Her eyes were closed as he set his gaze upon her face, and a trickle of colourless water fell from the leaking pipe up above them down onto her cheek. She shuddered and shrank back a little, easing her arm over to wipe the droplet away.
She couldn't move. He had bound her, this time, with chains.
A sly smirk crossed his face as he watched her there, lying helpless, utterly defenseless, facing him. She had no idea, not a single clue as to where she was.
But he knew. She was right here, right there, all for him.
His breathing hiked up a notch, and with the shallowness of his individual breaths came the fast adrenaline that was set in his body. His heart had very nearly burst from his chest as a million things raced through his mind.
Oh gods, this is really happening. He thought. He watched the girl move a little, swaying from her bonds with her lips pressed into a thin line. She was upset, yes. It was all his fault- she knew he had brought her here.
And she despised him for it.
He walked a couple of steps, just so he was in front of her, and she tensed, sensing his presence near. A scowl alit her features, beautiful, exotic features, and a malicious grin presented itself upon his face.
Oh yes. He liked her like that.
Angry, frustrated, and utterly full of pent-up tension.
He'd had her like this before; many, many times. And he'd be damned if this time didn't turn out as good as the others...
"What do you want with me?" She demanded, her eyes still closed. Her voice wasn't the meek, quiet one she used in class to enchant the teachers, but it was full of boldness, a little fear, and it had caught his heart the moment he'd first heard it.
He didn't answer, but simply looked at her once more. Her clothes were filthy and torn, and her hair wasn't in its usual, neat state, but rather, it was a tumble of random curls and twists that somehow came together to fit with her attire. It was strange. He'd never paid attention to such details before.
She shook against the metal that restrained her, and the resounding clinks shattered down the alley. "RYAN!" He smiled. She was angry. That he had anticipated. But hadn't she known that it was his primary objective, just waiting for her to get all upset and so irresistably cute?
Another water droplet landed on her face, splashing away a little dirt. She rubbed the side of her cheek on her arm, and it was that instance that he had a brilliant idea.
A black strip of velvet cloth appeared in his hand the moment he thought of it. He inched around her, carefully pacing himself so as not to touch her just yet, but close enough for her to almost feel, almost smell, almost taste him.
She shook herself, and he took note of how her lips were perfectly pale and soft, so contrasting with the dirt and mess that surrounded her. It drew him, but he stopped himself, remembering the velvet in his hand. He made his way around her, at the side where she was almost half laid against the musky green walls, and there, he blindfolded her.
She swore, good and loud, and his lips deepened in a awry smile. He loved those words tumbling from her lips. It made her seem so wild- it drove him crazy.
Her mouth was pink, though not glossed this time. Her cheeks were dabbed in dirt, but underneath, he could see the faint remains of blush and foundation.
So, she had dressed up. Though not for him, he supposed.
He wondered, vaguely, where she was about to go before he'd abducted her. Though, he thought, no matter. It was none of his concerns.
He reached to touch her bottom lip, which wasn't thick the way he liked it, but it was soft and generous all the same. She stiffened under his light caress, and he was almost afraid she'd bite him. But she didn't.
She allowed his touch to linger for a moment, and when he withdrew his fingers, she spoke. "I don't understand why... again?"
He brushed his fingers across her bare neck, over the section where her cleavage began, before rubbing down her shoulder. She let him touch her, let his hands wander into her mess of curls and bury his fingers in them. He twirled a few strands around his finger as she sighed, realising that he wouldn't talk to her.
"I was going to meet Troy." She said, almost warily. He'd interupted them on most occasions, and it was strange how the whole cycle seemed to repeat itself over and over again. He would take her away, charm her, sway her passions, but then she'd always go back to Troy. Though, of course, he'd always find a way to get her back.
"I can see you've gotten really innovative with the chains and blindfold." Her drawl was dry, and she swiped her tongue out to dry her lips, a gesture which he himself found oddly arousing. "Can't say much about the leaking pipe and all that-"
She stopped suddenly when his hand landed on her hip, moving slowly, ever so slowly up and down, feeling the fabric slide across the upper part of her thigh over and over again. He could hear her breathing change to a quicker, lighter pattern, and he smiled to himself. He had found a new way to shut her up. Again.
She always talked, he never knew why. Perhaps it stifled her fear a little. God, he wanted her to trust him, just for once, just for goddamn once. But she never would, ever since the first time he had taken her away and made her feel things she'd never felt before. The sensations half scared her, half thrilled her. But she gave into logic and good conscience. She never dabbled with him, never went near things that related to him, and he felt a tad bit insulted by her actions. He wasn't that terrible to her. In fact, he regarded himself as being pretty considerate in comparison to the way she had tempted him.
Short skirts, tight shirts, lacey bras that peeked out from under her blouses. As if she thought he wouldn't notice such details...
"Ryan." She gasped as his nails grazed her bare thigh. The fabric had gathered in the palm of his hand and was pushed away to the side. She was starting to get uncomfortable. Good. He thought. It was a nice change from her stubborn side he had never known until that fateful night when it all first happened.
He knew her body well, through their numerous encounters and from the way he stared at her, either in class or in the cafeteria. He knew every curve, every line, even the butterfly shaped tattoo she had gotten on her seventeenth birthday. He knew it all.
His fingers slipped behind her skirt, wondering if he should undo the zip to completely dislodge the fabric from its hold on her waist. But he didn't. He leaned into her neck, admiring the smooth expanse of skin there, before planting a kiss on it.
It was a gentle, almost innocent kiss that he had bestowed on her, and yet she squirmed as though he had burned her, branded her. "Stop it." She instructed, but he paid no heed to her words. He never found the conversations she tried to hold with him particularly worth holding in the first place.
But he kissed her somemore. Down her thoratic cavity, to her throat, the junction where her neck met her shoulder blade and her ear. It was a slow, almost torturous descent and ascent of his lips on her skin, and despite how desperately he had wanted to speed things up, he knew that this was the only way to break her.
She could barely move her arms because they were bound by metal. But he knew that if she was free, she'd probably push him away and try to run off. He'd let her, for a while, until she realised that she couldn't escape. She would trudge back to him, forcefully delcaring him a murderer, a criminal, a rapist, anything that would transcend her mind, but in the end, she'd still let him have his way. And she'd enjoy it, as much as she hated to admit it.
It was wrong, wrong. She had Troy fucking Bolton, and he was just an ordinary Theater Boy who starred in a ton of school plays. God it was all... just wrong.
How he wished it didn't have to be like this. He envisioned his perfect world before- and it was nothing short of heaven. And there, while he walked upon gold streets and where crystal clear water flowed through the city from all directions, there he'd be, with Gabriella Montez, laughing with her, hand in hand.
But eutopia was simply a far fetched dream that he'd thrown back in his closet and slammned the door shut on, never to be discussed or thought about, ever again.
His mouth began it's trail, leaving kisses to the side of her neck. She let out a careless whisper of words that went along the lines of don't stop. He wished he couldn't hear her speak. Those words that tumbled from her lips, telling him how good his touch felt, it was killing him.
He kissed harder to forget, but her words just kept getting louder. His vision spun once or twice, and his fingers almost dug hard into her waist, causing her to cry out in pain.
It was then that he found water drops on the base of her neck, and as he wiped a sleeve across his face, he realised he was crying.
Silent, shackled sobs wrecked his body and soaked through his shirt fabric. Wet, dark patterns formed on his starched collar, and she noticed that he wasn't touching her anymore.
Instead of his cologne, she smelt tears.
"You're crying." It was more of a statement than anything, and the way the words rolled off her tongue, both dry and boorish, yet laced with a small tinge of concern. Ryan stopped his crying, and immediately, the dream was shattered.
It was all quiet at first- neither of them dared to move.
Ryan was the first to hear the footsteps of Troy Bolton racing into the dark alley in which he had held the brunette hostage. And so he left without so much as a goodbye, not even a short brush of his hand just to let her know of his departure. Nothing.
He ran to where the alley seperated into two lanes, and he took the second, knowing nobody would follow. It was the darker, dirtier side of town that everybody shunned and veered away from. The side where he was born in.
Troy Bolton ran out into the darkened alley, screaming out Gabriella, his face flushed and his hair plastered to his head by sweat. And there she was, hung like a saint of a vision, with chains holding her in place.
His frenzied yells came next, and he tugged hard at the metal restraints, willing them to come off. But they were fixed firmly into place.
She winced in pain, and he apologised, untying her blindfold. He cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her lips to assure her that everything was going to be alright. But it tore him when she didn't kiss back.
Troy didn't have time to dwell on it. Because suddenly, around them, her chains came falling off from up in the high pipes down. They ducked, mouths open in silent screams as the metal came cascading down around them. But the chains never touched them- that he himself had took care to make sure of.
He glanced down at the two figures, the girl and the boy, and his lips curled into a disgruntled frown.
Troy was kissing her, again and again, and she allowed him. He laced his fingers with the brunette's, and she walked out of the alley with him.
But she turned back, only once, just to make sure that he wasn't following.
He wasn't, but she saw him up in the pipes, crouched down as he watched her, and she turned away almost immediately.
The mass of brown curls was the last thing that disappeared into the dark end of the alley with Troy Bolton.
And up in the shadows above, he, too,had disappeared into the darkness of the night sky, thinking about how he would have her the next time...
revamped. it's freshly re-done. whew! i'm tired.