Proper passions by planet p
Disclaimer I don't own the Pretender or any of its characters.
I decided to write something Samantha/Aylmer because I'd wanted to write something Bruno/Darol but couldn't come up with anything. The characters are also featured in I swear it's you.
I also couldn't remember either of their eye colours, so I'll have to go and look that up sometime soon.
Yes, it's AU; yes, it's disturbing, cos it's me, after all.
Her legs shook, wobbled in all sorts of ways underneath her trench coat, but the coat was so long it hid most of the shaking, and when she'd sat down to pull on her shoes she'd chosen tennis shoes instead of anything fancier so that she wouldn't trip over or twist her ankle.
She was there, now, standing in front of his bedroom door with the lie that they were working on a project for science class together cold and hard like a shard of flint driven through her chest; it only made her legs shake harder. She couldn't believe she'd faced his parents and lied to their faces.
When she reached up a hand and fisted up her fingers to knock on his door, she noticed that her hands were shaking, too. She was cold, and she felt sick. She didn't want to be here, not really, but she couldn't back out now.
She kept remembering the way, just for a moment, Darol had brushed Bruno's hand with her perfect, little fingers like ballerina's legs, and she felt hard, and in pain; like a ball of tightly wound wire, ready to snap.
She knocked on the door, quickly and quietly, just once. She half hoped he wouldn't hear; she half hoped she'd lose her nerve and run.
The door split open a crack to reveal a face that only made things worse; ten fold. "Samantha, isn't this quite the surprise!" Aylmer declared, pulling the door open wider, so that she could see into his bedroom.
She felt really ill.
Without saying anything, she stepped into the bedroom and reached over for the doorhandle. His hand slipped from the handle as she took it, and she shut the door behind her.
"What's this about now, Sammy?" Aylmer asked, his expression a study of enquiry.
She hated that he'd used that name. She wasn't Sammy, and she had no older brother.
She was Samantha.
"I hadn't thought you'd had it in you," she forced herself to repeat the line she'd rehearsed in her mind a hundred times on the walk to his house from hers. "I mean, A+ on a chemistry paper, that's got to be unheard of for you, hasn't it?" She'd meant to sound sarcastic, but she could hear her voice quaking, and she was sure he could, too.
He hadn't raised a hand to her, in any case.
With quavering hands, she set her fingers to the buttons of her trench coat, pulling them free of their buttonholes one by one, and yanked open the trench coat, letting it fall from her shoulders and slide along her arms and the backs of her legs to the floor.
Aylmer gave a low whistle. "Damn!" he muttered. "This isn't all because of one chem paper, is it? Cos, if it is, I gotta say, Sammy… the world of science is definitely looking up for me!"
She watched his eyes travel down her naked body, from her quivering shoulders to the tennis shoes she, ridiculously, still wore. As his eyes sunk lower, she found her own eyes following in a similar direction.
Her chest felt like it'd turned to a hard lump. She couldn't draw breath properly, her lungs had all melted together like plastic in a fire which had then, taken out of the flames, solidified again, horribly disfigured. He'd gone hard.
"Are you for real, Sammy?" he asked, his hands coming up to clamp onto her upper arms. "All this, for me?"
All she could do was nod. She was slowly suffocating, she thought.
He didn't care. His eyes sparkled darkly. A coarse chuckle rose in his throat. "Hang on, did you come over here like this? All this way in…" he gave a cursory nod to the trench coat on the floor, "nothing more than that?"
She nodded again. She was shivering all over now, but she didn't care.
"You must be positively icy," he told her, as though he hadn't, or didn't care less even, to notice the way she was shaking.
She nodded. Her eyes felt like they were swimming. She prayed she didn't lose her last dignity and cry in front of this disgusting excuse for a boy who she'd come to give herself to.
He rubbed his palms up and down her arms. "You're shaking, Dorothy," he said.
She ignored his words.
Clamping his hands to her arms with a vicelike grip, he turned her on the spot, and began to back her toward the bed. She let her feet carry her backward until she felt her legs bump into a mattress and she fell, with a soft thud, to the bed.
The look of pleasure on Aylmer's face made her want to kill him on the spot. She scrabbled at one of her tennis shoes with her other shoe and pushed it off the bed, then repeated the same thing for the other.
The sound of her shoes hitting the floor was too hard; the tears in her eyes welled.
Then, Aylmer was on top of her.
She began a stumbling, shaking chant in her mind; she wouldn't puke. Not in front of Aylmer, not in front of anyone. She could be as strong as she wanted.
She felt Aylmer's weight pressed against her, trapping her.
"You ready for this, Dorothy?" Aylmer asked, and she realised that she'd been staring stiffly ahead of her at his bedroom ceiling for a long time.
She nodded, and gritted her teeth. She didn't want to look at him, it was bad enough that she had to feel him against her, on top of her, his hot skin against her quivering skin.
She tried to think of something else. The whole point is to think about this, and stop thinking about Bruno! she reminded herself.
She gave a high, clear cry of horror.
She forced her mind to clear. It's just Aylmer! she told herself. She got this; she'd watched a documentary on television about it; she got it!
She couldn't breathe.
Aylmer's hands found hers and he lifted one, and then the other, above her head, arranging her fingers around the bars of the bed head.
She gripped the bars tightly, afraid, and let her eyes open.
"Hey, ah, are you getting any of this, or is it just me?" Aylmer asked in a voice which would have been conversational if it hadn't been so puffy and strained.
Her fingers tightened painfully on the bars, fingernails digging into her palms. She opened her mouth, and realised she didn't have anything to say.
Aylmer grinned. "You're such a good girl, Sammy," he told her. "You don't have to be afraid of me. So quiet."
Her throat constricted. He was insulting her, she just knew it! Even that revolting sparkle in his eye was only about insulting her!
He sucked in a rough breath and drive into her more deeply.
She grasped the bars convulsively, as though for dear life, but she couldn't feel any pain, her fingers and toes had all gone numb. She grew suddenly scared that she was about to throw up.
"Sammy! Hey, Sammy!" Aylmer's voice interrupted her whirling, cartwheelling fears. "I'm right here, dumplin'. Right where I've been from the get go. You're one odd girl, I gotta say."
She stared at him in horror.
"Lighten up, shiny thing," he suggested, patting the side of her face with a hand. "You're all kinds of wonderful; I ain't complainin'."
She felt her cheeks go warm, though she didn't know why they would. Aylmer was the last person on Earth she'd take a compliment from!
A little moan fluttered from her throat. It sounded strange; she wondered, for a moment, where it'd come from.
Suddenly, she felt herself still. On top of her, Aylmer had fallen into a slack, unmoving lump.
The warmth disappeared, along with the butterfly feeling – the butterflies were all dead, their shrivelled, desiccating corpses strewn at her feet and across her body, in the pit of her stomach.
She felt panic rise in her. Had she done something wrong? Was he upset at her? Would he hurt her now?
His head was rested on the bed beside hers; she could feel his harsh, heavy breaths on her hair when he turned his head. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he told her in a low voice. "I don't think I'm gonna be able to make this thing work today, Dorothy."
"Try harder!" she hissed. The shock of the words stung. They couldn't have really have been her words, could they?
Aylmer chuckled and lifted his head up off the mattress, brushing his lips against her cheek as though in accident.
Samantha's eyes widened.
Aylmer's teeth had hardened to sharp, angry points. "You're a rainbow," he told her in that same low voice that came out as a growl now. "I'd hate to break you."
Suddenly, she found her hands had left the bars of the bed head and she was pushing frantically at his chest, but getting nowhere.
He was so heavy compared to her flimsy weight!
"I'm sorry. Did I scare you?" he asked in a growl which showed a shimmer of genuine sentiment underneath.
She definitely didn't want to hear that! Her hands curled into tiny, pounding fists. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she was hurting him. She wondered if she could hurt him!
She wondered what the fuck he was!
"You're not even going to finish what you started!" she spat at him, to her own astonishment as much as his.
"I- I'm not sure that would be a wise move, Samantha," he admitted gruffly.
"Are you a vampire?" she demanded.
Laughter bubbled up in his throat, simultaneously amused and strangled. "No, Sammy, I'm not," he replied.
"Get the fuck off me!" she hissed, her voice twisted in cold anger.
He nodded. "Alright, that's only fair."
At the bedroom door, clad in the trench coat once more, she said, "What are you?" Her voice wasn't kind or soft; she was frightened of herself.
Aylmer grinned. The pointed teeth were still there. "I'm special," he told her, and tossed his head. "Of course, 'special' 's another way of politely saying 'fucked over,'" he remarked, dry-voiced.
His voice had returned to some semblance of normality, then.
She said nothing; she turned and walked out.
Outside, she let her tears slide down her face. She ran all the way home, and by the time she got there her face hurt with the tears that had frozen her cheeks.
"I want to."
"What's that, dumplin'?"
"I said, "I want to'!"
"What do you want, rainbow?"
"I want us to finish what we started."
They were standing in the girls' breezeway, outside of the girls' toilet, trading in whispers, though they were the last of the stragglers to wander inside from the high school's playing field.
He was on his way to Sickbay for a dab of disinfectant and a sticky plaster for a scratch he'd got when they'd been playing soccer, so he'd headed to the girls' breezeway instead of the boys'; it was closest to the Sickbay.
"What…? You mean that thing on Saturday?" he asked, struggling to follow. His face was creased into an unusual frown.
She crossed her arms over her chest, then let them drop back to her sides. She really didn't have the time to explain this in agonising detail to him, and, besides, she didn't want to! She should have been getting changed out of her PE uniform with all of the other girls. "What do you think, Edward?" she hissed.
He grinned, and, then, in his typically loud, sly voice, said, "Hey! No, sure! Anytime, dumplin'!"
Miss Habel walked into the breezeway, pulling a face at them both.
Samantha pointed to the girls' toilets, and Aylmer threw out his chin in the direction of the door she'd just come through. She was going to get changed; he was headed that way.
"Miss," Aylmer greeted, as Samantha made her getaway into the girls' toilets.
Miss Habel continued walking.
Aylmer gave a soft laugh and marched off for the door. When he reached the Sickbay, he dropped his head to check out his graze again, only to find that it'd already healed.
He suppressed any cuss words that might've wanted to come out, and headed off for the boys' toilets. He'd have to change back into his standard school uniform quick smart and hope nobody noticed the graze was Bam! And the dirt is gone! whilst he was changing.
He let his feet drag; maybe he'd take his time, he decided, that way he'd be the last to change, hopefully after the others had already left and damn it if he was late for next period. It wasn't as though everybody didn't fit him as one of the truancy types already, anyway!
On his way into the boys' toilets he bumped into Lenoi coming out. Lenoi shot him a wink and said, "The emblematic coast is clear, my friend. I'm the last."
He said nothing but kept walking; the door closed behind him.
He sat down at one of the benches lining the walls when he'd changed, and spent a long time tying his shoelaces. Just because everyone believed him to be an unmanageable bastard, as immoral as he was heartless, didn't mean he didn't have doubts over this thing he'd let himself get involved in with Samantha, and all because she was a cute kid who did all kinds of things to his motor with just the sound of her voice.
He should have known better than to fall for that, especially with a kid like Samantha.
Lenoi would have never fallen for it, of that he was sure.
He finished tying his last lace, finally, and stood. He needed to get to class now, anyway, so he could just kick any previous thoughts to the curb.
And he needed to pay attention in class.
"What should we do about this… thing?" he asked, as he was leaving the schoolyard after school and so was she.
She didn't look at him as she walked, she just kept walking.
He watched her kick a bit of trash, a crushed soda can, its colours faded with age, and made a split second decision to follow her. It wasn't as though they went home in the same directions, and she wasn't stopping for him, either. "So what's with your brother?" he asked in a lowered voice. "Those were some of my top creepy vibes yet, and he didn't so much as bat an eyelid. He some kind of… funny?"
"He goes to a special school," Samantha muttered, kicking the can in front of her with a shoe. "I don't know what's wrong with him, so give it up! Mom and Dad obviously don't believe I have the necessary skill set to handle knowing something like that."
"You're a smart girl, Sammy. Don't you think it's time you laid down the law?"
She laughed and spun her chin about to glare at him. "No! Cos you know why? I'm a kid! And kids don't get to lay down the law!"
"Not in our household," she snapped at him.
"Fair enough," he replied.
Some parents were like that; with some families, it worked well; with others, not so well. After all, some kids needed it. Well, probably all kids needed it at one point or another in their lives, he reflected. It was just a matter of not overdoing it, and of not letting it slip, of continually reinforcing it.
He sighed. "So, what? You want me to come to your house? How is that gonna look to your folks? I ain't gonna be raising any eyebrows turnin' up on your doorstep, am I?"
She answered with a strangled laugh.
He stopped abruptly and threw out a hand to catch her arm in an iron grip; she wasn't going anywhere until he decided she was.
She spun back to him at once, raising a hand to retaliate, but he caught it before she could muster anything harmful. She glared at him, seething, through dark eyes.
He pulled her to him with bone-jarring swiftness, capturing her wrist behind her back with one hand and placing another hand behind her head, tangled in her hair, his lips hovering over her mouth so close she could feel the heat of them on her own lips.
She resisted the overwhelming urge to lick her lips.
"I just asked you a question, now I'd appreciate if you deigned me with an answer," he scowled, pronouncing 'answer' as 'ahnswer.'
"I know somewhere," she hissed, barely moving her lips as she did. "Get your fucking hands off of me, loser!"
"I assume this 'somewhere' is both discrete and comfortable," he pressed.
Her eyes shot hazel daggers at him as their breath mingled.
"Fuck, shit!" he cursed. He crashed his lips against hers, kissing her long and greedily.
Samantha made a little mewing sound.
Aylmer dropped his hands from her hair and her wrists abruptly and propelled her backward, away from him. "SHIT! FUCK! CAN'T YOU JUST FUCKING STAY AWAY FROM ME!" he screamed, suddenly, uncontrollably.
He couldn't do this! He couldn't be near her and not be able to have her! Not be able to have her like he needed her!
The small shove he'd given her was nothing compared to the wave of fury she felt run off him. She felt it, as though it was real, and it both scared her and intoxicated her: she had real power over him! She could hurt him!
It made her hungry; it made her want to finish what they'd started.
Her mouth split into a smirk and she looked him over with a casual brush of her eyes. "Oh, dear," she said.
His eyes hardened to stone and she saw that he was visibly shaking. "Don't tempt me, girl!" he growled from low in the back of his throat.
She smiled all the wider. "What'll you do?" she teased, and, with a violent swish of air, she felt her chin bang against his chest.
"You have no idea," he growled, dead serious, as he looked down on her with bluish-purplish eyes.
Like flowers, she thought, as her breath slipped away from her.
The nature reserve was the 'somewhere' she'd been talking about, and it had a nice, little picnic area which was nicely deserted in this weather. She turned to look at him, her schoolbag hitting against her back as she walked, and grinned.
He made no comment. It was out in the open, and it wouldn't have been his choice, that much was certain.
She noticed that his eyes had returned to faded grey.
She slipped the straps of her schoolbag from her arms and let the bag plonk! on the ground, stopping and turning to him fully. "Kiss me again," she told him.
He bent over to pick up her bag and deposited of both of the schoolbags at one of the picnic tables before returning to her. He put a hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. "I'm a monster," he said seriously. "I eat little girls like you for dessert."
She laughed, her eyes rolling up for a moment.
The youthful, puffy sound stabbed at his chest.
He lifted her chin with his hand and carefully brought his mouth to meet hers.
All the while that they were kissing, Aylmer kept reminding himself that she wasn't like him; that she needed to breathe on a regular basis, that he couldn't bite her because she wouldn't just heal up like he did. It put a dampener on things, and it was extremely frustrating, but he couldn't give her up now. He had to keep her.
If he couldn't, he felt like he'd stop existing.
Which was exactly his objection to what they'd started in the first place. She'd think he was some kind of lunatic, or a control freak; and, for all he knew, she'd be right in thinking it!
He pressed her against a large pine tree and tried not to squeeze her to death.
Samantha tugged at his clothes. She had to get them off; she had to get back to the feeling she'd been too frightened to acknowledge two days earlier. She needed him to be with her on this, inside of her. She needed to be free.
He hoisted her up against the tree's rough bark and tangled himself between her legs, and her arms, but they were still wearing too much clothing, and she was so hot! It was killing her!
She moaned and pushed at him. "Fuck me, for fuck's sake! Fuck me, now!"
The ground was hard, and pine needles and little bits of twigs and tiny pebbles, or bits of gravel, reached up to pinch into her exposed skin, but she felt none of this is the wake of what she felt bursting inside her, eating her up with hungry flames.
She couldn't wriggle, or pull, or scratch enough of him to put that flame out. She groaned and giggled and her throat hitched, and she groaned again.
What was wrong with him – why would he do this to her? And what was wrong with her – why would she want him to? Over and over and over again.
Yes, she decided, they would have to do this again.
She writhed and bucked and rocked, and the trees whistled in the wind around them. She was going to love this place forever after today.
She gave a sharp cry as he bit into her upper arm, and a peel of laughter exploded from her throat. Crap, he'd actually bitten her!
If he was the monster, then what was she? she wondered. What was she who would excite such passions inside of him?
When it was over, when they were both panting for breath and pulling clothes back on, she looked over and frowned at the tattoo adorning his lower back. A dragon, maybe? she thought. But why did he have it? Surely he wasn't old enough for tattoos, yet; as she wasn't.
She dropped her eyes to the forest floor and did not broach the subject.
She was just pulling on her cardigan when he backed her against a tree and brushed the cardigan away, and began kissing the bite mark on her arm.
It stung but she said nothing.
He had a tattoo, and she had a bite mark.
Wasn't she the proper little rebel! she thought.