Elevator Music: Fire In Your New Shoes by Kaskade (ft. Dragonette)


Summary: And after he kissed her, she knew she wouldn't be able to resist him anymore. S/K. OOC.


Looking back, she should've realized that something was bound to go wrong.


She met him a long time ago - when she was young and naïve, and when he was experienced and older. But he couldn't have her, and that frustrated him. It made her happy, though, because she couldn't trust herself with him around. And she was little miss sunshine, after all. The virtuous goody-goody and the forbidden fruit, all rolled into one.

(And she couldn't afford to make that mistake. Not in this society.)


He was determined to have her in every way possible. And thus the little black book (he calls it his "journal") was born. He was going to get her, he told himself, even if it killed him.


She thought it was amusing to see him fidget and try so hard, to see him please her in every way possible.

(Except for that one, of course. That would be very, very wrong. Especially because he was her step-brother and she was his step-sister.)


She was donning a white lace gloves and a pretty pastel colored headband when he trapped her behind the back of the school. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the garbage wafting from the cans beside them.

"Have you any dignity?" she asked him.

"Just the best for the best, darling," he replied, pulling at the waist of her skirt.

And after he kissed her, she knew she wouldn't be able to resist him anymore.


"Do you think," she unbuttoned his shirt, "that we can actually be together?"

They were behind the school again; the eighth time in two weeks.

She remembered hearing him laugh harshly. "Of course not, darling."

Her hands stopped at the waist of his jeans. "Pardon me?"

He backtracked. "You have to understand, darling, we're related. If anyone finds out that I'm fucking my sister, we'd be destroyed."

She was silent for a moment, unblinking.

"And so would our parents," he added.

She sighed. "You're right, you're always right." And her hands went to the button on his jeans.


"I have something for you," he told her.

"Oh?" Her eyes were shining.

"Yes, look," he took out a necklace with a cross hanging off the end.

Her eyes became dull. "Oh."

He laughed, "No, open it."

"Open what?"

"The cross."

She shot him a curious look, and took the necklace from his hands, unscrewing the cross. "What… what is it?"

He laughed again. "Don't tell me, darling, that you've never done a line."

And when she shook her head, he gave her a pitying smile and showed her how.

(He seemed to show her all the bad things these days.)


They were in the back of the school, again, her hands in his hair and his lips on hers, when he halted his movements.

"We have to stop."

She should've known what was coming from the way he left out the word darling, but she was young and naïve and he was experienced and older.

"It's alright," she assured him, "I'm on the pill."

He shook his head. "It's not that."


"We can't keep doing this anymore, baby."

"Pardon me?" She was too appalled by what he had just said to catch the use of baby.

"We just – we need to see some new people."


She never got an answer.


So the next day, she put on her newly bought red leather skirt and some charcoal heels and headed off to school.

He had her pinned against the brick wall before first period had started.


And it happened like that for a while – she would wear a seductive smile and a revealing blouse with a tight skirt and he would have her, all of her, every single day.

(And she would never admit, but she needed this more that he did.)


It was a foggy Thursday and she had on her red headband as she headed toward the garbage cans. She expected to see him standing there, smirk in place and shirt halfway unbuttoned. Instead, though, she found him clad of clothes, and another girl moaning in her place.

And when he saw her, he wasn't guilty or apologetic, but smiling, grinning evilly. "Join us, baby?"

She blinked, turned around, and headed back into the building.


On Friday, she wore sunglasses to hide the red of her eyes. She beat him to the back of the school before he did. But with her, she had the football star, Court something.

She had his clothes off within a minute, and her hands were scraping his back in the next.

(And she didn't even turn around when she heard the back entrance snap open.)


It was a new week, a clean slate, and she chose to start it off with some ankle boots and a black hat.

She went to the back of the school expecting him to be there, face apologetic.

But he wasn't.


She should've known something was wrong when they called her into the main office during third period. But she was young and arrogant and she hadn't suspected a thing.

(Until they told her to unscrew her cross.)


"Why did you do it?"

The back of the school seemed to paint the scene, as always.

"You made me angry, baby, what else was I to do?" He questioned, his mouth twitching. "Just forgive and fuck?"

"Yes," she answered.

(Truthfully, for once.)

He chuckled and she felt juvenile compared to him. "We're even now, baby."

And she didn't stop him when he unzipped her skirt.


She went to school the next day fashioning some black lace gloves.

She should've known that he would win, he would always win.

(But she was young and naïve and he was experienced and older.)

Between the Lines: Hey. So I just watched Cruel Intentions yesterday, and this sort of just wrote itself. It's out of character, of course, because I haven't watched the prequel and the sequel and all. Review?