Work Text:
I think I'm drowning, asphyxiated
I wanna break the spell that you've created
You're something beautiful, a contradiction
I wanna play the game, I want the friction.
Oh you will be the death of me
Kissing her is like growing old and dying, feeling your bones dry up and break, brittle like autumn leaves.
Dave’s died so many times now, every kiss a dark tunnel, every sigh a funeral knell.
She calls herself the Handmaid, and he supposes she’s tidy enough to warrant the name. One moment she’s got him snapping in her grip, the next she’s dusting off his jacket, cool and proper, as if they haven’t just spent the last minute, year, lifetime, millenia sucking face.
And all the while her eyes burn into him like dying stars and he’s terrified and likes it.
“If you plan on learning anything,” she says to him gruffly, her fingers digging into his skull, knee pressed hard against his groin, “You’ll start by respecting your betters.”
He gasps for air and licks at the blood where her teeth have just scoured his lip.
“Whatever you say, ma’am”