heavenscalyx: (Default)
heavenscalyx ([personal profile] heavenscalyx) wrote in [personal profile] jmtorres 2009-12-09 10:42 pm (UTC)

a tiny ficlet, slammed out between projects

Gaga was irritable.

The waiting was making her crazy. Well, crazier. Being transported in giant plastic caskets in the programming suits was enough to make anyone crazy.

Here she was, waiting in an empty bathtub, waiting to see what they'd do next.

She knew she had to make a good show of it, a good show of reluctance and terror to mask her hatred.

She found it was easier than she thought it would be, when they came for her. The drugs made it easy, though she tried to rid herself of them -- a mistake, she knew, a mistake that might give it all away, but it was so easy to spit it in the smooth, hard face of the woman holding the glass to her mouth.

Her mouth was numb, her muscles were loose, her skin was someone else's. They peeled her and bleached her and wasted her. They adorned her and drilled her and called her number. She found herself, alone among smooth-faced, hard-faced woman, almost naked, completely defenseless...

... no, not completely.

So she danced. She roused that tiny, nurtured flame of hatred, stirred the coals, straddled his leg, gave him a show, did what she was told.

She knew how to make things happen. She knew how to make him want her, knew how to make his hand press the right keys, knew how to make his golden-sheathed jaw grind with wanting.

She knew how to make him burn. In all the right ways.

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