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They’re fighting.
It all happens very quickly, a sudden rush of red-hot rage engulfing Lynn before she knows it. She’s pushing back against the slight girl, shoving back and pressing her hard against the metal fence. Amanda gasps beneath her, struggles a little, bucks and strains, but they’re well-matched – Lynn holds strong, grits her teeth, and Amanda can’t move.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Lynn snarls and barely recognises herself. It feels good, feels good to scream and fight, she realises. So many years of grief, mundanity, of dull hook-ups and marital problems, of swallowing sharp words and pushing down pain, it all blurs away and she feels – excited, for the first time in a long time. Amanda leans her head back into Lynn’s space, leans back against her shoulder, shaking with rage in her grip, and Lynn is excited.
“Kill me and you’ll never get the key to the fucking collar,” Amanda grits out, and Lynn throbs with fury and powerlessness. Fuck. The younger woman is smart, she’s right, Lynn has no power here with the weight of steel around her neck.
Amanda is shaking, laughing gleefully, Lynn realises, coming back to herself. Head tipped back, throat exposed, red lips split into a maniacal grin, so unhinged and vulnerable and completely sure of herself all at once.
She looks excited, too, Lynn thinks.
Lynn summons all her strength, all the adrenaline flooding her system right now, and flips Amanda around to face her. Her head knocks back against the steel fencing, lolling for a second, a flash of something like fear in the girl’s eyes before it’s gone again.
“You are fucking infuriating, you know that?” Lynn breathes. “I hate you.”
“Mutual,” Amanda says, mania slipping away into a quiet, simmering anger, the kind Lynn had seen earlier during the explanation of rules.
“You’re insane. You’re unhinged.” A muscle in Amanda’s jaw twitches. Lynn can’t help but stare at it, at smooth skin and bluish veins pale beneath it. “You have a whole life ahead of you, and you’re throwing it away on these sick games.”
Lynn shoves the girl again as she speaks, shaking her shoulders and feeling a thrill at how the woman jumps a little. She breathes shakily and leans forward into Amanda, barely an inch between them. Amanda is oddly still, doesn’t take the opportunity to flip them again and resume their scrap. She just lets out a shuddering breath, warm against Lynn’s cheek.
Frustrating. Endlessly fucking frustrating, this skinny slip of a girl before her. All rage, all sharp edges and bark and bite, but something tender and hurt beneath it all. She reminds Lynn of her patients, of teenage runaways showing up in her hospital shaky from malnutrition, women bruised and bloody from the streets, still tough as nails but drenched in vulnerability. She reeks of insecurity, despite all her bravado, a stray dog snarling and spitting with its tail firmly between its legs all the while. Lynn has an overwhelming urge to reach out, to fix, to help, to wrap her hands around the girl’s fucking throat and squeeze, to hold her and tell her it gets better, to drag a sharp edge across that pretty throat of hers.
Lynn lurches forward and presses her lips to Amanda’s harshly, kisses chapped lips without even knowing why she’s doing it.
Amanda freezes, inhales against Lynn’s lips, and the doctor expects a flash of rage, a shove, a slap. More vitriol, another violent mood swing, a punishment, anything. Amanda does none of it but shivers, twitches, and then kisses back fervently.
Amanda tastes of sugar, of cheap mint chewing gum and sugary gas station snacks. Lynn bites down on her bottom lip hard, and gets high off the resulting gasp from her captor. A hand fists in her hair at the back of her neck, tangling, pulling sharply, and Lynn shivers in response.
“If I’m so sick and disgusting to you, why are you kissing me?” Amanda murmurs between a kiss and a breath, and Lynn presses a hand over her stupid mouth – “ Shut up.”
With Amanda’s mouth covered and delightfully silent, Lynn moves down, pressing kisses and nips over her jaw, her throat, lower. She’s no longer forcing Amanda back against the fence, the girl could reverse their positions any second, could twist and have a knife to Lynn’s throat in a heartbeat, but she seems content to allow this bizarre little interlude to play out for the moment. There’s a warm puff of breath against Lynn’s palm, a little suffocated sigh as Lynn bites down on the junction between throat and shoulder, and the doctor is suddenly sure that Amanda needs this self-indulgent break in tension as well.
Sure that the woman isn’t going to bolt, or stab her, or do something equally unexpected and erratic, Lynn slides her other hand down to brush over crimson fabric. She smooths down over the gape in the sleeve where she’d sliced earlier during the heat of the fight, dips over the small bleeding gash she’d inflicted. Warm, lazily oozing blood down Amanda’s arm, it’s not serious, wouldn’t require stitches, but Lynn is fixated. She presses her thumb to it and bites Amanda’s jaw, eliciting a jump and a half-whimper somewhere in the back of her throat.
Lynn wants to hear it again. Wants to hear what other sounds she might make. She wants to feel her shake again. She presses her thumb inwards, into the soft flesh and blood of the cut, feels it give slightly, feels nauseous and thrilled. Her thumb is wet with viscous blood.
Amanda bites down hard at Lynn’s palm, the one covering her mouth still, and wrenches her face free. “Sadist,” she snarls, now tragically free to speak.
“Sicko,” Lynn retorts, and digs a nail into the pale skin of a thin wrist instead.
Amanda smirks. Lynn wants to hit her again. “I want to go down on you,” she says instead.
Cat-like, the apprentice stretches out against her, pressing her hips forward into Lynn. “Sure,” she says simply, casually.
Not a single fucking thing about this situation is casual. Thinking about it – the explosive collar around her neck, the cancerous serial killer dying in the next room, the fact that she’s about the fuck this insane 20-something that needs serious mental help – it makes Lynn’s head spin. She can’t think about any of it, or she might die. She really might die here.
And she feels free, for the first time in her life. A collar around her neck, threatening to blow her fucking head off if she leaves, and she feels free.
Lynn nods slightly, accepts Amanda’s casualness with a false coolness of her own, and kisses her hard. Her hands find their way under the other woman’s shirt to the soft swells of her chest, comparatively safe territory to the confusing excitement of pressing into wounded flesh. Amanda mewls as she massages them, rubs a thumb over the hard nipples poking through her barely-there bralette. She feels the cool bump of a nipple piercing, and flicks it gently, squeezes it between her fingers. “Cute.”
Amanda shivers at the sensation, swallows a moan, and pulls at her hair. “I can still change my mind about letting you live,” she threatens. “Hurry up.”
Brat.
Lynn rolls her eyes and drops to her knees, trailing fingers down the flat of the girl’s exposed stomach, the dip of her belly button, the sharp angles of her hip bones. She makes quick work of the belt, hopes Amanda doesn’t notice the shake of her hands as she unzips her cargo pants and yanks them down unceremoniously.
The same scars that litter Amanda’s arms trail across her thighs, deep and angry, in varying states of healing. Lynn tries not to stare, tries to drag her eyes away, but she’s caught already, she can feel the tension emanating from the other woman.
The girl pulls her hair sharply. “ Don’t.” Don’t mention it, don’t be pathetic, don’t be a doctor about this. It’s none of her business, Lynn thinks, really . Who is she to Amanda? A captive, a doctor, a test subject, a quick dirty fuck? She bites her tongue, says nothing, just kisses above the edge of her underwear and feels Amanda’s discomfort gradually melt away.
She’s wet through already, Lynn notes as she moves down, noses the soaked cotton, inhales her scent, presses her fingers against her gently, teasing. The girl’s hips buck up into the pressure, a quiet yes hissing from her lips. “Does fighting get you off?” Lynn asks with a hint of mirth.
“Yes,” she hears from the woman above her, and, “Stop fucking around.”
Lynn teases for as long as she dares, hyper-aware of how fast this could switch, how badly this could go wrong for her if Amanda gets bored. (Cool metal around her throat, the cop gun discarded on the floor by Lynn’s knees, she shivers bodily with fear and excitement thinking about it.) She listens to the restrained sighs of the woman above her, savours the barely-contained eagerness, and finally pulls the soft cotton panties down around Amanda’s knees.
Amanda makes a choked sound as Lynn licks through her, swears softly as she settles into a rhythm. “Fuck, have you done this before?”
“You tell me, apparently you and John know all about me.” A hint of bitterness. She presses her thumb into one of the fresher scars on Amanda’s thigh and works her tongue harder.
“I watched you for months – fuck – I never once saw you with a woman,” Amanda reveals. Lynn should be pissed at the revelation, but she grows hot thinking about Amanda watching her through the curtains with different men in shitty motel rooms.
Pervert, she thinks, and says so.
“Takes one to know one,” Amanda responds a little too smugly. Lynn sucks on her clit hard and feels the thighs either side of her head start to tremble.
She’s getting close, embarrassingly fast, one hand threaded through dark hair and the other tangled into the cool metal wire of the fence behind her. Lynn allows herself a glance up, sees Amanda’s head thrown back, hair messy and sticking to her forehead, chest heaving as she begins to gasp. It feels good to have her right on the edge like this, right on the edge of pleasure and oblivion. She’s beautiful like this, Lynn thinks absently, all the tension and hurt and rage smoothed out, a soft pink flush on her cheeks. It would be cute, romantic almost if she weren’t on the floor of a dingy meat-packing plant, knees aching as she eats out an insane woman who wants to kill her.
When she comes moments later, it’s almost violent. “ Fuck – ah –“ Amanda gasps erratically, her orgasm overtaking her, hips rolling and bucking into Lynn’s face. Lynn laps up her wet warmth, one arm pressed against the woman’s stomach and the other rubbing over her shaking thigh, soothing until Amanda shakes through the last of her pleasure.
Lynn presses soft kisses – too soft, really, to be appropriate for their situation – over her inner thighs and the trail of wiry fuzz beneath her belly button, guides her down as the girl pants quietly above her, the last twitches of pleasure fizzling away. The room is quiet. Lynn’s knees ache and heart pounds.
“Get up,” Amanda husks. “Get up here.”
The doctor acquiesces, lifts herself up, one of her joints cracking quietly in the silence of the warehouse. Amanda pulls up her pants hastily with trembling hands, buckles her belt, and then pulls Lynn into another kiss by the back of her neck, softer than the last. She scratches absently at the nape of Lynn’s neck.
“What now,” Lynn murmurs, suddenly self-conscious, suddenly nervous again. She can hear the beeping of John’s monitor nearby in the next room and reality threatens to seep in.
“I don’t know,” Amanda mumbles quietly. Her eyes are wide and dark, owlish as she ponders for a minute. She appears to make up her mind as she looks at Lynn, layering on her confidence again like a shield. “I’m going to fuck you,” she says simply, slowly backing Lynn up until her ass hits a hard surface – a table? “And you’re going to behave and not kill me.”
Amanda is rough and domineering as expected when she fucks Lynn. If she had been aggressive before, when it hadn’t been about sex, grabbing and pulling Lynn around as she liked, she’s the same when she pushes her up onto the table and shoves her hand up under Lynn’s shirt.
Lynn cries out as Amanda tweaks a nipple, a little too hard, almost on the wrong side of pleasure and pain. She’s quick to soothe it with her mouth, hot and warm as she sucks one sore breast and then turns her attention to the other, repeating. Lynn is soaked, almost overstimulated, her shirt pushed up to completely reveal her full breasts, her head replaying the sounds Amanda had made as she came. She gasps, strangled, feels teeth bite down on her breast.
“God – Amanda –“
“You like that?” the other woman mumbles against her tit, low and vibrating. “You like a bit of pain?”
Yes, Lynn whines, bringing their mouths together messily, teeth clacking. Yes.
Amanda bites her lip hard enough to bleed, licks along the split she’d made, licks into Lynn’s mouth. She can taste her own blood, coppery, sharp, she can still taste Amanda, sweet, tart. Amanda’s fingers play along the cool edge of the collar and she feels a spike of fear.
“Keep your head,” the girl teases, and Lynn slaps her face lightly. She’s about to tell her how fucking annoying she is when Amanda pushes her hand down into denim jeans and cotton briefs, presses two fingers right in with no hesitation. She’s wet enough for it already, only a slight edge of pain as Amanda stretches her open.
Lynn’s head falls back, moaning loudly. Where Amanda had tried to contain her pleasure (and admittedly failed), out of some kind of pride or resentment, Lynn doesn’t even attempt to stay quiet. She’s loud, and the corner of Amanda’s mouth quirks up in excitement. Her thumb plays with her clit while she fucks her punishingly hard, and Lynn tightens her thighs around the other woman’s waist, pulls her in closer as if they could become one.
“Good?” Amanda breathes shakily.
“Obviously,” Lynn bites out between a moan and a gasp.
“Good,” Amanda murmurs, nipping her jawline. “Want to be so good for you.” She’s in her ear, mumbling, seeming to be getting off on hearing Lynn’s pleasure, hearing the affirmation that she’s doing well. Something in Lynn is surprised at the lust-soaked vulnerability. Something else in her thinks it makes complete sense that this oddly tender girl is searching for scraps of reassurance and praise even in the most base of places.
“You are,” Lynn offers her, feeding her reassurance from the palm of her hand. “ Fuck, that’s – just like that, that’s so good,” she groans as Amanda hits something inside her. There’s a small whimper in her ear, a bite at her earlobe. Lynn ruts against her hand shamelessly and Amanda swells with pride, excitement, watches her begin to come apart.
Amanda nudges the collar slightly with her chin, bites down hard on the soft skin of her throat, and adds a third finger. “ Mandy,” she sighs by accident, shaking in the woman’s strong arms, overtaken by pleasure. If Amanda is pissed at the nickname, she says nothing about it, just continues fucking her and murmuring dirty words into her ear. Gonna be so good – so good, for you – make you come so good – Lynn wonders if she even knows she’s saying it, and realises she doesn’t particularly care.
Her orgasm washes over her and everything disappears except Amanda, her fingers, her strong body, her husky voice. It’s a cliche but she revels in it, the lack of everything except the pleasure quaking her body a relief. The girl fucks her through her orgasm, unrelenting, until Lynn falls against her, limp and sweating.
The world comes back into focus slowly, harsh and real, and Lynn breathes shakily and burrows her head into the crook of her captor’s shoulder as if to hide from it, to drag this thing out longer. She thinks about the game, about John in the next room, and can already feel anxiety threatening to creep back into her body.
The other woman is still, calm, doesn’t pull or push away. She simply holds Lynn as if it were natural, as if they were lovers, as if they weren’t pitted against one another, destined to kill or die – as if she needs the contact too. Her temple rests against Lynn, her nose turned into her hair – she smells of soap and disinfectant, homely and sterile all at once.
“Want to take a nap?” comes out of her mouth to Lynn’s surprise.
“God, yeah,” the doctor mumbles into Amanda’s shirt. Her eyelids feel heavy, her body aching and sore but relaxed from her orgasm. Amanda silently helps her up off the edge of the table, takes her hand and leads her back into the main room, to a curtained-off makeshift bedroom.
“Still promise not to kill me?” Amanda asks, voice small as she haphazardly shoves a box and a few dolls off the bed onto the floor and straightens out the blankets. She sits, pats the space next to her for Lynn to sit down, and then eases them both down to curl up under a worn comforter, heads resting on the same pillow.
“If I were going to, I would have done it by now, wouldn’t I?” Lynn says with a yawn. The bed feels like the softest thing she’s ever felt in her life and she sinks into it easily, eager to escape for a bit longer. “Mid-orgasm, probably. You?”
“Hot,” Amanda teases, and sobers up quickly. “And no.” She tucks one knee between Lynn’s, pulls her back flush against her front, loops an arm around her waist tightly. She hugs her tightly, nose pressed into the older woman’s shoulder. “I promise.” They lay in silence for a moment, Amanda warm and solid against her.
It’s minutes or hours later, muffled between the collar and the softness of the back of her shirt, but Lynn swears she hears something like the words, I like you. I like you too, unfortunately, tragically, she tries not to think. She listens, hoping for another whispered revelation from Amanda, but all she hears is the slowing breathing of the woman falling asleep.
Lynn listens, and breathes, and tries hard not to think about where this will all end.