Carolyn Fry (
notyourcaptain) wrote2013-06-10 10:01 pm
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How Many Days?
Carolyn wasn't aware of how long she slept. A long time. The sleep was broken up by nightmares, brief moments of consciousness that quickly slipped away as her body forced her into rest. Maybe she was just that tired, maybe she just needed it. Or maybe the nightmares kept her from really resting as she should have been, so she slept longer to compensate.
Once or twice, she woke up to find Riddick at her bedside, one firm hand on her shoulder as though to keep her from levitating off the mattress. She was barely awake long enough to acknowledge him. The nightmares were awful and persistant - pitch black and full of viscous blood. She couldn't see anything, but she could hear everything, smell it, feel it, the tearing flesh, the cooling rock under her hands, the screeching and hissing. Now and then, a hand would come out of the dark and haul her to her feet, pulling her out of the dream.
When she finally came back to herself, rested but disoriented, it was dark outside and she had no sense of time, didn't know if it had been hours or days. The light at the ceiling still filled the apartment with a sickly glow and she turned slowly onto her back, finding herself achy and stiff, as though she'd been rigid and tense the whole time. She cleared her throat and blinked slowly, not even sure if Riddick had kept his word, if he had stayed by his side the whole time.
Once or twice, she woke up to find Riddick at her bedside, one firm hand on her shoulder as though to keep her from levitating off the mattress. She was barely awake long enough to acknowledge him. The nightmares were awful and persistant - pitch black and full of viscous blood. She couldn't see anything, but she could hear everything, smell it, feel it, the tearing flesh, the cooling rock under her hands, the screeching and hissing. Now and then, a hand would come out of the dark and haul her to her feet, pulling her out of the dream.
When she finally came back to herself, rested but disoriented, it was dark outside and she had no sense of time, didn't know if it had been hours or days. The light at the ceiling still filled the apartment with a sickly glow and she turned slowly onto her back, finding herself achy and stiff, as though she'd been rigid and tense the whole time. She cleared her throat and blinked slowly, not even sure if Riddick had kept his word, if he had stayed by his side the whole time.
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"Something made us forget." Just like something has delivered them, first to Gotham and then to here. Being manipulated and controlled this way makeshim angry, a dangerous sort of anger that he's rarely let himself feel. Riddick fights against it, the touch of her hand helping to ground him.
It's enough to press him down toward her, for him to touch her skin, to cradle her face in his hands. This he remembers, and he wonders how he could ever forget.
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"Riddick-" her voice broke and she was horrified to hear tears behind the name. Carolyn blinked quickly, her grip tightening. Having him closer made it harder. There was a war happening in her mind - the memories stoking a need for him in her gut, not just to have him touching her, but simply having him around. But this was Richard Riddick. She ran when he killed Johns. She didn't trust him, didn't know him. But she could also remember feeling his heartbeat hard against her cheek, and the memory was dark, no lights on in that run down apartment while he held her. What she didn't remember was feeling afraid, not then. Now, was a different story.
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"Riddick-" she didn't know what else to say besides his name, but she didn't want him to go. Carolyn found herself completely overwhelmed with no idea what was happening, but she did know the idea of bearing it alone was agonizing.
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It's enough to hear that she understands what she's getting into, or thinks that she does. Riddick does the only thing he can think of, pulling her toward him, his mouth on hers both gentle and hungry. It's what pulls the last vestiges of walls down for him, a kiss that is but very much isn't their first.
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He is dangerous, and he's sure she knows that, she's seen it up close and personal. It's the only way this can work, understanding that they're both broken and twisted on some level.
She responds and a fire erupts inside of him, a burning need he's been surpressing. Riddick wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her against him and stepping them to the wall.
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She moans once, half her own need, half shock, and her legs tighten around his waist. She does know he's dangerous. She also knows he has nightmares and doesn't like to sleep without touching her, when they share a bed.
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It's his fault, he thinks, first that she died and then that she was abducted and hurt. They're things he can never change, but he believes he can keep her safe now. Safe and close, the level of his feeling for this woman beyond what he considers reasonable. He's not sure of it's the weight of her against his body and in his arms now or the memory of it that's affecting him this way.
A hand twists in her shirt as he steps back toward the bed. Riddick tugs at it as he lowers them down. "Tell me, I'll go."
This has to be what she wants. He won't be responsible for breaking her, not again.
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"I don't want you to go." She loosens her grip on him long enough that her shirt can slide up and off her arms. His strength is immense and she finds herself breathless as she's lowered to the bed, never dropped. Carolyn gets her own hands under his arms, sliding them up his back so his shirt close loose from his pants and she can trace muscle with fingertips. "Don't go. I don't want you to go."
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It's what he needs to hear, twisting his own shirt up and over his head. Riddick splays his hands over her stomach, his fingers drifting over the scar that he can remember so clearly now. Before she can protest that he kisses her, needy and pressured in a way he never allows himself to be. With her, it's different, he knows that now. It always has been, and he's done fighting it, not going to fight it again.
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His hand on her stomach is searingly hot, but the ragged lines of the scar are numb. Carolyn shakes slightly, catching his wrist before he kisses her hard and she's distracted by the press of his tongue. She opens up to him, fingers curling against the back of his neck. She's clinging, and she's very aware of it, but her grip won't loosen, and she's still trembling under his hand. She remembers standing in front of him while he sat, remembers that he leaned forward and rested his head against her stomach. It makes her throat ache, eyes burning until she closes them.
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There are too many memories, and they're overwhelming, distracting, driving him mad. But the touch of her skin grounds him (it always has he remembers then pushes that thought away) and the press of her fingers tethers him here in the now. This isn't a dream, this isn't prophecy or a nightmare. This is real and more important than all of that. Riddick shifts over her, even now always careful to not hurt her. He wants to touch every bit of her, slipping the hand that she's holding further down between them.
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It's confusing, because she gets the sense that his touch has always been gentle, even back on the planet, even when he was throwing and pinning her to the ground. It was never about hurting her. But everything is all mixed up and she can't be sure any of it is true. What feels true is the thump of her heart and the way her stomach pulls tight under his palm. Carolyn is panting against his mouth, blue eyes open wide because she's too wrapped up in this to be afraid to meet his strange gaze.
She lets go of his wrist, giving him permission to touch her where he pleases and her own hand drifts up his arm to his shoulder. He looms over her. Too big for the bed. Too big for the room. Carolyn swallows back a gasp and gives her attention to his belt instead.
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Riddick shifts slightly, roughened fingers skimming the soft skin at her hip, pushing her pants down as he does. It is all mixed up, but he no longer cares what's remembered and what's a dream or if it's all real. Because this is real, her body reacting to his touch, the warmth of her skin and breath beneath him.
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