nyota_uhura24 | [BFF Verse - The ravens are all closing in / And there's nowhere you can hide]

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[BFF Verse - The ravens are all closing in / And there's nowhere you can hide]

Uhura was in a good mood. The memory of yesterday's assignment, of all the fear in the Debulans' eyes, was enough to make her nearly giddy. It had been far too long since she'd had the opportunity to slowly create a blinding, debilitating fear, just as her father had taught her to.

There was only one thing that could ruin her excitement. Scotty. The moment she saw him, she had to fight the urge to clench her hands into fists, or to reach for her knife. Not the knife I want... She would get it back, of course, but it would take careful planning. The fail safe was most certainly a problem. She was certain that given enough time, killing him wouldn't even be necessary, even if it was the safest course of action. But thanks to the fail safe, murder was out of the question.

Instead she monitored the times at which he entered the code, laying down preparations and waiting for a day he entered it early in the morning, and then all would be well. Soon, she promised herself. He really ought to just give the knife back, and then all this could be avoided... Though she was too angry now to let the matter go, even if he did.

To her extreme annoyance, she realized that she and Scotty were headed for the same turbolift, but there was no way in hell she was going to turn tail and run, even if the sight of him did infuriate her. "Scotty," she drawled. "How lovely it is to see you, though I must say you were far more dashing with a scar on your cheek."

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His attention was focused solely on her, eyes following every move. She felt a thrill of power at being so in control of this moment, even if he was letting her have that control. He was so responsive to every touch of her knives and teeth. The hitch in his breath sent a little shudder through her. When he told her he was being selfish, she raised an amused eyebrow, and grinned when he said she was good with a blade. "Why thank you, Scotty," she replied, voice silken. "It's nice to know my work is appreciated."

He couldn't quite relax even though she'd stopped cutting, and she watched in approving interest as he tried to quell his shaking and relax his muscles. The words confirmed how much he wanted her to continue, and she grinned. If he had wanted her to stop, she probably wouldn't have, but she derived a certain type of pleasure from knowing he wanted her knife against him. "No, I'm not stopping," she murmured, and her teeth sunk into his other shoulder at the same time that both blades sliced into the same leg.

He didn't scream when she cut him and bit him simultaneously. Not exactly. It was more a choked, strangled cry of both pleasure and pain, and he tensed again, his body protesting this treatment, even though he definitely wanted her to continue. He wasn't sure how much more abuse his body could take without a proper rest to recover a bit, but he didn't want her to stop. Trembling, he sank back against the wall, his good hand balled into a fist so tight his nails dug into his palm, his breathing heavy, rapid, and ragged again.

"Don't stop," he whispered, his voice low and rough, as though she hadn't assured him just moments before that she wasn't stopping. He could take it. He'd been through worse. "Don't. Stop."

The choked cry that escaped his lips when her teeth and blades sunk into him made her stomach clench and squirm with pleasure. She seared the sound into her memory, never wanting to forget it. Her attention was completely fixed on the way he trembled, his good hand balled into a fist, the heavy sound of his breathing. Her claustrophobia was completely forgotten, her entire being focused on the pain she was causing him.

His voice when he begged her not to stop made her mind go momentarily hazy with pleasure, and her body's reaction was now impossible to ignore. She wanted to touch herself, or for him to touch her, but it was more important for both of them that she not stop. "I won't," she promised again, biting down on his collarbone as she dragged both blades up the other leg. She pulled back slightly, licking at the blood on her mouth, so that she could concentrate on using the knives to divest him of his pants. The blades were dangerously close to his groin, but she moved them deftly, carefully, making sure to vary the depths and cutting style, making sure to keep giving him precious pain.

His uniform was going to be in tatters by the time she was finished with it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had other uniforms. What happened to this one was unimportant. He lapsed back into silence, making no sounds apart from the sound of his breathing and the occasional soft whimper as her blades slid through his skin. But there was such thing as too much of a good thing, and he was nearing a point that he'd have to beg her to stop, and he wasn't entirely certain that she'd listen. He wasn't entirely certain he wanted her to stop, either, and never mind that by now it hurt so much it was getting difficult to breathe.

He wasn't sure he could even speak, by this point. He swallowed, licked his lips, opened his mouth, but no sound came out, apart from another soft whimper. His body was on fire, the multitude of cuts stinging and burning when he moved, though it dulled when he sat perfectly still. He tried again to speak, and couldn't, and finally he stopped trying.

She had long since stopped thinking about anything other than how perfect it felt to see him covered in blood and the tattered remains of his uniform. Her teeth marks were scattered among the melee, and her face and arms were covered with his blood. The best thing of all was hearing those soft whimpers, seeing the struggle for respiration. She wasn't sure how much more he could take, and she pressed her blades against him more shallowly, just enough to break skin. She wouldn't be able to stand it if he passed out now. Finally seeing him lose the ability to speak sent a victorious shudder through her, and she leaned to tear at his ear with her teeth and then murmur against it. "Speechless, are we?" The movement brought her almost on top of him, and she gave in to the urge to press her body roughly against his, wanting to contact as many wounds as she could simultaneously. The feel of his torn body against her prompted a soft moan.

He inhaled sharply as she pressed her body against his, and without really even having to think about it, he arched into her, shivering at the contact. There wasn't much room left in his head for coherent thought; now, he was simply reacting, acting on instinct alone. He wrapped his good arm around her waist, pulling her closer. His eyes closed, he leaned in, mouth against her ear as he pulled himself together just enough to whisper, "Hurt me."

He arched into her touch, pressing those delicious cuts and bruises against her, and she shivered against him, because there was so much pain on his face and there was blood everywhere and she had one of the most powerful men on the ship reduced to near incoherency. He pulled her closer with his good arm, and then leaned to whisper in to her ear. Hurt me. The words sent a barely repressed shudder running through her. "I will," she purred, dragging her nails down his good arm right on top of one of the cuts. She wanted to keep hurting him, but since she couldn't kill him she needed another method of releasing the building tension and pleasure inside her. One knife rose to drag along the back of his shoulder, and it was really a shame that she couldn't reach much of his back. She drew the flat of the other blade down his torso, not enough to cut but knowing it would hurt as it jarred against the other wounds. She briefly diverted the knife to slip under her skirt, carefully cutting off her own panties. Sex felt almost incidental to the pain, but she needed the stimulation. She'd already cut off his pants, so it was easy to push herself up on her knees and sink down slowly on to him, biting down hard on his neck and pressing both knives into him as she did so.

He froze as she lowered herself onto him, his breath catching in the back of his throat, and he grabbed a fistful of the fabric of her uniform, stifling another whimper as she pressed the blades into his flesh again. He bucked his hips upward to meet her, without really thinking about it, lost in a fog of pain and pleasure, the two sensations by now almost one and the same. Tilting his head back to allow her more room to bite his neck, he shifted below her, try to move so he could lay flat on the floor. It would be easier for both of them that way, and it would reduce the risk of accidentally knocking the blade in his shoulder loose.

She moaned at the initial penetration, senses on overload after spending so long cutting Scotty's flesh. His hand fisted in her uniform as his hips bucked upwards, prompting her to gasp softly and then bite down harder on his neck. She sucked at the wound for a few moments, pausing when she felt him shifting beneath her. One hand moved to grasp the knife in his shoulder, holding it in and twisting it slightly as she helped him lower himself to the floor. Once he was lying flat she reestablished the rhythm, placing the knives against his skin and letting her rocking press them in and out of his flesh so that every burst of pleasure was accompanied by pain. Her body quivered slightly as she felt need pool in her stomach, spurred on by the knowledge that she was hurting him and by the intoxicating feeling of being in control, of being in power, of knowing he was at her mercy.

He let go of her uniform to brace himself against the floor as he lay back, the movement jarring the multitude of cuts that decorated his body now. Another whimper, as Uhura twisted the knife in his shoulder, and then he was flat on his back, and she returned to using the other two knives on him. He was trembling still, every muscle tense, but he tried to match her rhythm, rocking his hips in time with hers. This was probably a bad idea, considering the amount of blood he'd lost already, but he wasn't really in any state of mind to care. Either way, when all was said and done, he'd need a few days to recover, at least. But none of that was important right now.

He kept trembling and making those little whimpering noises, and the sight and sound and feel of his battered body went straight to her core. She kept her eyes on him, taking in the tense muscles and patchwork of scars as they thrust against each other. It was impressive that he could still move in this state, and it made her want to push his limits, to test the boundaries of his strength. She was used to being the one in control of sexual encounters - rarely voluntarily participated if she wouldn't be - but how long had it been since she fucked someone while driving blades into their flesh? How long had it been since she inspired not just fear but also genuine pain? The fact that he was so clearly lost to the sensations allowed her to let go of herself, just a little, to be in control and out of control at the same time. She let out a shuddering moan, increasing her pace and pressing the knives deeper.

It was rare that he'd voluntarily let anyone this close to him; rarer still that he'd not only let her initiate sex, but that he'd even let her start cutting him up in the first place. To do so implied a level of trust that he was uncomfortable with - letting anyone past his defenses was a one-way ticket to not staying alive. But she needed him alive. He knew that she knew that she'd never get that precious knife back if she didn't keep him alive. That, and it had been far too long since he'd encountered anyone as skilled with a blade as she was.

His encounters with the Orion... she'd been too gentle, too focused on trying to make it feel good. And Elle? Like the Orion, she'd manipulated him, and both of them were too stuck on the idea that sex was about nothing but pleasure. But Uhura... He shivered as she pressed the knives in deeper, and slowly, he stopped trying to match her pace; he couldn't keep up, and he wasn't certain how much longer he could hold out.

She'd been certain that she absolutely hated Scotty, and perhaps she truly did, but that wasn't important right now. All that mattered was that the pain and pleasure continue, that she drive him inside her as she drove her blades into him. She had never expected to expose this side of him, and it wasn't lost on her that he had given her this moment, that he had intentionally dropped his defenses. It thrilled her as few things did, and she felt something like respect for his ability to embrace the pain. She understood, too, the perfection that pain could be, even if she almost never let anyone hurt her voluntarily. Besides, she preferred this way, preferred to see pain on the faces of others than to feel it herself.

These thoughts were all driven out of her head as she felt the pleasure within her start to spiral out of control. She drove both knives into his chest deep enough to scar and just held on to them as she thrust faster, moaning louder now. For a moment she teetered on the edge, clenching around him, and then with a sharp cry she tumbled over, waves of pleasure rolling through her.

He cursed, his voice low and breathy and ragged as she finished, as she dug her knives into his chest, and he followed shortly after, though not nearly as dramatically as her. Heart racing, his pulse thundering in his ears, he sank back against the floor, still tense from the pain, still unable to fully relax. He shuddered, fighting for breath, his head swimming, for the moment completely unable to move, completely and utterly at her mercy. This was the part he hated most, that drowsy feeling of contentment, but tempered with pain, it was bearable. The pain kept him alert, kept him awake. But he still couldn't move. His limbs felt heavy, and she could have driven a knife into his heart right then and there and he wouldn't have been able to stop her.

For a moment she remained arched against him, body riding out the aftershocks of her climax. Then she relaxed slowly, taking a few moments to catch her breath and look down at him lying beneath her. He was clearly immobilized by the pain and the aftereffects of his own release, and she felt a little thrill as she realized that she had complete power over him at this moment. Her fingers caressed the handles of the knives still pressed into his chest, and a part of her was momentarily tempted to drive them the rest of the way in, but there was too much at stake. Besides, Scotty was... interesting. More so than she'd originally thought. She pulled out the blades and wiped them against her skirt before slipping them back into her belt, knowing she'd need to properly clean them later. Then she slowly pulled herself off of him and sat against the wall. "Well, it seems you do know how to shut up."

As she moved away from him, taking the knives with her, he relaxed slightly, but even now there was no way he was going to be able to relax completely. Not that he minded; what had just transpired was well worth having to deal with the aftereffects. For a long moment, he simply lay there, even after she spoke. Eventually, his breathing slowed, and he scrubbed a hand over his face, before turning his head to look at her, his expression still tight with pain. But there was something else in his expression as well. A measure of respect, maybe. The corner of his mouth twitched, as though he found her statement amusing. "Only for you, love."

They say in silence for a few moments after she spoke, and she found it hard to be anything but content. Her body was still humming with the aftereffects of her release, and buzzing with the adrenalin of having caused so much hurt. It relaxed her as few things did. Her eyes wandered over his form, covered in the marks of her blade and teeth and nails; the sight brought another swell of satisfaction.

When he finally looked over at her, she noted with pleasure the strain on his face, and something like acknowledgment or perhaps respect. She'd deny to her dying breath that the later made her feel oddly proud, though of course it was hard not to feel proud of having brought such a powerful man to this state. She laughed softly at his words. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Only the ones I like," he replied, with a short, quiet laugh. He turned his head to look back up at the ceiling, his eyes drifting shut again. The pain wasn't doing as good a job at keeping him alert as he'd thought, and it was getting harder to keep from drifting off. He lifted his hand again to trail his fingers down his chest, tracing the wounds, wincing a little each time he encountered one of the deeper ones. He didn't want to drift off, didn't want to leave himself more vulnerable than he already was.

"Oh, so you like me, Scotty?" she replied, a little amused by the idea of Scotty liking anyone. She shook her head. "I knew you took the knife to get my attention." She leaned her head against the wall, feeling utterly at ease. Their encounter had driven all the fear from her mind, and he was in no state to be a threat to her. Glancing back at him, she realized that he was actually in danger of drifting into unconsciousness. "Scotty," she said, a note of warning in her voice. "If you pass out, I won't be held responsible for what happens to you." She didn't want him dead, but let him think there was a serious threat there. Perhaps there was.

Edited 2010-10-04 04:17 (UTC)

"Don't you worry about me, love," he murmured, his voice distant and tired. The world was beginning to lose focus, the emergency light overhead blurring in his vision. He closed his eyes, running his hand down his chest again, but he slowed and stopped halfway down. If he passed out... He laughed quietly, turning his head to the side again to look at her. "You can't let me die," he reminded her, shaking a finger in her direction. "You... you need me alive, love." He felt dizzy, and cold, and he shivered, laughing again. "I have somethin' you want, love, an' you can't get it back if I'm dead." Another laugh, and he dropped his hand back down onto his chest, shaking his head at her. "I've got somethin' you want," he repeated, his voice trailing off into little more than a whisper. His eyes drifted shut, and it was a long moment before he forced himself to open them again.

He taunted her, reminding her again that she couldn't let him die, that she'd never get the knife if she did. Her eyes narrowed. "Your delirious ramblings are not at all cute," she informed him. "And if you pass out, I might not be able to keep you alive. You've lost a lot of blood." Damn him, she thought, feeling a little swell of irritation because he did have power over her. He had the knife, the fail safe, and the knowledge of her claustrophobia. Even though he wasn't taunting her about her fear, there was certainly a chance he would use it against her at some point... Her eyes glanced around the lift, but it didn't feel as if the walls were closing in around her. Not yet, anyway, but if they didn't start moving soon... Her thoughts were interrupted when the lights came back on, and she heard the sound of the lift powering up. Resisting the urge to breathe a sigh of relief, she smirked at him. "Looks like we're getting out of here after all. You might want to do something about your appearance." This suggestion amused her, as she was the one who had cut him and his clothes to ribbons in the first place.

He winced when the lights came back on, raising his hand to shield his eyes. It took a moment for what Uhura said to register, and he sat up slowly, wincing again, actually look down at himself. He was an absolute mess, covered in blood, his clothes shredded... With a groan, he pushed himself up, stumbled a bit, and fell back against the wall with a soft curse. Damn. Damn damn damn. His hands trembling, he slowly unsheathed the knife in his sleeve, and cut the fabric around the knife in his shoulder, before slipping out of what remained of his shirt. He tied it around his waist, then leaned back against the wall again. "Might want tae..." He trailed off, gestured aimlessly. "Y'know. Medical. Make sure I get there."

She watched him push himself to his feet and tie the remains of his shirt around his waist. He really was in terrible shape, and she looked him over with satisfaction, actually licking her still bloody lips. She was covered in his blood, but it didn't bother her in the slightest. The turbolift floor was covered in blood and scraps of his uniform, but she frowned when she saw something else there. She leaned over and picked up the remains of her panties. "I liked these," she said, frowning and tucking them into her uniform top. Then her eyes returned to Scotty. "Well, I do need that back," she replied, nodding at the knife in his shoulder. As the doors finally opened to the narrow but long corridor, relief flooded her at no longer being trapped, no longer being in such a small space. "I'm not waiting for you to crawl there," she said. "Lean on me."

"I can walk," he replied, pushing himself away from the wall. He was still dizzy, and with his shirt now around his waist, even colder, but he managed to make it out of the lift without any problems. Once out of the lift, he swayed a bit, stumbled, and caught himself on the wall, pausing as his vision blurred again. Still, he refused to be seen being all but carried to medical. He took a deep breath, and straightened, and began walking again, staying close to the wall, just in case. Now that they were out in the open again, he resolutely ignored Uhura, as if the two of them had just happened to be in the same lift, and never mind that her name was carved in his chest.

She rolled her eyes when he said he could walk on his own, though she wasn't particularly surprised. Still, she kept half an eye on him as they moved down the corridor, making sure he didn't collapse. A fall could jar loose the knife in his shoulder. With his shirt off, she could really admire her handiwork, especially the letters carved into his chest deep enough to scar. "Don't use a dermal re-generator on the scars," she instructed in a low, soft voice. "Or I'll just have to replace them." As they walked, she made sure to glower at anyone in their path. Most people scurried out of their path. A few ensigns even tripped over their own feet trying to get out their way.

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