Auld Lang Syne for sionnain
Title: Auld Lang Syne
Author: greenspine
Characters, Pairing: Azkadellia/Zero
Rating: R
For: sionnain - Happy Holidays!
Summary: Not all of Azkadellia's desires departed with the witch.
Warning: Dubcon, (sort-of) D/s
Disclaimer: Not owning Tin Man or Zero, no matter how pretty he'd look bruised.
Auld Lang Syne
She can still almost hear the ancient cracked whispers in her thoughts, guiding her, reminding her to do things she pretends she doesn't want. Things that she shouldn't want, even though she'll never be a good girl again. Not since she fell into the darkness.
Evil like that you don't forget.
She slips through empty hallways, down deep, deep into the shadows. Old haunts, old pleasures. Old friends. She is going to pay Zero a visit, talk about old times.
Of all her victims, he was the only one who'd deserved what he'd gotten: the parts of himself he'd willingly sacrificed to please her as well as the parts she'd taken by force.
One month has passed since her last visit. By now, the iced addiction that she'd imprinted into him, her plaything, must be agonizing. He will beg her to hurt him. Look up at her with that expression of mingled adoration and terror that is so honest, so pure.
She shivers. The others think she sleeps alone in her guilt, and she does. But Zero's mind, his life, is irrevocably in her hands, hers to use, and there's no use crying over spilt milk - or broken, possessed little girls. To ignore her responsibility to him would be deliciously cruel, a pleasure she no longer allows herself.
The blackened iron key hangs heavily between her breasts, warmed by her body, concealed by the higher necklines she now wears. Through secret ways she has reached the darkest level of the prison. The quiet whimpers and moans of the sleeping damned, once her chosen, echo old thrills that her body and her magic will never allow her to forget.
But that is her little secret, and there are none to witness her slight smile as she draws the key from her cleavage as though it were a knife, and thrusts it savagely into its lock.
Zero lies face-down on his filthy cot, too still to be asleep, too flushed to be dead. His arm is curled beneath his body, tense muscles giving away the surprise he's so thoughtfully planned for her.
She loves it when he fights her. His bright peacock blue display of confidence and security is a sweet, fragile thing begging to be smashed. Zero's real beauty lies beneath, salt and smoke and blood. Pretending she believes him asleep, she walks over to his bedside, making sure to cast her shadow over his closed eyes. He must know she's there.
Sinuously, one arm and one leg stretch out as though in his sleep. She blinks, and in that instant, his other arm is wrapped around her. Something sharp and nasty and homemade digs into her neck.
"What have we here?" he asks, his voice low in her ear. He pauses for a moment, breathing in the scent of her hair. He must be aching for her.
"Zero," she says, lifting her hand. Her will twists magic from the air, makes it dance and crackle like electricity. With the slightest gesture, she pushes him to the floor and sends his makeshift weapon spinning through the air. It bounces off the far wall of the small cell to land at her feet. One small step, and it is crushed beneath her heel.
"I've missed you, Zero," she says in her sweetest voice. He's not looking at her, so she reaches down and grabs a fistful of dirty hair. She jerks his head back, forcing him to look up at her, admiring the exposed line of his neck.
His eyes widen, but he masks his fear and lust almost as quickly as they are revealed. "You haven't changed a bit," he says, his tone dripping insolence.
Her hand, still tingling with live magic, flies across his face hard enough to split his lip. Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, he looks up at her, a smug look calculated to entice her to do it again.
"Is that what you want, Zero? Do you want your Sorceress back?" The thought makes her hate him just enough to calm the last of the passion of her rage. "She's gone, baby," Azkadellia tells him, voice rich with false pity. "There's no one here but me now, and you're of no use to me at all."
She steps in closer him, hovering over his lips, ignoring the sweet blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Her magic changes, pulls at his essence. Breathing deeply, she watches his gaze drop to the rise and fall of her chest before flickering back to her face in alarm. He's seen this before, countless times, and knows what might follow.
"You wouldn't." Zero shifts in her grasp, rising fully onto his knees, which she allows. His eyes search her face through the gloom. Closing her mouth, she steps in still closer with an almost apologetic smile, non-threatening. Zero begins to relax, his lips twist in contempt of her, but his eyes-
His eyes are utterly terrified.
In the beauty of his expression, she forgets herself and does what she's promised herself she never would: she breathes not air but his life. The brilliant silver cloud hovering over his lips is even more tantalizing than the sight of his blood around them.
This is what she misses the most in the dark of the night, when regret has beaten her mind into a dull acceptance of her own monstrosity.
His essence is right there, promising refreshment more pure than the clear rains of Finaqua, all hers for the taking. For a moment, the temptation to drink of it drowns out her guilt. Zero understands this, she can tell: he trembles in her grasp, ensnared by her enchantment and unable to look away. He can't even speak to beg her, except with his eyes, the gray bright with unshed tears, the gold ring around the iris brilliant. Please.
Overwhelmed with self-loathing, she releases him, all of him, untasted. He falls to the floor into the fetal position, fear-sweat soaking through his already threadbare clothes, its stench filling the air around them.
She steps forward, nudging his face with her foot. His eyes stay on the floor as his lips touch her slipper in a soft kiss. "I'm sorry, Sorceress. I won't do it again."
"Don't call me that!" She jerks her foot back from his bleeding mouth, staining the toe of her slipper. "It's just us from now on, do you understand? Just us. And, Zero-"
She waits until he dares a glance up at her face.
"I won't hurt you more than you need," she promises, for herself as much as for Zero. She reaches down and strokes his scarred cheek. "I'm not like that anymore, I'm not. Only as much as you need. No more."
Zero gathers himself up enough to kneel properly before her, head bowed down, pressing his face into her hand. "Thank you-" he falters for a moment, and then tries, "Princess?"
"Azkadellia," she corrects.
He does not look at all comfortable hearing her name, much less saying it; he shifts and licks his lips, remaining silent.
"You will learn," she says, gentling her voice as though to talk to a wounded animal. "Next time."
She keeps her promise and does not leave until he is exhausted, bruised and sore but radiant, having all but fallen asleep in her arms. Her own nature too is appeased; her mind is at rest, the witch's imaginary voice silenced.
For the moment, anyway.
Author: greenspine
Characters, Pairing: Azkadellia/Zero
Rating: R
For: sionnain - Happy Holidays!
Summary: Not all of Azkadellia's desires departed with the witch.
Warning: Dubcon, (sort-of) D/s
Disclaimer: Not owning Tin Man or Zero, no matter how pretty he'd look bruised.
Auld Lang Syne
She can still almost hear the ancient cracked whispers in her thoughts, guiding her, reminding her to do things she pretends she doesn't want. Things that she shouldn't want, even though she'll never be a good girl again. Not since she fell into the darkness.
Evil like that you don't forget.
She slips through empty hallways, down deep, deep into the shadows. Old haunts, old pleasures. Old friends. She is going to pay Zero a visit, talk about old times.
Of all her victims, he was the only one who'd deserved what he'd gotten: the parts of himself he'd willingly sacrificed to please her as well as the parts she'd taken by force.
One month has passed since her last visit. By now, the iced addiction that she'd imprinted into him, her plaything, must be agonizing. He will beg her to hurt him. Look up at her with that expression of mingled adoration and terror that is so honest, so pure.
She shivers. The others think she sleeps alone in her guilt, and she does. But Zero's mind, his life, is irrevocably in her hands, hers to use, and there's no use crying over spilt milk - or broken, possessed little girls. To ignore her responsibility to him would be deliciously cruel, a pleasure she no longer allows herself.
The blackened iron key hangs heavily between her breasts, warmed by her body, concealed by the higher necklines she now wears. Through secret ways she has reached the darkest level of the prison. The quiet whimpers and moans of the sleeping damned, once her chosen, echo old thrills that her body and her magic will never allow her to forget.
But that is her little secret, and there are none to witness her slight smile as she draws the key from her cleavage as though it were a knife, and thrusts it savagely into its lock.
Zero lies face-down on his filthy cot, too still to be asleep, too flushed to be dead. His arm is curled beneath his body, tense muscles giving away the surprise he's so thoughtfully planned for her.
She loves it when he fights her. His bright peacock blue display of confidence and security is a sweet, fragile thing begging to be smashed. Zero's real beauty lies beneath, salt and smoke and blood. Pretending she believes him asleep, she walks over to his bedside, making sure to cast her shadow over his closed eyes. He must know she's there.
Sinuously, one arm and one leg stretch out as though in his sleep. She blinks, and in that instant, his other arm is wrapped around her. Something sharp and nasty and homemade digs into her neck.
"What have we here?" he asks, his voice low in her ear. He pauses for a moment, breathing in the scent of her hair. He must be aching for her.
"Zero," she says, lifting her hand. Her will twists magic from the air, makes it dance and crackle like electricity. With the slightest gesture, she pushes him to the floor and sends his makeshift weapon spinning through the air. It bounces off the far wall of the small cell to land at her feet. One small step, and it is crushed beneath her heel.
"I've missed you, Zero," she says in her sweetest voice. He's not looking at her, so she reaches down and grabs a fistful of dirty hair. She jerks his head back, forcing him to look up at her, admiring the exposed line of his neck.
His eyes widen, but he masks his fear and lust almost as quickly as they are revealed. "You haven't changed a bit," he says, his tone dripping insolence.
Her hand, still tingling with live magic, flies across his face hard enough to split his lip. Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, he looks up at her, a smug look calculated to entice her to do it again.
"Is that what you want, Zero? Do you want your Sorceress back?" The thought makes her hate him just enough to calm the last of the passion of her rage. "She's gone, baby," Azkadellia tells him, voice rich with false pity. "There's no one here but me now, and you're of no use to me at all."
She steps in closer him, hovering over his lips, ignoring the sweet blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Her magic changes, pulls at his essence. Breathing deeply, she watches his gaze drop to the rise and fall of her chest before flickering back to her face in alarm. He's seen this before, countless times, and knows what might follow.
"You wouldn't." Zero shifts in her grasp, rising fully onto his knees, which she allows. His eyes search her face through the gloom. Closing her mouth, she steps in still closer with an almost apologetic smile, non-threatening. Zero begins to relax, his lips twist in contempt of her, but his eyes-
His eyes are utterly terrified.
In the beauty of his expression, she forgets herself and does what she's promised herself she never would: she breathes not air but his life. The brilliant silver cloud hovering over his lips is even more tantalizing than the sight of his blood around them.
This is what she misses the most in the dark of the night, when regret has beaten her mind into a dull acceptance of her own monstrosity.
His essence is right there, promising refreshment more pure than the clear rains of Finaqua, all hers for the taking. For a moment, the temptation to drink of it drowns out her guilt. Zero understands this, she can tell: he trembles in her grasp, ensnared by her enchantment and unable to look away. He can't even speak to beg her, except with his eyes, the gray bright with unshed tears, the gold ring around the iris brilliant. Please.
Overwhelmed with self-loathing, she releases him, all of him, untasted. He falls to the floor into the fetal position, fear-sweat soaking through his already threadbare clothes, its stench filling the air around them.
She steps forward, nudging his face with her foot. His eyes stay on the floor as his lips touch her slipper in a soft kiss. "I'm sorry, Sorceress. I won't do it again."
"Don't call me that!" She jerks her foot back from his bleeding mouth, staining the toe of her slipper. "It's just us from now on, do you understand? Just us. And, Zero-"
She waits until he dares a glance up at her face.
"I won't hurt you more than you need," she promises, for herself as much as for Zero. She reaches down and strokes his scarred cheek. "I'm not like that anymore, I'm not. Only as much as you need. No more."
Zero gathers himself up enough to kneel properly before her, head bowed down, pressing his face into her hand. "Thank you-" he falters for a moment, and then tries, "Princess?"
"Azkadellia," she corrects.
He does not look at all comfortable hearing her name, much less saying it; he shifts and licks his lips, remaining silent.
"You will learn," she says, gentling her voice as though to talk to a wounded animal. "Next time."
She keeps her promise and does not leave until he is exhausted, bruised and sore but radiant, having all but fallen asleep in her arms. Her own nature too is appeased; her mind is at rest, the witch's imaginary voice silenced.
For the moment, anyway.