Inspired by this godly post which unlocked a part of my brain I didn't know existed, and solidly gave me complete and utterly brainrot until I wrote something
A thousand thanks to Lily for her wonderful help :))
"Does Kelly not mind you spending all your time with me?" Daniel asks, because she's Daniel and once she's thought something she can't keep her fucking mouth shut, even if she knows it's trouble.
Max looks up, pausing his set of weights, and blinks at her. Daniel feels her cheeks warm. One day, that mouth of yours will run you straight into trouble, young lady, her mum used to tell her, voice firm. Good girls know when to keep quiet. Daniel used to just laugh at the warning. Her laugh is loud and the opposite of quiet, but she used to know that everyone always loved her laugh.
"No," Max says after a beat and then continues lifting. Daniel hates the way her gaze tracks over him, lingering on the movement of his muscles, the ease with which he lifts the weight. Tawny hair brushed out of his eyes, cheeks dusted warm from the exertion. "Of course not."
"Why of course not?" Daniel asks. She wants to sew her mouth shut. This time, Max didn't look over as he answers.
"Kelly's very secure, she's not like other girls. And besides, she knows you."
It's strange. When Daniel was seven and Michelle eleven, they'd gone rock pool fishing. Michelle had been crouched over a shallow pool of water, her finger delicately brushing the tentacles of the anemone. Daniel had been scaling the rocks, wanting steeper, taller, more.
She'd found the shark first, nestled high at between the rocks, and for a beat she hadn't known what she was looking at. Just details, but nothing collective. Rotting smell. Shrivelled holes where eyes should be. Scales of silver lightning. Rubbery fish picked clean. The flash of bone, pearl white.
Then she realised what she was staring at, and screamed. Her father held her while her mother scolded her. I told you not to go climbing! It's too dangerous, Daniel. Why can't you just be good like your sister and stay by the shallow pools?
And then, later, ice cream. Her dad, beside her, explaining the horror away.
It's just nature, Dani. The waves wash them up, and they get stuck there. They can't get back to the sea, and then the sun dries them out.
They drown on air, Michelle helpfully pointed out, her feet kicking happily as she licked her 99. Daniel just just nodded, ice cream untouched. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the sunken holes, the rotting flesh.
She hasn't thought about that moment for years, but suddenly it washes back over her. She feels simultaneously both. The child, staring at the carcass, frozen in shock. The shark, burning up in the sun, chocking on air.
"What does that mean?" She asks, and somehow her voice is normal, is fine. She's fine. She's not a girl or a shark. She's stupid and a fool and a gawky, ugly idiot, but she's fine.
Max manages to shrug, even with the 50kg weights. "You know. Just that Kelly knows you. She knows what you're like. And she knows me too, of course."
Daniel swallows. She nods. She hates everything about herself.
"That's sexist," she forces herself to say lightly because if the silence stretches anymore, Max might notice and set his weights down and look at her, and Daniel can't bear that. She doesn't want his eyes on her, taking in every blemish and imperfection. The boyish, ratty clothes she works out in and her curls gone frizzy with sweat and her inked skin, so different to Max and Kelly's pale, perfect complexions.
"What's sexist?"
"Saying she's not like other girls," Daniel tells him, setting down the weights she been doing. Instead, she goes to grab the skipping rope, just for something to do.
Max laughs. Daniel's glad she's turned away. Her cheeks are burning again.
"It's the truth. You, of course, Daniel, are not like other girls either." He says it lightly and ends with a chuckle, as if it's all just a joke. Daniel drags a sweaty hand over her cheeks. Burning, burning, burning.
Apparently, in Max's mind, she and Kelly are the same; both not like other girls. Kelly, with her faultless makeup and wonderful daughter and classy dresses and perfect feminity. One end of the scale. Daniel, the other. Barely even considered "a girl." Always one of the boys, only woman in f1 for a reason.
"Thanks," Daniel says. She wants to make it sound humorous, like she's in on the joke too. Instead, it's too cold; muttered as if she actually gave two shits about the conversation anyway. She has an F1 season to prepare for, she's too busy to care about stupid shit like this.
There's a beat of silence as Daniel stretches out the rope, feeling the plastic flex and give. Then, Max exhaling, the gentle bump of his weights against the floor, the workout bench shifting as his centre of gravity changes. Daniel keeps her back to him, ignoring it all.
"I did not mean it as insult," Max finally says, stubborn. Daniel forces a laugh, turning to give him a smile, all teeth.
"Of course not Maxy. I get that." Voice light and blithe. One of the boys.
She thinks he'll drop it, but instead, his frown only grows. Pinched brows, thin lips, cheeks growing blotchy. Blue eyes regard her, intense and unyielding. She burns from the inside out.
"I've upset you," he says, in that blunt, genuine way only he can do. Daniel barks out another laugh.
"Don't be stupid. You're not important enough to ever be able to get under my skin." She gives him another smile with only teeth. She feels insane. Her mother tells her good girls stay quiet.
"I'm sorry," he tries again, growing frustrated now, "I did not mean -"
"I told you, you didn't upset me," she drops the skipping rope without actually using it. "Anyway, I'm bored. Wanna get lunch now? Or are you still trying to pump those muscle with more testosterone?"
Max gives her one last, searching look before standing. They're almost the same height. She wants to shrink to nothing.
"That is not how testosterone works, Daniel," he says with the air of an overworked teacher. He looks at her with a smile, uncertain but genuine. She laughs, allowing him to move the conversation on.
She walks out of the gym first but holds the door for him. He grins, relieved. His fingers skim hers as he takes it and she lets go. A chill runs through her. Cold like scales, cold like ice cream untouched.
Follow up here!
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Shuddering, sighing pants echo in their ears, viscera-laced teeth scraping harshly against curving and trembling bone. They shiver, flinching as their tormentor clutches their chin, forcing their eyes up to his own.
"There's no need to look so scared, little bird." the King of Demons purrs. "It's only a bite."
They dig their claws into dirt. Bloody, rotten, horrible, horrible-
A breath. A gasp, as his tail clips against their opened maws.
"Just get it over with," they finally croak, "haven't you done enough as it is?"
Paimak tips his head, as though considering the notion. He flutters his wings. His spine arches, stomach settling across their chest like a living flame. His teeth scratch against their feathers. He speaks as though earnestly considering the notion. "Quite frankly, little bird, I don't think I've done enough."
"I said. Get it over with."
Their hand burns. They catch themselves wondering if his does too.
"Little bird, little bird…" Paimak hums more so to himself than to any other, trailing his hands along their neck, tracing the joints and edges where magic sparks inside their soul. "Am I not allowed to enjoy this?"
He clicks his tongue. It's like he's reprimanding a child. His jaws caress their shoulders, fingers walking a trail up to their horn, grasping and worshipping at their halo. "What a feast you are." the King remarks further. "What a feast, what a feast."
"King Paimak," The Authority of Angels finally exhales, "bite me, or I'm calling this business off and ending you once and for all."
Golden slits admire their face. "Well. That's not very romantic, now is it?"
Their mouths open into the beginnings of a snarl. His tail bats between their thighs, and they consider making that a-
Bite.
His fangs pierce their neck. A spark of pain jolts through their throat, and they choke and gasp on their own lungs. Their hands dart to sink their grip into Paimak's back, etching scars into his wings, legs thrashing in a desperate attempt to break free of the demon's grasp.
He leans deeper. Sinks deeper. Reguel speaks, tries to protest, tries to sing, but all that comes out is a wanton call of desperation. Their neck runs over with velveting purple hues. Their head pounds. King Paimak pushes back, pressing their head harshly against the ground, and they barely remember to moan.
One second. Two. Something coils itself around their waist. They keen against it, blabbering and shaking. Their thoughts feel slow, sluggish, treading through darker mud than the blood still coating their hands all these years later. Their eyes grow heavy. They loosen their grip, muttering incoherent names and staring at lights popping in and out of their vision.
One minute. They can't breathe. King Paimak sinks deeper. The ground under their head starts to feel wet, warm. They babble mindlessly, shifting to pull away, but he digs his claws into their shoulders and buries them right where they are.
"Paimak," they finally whisper, feverish and delirious, "can't- can't-"
Golden eyes meet sluggish purple. A grotesque slurch, damp with blood and gore, and he finally pulls away.
Something damp presses against their neck, lapping up the blood like a stray dog. Reguel can only mumble, clumsily pressing their hands against his neck, trying to hold him there.
"Little bird." a laugh. He sounds even worse off than they are. "Little birdie…"
"Mmph." they sing helpfully in reply. "Ehhph?"
"Little birdie." Claws clutch their cheeks, forcing their limp body up as he languishes against what little remains of their throat. "Little birdie. Little birdie. Do you know what you taste like?"
They're pretty sure they're supposed to say something- a word, perhaps- but all that escapes them is an incoherent slur of noises and purrs.
"Creation." their eyes focus long enough to see the King- pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed with gold, movement dazed and incoherent. "You taste like Creation itself."
"Oh." Reguel drools. "Good."
Their eyes slide shut. A small thud, just beside them, and the world fades away into oblivion.
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