~Logan~
He had started blindly, just putting a few miles behind him. Something held his heart in a tight grip, sent his blood racing through his veins and pounding in his ears as his body tried to shake off constraints that existed only in his mind.
The wind in his face and the bright afternoon sun eased the pressure a little. He’d find himself a fight and perhaps a quick lay and anything beyond that could wait for a while, so at the next town he parked the bike somewhere out of the way and walked the rest to get a feel for the place, see where the likeliest spots might be.
Saturday evening, kids playing on the street, people doing some weekend shopping, strolling along mainstreet, sitting in cafes, enjoying bloody peace and quiet.
Ororo’s words rankled. A “lack of restraint”, was it? Yeah, right. They didn’t have a fucking clue. Other men might shout, bang the table, but they would hold back from attacking – not out of moral superiority, oh no. The thing to restrain them was the knowledge (and ONLY that knowledge, more often than not) that if they threw a single punch, they were likely to get a good kick in the arse themselves. Himself now, he could kill with a single stroke, and then fight his way out of any attempt to arrest him over it. Wasn’t that he did, not in a brawl, not unless he was cornered, but still.
Other men might dream of running wild once in a while and rein it in, checked by cares for reputation and family and a home. No such aid for him; he had to do it all by himself, always trying not to ask why he should bother.
And all the while people were assailing his senses, so hard to keep out. Cheap perfume, expensive perfume; women with their periods he could smell from three feet away; a whiff of alcohol on the breath of an elderly lady with a poodle; the tinge of hate in a small boy crying as his mother smacked him (“I told you to leave him outside – dogs are dogs and people are people!”); a guy in a business suit, meeting a lady (“Hello, my dear, sorry for being late, there was an urgent call...”), smelling of another women he’d had only moments ago; the sickly smell of drugs on a girl of no more than thirteen, dragged along by her mother – so many secrets he shouldn’t know, didn’t want to know, yet couldn’t avoid knowing.
How would he deal with that if he had “no restraint”? How would he bear just talking to people, let alone live with them? He had to keep his life simple to get along. The smells of alcohol and smoke in a bar dulled his senses just enough to concentrate on a fight. Fear and aggression were easy enough to recognise, a fight had simple rules, and so did mating, as long as you chose one that knew the game and expected nothing beyond.
If you wanted more’n that though, you were in for trouble. Which was exactly why he was here now.
So, check out a fight location first thing. He glanced down the side streets as he passed, watching out for nightclubs and bars with the flashing neon sign that told those who knew that it was a fightbar. Town like this, it was almost certainly illegal.
He had stopped at a likely street corner, assessing the feel of his surroundings, when he caught a female voice: “... the one with the pointy hair and the jeans jacket, across from Holborn’s...”
To his knowledge, this was his first time around the place, so who...? Turning as inconspicuously as possible: Two women on a front porch, eyeing him up.
“Don’t look now, he’s coming!”
Well-dressed, well-fed, well-groomed; he knew the type.
“Now THAT’S a body – if you sent your Mr. Honey into the gym for a year he wouldn’t get there.”
Bored out of their minds, they’d come into the bars of an evening, to look at the fights and more’n look at the fighters, and the money they bet would’ve kept a man on food and drink for a year. Thought they could buy it all. If he was in the mood, they’d quickly learn you couldn’t lord it everywhere with money.
“Oh yes – I’d really want an animal like that just once.” Laughter.
He WAS in the mood.
Ten feet away now – he gave the one a glance under a quirked brow, saw her eyes widen, the furtive smile telling him the game was on. Her attention snapped away as a tall pale man reached for her hand to kiss it.
“Hello, honey...G’evening, Celine. Had a good day? Hope you did, mine was just terrible. I’ll actually have to go back and work late today.”
She rolled her eyes at the “honey”, her demeanour barely this side of scornful. The almost tangible contempt of the two women obviously didn’t register – time to assess this possible opponent in passing. Of slim build, slow and uncertain moves: not a fighter. Fair enough. Gold ring, so she had bound herself to this guy by the looks of it. Owed him loyalty. What a bitch.
He smirked as he rounded the corner. The blessings of domestic life, eh? Oh yeah, she’d do nicely - tonight he needed someone he could despise.
~*~
She threw a glance across the lawn after she had brought her man to the car and had gotten rid of Celine. He seemed gone. Pity; he had been quite a sight.
What next, then? Feed the cats.
She turned to the shed and let out a shocked gasp – there he leaned beside the open door, eyes travelling over her body. With a little more perception she would have seen the cold rage in him, but she was only aware of his gaze undressing her, and it gave her a thrill of excitement. This wasn’t one of the tame party people she knew, more like the guys Celine picked up occasionally at that fighting place she kept going on about (“And they are gorgeous, I tell you, and so easily impressed with the house and everything, really cute with their ‘Yes, ma’am’, though they *do* need a shower before *and* after...”)
“Well...er...what...” Her voice trailed off as he pushed himself away from the wood and came over to her, much too close, much too...physical, much too MALE.
{{Wow. Quite a sight indeed. This is not really happening, is it? This is more like a film, of the really sleazy sort, but why is he here, and who *is* he anyway, and I just hope Mike won’t come back, he’s always forgetting things, and..}}
His hand was already roughly tracing her breast, her hip, her thigh, giving her what felt like a full-body blush and a weakness in the pit of her stomach.
“So you want me, eh? Just how bad then, tell me.”
{{How does he...he *can’t* have heard us, not across that distance, surely...}} Her heels brought her up to his height, but that didn’t help one bit. {{Oh yes, here’s one that would never ask for sympathy after a bad day at work.}} “Bad enough.”
She actually had to muster courage for the challenging smile that usually worked, and for running her hand across his chest, the sculpted muscles above the massive ornate buckle he wore.
“Hmm.” His hand came away from her throat, catching her on the buttocks.
“Won’t we go inside? That’s much nicer...” Her voice did not quaver like that, normally. And really, he did not seem to be the type to play it “nice”, which was just fine. Oh yes, it was.
He turned her round, his hand never leaving her back, marched her over to the shed. For a moment, the sense of his power and domination left her breathless with desire. Inside, it was cool and shady, and she thought of the blankets they kept in the corner beside the sailing gear. But he gave her no time to turn, and suddenly, much too late, she felt a pang of fear.
{{What did we say there, and how much *did* he hear, and what kind of person could possibly...}}
He steered her over to the workbench; one hand lifting her dress.
{{No underwear; saves time.}}
Two strong warm fingers went straight between her legs and into her. She gasped - that was faster than any she’d had, here or in the boathouse on a garden party. It made her arch, almost painfully, one foot on the spare wheel leaning against the bench.
She heard the clatter of a heavy buckle against the wood, the sound of a zip, and was pushed across the workbench, none too gently.
“No, not like this... you can’t...not this way, NO!” He rammed into her, hard, fast, and she gasped again. “No that isn’t... I... oh GOD, yes...”
The hands on her hips held her down, moved her, roughly enough to hurt, and she felt this wasn’t right, but fear and desire strangely mixed and kept her from breaking free.
His hands were digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks, his movements smooth, peculiarly controlled. He was silent throughout, even when he came, and that scared her more than anything else.
She shuddered and kept very quiet, trying to still even her breath when he slid out. The soft sound of a condom being removed {{So he did use one, did he?}} and tossed into the bin by the door with perfect aim, zip, buckle closed; she winced when he leaned back over her, his hand heavy on her neck, his breath close to her ear: “If you want an animal, you gotta BECOME one...honey.”
Only when she heard the door bang did she get up, straightening her dress with shaking hands.
{{Hide that condom first, and take a shower, and I’m sure that’s leaving bruises, I got to hide them from Mike now, and I’ll never be able to wear that dress again.}}
She had never felt so used, so humiliated in her life, but strangely, she could not muster her usual haughty anger.
{{Why didn’t I run, why didn’t I... He would have forced me, he was too strong... though I never really tried, did I, he even asked...but he didn’t make *sure* of what I wanted and I did say no...but I never really tried...
and...
WHAT A STORY I have to tell Celine!}}
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