Wesley Wyndam-Pryce (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
demonologist) wrote2012-02-08 12:34 pm
demonologist) wrote2012-02-08 12:34 pm
Kink Meme Prompt.
Wes' eyelids flutter open. He's strapped to a chair. The chair. No matter how hard he struggles and strains, he can't seem to get himself free.
Bennett comes to hover at his elbow, smirking savagely. Heated words are exchanged. The argument ends with her leaning closer and jerking his head back sharply by his hair; newly functional fingers twisting cruely in the dark tufts. There's no escape. She's the one in control now.
She goes back to her computer to perform some last minute checks. She's deaf to his appeals to see reason. She's being perfectly rational.
The chair slowly begins to tilt backwards.
His eyes widen and finally she sees it. Fear. He's trying so hard to hide the panic he's experiencing, but she catches it. On the monitors too. Breaths rapid and shallow. Heartrate reaching tachycardic levels. Epinephrine spiking. Science doesn't lie.
She makes sure the procedure is as painful as possible. Turns to watch him arch in his restraints, convulsively squirming and twitching. So undignified and embarrassing. He can't control it. It makes a bubble of laughter push its way up out of her mouth. Her fingers cover her lips briefly to keep the sound in, almost out of habit, but then she realises there's no-one else there and so she deliberately drops her hand and allows herself the manic giggle.
As soon as it's over and the chair tilts back, she steps forward and starts to loosen the straps. One by one.
It happens so quickly that she barely has time to squeak out a gasp when Wes springs into action, lunging for her. His momentum carries them backwards until her hip impacts painfully against the computer desk. He has her by the throat and for a frantic moment she can't breathe. He demands to know what she did to him. She refuses to answer, shaking her head, one hand clawing at his fingers. His grip tightens for a second or two but then he finally releases her, his weight shifting back onto his heels. He stares at her, breathing hard. His gaze is absolutely murderous. She stares back, her gaze just as deadly. Then her hand comes up to slap his face. Hard. It stings, but it also makes herself feel better. She does it again, putting all of her fury into it, until she's flailing at him with both hands, trying to release everything that's bottled up inside of her.
It's all his fault. All of it. He's vile. He's ruined everything. She wants to kill him. Make him suffer. She wants to-
Wes grabs at her wrists, preventing her from hitting him again and drags her over to the chair, shoving her back against it. One hand gets free and she strikes him again, tries to scratch at his face. He stops her, his brute strength outmatching hers. Then he's cupping her face and kissing her hard and deep. He has her pinned and there's no escape. She can't breathe again. She digs her fingernails as hard as she can into the back of his neck, but that just makes him gasp against her lips and press even closer.
She hasn't been able to forget it. What he did. No matter how hard she's tried. It's all his fault. Her fingers twist into his hair again but this time it's to encourage him. Their mouths continue to clash, if she's biting, though, it's to excite as well as punish. She doesn't have to be gentle. She doesn't have to care if she's hurting him. His hands are rough, slipping under her sweater and squeezing a breast, shoving up the hem of her skirt, pulling her panties down with an impatience which makes her breath catch in her throat. But then he's kneeling down and she can feel the scrape of his stubble against her thighs and it's her turn to arch back in the chair, gasping. Her turn to convulsively twitch and squirm while Wes does things to her that she's read about, even programmed, but never actually experienced yet. She clutches at the chair behind her, squeezing her eyes shut. Tries to imagine it's Topher, but she can't.
This all Wes' fault.
When it's all over and she's spent, her whole body tingling with pleasure, she starts to realize the enormity of what she's done. Wes shifts upwards, trying to kiss her again. More gently this time. The way that he's looking at her- She shoves him back hard, trying to scramble to her feet. To push down her skirt and – oh god, oh god. Wes starts to glare at her, hurt by her reaction, wasn't this what she wanted? She shakes her head at him, denying it. Get back into the chair. Don't you want a treatment? His expression turns docile and he meekly moves to do as she commands.
Bennett hurries over to the console, to restart the program in reverse. No-one needs to know. She'll get him back to his room and he won't remember. She's agitated now. Pressing fingers to her temple, feeling the urge to pace, to pick at and readjust her clothing. Wait, where are her--?! She scuttles over to where they are discarded on the floor. God, she's disgusted with herself, but she slips them back on and tries to smooth down her skirt and her hair. No-one needs to know. It will be a secret. It didn't happen. Not really. It wasn't real. Not real. Not real.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Faith clambers over the window sill, all cocky grins and 'didn't you miss me, nerd boy' attitude.
Topher rolls his eyes a little, but he's glad to see her. He's been feeling better, more himself. Even ventured out of his room a few times.
“No, please, come in, I insist.” He quips, zipping up his hoodie and shifting over slightly on the bed so she can plop down if she wants to.
She pokes at him experimentally. “Not plastic anymore, huh?”
“Nope. One hundred percent man-flesh.” He blushes after-the-fact.
“Good, 'cos I got something for you to check out for me. This was slipped under my door this morning. I've got no idea what it is, but since you're like the go-to guy for all things geek-related in this town, I figured you'd know.” She tosses him a compact flash drive.
Topher catches it and peers at it curiously. “Someone sent you mysterious tech-mail? What are we? In a spy movie?”
She swats at his arm and then casually rolls a shoulder. “So, doofus, what does it do?”
“What does it do?! God, you are so adorable, like a little Amish girl. I just want to pinch your cute dimpled luddite cheeks.”
Faith gives him a blank look. “I don't even know what that means.”
“And that's probably for the best.” He moves to turn on his laptop.
Scowling at him, just in case he's making fun of her and not in a good way. “FYI? You goose it? You lose it.”
“It was just a figure of speech. This is a flash drive. It stores data files. Okay, give me a sec to plug this baby in. Huh. It's not even password protected or encrypted. That's no fun. Scanning for viruses. Checks out. So, what do we have here? A video file. Click!”
As soon as the file begins to play, the air seems to leave the room. There's no audio attached to the footage. But it's not like they need it to figure out what's going on. Neither of them says anything. It's like they're transfixed by what's playing out on the computer screen. It can't be happening. It's not real. It reaches the end, then loops back to the beginning again.
“Shut it off.” Faith finally manages. “Now! Shut it-!” Topher's being too slow to react, so Faith yanks out the flash drive and crushes it with her fist. Then picks up the laptop – cables and all – and flings it at the wall with a primal yell of rage. Topher flinches back with a whimper, trying to shield himself from the shattered pieces of plastic and metal flying everywhere. He's still reeling from what he just saw. It can't be true. Bennett would never do that. She would never--
He's being pushed back roughly on the bed, elbow crushing his chest, pinning him down. Faith's straddling his hips, her eyes wild, lips curling back into a predatory snarl. She's scaring him.
“I told her what would happen. I freakin' warned her! Now I gotta make good. So, let's take you for a spin, Pinocchio, see if all of your moving parts are still in working order. Whaddaya say?”
He doesn't get an answer.
Bennett comes to hover at his elbow, smirking savagely. Heated words are exchanged. The argument ends with her leaning closer and jerking his head back sharply by his hair; newly functional fingers twisting cruely in the dark tufts. There's no escape. She's the one in control now.
She goes back to her computer to perform some last minute checks. She's deaf to his appeals to see reason. She's being perfectly rational.
The chair slowly begins to tilt backwards.
His eyes widen and finally she sees it. Fear. He's trying so hard to hide the panic he's experiencing, but she catches it. On the monitors too. Breaths rapid and shallow. Heartrate reaching tachycardic levels. Epinephrine spiking. Science doesn't lie.
She makes sure the procedure is as painful as possible. Turns to watch him arch in his restraints, convulsively squirming and twitching. So undignified and embarrassing. He can't control it. It makes a bubble of laughter push its way up out of her mouth. Her fingers cover her lips briefly to keep the sound in, almost out of habit, but then she realises there's no-one else there and so she deliberately drops her hand and allows herself the manic giggle.
As soon as it's over and the chair tilts back, she steps forward and starts to loosen the straps. One by one.
It happens so quickly that she barely has time to squeak out a gasp when Wes springs into action, lunging for her. His momentum carries them backwards until her hip impacts painfully against the computer desk. He has her by the throat and for a frantic moment she can't breathe. He demands to know what she did to him. She refuses to answer, shaking her head, one hand clawing at his fingers. His grip tightens for a second or two but then he finally releases her, his weight shifting back onto his heels. He stares at her, breathing hard. His gaze is absolutely murderous. She stares back, her gaze just as deadly. Then her hand comes up to slap his face. Hard. It stings, but it also makes herself feel better. She does it again, putting all of her fury into it, until she's flailing at him with both hands, trying to release everything that's bottled up inside of her.
It's all his fault. All of it. He's vile. He's ruined everything. She wants to kill him. Make him suffer. She wants to-
Wes grabs at her wrists, preventing her from hitting him again and drags her over to the chair, shoving her back against it. One hand gets free and she strikes him again, tries to scratch at his face. He stops her, his brute strength outmatching hers. Then he's cupping her face and kissing her hard and deep. He has her pinned and there's no escape. She can't breathe again. She digs her fingernails as hard as she can into the back of his neck, but that just makes him gasp against her lips and press even closer.
She hasn't been able to forget it. What he did. No matter how hard she's tried. It's all his fault. Her fingers twist into his hair again but this time it's to encourage him. Their mouths continue to clash, if she's biting, though, it's to excite as well as punish. She doesn't have to be gentle. She doesn't have to care if she's hurting him. His hands are rough, slipping under her sweater and squeezing a breast, shoving up the hem of her skirt, pulling her panties down with an impatience which makes her breath catch in her throat. But then he's kneeling down and she can feel the scrape of his stubble against her thighs and it's her turn to arch back in the chair, gasping. Her turn to convulsively twitch and squirm while Wes does things to her that she's read about, even programmed, but never actually experienced yet. She clutches at the chair behind her, squeezing her eyes shut. Tries to imagine it's Topher, but she can't.
This all Wes' fault.
When it's all over and she's spent, her whole body tingling with pleasure, she starts to realize the enormity of what she's done. Wes shifts upwards, trying to kiss her again. More gently this time. The way that he's looking at her- She shoves him back hard, trying to scramble to her feet. To push down her skirt and – oh god, oh god. Wes starts to glare at her, hurt by her reaction, wasn't this what she wanted? She shakes her head at him, denying it. Get back into the chair. Don't you want a treatment? His expression turns docile and he meekly moves to do as she commands.
Bennett hurries over to the console, to restart the program in reverse. No-one needs to know. She'll get him back to his room and he won't remember. She's agitated now. Pressing fingers to her temple, feeling the urge to pace, to pick at and readjust her clothing. Wait, where are her--?! She scuttles over to where they are discarded on the floor. God, she's disgusted with herself, but she slips them back on and tries to smooth down her skirt and her hair. No-one needs to know. It will be a secret. It didn't happen. Not really. It wasn't real. Not real. Not real.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Faith clambers over the window sill, all cocky grins and 'didn't you miss me, nerd boy' attitude.
Topher rolls his eyes a little, but he's glad to see her. He's been feeling better, more himself. Even ventured out of his room a few times.
“No, please, come in, I insist.” He quips, zipping up his hoodie and shifting over slightly on the bed so she can plop down if she wants to.
She pokes at him experimentally. “Not plastic anymore, huh?”
“Nope. One hundred percent man-flesh.” He blushes after-the-fact.
“Good, 'cos I got something for you to check out for me. This was slipped under my door this morning. I've got no idea what it is, but since you're like the go-to guy for all things geek-related in this town, I figured you'd know.” She tosses him a compact flash drive.
Topher catches it and peers at it curiously. “Someone sent you mysterious tech-mail? What are we? In a spy movie?”
She swats at his arm and then casually rolls a shoulder. “So, doofus, what does it do?”
“What does it do?! God, you are so adorable, like a little Amish girl. I just want to pinch your cute dimpled luddite cheeks.”
Faith gives him a blank look. “I don't even know what that means.”
“And that's probably for the best.” He moves to turn on his laptop.
Scowling at him, just in case he's making fun of her and not in a good way. “FYI? You goose it? You lose it.”
“It was just a figure of speech. This is a flash drive. It stores data files. Okay, give me a sec to plug this baby in. Huh. It's not even password protected or encrypted. That's no fun. Scanning for viruses. Checks out. So, what do we have here? A video file. Click!”
As soon as the file begins to play, the air seems to leave the room. There's no audio attached to the footage. But it's not like they need it to figure out what's going on. Neither of them says anything. It's like they're transfixed by what's playing out on the computer screen. It can't be happening. It's not real. It reaches the end, then loops back to the beginning again.
“Shut it off.” Faith finally manages. “Now! Shut it-!” Topher's being too slow to react, so Faith yanks out the flash drive and crushes it with her fist. Then picks up the laptop – cables and all – and flings it at the wall with a primal yell of rage. Topher flinches back with a whimper, trying to shield himself from the shattered pieces of plastic and metal flying everywhere. He's still reeling from what he just saw. It can't be true. Bennett would never do that. She would never--
He's being pushed back roughly on the bed, elbow crushing his chest, pinning him down. Faith's straddling his hips, her eyes wild, lips curling back into a predatory snarl. She's scaring him.
“I told her what would happen. I freakin' warned her! Now I gotta make good. So, let's take you for a spin, Pinocchio, see if all of your moving parts are still in working order. Whaddaya say?”
He doesn't get an answer.