song_tra_bong | (no subject)

Entry tags:

oom,
ruin

(no subject)

Mary Anne doesn't move when she sleeps--no tossing and turning, no kicking or flailing of arms. She tends to wake up in exactly the same position she drifted off in, at least when she's sleeping alone. Some training dies hard.

And some not so. The need to wake up ready to fight has eased in her somewhat; she's harder to wake and the process of waking is slower. It hasn't been a problem yet, so now she sleeps, curled on her side with her hands tucked beneath her chin.

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Ruin walks in, his face set grim.

Some thoughts, and events, can't be hidden from one of their kind.

And his anger has been roused. He's not sure why, but her actions with Ramon have brought out white-hot fury in him. Ruin stops at the bedside, looking down at her with cold, dispassionate eyes.

He reaches out to brush a blonde lock of hair from her brow, to run his finger down her cheek, along her jaw, and it takes everything in him not to stop at her neck and grasp it.

(Choke her throttle her make her beg)

Instead, he draws his hand back and stares down at her sleeping face.

She doesn't hear the door.

touch

touch

who?

The touch feels a million miles away, as she is still mostly asleep. Still, she makes a faint noise when he withdraws his hand.

His lips twitch.

"We need to talk."

It's the only thing he says, in a voice accented not with a Scottish brogue as it usually was.

The accent doesn't yet register. The words just succeed in making it through the haze.

"Wha?" she mumbles, half into her pillow while she tries to convince her eyes to open.

"We need to talk, Mary Anne," he snaps, taking heavy steps back and away from her.

He pours a shot of tequila from the bottle he'd placed on the dresser and kicks it back.

The voice registers (but nothing else) this time and she sits bolt upright.

"What are you doing here?"

locked the door didn't you thought I locked the door why didn't I stupid stupid stupid

"What? No kiss, sweetheart?" he asks with a cruel smirk. "After the reception you gave me before, I would've thought something warmer than merely 'what are you doing here'."

"Forgive me for being surprised," she snaps.

"The whole breaking and entering thing had me thrown. So what exactly do we need to talk about?"

something's wrong wrong here can almost but not quite it's wrong

"You. Me. How this thing isn't working."

He slams the glass down on the dresser, turning to glare at her with steel grey eyes.

"What thing--"

The eyes are wrong.

(eyes I dare not meet in dreams)

She forgets how to breathe.

He takes calculated steps toward her.

"First the god. Now the druglord. You have a thing for the lovers of your friends, don't you?"

"I didn't--I haven't..."

But she has fucked up.

All over again.

Ruin tilts his head, the face blurring, shifting, but never becoming Ramon or Ruin.

Only the eyes are Ruin's.

"Didn't. Haven't. I suppose we're lucky we aren't governed by the Old Testament, where even a thought is equal to the sin."

She flinches and looks away.

whore

"What do you want?

He crouches beside her, his hand slipping into her hair. His voice is quiet when he speaks, but it's a frosty calm. A dangerous calm.

"I think it's more about what you want, Legs. What I want... oh, what I want. You want to know what I want?" His hand moves a little heavier through her hair. "I want to know why you want to stay married to someone when your mind is always on someone else. It doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"It's not..."

It's not quite painful, his hand in her hair, but she's waiting.

"Lust isn't love."

"Of course not."

His hand tightens.

"But you do love them. All of them."

There.

She gasps softly, then she's silent a moment, trying to think.

"They're my friends."

He stares into her eyes.

"Is that so?"

She meets his gaze, much as she doesn't want to.

"Yes."

It may, in fact, be the answer to an earlier question.

He releases her hair and stands, crossing his arms.

"You lust after the friends you love," he says simply.

(this is why you should never love love never helps anything never leads to good ruin never leads to good ruin and love hand-in-hand)

Painful or no, she misses his hand in her hair.
wHorE
"Not all of them."
pretty ruined fool
The words sound small and stupid and weak, but she can't come up with anything stronger--not while she feels small and stupid and weak.

"This isn't working," he says again. "I don't want monogamy, I'll admit that, but there are paths..."

He's seen other paths.

Many, many paths.

And he doesn't like most of them.

"What are you saying?"

It hasn't been a month (couldn't even make it last a month) and already he's talking about (leaving her)...she's not sure what he's talking about, not sure she wants to know.

"I fucked up, I fucked up bad and I am so goddamn sorry you have no idea, but what the fuck are you talking about?!"

"I'm talking about--"

He sighs and shakes his head.

"Don't you ever draw your cards?" Ruin kneels on the bed, hands on her shoulders (shake her), is grip bruising in its strength. "Do you ever see what the hell you do to those around you? You ever think about how the things you do make me feel?"

Because, gods of the multiverse help him, he loved her and to think she loves someone else was far more than he could deal with. Fucking around was fine and dandy, but this didn't feel like simple fucking around.

"Námo. Ramon. Santino." He taps her temple before moving his fingers down to brush at her throat -- where Santino had fed.