A Certain Kind of Pain
Bree - NSFW
Did you know that crows get to like the chemical in ant bites? Formic acid, I think. They start to get so addicted to it that they'll spread out their wings on top of anthills.
--Holly Black
Bree - NSFW
Did you know that crows get to like the chemical in ant bites? Formic acid, I think. They start to get so addicted to it that they'll spread out their wings on top of anthills.
--Holly Black
She saw him, unexpectedly, at the art show. Jean didn't really leave the house much, even now. He took homebody to something of an extreme, but Bree liked that about him, because it was the single and only reliable thing about him.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw his profile in the crowd, suddenly training on him like a hound that's spotted a rabbit. Then it tried to beat three times at once, an arrhythmic series of pounding that made her chest ache. She flooded with a low flush, a creeping and immediate happy pleasure just at the sight of him. She was drawn towards him like a magnet, didn't even notice herself taking steps. But then, he had that effect on everyone, didn't he.
He seemed to catch notice of something, perking like a dog that's caught a scent, and scanned the crowd. Her, she realized. He smelled her, or tasted her, or whatever it was he did, precisely. Her emotions, the burst of pleasured happiness. He'd recognized her, perhaps, just from the taste in the air of her sweet painful puppy love.
The reminder that he could tell, that he could taste that on her as surely as she could taste red, red wine on his tongue, served to turn her cheeks from a flush of pleasure and joy to one of intense embarrassment. But he could taste that too, which only served to frustrate her. She got a little furious with herself all at once, for doing this, always, with him, why was it always him, how had he sunk his claws so deep under her skin. And how could she get him to sink them deeper.
It was an interesting and frustrating little avalanche of feeling. She probably tasted like a goddamn hotpot.
And then he turned a bit more, and she saw the woman on his arm right as his eyes fell on her.
The emotion all drained out of her at once, her ears flattening down against her head and her expression going flat and dull. She took the woman in, briefly. A beauty of pale skin and dark hair, like a color palette swap of Bree herself. Long straight hair and a thin build helped cement how very unlike Bridget Corey the woman was. Some model, perhaps, or a supernatural something, or maybe just the most recent woman Jean had decided to destroy. Either way, Bree flatlined at the sight of her.
She turned away, already hating the steps she'd taken towards him, eyes hitting the crowd again as she wandered off, away. She wasn't the type to go up to Jean when he had a date, to make a scene or a fuss or even just make the woman feel insecure. She knew what he got up to, knew who he got up to. He did it enough when she was there, some nights, so he could enjoy the mixed bouquet of pleasure and utter broken agony.
She'd like to say she didn't let it get to her, but that was such a lie. It had gotten to her a long time ago and set up permanent residence in her chest. Now it was old and familiar and she knew how to deal with it. By being somewhere else, with someone else, and not letting him lick the pain off her like a lollipop.
She found Axel in the crowd, obvious by his dark skin and the inappropriate way he was staring around, unabashedly enjoying himself in a place for reserved aristocrats to try to have appropriate reactions to things that had no set response, not really, but people were always sure they did, that there was a right answer.
She tucked her arm around his, much the way the beautiful woman had been tucked around Jean. She was glad he was there, and not just because of Jean. She hadn't wanted to come to this dumb thing alone.
He was warm to the touch, a little space heater of a man who warmed her skin and cauterized the bleeding of her heart with his sheer earnestness, the honesty with which he moved through the world. Nothing like Jean. Nothing like other pretty little liars who'd slid in and then out of her life. Easy to think of him as stupid, in comparison, and maybe she did, but maybe that was part of what she liked. It was hard to feel threatened by an idiot.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he looked surprised but happy, clearly unsure what had brought this on, but not complaining.
Jean didn't get jealous. She knew this. But actually she could swear he did, sometimes, over the silliest, pettiest things. Not this, though, never this, because he was more willing to share her than she was to be shared, and Axel was too much a good hearted fool to break his toy.
But apparently he didn't have the little stopgap, like she did, to keep him from coming over when she was hanging off another man, trying to take comfort in the existence of someone who she could hurt more readily than he could hurt her.
The woman was still hanging comfortably off of Jean's arm. The sight caused Bree to tighten her own grip on Axel. Wishing she could turn around and steer them away, but lacking the force of will to do so. Not when Jean was headed straight for her, eyes locked with hers, faintest smile on his lips. He was about to hurt her. Bree knew he was about to hurt her. But she was as frozen to the spot as any little prey in the path of something determined to eat them.
If she wasn't feeling so dull inside, she'd probably be mad at herself for being so generally enthusiastic about the eating, honestly.
"Why, Miss Corey!" Jean said cheerfully, setting the tone for what was bound to be an intensely unpleasant encounter for everyone involved except him. "How unusual, to see you at such an upscale event! And looking so put together, as well!" he added, his eyes tracing briefly up and down her gown. Which he most likely recognized, as he was the one who bought it for her, but there was never any telling what he would consider worth remembering. Then his eyes traced over to Axel, to whom she was still clinging like a lifeline, and his lips curled into a finer grin. "Oh~! And who is this handsome young man? I do not believe I have had the pleasure of his acquaintance."
Axel, of course, seemed perfectly comfortable with this turn of events, and was smiling in as friendly a manner as ever. Bree suspected he picked up on her tension, but his default reaction to things that might threaten either of them was to smile and laugh.
Bree, meanwhile, was managing to punch through the intense desire for this not to be happening and latched on to something familiar. Being as much of a bitch as possible to Jean, and damn the consequences. "Jean!" she said, not nearly as warmly as him, but certainly trying, with a smile that almost definitely failed to reach her eyes. "So nice to see you out of the house and dressed!" Very dressed, very finely, but she didn't need to think about that right now. "This is Axel. Surely I've mentioned him before?" she mused. "He lives with me, after all... Surely I've had you over to my apartment since he moved in?" His apartment, the apartment belonged to Jean, and no, he certainly had never once come over.
"Oh, do you like it?" he preened, pressing a hand to his own suitcoat. "Not as well as you would like nothing, I am sure, but this is not that kind of show." Her cheeks flushed slightly, and the only retorts coming to mind were more pickup lines than retorts, because he was very much not wrong. She forced her eyes over to his date--who didn't look any more pleased than Bree about this turn of events--to remind herself of why she was cross with him. Of course, he just followed her gaze.
"Ah! So many things slip my mind. You have not yet met my lovely friend, have you? I do so enjoy having an elegant woman at an elegant event, do you not agree, Miss Corey?"
That got her. Anger and hurt flared despite her attempt to keep a lid on them, sharp claws into a wound that he kept to fresh to allow it to scab over. A classy woman, not like her, someone who was expected to be at an event like this. Axel gave Bree's arm a squeeze as her grip tightened, but even that wasn't enough to calm her.
"I don't believe so, no!" she replied, voice trying to keep its cheer. Before she'd been pulled back into Jean's gravity, she would never have been able to do this, plaster on a fake smile and keep her biting metaphorical. She'd been given something of a crash course. "It can get a bit confusing for me, trying to keep them all straight," she added with a thin smile. "I'm sure if this flavor lasts longer than a month, I'll be able to remember her name."
Jean looked mildly amused, which was annoying. The woman looked lowkey furious, which was also annoying. Bree tried not to pick fights with Jean's dates, knowing they had as little say in the situation as Bree did. But she was always really shit at not picking fights, in general. Jean opened his mouth to reply, no doubt with something elegantly crushing, but the woman spoke up before he could. "A classy flavor fits the event, Miss Corey," she said icily. "Much more so than..." She tilted her head to the side, glancing Bree up and down. "Fried chicken?" she suggested mockingly, and Bree stiffened even more, even her fake smile vanishing into what was almost certainly a potent glare.
More dangerously for everyone involved, however, the trace smile was also gone from Jean's face, his lips curled downwards in a displeased frown as he regarded his date with a much less fond expression. His grip shifted on her arm, causing her to glance over, and the woman's victorious expression faded at the sight of the one Jean was wearing. A single raised eyebrow, and Bree knew that look. She got a little tremor herself, despite it being aimed at someone entirely different, because she could remember it being aimed at her. He barely even had to tilt up his chin to look down at someone, tall as he was, and he could pack enough disdain to make it feel like a physical blow.
"Please, excuse Miss Johnson," he said, voice less icy than his expression as he glanced back over to Bree, who was somewhat pleased to see the woman demoted from "my date" to "Miss Johnson," despite the anger she still had in spades towards both of them. "Talking is not one of the better skills her mouth possesses."
Axel found his hand with hers, intertwining their fingers. A much-needed distraction from the both of them. "A shame she can't make up her shortcomings to all of us in such a way," Bree snapped, no longer finding the situation worth putting up with for the sake of... whatever it was she'd been putting up with it for. "If you'll excuse me--this isn't a modern art exhibit, so I didn't come to look at trash that was someone's idea of attractive." She tightened her grip on Axel, practically dragging him away as she turned and stormed off.
She wished very much she could leave, but she was at this goddamn event for a reason, and so she had to stay and sulk, fuming while Axel peppered her with question, the way he always did. It was the first time he'd met Jean, but he'd certainly heard of him plenty. Bree, however, was very much not in the mood to talk about Jean Cernunnos anymore.
It was probably due to her state of sulking that it took her so long to realize that the ambiance had gone from "art murmurs" to "concerned murmurs" to "active shock." And even then, it was Axel who noticed first, and began tugging on her arm, curious to see what all the fuss was about.
Really, she should have guessed that Jean would be at the center of it. When was he not?
She certainly hadn't expected this, however. Somehow, he'd gotten into a room--a room that almost had to have been locked, and likely still was judging by the fact this was still happening--one that had been previously projecting a live feed of a bowl of fruit. She hadn't really understood the point, despite the fact that learning that shit was like the only reason she was even here.
Had been was an important word, for right now, the only art anyone was staring at was a live feed of someone getting a blowjob in front of said fruit.
Bree, of course, instantly recognized both parties: the face of the woman she'd just spat with... and, of course, she would unfortunately recognize Jean's dick anywhere.
"Oh, Christ," Bree groaned quietly, running a face over her hand. "Seriously?" There was literally no way Jean hadn't done this on purpose. Did the woman know? How did one miss a camera? Was this just another fucking way to rub it in, or was Jean just enjoying horrifying and/or arousing an entire crowd? Both, probably. Jean did love to multitask these things.
"Is this part of the art show?" Axel whispered, staring with the same idle curiosity as he had stared at everything else in the gala, including half the people.
"Only if you consider a massive prick to be a work of art," Bree growled, knowing damn well the double meaning would be lost on him.
"More fun to look at than half of the stuff so far," Axel suggested. "But they should have gotten someone better at it."
"We're leaving," Bree declared. She'd rather lose her extra credit than watch as this stupid--awful, unskilled, racist bitch utterly fail to perform in a satisfying matter. Not that it would have been more fun to watch if she'd been the master of cocksucking... but as it stood, it was just fucking awkward. She was trying to make up for her lack of skill with enthusiasm. It was not helping as much as she probably hoped it was.
"Why do you always want to leave when interesting things start happening?" Axel whined.
"Because your definition of interesting involves mortal danger!" she snapped, knowing damn well he was still sour about her dragging him out of that fae party.
"We're not in danger now," he complained. "Can't we watch the art show?"
"Axel, I swear to god--"
"Oooh, something's happening!"
Bree glanced over her shoulder, against her better instinct. The something that was happening was, apparently, the money shot. Great. She definitely hadn't seen him coming on someone else enough, and she had certainly needed to see it projected against a wall in high definition. For sure. Bree scowled. "This is disgusting. We're leaving," she repeated.
"Is this one of those weird human hang-ups?"
"Axel, if you ask me one more question, I am going to make you sleep in the bathtub," Bree promised darkly. She had no real intention of following through on that threat--there was literally no point in him sleeping anywhere but her bed. It's not like she used it.
"You can't threaten me with that anymore," he whined. "The bathroom locks from the inside."
Bree fixed him with a look not dissimilar from ones Jean had given her. "So if I tell you to stay in the bathroom, you won't?"
"...I might not," he said sullenly, looking away, cheeks darkening with a blush that made her feel slightly better.
She was distracted long enough that when she glanced back up, Jean’s dick was no longer in the picture. Small blessings. But she was still intent on leaving, knowing that if she did not, Jean would no doubt be by shortly to rub glass into her wounds and enjoy the bouquet of her suffering. But she paused, watching. The woman seemed confused. Then she glanced in the direction of the camera, eyes widening.
Ah... so she hadn’t known.
Against her better judgment, Bree watched idly, expression muted, arms crossed, as the woman seemed to yell something. It was interesting, to watch her expression grow crushed without the benefit of knowing what was being said.
She wondered how many faces Jean had put that expression on. Hers was certainly on the list. Despite that, she felt no real sympathy for the woman who’d so recently maligned her, instead watching with a dull sort of lack of interest as she furiously wiped her face off, come and tears.
Jean had never done that to her. Nothing so bad. Humiliation, certainly, but not...
The woman scurried off camera, and murmurs hit the room again until, expectedly, she emerged from the hallway towards the back of the gala. Bree’s eyes traced over her with detached curiosity. A mess, makeup smearing and come in her hair and wiped against her dress, staining it. Trying very hard not to make eye contact with anyone as she sped towards the exit.
“Brutal,” she muttered to no one in particular. “Even for Jean.”
“Can you explain what just happened?” Axel whispered, clearly lost to the intricacies of human culture once again.
“Not worth explaining,” Bree murmured, her eyes on the hallway still as people began to mill about again, talking to themselves in shocked tones. Not particularly interested, it seemed, in whose cock had just been the star of the show.
It had been brutal, even for Jean. Because he’d been annoyed by her? ...Because of what she’d said to Bree...? The dulled, dead feelings inside her couldn’t quite bury the little bloom of curious satisfaction at the idea. Hurt someone for her, like when he’d murdered the werewolves out to kill her. Because of her, because she was his. A plaything, but his plaything.
He emerged from the hallway, looking absolutely unruffled, no sign that he’d just been the recipient of a remarkably sloppy blowjob. His eyes fixed onto hers effortlessly from across the room, lips twisting into a grin with the smallest hint of pointed teeth.
“Do you still want to leave?” Axel asked, and her eyes didn’t leave Jean’s as she replied.
“...Might as well stay. We’ve made it through the worst part.”
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