Screaming Infidelities

stepping one foot into that creepy ass carnival

Maybe Stiles was right. Again.

Roman played one game; his, and he was going to make her squirm. …and when she did, her tight, little body shuddering under him, as he marked her with his own blood, ..he felt so fucking good.

He watched her fingers trace his own dripping scar, and then run the blood up through his hair. Mmmm.. He leaned into it, relishing in the sticky macabre sensation. For a moment, he contemplated giving her the blade, telling her to draw on him… Shee-it, no girl had done that before. The fuck was with this fucking town? She had pulled his hair, and him back to her lips. She wanted it… but no, HE was the one in control.

He bit her lip, breaking her lower lip’s skin, just as the fever of the blood lust ripped up through him. He didn’t need the fucking blade, he had his own teeth.. and he grabbed her jaw in his palm, slamming her back into the seat, just before he moved over her taking her warm, sweet, bloodied lips again…

Her vision span, stars like bright needles swimming along the periphery. She moved automatically, matching his own hurried, hungry pace, and Lydia allowed her mouth to fall open with a soft groan. His tongue was clever and eager; it swiped at the cut, traced the soft tissue of the inside of her cheeks, more devouring than kissing. Her lip throbbed under the assault, matching the hungry desire building in the pit of her stomach, and soaking her core.

Lydia's shirt was ruined, the white lapel stained with her blood, her skirt rucked up high around her hips, bracketed by his knees. It was only the sound of belt clicking open in the otherwise silent car did she really come to her senses. This wasn't on her terms and conditions, and she was no cheap whore, giving it up to anyone who looked at her the right way. Squirming under Roman's body, she managed to push herself up into sitting position.

"This game is boring me now," The blood continued to flow steadily from her mouth, gruesomely spread across her cheeks. Her voice was even, "Get out of my car."

Peter…Letha, Shelley, all of it.. he didn’t want to feel.

"Take off your shirt," he demanded, releasing her wrists for a moment, to do the same, tossing it into the back seat of her car. He then sat up, just a bit, legs still sprawled over hers, and then ran the sharp pointed edge of the razor blade, all the way from his wrist, down his arm. Drops of blood began to drip onto her seat, and onto her clothes, and he smirked darkly, watching her for a reaction. With his other hand he traced the line of trickling blood with his fingers, and then reached up to smear the sticky, sweet blood to her lips, dragging her lower lip down, as he spread a thick line, down over her jaw bone, to the nape of neck. 

He smiled, a distant, glazed smile, eyes almost rolling, as he wiped off the remaining blood, now healing, up along his own mouth, cheek bone, and chin. The smearing it, the contact with his skin…It felt so fucking good.

The thing about her prior experiences, however, was that they had all been a power play. Even with Jackson, Lydia had always been in charge -- there'd been plenty of times where she'd let him, as well as the others, think they were dominating her; in reality, she was simply backseat driving. Sex was a game, and Lydia, with her red, feral smile and sharp claws, was the predator. She dictated the rules, set the boundaries. Tonight, however, had turned that completely on its head.

Roman's voice resonated in the cramped conditions of her car, echoing off the sunroof and in the small space left between their contorted bodies. He relinquished his grip on her wrists and she hesitated, her inherent pride making her unwilling to bend so easily. It was only when she actually saw the glimmer of the small knife did her breath catch somewhere between a moan and a protestation. 

The rivulets of scarlet mapping paths down Roman's forearm did not only affect him; Lydia stared, speechless, her green eyes large and wide. It was only as he smeared his blood across her full lips, a second coat of macabre lipstick, did her body shudder into response -- she arched again, more willingly this time, as a broken whimper left her mouth. 

Inside, a part of her was screaming. Wailing. His blood spilled thick and cloying until she couldn't breath, choking on it, sustaining on it. The banshee clung desperately to the life elixir, the slow secretion, the promise of death. She wanted it all, and Lydia was helpless to the carnal desires of the faerie. Instead, she reached to grip his wrist, blood smearing across her fingers and she slid the red digits into his locks and tugged his mouth down to meet hers again.

But it wasn’t only her pulse that sang - her muscles clenching up in just the right way. Fuck, he could smell her, not just the blood, but that warm heady scent below. She was aroused, and he wanted to fucking spread her legs, and taste her.

He smirked just a bit at her comment on boys being reckless, and girl’s wanting it too. He had no problem with that at all, no protest from him; his gaze flicking down to the smooth contours of her exposed leg. Inwardly, he smiled, the small blade still sitting between his fingers.

Her question about what he was, had jolted him back to somewhat more of a casual, grounded sense, if but for a moment.

"I’m a vampire," "I prefer the dark."

Of course he knew she wasn’t, but it was cute, and teasing.. and he..wanted ..to .play… She said she preferred the dark, the burn, and that’s what he’d give her….for he was about to make this far more interesting. He’d see just how much this girl was valid for her word, or if she was one of those girls who just like the ‘idea’ of playing with fire.

"Do you?" he asked, flicking his darkened gaze up to hers, as if the stare itself might violate her mind. "Then shut up."

In a blur of speed, his mouth was on hers, as he slipped inside the car, pressing her back, and trapping her wrists in his hands above her head on the seat. His chest rose with the groan of his breath - the small razor still up by her wrists, in his hand. “Still want to play with fire?”

Although now quite well associated with werewolves and darachs, and being a supernatural being of her own, she was still not quite familiar with some of the superhuman traits of her more 'talented' counterparts. Just like algorithms and quadratic equations, Lydia possessed an innate ability to work people out -- and now she was a human geiger counter for death, that skill was even more precise. She knew that Roman was different -- she could tell with every singular, thrumming cell in her body. Five yards away and he still reeked of blood.

That being said, even in the heated words of their foreplay in the cool, dark car park, she hadn't expected the speed at which he was suddenly on top of her in the cramped confinement of her front seat. She inhaled and her breath came out ragged, caught by the hot, slick slide of his mouth. He kissed brutally, hungrily, and she could feel her desire billow like a skirt caught in the wind.

Lydia's heart was jackhammering, a violent cacophony of sound in her ears, making it almost impossible to focus on the sultry whisper of Roman's words. She arched up, struggling under his grasp, the blade of the knife a cool threat against her delicate wrists. She didn't think about Aiden, or her friends, or even Jackson. She didn't even think about how in a matter of minutes, she could be left dead in the front seat of her fucking Toyota. All she felt was her entire being singing to him, urging her forward; all she could do was close her eyes, not trusting her voice as she nodded, giving into him.

"A girl like you? Shee-it. You don’t need references. You got the whole package, doll. If anyone can’t see that about you after you’ve made a first impression, they don’t fuckin' deserve you.”

"I’d be fucking jealous of you …” he added with a light shrug, "… if I weren’t me."

Sliding his thumbs into his belt loops, he tilted his head at her retort to his logic about not doing things you don’t like, then replied with his own rebuttal. "So wake up in the afternoon. What is this weird concept that people have to conform to the regulations of waking in the morning and going to bed at night? Waste half the day? What about the night? So many perfectly good nights have been wasted by just sleeping them away. Unless you’re a fucking farmer or some shit like that, there’s really no need to get up at the crack of dawn. And you know what? With all these computers and internet and shit today, you can go to school without actually physically going to school, and work on your own schedule. Really. Just another way of society trying to control you.”

Ah, but she was a girl who liked order, and this was just another example of how completely different the two were. When worlds collide …

Lydia had accepted his compliment—and that was what it had been, a compliment—about her being a conundrum and a walking contradiction, and that made him chuckle a bit at her ‘thanks’ for the well-wishings, shaking his head.

"Well," She replied, posture even straighter -- if possible -- as she swelled at his high praise, "That is true. Unfortunately, there are rules and regulations to these things, and some people can't appreciate an actual asset to their establishment of face value," She sighed dramatically, trailing off for a moment, "I don't suppose many have met a 'girl like me', though."

Peter took a step forward, his posture shifting, and she found herself mirroring the inclination of his head without realising. She was paying attention to him, hanging off his every word -- good conversation was so hard to find, and she was interested, even if she disagreed with what he said, "There are things that go bump in the night that little girls like me were told to be wary of," She gave him a rueful smile, her eyebrows raising slightly. Although he was knew in town, she had a feeling he somehow already had some knowledge of the supernatural activity between its barriers, "That, and reading in the dark would result in me needing prescription glasses. I'd rather not need to rely on a pair of wire frames resting on my nose to be able to see."

She couldn't pretend; Peter had offered her an interesting idea to consider. There had never been a time she could remember not having any responsibilities; even before her parents had divorced, she'd always been fiercely independent. Lydia had been the kid who read herself her own bedtime stories, who was making her own packed lunches by the time she was in third grade. And yet, she'd always belonged to other people -- her fighting parents, her friends, Jackson. 

The fingers of his right hand slid inside the pocket of his jeans, feeling the small sting, of the sharp razor blade he had sitting just inside. The sting felt good, he loved it..  but it wasn’t good enough. Slowly, he fiddled the razor up between his middle finger and thumb, just feeling the smooth edge - back, and forth, and back. 

"I like the burn,"

Roman stepped forward, placing his free hand on the roof of her car, where her door sat open, looming over the red haired girl. The itch of his sharp teeth, teased to slide down, but he bit his lip instead, holding back. He wouldn’t bite her, not like that at least. That, was no fun….

He leaned in, just a bit more, with a wink. “So do I…,” he whispered. Inwardly he groaned, his skin tingling with the need for sensation. He wanted to take the blade and rip it down his chest, feel the sticky hot ooze of his blood, and then lick it from her skin. 

"So," She murmured, glancing up at him. Her tone was conversational, "What are you, then?"

Her question, jumped him slightly back to reality, his gaze that was teetering somewhere dark, and void, blinking for a moment back to a more casual light. “What do you mean?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just out for a walk. Seeing what you’re up to. What are you doing out here in the dark?”

"Into danger?" She smirked, a small, scoffing laugh leaving her mouth. Lydia should have been scared, frightened -- in one step, he had made a move forward, and in another he could close in on her. Instead, she felt heady -- like hurtling towards the earth before the parachute unfolds, "Why am I not surprised? Boys always seem to enjoy doing reckless, wild things..." She trailed off, pausing for a moment, "But it's not only reserved for them, either."

With his shift in demeanour, Lydia knew she'd hit the nail on the head. Peter had been the same, when she'd questioned him -- shifty eyed, feigning innocence. Lydia didn't need any supernatural powers to be able to smell out a lie -- after all, she could tell them so convincingly, she even believed herself sometimes. He shrugged, but the line of his shoulders were tense. She was still curious, but she'd let the moment slide for now.

"I'm a vampire," She said calmly, as if it were common sense and not so nonsensical, teasing statement, "I prefer the dark."

"See, now, you say that, but you realize we started this conversation because you said you disliked this town. Dislike, means don’t like, means no, means negative. You’re a conundrum, Lydia Martin, and a walking contradiction, but that’s okay. Because I like you." Again with the teasing tone. This girl was smart, he’d give her that, but Peter had a good memory; if he wasn’t so superstitious and nervous about the law and judicial system, he probably would have been a good lawyer someday … but that didn’t really seem like the sort of life for him.

"Ah, true, may be a means to an end. Even a a step halted is still a step, but it gets you nowhere but here."

He chuckled at being called a Beatles fan and lifted his hands in surrender. "Guilty," he smirked, dropping his arms once more. "Though, technically, I think ‘Beautiful Boy’ was written long after they broke up, but yeah, nice reference still."

And then he was quiet, listening to her speak with a curious arch of his brow, discussing her roots and the present as he lightly scratched at his cheek. "Well … I hope that works out for ya."

So, what happens if I say fine?

Oh ho hoooooooo~ … she took the bait.

Are you going to be my guide into the world of supposed freedom?

"Of course I dislike this town," The words slipped from her lips with all the supposition of someone who'd made an objective statement, rather than an opinion, "It's too small, too suburban. There's no university, the library is sub-par, and it only caters to one line of worship," She inclined her head towards the church in the distance, just visible behind the line of trees obscuring it partially from view, "It's terribly limited for someone with sufficient aspirations." She placed a hand on her hip, cocking it slightly, "But it is home, and the people I've known here have known me all my life. They can write good references for me, and I can continue to finish my education in a relatively peaceful setting."

"After all, say if I disliked waking up in the mornings. Does that mean I shouldn't do it? Should I simply stay in my bed all day until midday, and rise when half the day has been wasted? Or better yet -- what if I didn't like getting out of bed at all?" She smiled widely, pleased she'd managed to convey her thoughts in a way he had to understand -- someone far less intelligent would even get that, "We all do things we don't like, because they have to be done, and they reap their own rewards in due time." 

Lydia laughed at being called a 'conundrum', her grin widening as his declaration of liking her. To any passer-by, it would most likely look as if their pair were flirting teenagers. In truth, their exchange was more valuable and intimate than that -- it was a dalliance of mentalities, something Lydia appreciated far more than a catcall on her good looks.

"That, at least, I can agree with," She murmured, thinking of the situations she'd found herself and her friends in -- grasping for straws at all angles, running around frantically whilst getting nowhere. The redhead smiled softly at his well wishes, nodding a little graciously, "Thank you."

Peter usually did his best not to judge people, but really, this girl seemed rather … well, fashionable and pretty and perfect and all the sort of things that one would expect of a popular girl; this didn’t mean he saw her in a negative light, however; because of all people, the wolf certainly understood there was more to a person than just the initial impression.

Everything we do has a consequence.

He pursed his lips and squinted his eyes as he tilted his head to study her. It was funny, perhaps, how people from two completely different worlds could hold similar views on things. "Very true," he said with a nod. "But no one ever said those consequences had to be of the negative variety," he retorted with a light smirk.

I like order.

"Yeah, I bet you do," he teased with a low sing-song tone.

… the best way to fulfil your goals is through plans …

"To quote a great man, ‘life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans’, Lydia Martin," he replied with a smile; yes, two very distinctly different worlds. "It’s one thing to store food for winter—that’s just nature—but to be so focused on things that may never happen that you miss out on the shit that’s already happening, well … that’s just sad."

What can I achieve by simply getting up and taking flight whenever it takes my fancy? I can do that once I’ve completed my checklist for the future.

His teasing could have irked her -- it didn't. Rather, she found herself smiling in response, laughing at the mention of his own quote, "I should have marked you as a Beatles fan," She retorted, tilting her head. His words, however, made her think? Was she truly missing out on things by having a plan? The supernatural world she'd been forcibly pulled into aside, there had been very little Lydia felt she'd lost out on, "Not in all cases. I'm not lost in the future -- I have my roots in the present, too. I'm making the most of today, whilst thinking about tomorrow," She gave him a charming, almost patronising smile, in only a way she could achieve, "Multitasking, darling."

It was only when he laughed that she bristled slightly, crossing her arms over her chest as she levelled him an unimpressed stare. His own tone was rather condescending, and Lydia would definitely not be pitied by anyone, "Oh, is that so?" Her voice was hot, full of challenge, and she smirked at him, "So, what happens if I say fine? Are you going to be my guide into the world of supposed freedom?"