Notes: Dude. I'm amused. I can legitimately blame this on Claira, as I asked her to suggest something to write. And she hasn't encountered the Daniel/RepliCarter craze yet... This's kinda sick and twisted. I fully acknowledge the cliche-ty of the title. Archiving: Please ask.
Die For Me Again
by ALC Punk!
He's not supposed to be enjoying this.
In fact, Daniel is pretty sure that in some un-twisted part of his psyche, he's not. Five years ago, he knows he wouldn't be enjoying this.
But right now, with her twisting in the wind?
Oh, yeah. He's enjoying it.
"I could break free," she tells him.
"You could try," he corrects, pushing another finger into her, listening to the wet sounds he's making, and wondering if Sam would be like this (but that's definitely right out, and so he isn't thinking about that. Besides, this isn't Sam, this is a twisted version of her). She's here in his control, all of her little plots undone around her.
"I could," she insists, bucking a little as his thumb brushes over her.
His mouth smirks as he bends to kiss her. "I'm sure you'd enjoy trying. I'd enjoy you trying."
The kiss is gentle, and he thinks she's surprised as his hand closes in a fist and he tugs at the electrical impulses that run her body, yanks them apart and puts them back together again instants later.
Daniel pulls back, fingers still working inside of her, feeling the little replicator blocks trickle and reform as she shudders. "See, I'm not sure you'd want to get away from me."
"You bastard," she finally manages, her voice raw.
"No." He says mildly, slowly pulling his fingers out and watching her settle, what could almost be a sheen of perspiration coating her skin. The sand under his knees kicks up a little, and he watches it stick to her. He can feel her twisting again, trying to push the limits of his control.
The sand settles on her skin, and for an instant, she seems almost real.
For a moment, he thinks he's looking at Sam. She's staring at him with shock and betrayal, something in his gut twists. And then he snaps the illusion, smashing it with a clenched fist and making her writhe again. "No. I don't think that's going to work."
She laughs, flecks of what could be blood scattering on her lips and cheek, "But it almost did, Daniel."
"But it didn't." He refuses to feel the trickle of cold sweat down his back.
"Eventually, it will," she chuckles, eyes closing. "And then I will be free. And you'll wish you'd let me die."
"I could let you die right now." He leans over her, lips touching her forehead. "It would be so easy. You'd slip away, no one the wiser."
"And then what, Daniel?" A sound escapes her that's almost mocking, "Where's the fun in letting me die?"
"You're right." He kisses her, nipping at her lips. "The only fun is in making you live."
"Please..." she hisses as his hand slides across her breasts.
"No." Her eyes find his and he smiles, "Do it again. Make me live."
He can't resist that plea any more than he can resist her screams. But he can drag it out. His finger slides into her again and he unclenches his fist and runs his fingers through the sand.
Yes. He's going to drag this out until she's screaming her pleas.
Maybe then he'll remember he's not supposed to be enjoying this.