Fic: What That Was
Author: Regala Electra
Summary: She watches the bottle crash to the ground, the alcohol spreading, a dark, vibrant stain.
Author's Notes: Written for the_nites_gurl for fandom_charity Hurricane Katrina relief.
Word Count: 515
She watches the bottle crash to the ground, the alcohol spreading, a dark, vibrant stain. Moving her feet out of the way of the growing spill, she says in a causal, even tone, "Just giving my maid more work to do. You do realize what year that was?"
His eyes are focused and steely, so she's sure he does. He's not quite fresh-shaven, but his clothes are actually clean and he doesn't look like he's been locking women in closets as of late.
"Could have played spin the bottle. We could have done quite a few things," she says, voice sliding into strange playful quality. She wants to believe that it's all a pretense yet it's oddly natural, not a dark thrill like so much of her gloriously wicked life.
The tip of one of her very, very expensive shoes has been completely ruined, touched with the deep red. Well, at least they were last season.
She hasn't looked back down at the shattered glass. He makes his way closer to her and she makes a small 'tsking' sound, as if she is pretending to be disappointed. He doesn't hide his hatred of her games and she rests one hand behind her, on the counter, steadying her stance. Waiting.
She doesn't wait long. His mouth, that damn mouth cut like a slash of pitiful heroic turmoil that makes her want to laugh as his tongue strokes her own, but he yanks back her head, hisses nothing that makes sense in her ear.
There's a tearing and her skirt's now useless. He is burning hot against her, he wants her and this is delirium, madness induced by the body, by the heat and friction and then that the hot burning glide upwards and she bites down on his mouth and stifles something that might have been just too needy.
It is far too close, this dance at that brink of more, and something halts, her body for once doesn't override her pride.
So she pushes him away. This is new for him and whatever has become their - undefined destruction, mutual satisfaction - it is too much of a departure. Something is clearing in his mind, he is thinking.
She can put a stop to that.
"Didn't you swear," she says, adjusting her hardest viper smile as he stares at her, "That this was over, Wes?"
She is so close to triumph, it's better than the wine ruining her perfect hardwood floors, the taste of victory burning in her mouth. He's breaking for her.
And then the light comes back in his eyes, a memory ignites, but not in his mind, in hers.
It is over. And that is not her voice, not his voice, it is something darker, something true.
But then the realization crashes and the horror spills over.
She watches the bottle crash to the ground, the alcohol spreading, a dark, vibrant stain.
If she doesn't look up, she can pretend that Wesley's really there when she says, "Just giving my maid more work to do. You do realize what year that was?"