poleaxed: static; angry; hand; fight (come here)
joan dority is a problem. ([personal profile] poleaxed) wrote2021-01-09 09:02 pm

OPEN.

ill put an img here l8r.
angelhunter: (pic#16836671)

"tonight"

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-10 03:57 am (UTC)(link)
He's been thinking of Joan's sleeping arrangement as scheduled. What it really is, is routine. Part of their day. Comfortably, he retrieves her, they prepare her for sleep, he monitors for a while before going to bed himself, and they wrap up in the morning. He hasn't embellished the process with any concessions, hasn't offered her coffee or let her linger her room overlong, and a pleasant normalcy has seeped into him nonetheless.

He joked with her.

Self-awareness holds him a little rigid, bringing his posture back to the week they started doing this. Upstairs, with her electrodes attached, he takes a seat in the easy chair he moved in for their morning interviews.

Hap rubs his hands together before beginning.

"What I wanted to talk to you about, completing the work... I know the others don't talk to you much anymore, but when they did, they told you about her, didn't they?"
angelhunter: (pic#16836666)

*who themselves arent like the other girls

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-10 04:27 am (UTC)(link)
Good. Hap was and is reluctant to say her name. Even in thought, he can't make it sound innocuous. It's barbed in his brain, and it would be on his tongue, too. Maybe Homer and the others told Joan about the power she had over him. He would rather not prove it.

"Only two, that I know of," he says, self-deprecating with noticeable effort. They probably count her escape as the third. He doesn't accept that. Wherever she is, she regrets leaving. If not him, them. Joan included. "The third was a work in progress. They hit a wall, but if you could break through it..."

He gazes intently at her, her potential as sharp as a hook. "I want you to find the fifth Movement."
angelhunter: (pic#16836669)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-10 04:47 am (UTC)(link)
Hap shakes his head, straightening in his chair.

"They don't have it. Their contacts —" he gestures to her, "your brother, to you — won't give it to them." Scott threw that in his face not long after Prairie abandoned them. When he did, the dejection that sank further into the others eradicated Hap's reflexive suspicion. "But the connection you have to the other side is different. Personal. You could convince him."

As for performing the movements together, that's Hap's responsibility. And they will do it. They'll have no other choice.
angelhunter: (pic#16857739)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-10 05:12 am (UTC)(link)
His jaw tightens in searing disappointment. This afternoon brought about the acute realization of how much of himself he's made available to her. It's unusual, it's inadvisable, and apparently it's insufficient. The insidiousness of their rapport is gentle and quiet. Joan moves fast and loud.

"No."
angelhunter: (pic#16836666)

cw suicide imagery

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-10 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)
So she's been holding onto that, has she? Hoarding her little pile of instances when she deigned not to make a fool of him. He's been even more generous than he thought.

"How," he demands, unmoving. Unwilling to feel the weight and flex and threat of his own body. He fills his mind with images of the methods he's denied her: hanging from light fixtures that aren't there, wrists torn open with shards of glass that can't break, ceramic pots he's replaced with flimsy plastic. A hurried, violent deluge, that spills over with a flash of contempt.
Edited (with a y even ) 2024-08-10 20:35 (UTC)
angelhunter: (pic#16836661)

cw him

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-10 09:16 pm (UTC)(link)
"That's a myth," he tells her, lacking the resource of will to do so kindly or with any levity.

Hap reaches for his glasses, pulling them off along a hard-pressed sigh. He is mollified, very meagerly, by the fact that she only wants to hurt herself. Not take herself away from him and the study.

His gaze flickers down and is caught by the smudges on his glasses. The tiny, transparent streaks he's been staring right through. "Maybe this was a mistake."
angelhunter: (pic#16836668)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-10 10:22 pm (UTC)(link)
It is his prerogative to measure her against Prairie, and only his. He's shared his work with Joan, his home, his humility. She can't have her. Prairie belongs to him. The concept of her. He had all of her, and he lost her to exactly this. Pathetic hubris.

Thoughtlessly, Hap gets to his feet. She thinks he won't take it all away? That she's too precious? Special? She's wrong.

"Up." Concurrent with the command, he seizes her arm in a vise-like grip. "Get up."
angelhunter: (pic#16836673)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-14 02:41 am (UTC)(link)
The bodies Hap handles have weight, not tension. Subjects haven't had the capacity to fight back in over a decade. He fumbles with her lack of compliance, tightening his hold in a harsh panic. An actual fight would be nasty and crude. (An actual fight, he might lose.)

Hap yanks her to him and then shoves her against the wall to still her. To put a stop to this. Her arms gripped hard in each hand, he crowds her in, chest to chest.

"That's enough, Joan."
angelhunter: (pic#16836671)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-14 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
The closest he's come to someone else in as many months as he's known her is walking her up and down the stairs, cleaning her skin, plucking up and swiping back stuck strands of oily hair. Warmth and motion buffet him, unadulterated. Hap's heart gallops in shame and starvation. He's appalled by his behavior before she puts it to words, for once the more eloquent of the two of them. The guilt spirals — up.

"I don't—" He presses in, caging her. His temple rubs against hers. All he wants is for her to stop squirming. He holds, locked against her. He can feel his breath crashing off her skin, and hers pushing her fists into his chest. "I don't."
angelhunter: (pic#16857739)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-15 03:54 am (UTC)(link)
Stale, caked-on sweat, bulk soap, soybean meal and ground wheat. She smells like all of them. That hammer of a cogent thought swings purposefully wide of the nail in his heart that is Prairie, and breaks something less vital.

The tug on his lip hitches his blood and rips a grunt out of him. Hap steadies himself on her jaw, blanching her pale skin under his thumb and fingers. His brow is balanced against Joan's. His eyes and breath bore into her; he pulls back to free space over which his gaze can stumble. Her mouth, her hair stuck to her neck, her flesh in the ferocity of his grip.

Hap eases it. His hand slides skittishly down the length of her throat before he looks into her eyes again. Simmering. His fingers curl round the back of her neck. He kisses her decisively, his temperance fueled by resentment, his passion by jealousy.
angelhunter: (pic#16836673)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-17 04:05 am (UTC)(link)
Hap groans into her mouth. He resolves not to be the man who may or may not have actually made her laugh this afternoon, all the way down in her stone prison. He won't feel any ease with Joan or act with all his knowledge of her. He'll pretend to be ignorant of what can be salvaged from such a wretched, hard woman, and deny her the cloak of worship only he has the privilege to wrap her in. She used to fuck a lot, she said. So they'll fuck.

His hate is freeflowing, overrunning. It can't direct him to do anything. His instincts are blind want. To fist his hand in her hair and bare her throat, and leave her hand to get at his cock while he pulls her pulse onto his tongue and traps it with his teeth.
angelhunter: (pic#16836663)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-17 06:48 pm (UTC)(link)
A twitch of blood and muscle, hips rolling into her touch. There's a sweetness to her urgency that, with the ruthlessness of a whip crack, strips his desire of compromise. Hap can feel it in her hands. Her honesty.

Her gratitude.

Hap pulls back enough to grab at the hem of her shirt and roll it up. He expects her to release him and raise her arms to help him get it off. The electrodes on her temple will come loose or tumble off; he'll scrape off the rest with blunt nails before palming her breast.
angelhunter: (pic#16836661)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-17 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)
It bothers him that he can't tell if anywhere he touches her is inherently sensitive or if it's down to the contact he's denied her. It bothers him that he won't know unless they do this again and again, which they can't. He won't. He won't.

His thumb circles her nipple, lips catching and missing hers as she tells him what she wants, then makes it into a request. Acquiescing, he takes over her attempt to undress him and quickly pops button after button until his shirt hangs open. Hap likes it when his partners take his clothes off for him but the heat is building too fast. She might catch it at his elbows as he slips it off, shucking it sharply from his wrists.

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