Act of Will (Shang Tsung/Mileena)
Aug. 21st, 2007 09:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jheti
Standard boilerplate: past!fic, vaguely in the same general world-sense or continuity as this. m/f, general consent issues. 200 words.
His signature dries and she waits for it to disappear. When it doesn't, she reads the document again to be certain there isn't more trickery. He fulfilled their accord to the letter. He didn't alter a single stroke. These orders are valid, permanent, and cannot be rescinded by anyone but him. It's good that she's taken to wearing gloves. Her palms are sweating and that would wreak havoc with the parchment.
She replaces it carefully into the lacquer box and sets that by the door. She wants to be able to see it.
Her veil is gone. He witched it off her face the instant she stepped in. She's always more confined with her shame uncovered.
"Don't thank me," he says, as close to gentle as he ever comes.
His grip isn’t something she can break, but she struggles for him as he drags her forward. He sighs in approval. What little modesty she has is gone with a breath and a gesture. His hands are smooth and too hot. Her skin blisters; her gasp of pain is genuine. Only then does he smile.
Her lips convulse back from her teeth in a snarl. "Did you think I would?"
His signature dries and she waits for it to disappear. When it doesn't, she reads the document again to be certain there isn't more trickery. He fulfilled their accord to the letter. He didn't alter a single stroke. These orders are valid, permanent, and cannot be rescinded by anyone but him. It's good that she's taken to wearing gloves. Her palms are sweating and that would wreak havoc with the parchment.
She replaces it carefully into the lacquer box and sets that by the door. She wants to be able to see it.
Her veil is gone. He witched it off her face the instant she stepped in. She's always more confined with her shame uncovered.
"Don't thank me," he says, as close to gentle as he ever comes.
His grip isn’t something she can break, but she struggles for him as he drags her forward. He sighs in approval. What little modesty she has is gone with a breath and a gesture. His hands are smooth and too hot. Her skin blisters; her gasp of pain is genuine. Only then does he smile.
Her lips convulse back from her teeth in a snarl. "Did you think I would?"
