Chapter Text
“Sit,” Joanna says. She says it like he doesn’t have a name, or he’s barely even there, but he assumes she doesn’t treat Tyrell any different. Still, he knows better than to talk back. He’s just a very smart plaything.
He’s here for Tyrell. To know more, he has to do whatever Joanna would like. Her first request is an innocuous one. She’s testing him, to see if he’s serious.
Elliot kneels at her side, looking down. She takes a sip of her champagne. His hands stay firmly planted at the top of his thighs. Fingers grip tightly at his jeans. He only dares to glance up at her once or twice, feeling as if he’s been caught doing something bad. A brief look at the mirror tells him the harsh white lighting makes him look pale and sick. She slowly looks down at him, smiling brightly. Her legs are utterly hairless, almost translucently pale. Heels look like they hurt, but she probably wants that. Daydreams of snapping an ankle, skinning her knees on the concrete. Pantyhose sticking to the broken skin. Beauty is pain.
Why the fuck am I even here? He wants to ask. An exhale, lightly shaking his head. What am I doing?
Except it feels good to do what she wants, that’s why he’s doing it. Why he kneels at the feet of the top one-percent and can suddenly think about nothing except her cunt. Because he’s easy. Because he takes what he’s offered. Because he doesn’t like thinking. Because he’s not in control.
Tell him about Tyrell already.
Fingertips press lightly to his half-open mouth, barely between his lips.
She’s not looking for you to be nice.
Joanna lifts the hem of her plain white skirt a little further up. Elliot gazes up at the thin black fabric of her panties. Thin, vertical lines span across her inner thighs.
“Tyrell. Some of them were me.”
Their secret. Joanna, Tyrell, and Elliot. None of her other toys get to know that she hacks at herself with a knife in order to get off.
He bites her. Not a nip, teeth closing hard around the first knuckle. Hard enough to pierce the skin. Just feels right. Joanna makes violence look erotic. She presses her legs together, biting her lip and arching towards him. His mouth tastes of blood. As she pulls it away, she looks fascinated. Elliot looks dazed. Lips red, half-open. Heart pounding in his ears. She could make him do anything.
“Elliot,” she says. Fingers pull harshly at his hair, perhaps in an attempt to grab his attention. Only it's hers forever. “You have to tell me. Do you know where he is?”
No. No— he buries his his face in her leg, shoulders reared up in shame, even embarrassment, sure he’s disappointed her. Far from it.