Disclaimers: If they belonged to us, people stupid enough to fight in
four-inch heels would never win.
Spoilers: This is all old news...
Summary: Not just for May anymore.
Ratings Note: Big, zaftig NC-17.
Authors' Notes: Apparently, Marrow has the kind of stamina Messalina
only *wished* she had.
Acknowledgments: To everyone who makes it to the end. <g>
Feedback makes you a better person: mailto:email@example.com,firstname.lastname@example.org
Jane: Contemplating a who. Callisto's the obvious choice, but I know
less than nothing about her, except that she led the Morlocks and
Storm kicked her ass and Marrow loves her (comic calls her Marrow's
mentor, but). Backstory, maybe.
Te: *nodding* All I know is that she's butch, angry, bitter, had an
epiphany at some point down the line and became somewhat good, may
have lost that epiphany at a later date.
I, of course, love the vaguely incestuous taste of this one, the
comfort and rage beneath it all.
I see Callisto smiling savagely when a sharp and sudden bone growth
leaves her with a long, shallow slash along her thigh and pelvis. When
Marrow leans down to lap away the blood...
In a way that's as threatening as it is submissive. Animal-girl all
sharp edges and claws. Only intimate after the first seconds. Tongue
on her skin, flattened against the wound, holding it closed for single
seconds. Starkly pleasurable above the wound's burn, something she
could moan into, except that Marrow looks up at her with just the
thinnest edge of blood on her mouth and *smiles*, like she's won some
kind of hunt, like she's been soaking in the blood of a killed thing,
lips the same oxidized colour as her hair.
Pack mentality of course. They all lived on their own. The ugly ones.
The *strong* ones, stunted because of the up-world. The world that's
supposed to be her own, now. Reconciled and healthy. No one to take
revenge on, no one touchable, so meekness becomes a virtue. Except
that right now, right here, with her favorite girl, it's all bullshit.
Mad, scared Sarah, big girl with memories no one should have.
Marauders and Callisto wants a gun in her hand. One with real,
inhumane bullets to rend and tear the flesh that rent her pack.
Or just another family, well-fed and tall and just mad enough,
like the womanchild grinning at her, half-pinning her down.
Well and fine, and she's wet. Is this wrong? Upworlders would have a
million reasons to say yes. Callisto's instincts, however... Begins
to lay back, settle into the motions of surrender, looking up at the
rot-beamed roof of this old warehouse in the middle of nowhere, dusty
grey sunlight setting the dirt and bugs to sparkle within the beams.
Nasty things, disease and filth, gilded as falsely as any dime store
charm. No room for fantasy here.
Sarah leaning over her, crawling up close to her and Callisto strikes,
tooth and claw, little dirty rat-fighter and the taste of iron in her
mouth and Sarah only grins wider and it's beautiful.
Knife-slash smile gleaming in the dimness, leaning in to claim a
brutal kiss just as a relatively small spike of bone pierces her
cheek, slashes Callisto's own.
Instant of agony, brighter than before, and Sarah jerks back. Huge
fear in her eyes. Of making greater ugliness, maybe. Until Callisto
dips a finger into the new wound and licks it, carefully. Dips again
and offers it to Sarah.
Who takes it and sucks. Long, careful wetness with the only part of
her not physically dangerous. Verbally . . . but nobody upworld pays
particular attention to that, do they? All Sarah's curses just make
her a filthy, swearing thing from down below. Never heard her
affectionate obscenities and the way that love can pour black out of
Callisto sits up, leans in and kisses more carefully, withdrawing her
finger only once she's found Sarah's tongue with her own. Wet, wet
like she's wet between her legs, wanting this girl. Reaching into her
ripped t-shirt to find the rounded, scarred breasts inside. Kneading
them while Sarah pulls back and traces a tongue-tip over the gash in
Bloody all over her face and gasping by the time Callisto can pull
her back down. Sarah hunches above her, aware again of how impossible
the animal pleasure of full-body contact is. But grinning just the
Fuck, *yes*, and what's better than this, right here? Joy of one of
her young ones and the reek of sex and blood in the air. Screw life,
screw *their* beauty, because they can't know anything like this.
Callisto slides her leg between Sarah's carefully, gaining a scrape on
her calf before slipping into place. Shifts a little so her knee is
right where she wants it, pressing hard against Sarah's sex, hot, so
hot and yeah, wet, too. Little 'o' of surprise, skewed out of
proportion by the bone sticking out of her cheek.
Curved and jagged and all the encouragement Callisto needs to start
rocking against her, kneading against her, flexing her thigh muscles
for more leverage and movement, and just because it feels *good*.
Sarah braced above her, head thrown back and gasping, breath catching
somewhere deep in her chest to produce tiny half-moans and grunt.
Animal, animal wild and right and Callisto rips open Sarah's shirt,
chuckles under her breath at the slick satin prettiness of her bra,
lacy at the top, purple red as her hair.
No patience for finesse, and she just yanks the bra down, tearing it
a little to leave Sarah's heavy breasts high and trapped there. Wrong
angle for her mouth but perfect for her hands. Thumbprint circles
around her nipples, getting harder and harder, flesh rippled and pink.
Scratches her nails over them once and again, harsher this time and
leaving welts that make Sarah cry out, push back against her knee.
Fast, tough rhythm, counter to her ragged and random squeezes and
brushes at Sarah's breasts and *fuck* this she wants them in her
Flips them over with a grunt, barely manages to avoid impaling
Comes at them from the side, licks up the track of every welt and
Sarah has her eyes closed, writhing beneath her. Sudden heat where
Callisto's holding Sarah's wrist down and she jerks clear just in
time to miss the new bone growth there.
It's all right, it's just fine, and the best part is knowing the only
comfort she has to give is just what she's doing -- nibbling at the
rows of white scars, lapping around the bone jutting from Sarah's
sternum, dried blood and ravaged flesh. Back up to a nipple and
sucking, crooning in a hum before getting up on her knees for one,
long look at what she's wrought.
Strange line in her head, then, about the lilies of the field.
Strange because it's so terribly wrong, in mood and in colour. Agony
and labour in her touches, and the path she's left is raised purple
and red. Bruises in the shape of teeth around the torn flesh healing
itself carefully, and the now-shredded lace of Sarah's bra, and the
hair she knows will be *there*, just under the cut-off jeans, when she
can get them down and off.
Harder than it sounds. Bone-edges catch on the denim, rip it and
snare and refuse to let go for the longest time. Better only because
now at least the shorts are open, and if Callisto can't get them off,
she can at least get *in*. Stroke the somehow oddly tender flesh
just above Sarah's pubic line, stroke up the thinly-haired insides of
Then *loose*, because the shorts give when they strike the next bone
and Sarah kicks them off. Lies there almost naked, hips held together
with bizarrely chaste white cotton, the crotch of it soaking to
translucence. Wetness Callisto can touch and taste without ever
reaching skin. Rubs there with the heel of her hand and gets to
witness the sensation run up Sarah's body to the base of her skull.
Into her throat where it comes out as a barely-voiced
There's blood barely dripping down her own thigh, unimportant in the
face of this body and the pain that tracks up it at unpredictable
moments, but blood just the same. Brilliant and almost strange-
coloured when it slides from her flesh down to Sarah's.
Rubs it into a stain that will crackle and itch later. After. Bends
down to it and just nuzzles the air above it. Lets out the tip of her
tongue knowing Sarah's watching this. Watching her.
Grins wide and scuttles back hefts and spreads strong thighs and dives
in. One long lick from cunt to clit and back again. Gets scored again
when Sarah bucks and the pain just adds to it. The whole bloody sex
*thing* they've got there, just for the two of them. Morlocks forever
and suddenly Callisto could be a child again. Not the pretty child she
was, not *ever* that vapid little thing, but a grinning little devil
with an eyepatch and a face full of pussy.
Pushes closer, sucks and licks and bites too hard, just once, to hear
her beautiful girl growl and she knows neither of them feel like games
here. Not with the seam of her jeans making her sweat, not with hot
slick salt and musk, and Callisto drags a hand away from Sarah's
breast, down and down, spreading her a little more, getting her finger
wet and shoving in with a sort of careful brutality she's been using
on herself for years.
Welcomed with a cry and she's inside now. Knuckle bumping her chin and
fucking Sarah, making her moan and writhe, tasting her and testing her
and *making* her. *All yours and you're mine,* she doesn't say.
Doesn't think she has to.
Faster now and sucking it up, juicy and fresh pretty girl and Callisto
knows no one who's mattered has ever been here before. No one but her
can make it this good for her baby girl.
Crooning it now, come on, come on, give it up and the name Sarah gives
Callisto when she comes might as well have been her own all along.
Yeah, she can be Sarah's mama, too.
Stays crouched there, breathing the smell of Sarah's ecstasy while the
girl pants in front of her. Little heaving breaths moving that
scarred belly. Warmth in her own belly and breasts just from
watching, just half-aware of how wet she is herself.
Callisto feels rather than sees Sarah move. Raises her head and meets
the eyes starting down that wonderful body at her and rolls back to
her heels to meet that look. Thick, luscious *glow* under Sarah's
fierceness. She scoots herself up, gets her center of gravity under
her without breaking her gaze off.
One hand comes up. It's been a bad day for it; the flesh's almost
invisible under the bone growth. Sarah flexes it for a second and
turns it over, showing off. The jagged places. Keeps watching
Callisto while she brings her other hand up and begins snapping those
bones off and tossing them away to reveal the skin underneath, like
shelling some creature from deep under the ocean.
Fascinating and bloody when it emerges, blood streaking over the
flesh, and the whole appendage looks more than vaguely wounded, but
Sarah stretches each finger out as though she's suddenly broken loose.
She reaches out with it and hooks one pale finger into the waist of
Callisto's jeans to pull her forward. And undresses her, piece by
piece, with just that one hand. Less careful in the gesture than
Callisto's ever seen her, and it takes her a minute to realize that
Sarah's betting on the bone growth in that hand having exhausted
itself for the foreseeable future. Making it safe to touch
intimately. Callisto's breasts, the small curve of her belly between
her hipbones, the swell of flesh under her pubic hair.
Down low, and Callisto's leaning up when Sarah slides that touch down
the extra pair of inches, between wet, forested lips to brush her
clit. Slick from the spreading pressure her clothes gave, this
bundle of sensation that only pulses harder every time Callisto
imagines one last, unexpected bone presenting itself there. While she
spreads her knees and grinds down a little against that focussed touch
and gets rewarded by the sum of Sarah's hand curling in. Fingers
sliding farther back while the scarred heel remains, a real surface
for Callisto to press against while she gets opened and explored
where she's wettest.
Sarah spreads her open, leaves her empty like that for long seconds,
letting the air's cold touch her suddenly unprotected cunt. Grinds
the heel of that hand against her clit harder. Grins. Feral, a
little blood on her teeth from the facial spike.
"C'mon. Lie back."
The other hand -- the boned, dangerous one -- reaches out to help her.
Careful and not doing more that surface damage, and the pain of the
tiny cuts *glitters*. Green and purple-red as Sarah, silver as her
own taste on her lips when Sarah brings the wounded hand up to her
mouth. Slick, smoky substitute for a kiss, and Callisto lays flat,
enjoys the stroke of that sticky hand down her body, back between
Two fingers in her immediately, but not deep. Opening, instead,
keeping her aware of the aching centre of herself and growling at the
absence of something to fill it. Happier when it's three fingers,
pushing a little deeper. Still not fucking her, though. Just
touching. Just *in*.
Sarah's still, very still while the fourth slides in, ignoring
Callisto's writhing, her growls to *do* something. Aching for
this, for anything, and she has to bring her hands up, rub her
breasts, twist the nipples between her fingers just to keep
herself from going over the edge.
Only understands when she feels the thumb brush her clit, then her
inner lips. Hisses *yessss* at the very idea of it. Flare of wet
between her legs, too, and she knows that can only be a good thing.
Then breathes, relaxes, *feels* while Sarah slides the thumb into
the fingers' hollow and starts to press in. *Yes* and *ohhh* and
*fuck*, and the wide part of that little hand *slides* in, slick as
Used to laugh at the stupid upworld boys looking for a thrill who
couldn't satisfy her, wants to laugh harder now. The pure *joy* of it,
both of them waiting it out a little, less to get Callisto used to it
than to just *feel*. Blood and come and one thankfully smooth little
knob of bone that Sarah has missed.
Finger and knuckle and the wrist she's trying to squeeze on, work
those muscles and make herself sweat and groan and Sarah flexes.
Once, twice, then over and over again. Callisto stretched and aching
with that purest expression of control.
Spitted on Sarah and roasting with need, trying and failing to bite
back the whimpers, to focus on the satisfied glitter in her girl's
eyes. Lets her head fall back, lets it rock back and forth in helpless
denial of pressure and sweet, sweet need.
Only you, she wants to say, and Sarah begins to push a little. Not
far to go, bumping against the tough muscle of Callisto's back wall
and pulling out again with the slightest twist. Pulling her and
pushing her, ass slipping and scraping on smooth dust and rough
concrete, senses reeling, pulling her up higher than anything and
fucking her down.
Again, again and the feeling's so right where she needs it that it's
like dreaming the same dream, familiarly surreal, more vivid than she
can take without losing it completely. There in the tremble and flex
of her internal muscles, that possibility of pure surrender.
Whimpers again and *takes* it, falling into the dark of herself,
knowing herself safe and protected and loved with Sarah seemingly
all around her. Velvet black and flashes of color in her vision,
psychedelic eyelid movies, like the time they'd all taken a lick at
poor, dead Groove with his indigo afro and perpetual state of
otherwhere and everything like right now.
Can't hear or understand the sounds she's making, wonders if they're
anything like words, anything like what Sarah needs to hear and sinks
back below the surface to gasp and moan.
This moment when she thinks Sarah's going to crawl right up inside
her, bloody and wet and be totally *hers*, possessed in the act of
possession. Long rattle of her breath during which she can't deny
Sarah that. Anything. All the pleasure she can imagine running out
from a dark, beautiful centre-place and she comes, wailing and in that
moment so totally out of control of her body that she has to trust
Sarah utterly to protect her.
Focuses again when she can and Sarah's spikes are like hard armour
between her and the upworld and the things that lurk underneath the
dark. Protective spirit while she eases her hand out, soaking wet and
sticky in the cool air. The little lick Sarah gives across her own
wrist a finishing ritual. Shine of it on her lips when she smiles at
Sharp and bright, this girl. Callisto's pack mate who carved her
apart. Waiting now, protective and loving, while she puts herself