i exploit you, you still love me.

he isn't doing anything too different, it's organic the way he's pulling annie closer. his eyes look at her, hazel mixed with red, something of a warning for those paying attention. she loves them live. annie listening to his records, doing whatever. oh be still his dead heart. "always. i mean. you're always invited, gorgeous." he sits up, meets her only slightly half way. he wants her to work for it. just a little bit. "-but you know...now that i'm here, i got a couple of idea of what we could get up to. y'know. if you're feeling up for it." his eyes shift from her face, to the bathroom door. smile only widens. he can hear her blood pumping. rushing. he's got an effect on her. and wayne's only wanting to push it. see where it takes him. he rests his head on his hand. leaning into the arm of the chair. ball on her court.

wayne cross, always charismatic, always smiling, pushed past his limit. prodded into a vicious mood, complete with bright eyes and a look not too far off from hate. he pulls her up and she goes, the scald of his touch familiar, always ready to fall in step with what he offers. her lip curls, her hands go rigid and fall limply into her lap. with his palm to her cheek, tugging at her hair, mary glares. her eyes are dark, cold and glittering, and she would fucking kill him if it were anyone else on earth. it’s not, though, and wayne could do anything to mary like this and she’d take it, whatever it was, and enjoy it because it’s from him.

mary blinks rapidly as he blows the smoke, simultaneously offended and worked up, gaze lingering on his lips. he’s really never this reactionary. she doesn’t know what to expect beyond what she’s lived before, so she anticipates cruelty. it makes sense to her. she finally pulled at the right thread, the one that makes even the best of men turn callous. mary stays limp in his grip; blows hurt all the more when you tense for them.

instead, wayne gives her what she asked for in the first place. a cigarette placed between her lips. he’s still just fucking wayne, soft and trying not to show it, hiding away tenderness beneath his pretty exterior. mary clamps her lips shut around the thing, breathes in. she’d bite it in half just to spite him, if she wasn’t already friending for more solid ground, the calm of a nicotine buzz. mary shakes her head, rolls her shoulder to shrug him off. "’m goddamn peachy."

can't a guy get a break? some compassion. something. it's unfair. feels like the world's tallest order, unfullfilled. stab the ticket through the metal, that's not fucking happening. not with mary. she doesn't leave entirely, and he doesn't know why. her stare is piercing, revealing, feels like his guts are out there in the open. ready for her to just feast on the tragedy a bit more. hasn't she had her fill? crybaby. no no she hasn't she never will. fucking blackhole, swallowing everything up. insatiable. and wayne just sits in it, because he won't push her off. and he won't move and he'll keep staying until there's absolutely nothing left.

he crosses his arms. scowling. something eventually has to give. he doesn't know what is. "crybaby?" incredulous. not even the worst from her, not even a lie. he wallows in it, whenever he's drunk and stupid that's all he fuckin does. wallows. "-right." he forgot, god forbid he has feelings. it seems like mary doesn't forget. she just sticks a claw in and pushes, pushes. the rhythm is all off. eyes wet. and he looks away then. a sad little smile, like he doesn't believe her. "you pull shit like this and i'm supposed to just. take it, is that it?" he looks for it then, a reaction. something to give. it's unreasonable. hammer to concrete the cracks are all there for her to see them. wayne doesn't say the rules of the game aloud, he just plays. and he supposes they aren't that different, mary just keeps him at arms lenght. and he's greedy, and he wants more, but maybe those are just fantasies, make believe and pretend. illusions meant to make him believe otherwise. and he just fell for it, hook line and sinker.

mary's lips split into a mean smile, thin, mean, her fangs cutting into her bottom lip. there it is: he's sparking mad, she's looking for a full blown flame. "you need it nice tonight, baby? that it?" mary sits further back on her hips, imposes herself further onto his lap. he's close enough for them to share breath, if that was a thing either of them truly needed. she takes an unnecessary breath in, then pushes it out through her nose, fanning the air from her lungs over his cupid bow. "alright. i can do nice." she shakes the hair out of her face, all animal instinct, and then she brings her other hand up, feels up wayne's chest. she's laying claim over every part of him she can reach. it's not enough of him-- never is, for an eternally open maw like mary-- but she'll take it. the line draws closer and closer. she can get him to snap, she knows they're well on the way, but she's savoring their twin descent. "nothing bad ever happens to good people like us. no one's gonna hurt us but each other."

he should be used to it by now. her circling him is just like cables by the water, sparks. the type that make wayne feel alive. just everything seems to catch fire, everything seems to want to burn down with them. and it's her fault, it's always her damn fucking fault. it's the shirt sticking on your back on sweat, uncomfortable but so familiar. and that is mary, less than human more monster than anything else he's ever seen. but fucking familiar, and it makes him nauseous, her breath on him so indistinguishably her. wayne has no clue what she tastes like, recognizes everything else. even when he goes out there looking for something to compare. if he could cry, if he could kick and scream he would. but he doesn't.

her hand trails up, her touch hot, stove hot any other one person would flinch away. his jaw sets, matches the thin smile on her face with a scowl, brow furrowed and something in him is always breaking. "man, fuck you." it's honest and candid and uncontrolled because that's how mary gets him. that little bit in him that remains awfully human. it's being stuck, vinyl with a cut in it and the needle seems to bump over it, over and over and over.

"shouldn't give you shit." shouldn't different from won't or can't. his hand let's go of her wrist only to hold her face, her cheek, fingers sneaking into her hair. and lifts up with some strength unsticking her from him. he's looking at her now, cheek smushed slightly by the hold. bright eyes look at her with something indescribable stuck between them both, between his ribs. she's not him. it's not her fault. he isn't her fault. placing blame where it shouldn't go. everything else though? "you never play nice." and it's not entirely fair or true, free hand sneaks a cigarette free. puts it in his mouth, keeps a hold of her while he sneaks a hand to the back of her jeans, he always keeps a lighter there and simply lights up the cigarette. one puff, two. curls into her face. he takes it then, decisive, putting it between her lips. imagining it's something else.

kelsey honestly does not know how they managed to get themselves in this predicament. she felt vampires should at least have some cool internal navigation so they do not get lost. but alas, NOT the case. and that is between two of them. utterly ridiculous. despite this incredible situation, she did not blame wayne for it. they both got too distracted to notice how far they strayed and all the wrong turns made along the way. so being the doll kelsey usually is, the blond thoroughly blamed herself for this fun side quest.

"oh. that gas station? ." wayne puts his arm around her shoulders, brings her in closer. "-'m not letting you go in there alone, babe. besides. maybe we could both use a snack break." it's a little teasing, feeding being one of those subjects they rarely breached. and it is that thing were wayne died and came back king of the world, eventually. she's sweet, sweeter than most. almost as if kelsey needs to be reminded how much they can get away with. he holds out his hand, offering to hold her heels. "come on. riko's gonna throw a fit when she sees i'm not there."

mrs cross. her lip curls. the snake charmer who fell for her snake. an absence of a person. an empty shell trophy wife just like her goddamn stepmother.

realizing that her thoughts have wandered, riko mentally packs her feelings away, somewhere she doesn't plan on revisiting.

“i’m not the marrying type,” she says, cold. it’s the truth. (it’s all he needs to know of the truth.) “and neither are you, remember?" there's something in the way she says that, something she doesn't mean to reveal.

and neither are you, remember?

right. here they are, falling back into place. lining up, he rolls his eyes. and hurt isn't the word to describe wayne here, it's a little more delicate. much more annoyed with reality than anything else. stomping the dream before it can even happen.

he listens, licks his fangs clean. and he slowly rises, taller than her no longer on his knees, satisfied but not entirely. something's misses, something sweeter. but he simply turns around, finds the kit somewhere in all the stuff thrown about in the bathroom. he holds it out for her to grab, leans closer, annoyingly so. wouldn't let her slide away so easily. he simply smiles, charming, nice.

"thanks, doll, you don't want me to clean you up?" he offers, it's a little more than just that he's putting on the table. but he's giving her an out.

his eyes are dilated. he's sloppy when he's blood-drunk, and though he's stopped licking the bite, his mouth is a brilliant and vivid red and leaves stains where he rests his head on her thigh. her hand tangles in his hair, her designer skirt hitched up around her waist and her legs cold against the marble counter she's precariously balanced on. they're in the bathroom because it's easier to clean up in there.

she's a little dizzy with it. she loves it when he needs her. he could slaughter his way through the rest of the world and stay beautiful until the stars burn out -- as far as riko knows, anyway -- but right now, where it matters, she's in control. unconsciously, her fingers tighten in his hair.

@waynecross: WILL YOU MARRY ME?

wayne thinks she tastes the best, out of anyone. out of all of them. everyone's he's had she keeps him coming back. there at her fingertips, he doesn't think about anything else. well, maybe one thing else. the words come out, genuinely, roll of the tongue better than anything else. he licks his teeth, his hands sneaking up her legs, settle on her hips, licks the wound. he really is drunk.

"think they would have to deal with it." looks up at her between lashes, thinks he's seeing an angel, the bathroom should feel cold, he doesn't feel it. feels something else entirely, in this space, her hand on his hair, a wild and unruly thing. he lifts his head up, as much as he's allowed to. fidgets with one of his rings, metal, and heavy. the one with the cross on it. "all complains would have to go through one mrs. cross." gives her a smile, adorned with her blood. whether it's the truth, wrapped up all tight in a bow or not. it does not matter, the sentiment is there. the lack of logic and planning goes with it.

he's playing, consequences be damned. riko seems to be taking it in stride, softer, for what it's worth. "we could get married in vegas, i'm not too keen about real chapels." keeps going, see where it leads him. how much is too much? he doesn't know, all wayne's learned recently is indulgence, excess, limits can go fuck themselves.

“poor little songbird. no voice to sing, huh?” mary walks her fingers across the shitty fabric of the hotel couch, veering closer and closer to wayne’s arm. she hates it when he gets like this. that pretty face all empty, hollowed out. christ, the melodrama never ends with the new ones. kids these days.

she crawls forward across the cushions on her knees, crossing the unspoken boundary of her space into his. they had a big show tonight. wayne’s supposed to be all hazy, jittery, hopped up on adrenaline. they could’ve fucked. they could’ve feasted. instead, it’s the whining, the incessant fucking soul searching. she cranes her head down, makes sure to get to his eye level. the expression she gives him- it’s crazed, it’s wide-eyed like an prey animal. mary would know; she’s spent countless hours in front of the mirror, pulling at skin, categorizing each expression. she once spent a week inside the empty house of a former meal, standing in front of the mirror and wasting away, watching the facade of life leak out— her own corpse rot, an audience to her own starvation. she’s seen everything her mask of skin can do.

“what would you have done? cried? whimpered? begged for help?” maybe she’s playing more of an antagonist than she needs to. maybe she’s itching for violence and barking up a volatile tree. mary doesn’t have it in her to feel all that torn up about it. they don’t call her molotov for nothing— give her something flammable and she’ll blow that shit up. “you think vampire daddy was gonna come back and help you out?”

wayne knows there wasn't anything else to do that night but die, he had hoped for the longest time that something would go different, replayed the events in his head. he swears he can smell the bodies, the booze, the last of his life vanishing before him. he swallows, he’s always been incredible alone, her words get to him. he isn't alone, something to be played with now. he gets a smile, it's slow and steady, murderous. a click. something snaps, like it was bound to give. “so easy for you to just run your mouth. forgot who i was talking to.” as he talks his hand slides up from where it rested on his knee, leans into her space taking the decision to intrude back, he’s got claws too. a lingering sense of fight that mary digs in and twists to get at.

she asks for a cigarette and he rolls his eyes, she's on thin ice, patience barely holding him back. she takes it a step further, made of fire just consuming everything in front of her. he wraps his hand around her wrist before it can get to the pack, pulls it out of his pocket (a dare, try and touch me again. let's play one of those stupid games.) little to no space in between them, he knows what would piss her off, send her away but he doesn't want that. what he doesn’t know is what he really wants in the moment, he'd stuck his head in the lions mouth long before this, he stayed there. he is there now.

“like hell 'm gonna give you a cig after all that." lit up, it's alive, it's malleable and he's petty, easy to hurt, finds himself ready for a scrap, from zero to a hundred. she could do anything in this moment. he's not folding, it's not one of those nights. he makes this one terrible choice over and over again where he trusts her. "you want a smoke that bad?" raises and eyebrow, the anger clings to some of his words, only natural. fucking take it from me. i want to sink my teeth in you. i want you to sink yours in me.

his fucking baths. his non-negotiable ‘hotel room must always have a jacuzzi’, she’d know, she sent the contract over to the lawyers herself. a lot of people in her business have to deal with primadonna clients, but nobody’s walking the kind of high wire line that riko is. she tries to be always aware, to remember that he isn’t human. but she’s got a few wires crossed herself, and there is a kind of thrill to it. to being the only one with the secret. dancing under the knife every time she leaves him with all her blood still in her body and her composure intact. and on top of all that, there's her actual job.

while he lounges in his precious jacuzzi that added zero after zero to the checks she’d had to sign to the hotel, and there it is again, that hit of danger-lust-annoyance that has her either gritting her teeth or pressing her thighs together. (it’s the latter, now, but it’s an unfair fight. he’s naked, after all.) at least she hasn't spotted any blood on the tile this time.

makes him want to press down harder, skin turned pink. she makes him laugh. it's a full thing, glimpse of fangs and then some. "ouch. okay. what if i promise not to try anything. you're just so wound up tight, think you're gonna burst any second now." he leans back, competely unashamed. comes with the territory, and the inflated ego. nothing to be shy about, nothing to be embarrased. "i could scooch some of my ego out of the way, hell, i won't even take a peek. i'll turn around and everything. plenty of room then." it's not begging, he doesn't do that anymore that got left in a ditch somewhere along the way. he moves then, closer, to the edge. where she is, so far away, his elbow resting on prestine tile as he rests his head on his hand. perfectly innocent, recently fed. the warm water doing wonders for him.

there's no denying that something electric bubbles right up between them, the times he's gotten to sink his teeth in her have been far and few in between. they haven't done anything too scandalous, but there's something there. he thinks, pin pricks at her skin when he pierces it. he couldn't possibly be imagining things. he isn't delusional enough, some truth lingers. he wants just to pick at it, the anticipation killing him. what is ricky but the one thing he can't have? he's thought about it. it sort of haunts him.