactions.
There's never a time when any of them know for certain. Never a moment. But then she's spilling her guts into the relentless pounding of the aurora chair, and Braca's next, and suddenly, it's too much. Because this isn't the way it was supposed to be, and Sikozu is so NOT the weaker species.
(I should note that the last paragraph was written to Poe's "Trigger Happy Jack"... Not that I realized it until I was done typing, and heard. My roommate gave me a strange look when I began giggling...)