Title: The Price You'll Pay
Author: alyse
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Danica Talos/Hannibal King
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: Violence, blood play, references to torture. Set pre the movie
Genres: Established (non-consensual) relationship
Word Count: 1,950
Status: Complete, one shot
Disclaimer: Blade: Trinity, the motion picture, is owned by New Line Cinema. This is a not for profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Thanks to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aithine for beta reading duties. Any mistakes remaining are my own. Title and quote from 'Girl With One Eye' by Florence and The Machine, which is dark and twisted and gives a flavour of the fic. Written for my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kissbingo card square 'body: toes'.
Summary: "You're going to eat this scrawny little bitch and then you're going to crawl on your hands and knees and kiss my fucking feet for treating you so well."
-o-
I took a knife and cut out her eye
I took it home and watched it wither and die
-o-
The girl's eyes are wide and terrified, and normally that would be enough to hold Danica's attention, but tonight she's got other prey in mind. The girl's just the means to an end, an appetizer as it were, and Danica is nothing if not a collection of appetites.
Take her latest, tasty little morsel, for example. Hannibal King, he'd introduced himself, all cocky smile and with a body to die for, as long as he was the one doing the dying.
Danica licks her lips, remembering how smooth he'd been when he'd picked her up, how sure of himself; now he's anything but and the air is heavy with the taste of possibilities, her favourite flavour.
"King," she purrs, her eyes focused on the girl. She doesn't need to look at King, not when she knows exactly where he is - he's where he belongs. Curled up in a loose little ball by her feet, beautiful and broken. But he isn't cowering; he's breathing in harsh, panting gasps and every now and then, when the pain of his broken ribs stabs into him, he curses under his breath, like he thinks she can't hear him, but he's not cowering.
She might not have broken completely him yet, but she's working on it. That's the thing about being immortal - it leaves you plenty of time to hone your skills, and she's been honing hers on King in the most delightful of ways. He can't die now that she's turned him, but he can hurt and he hurts so deliciously.
He doesn't answer her, the stubborn little shit, and she pulls back one spike-heeled foot and catches him neatly under the ribs. The blow grinds into him and he snarls out a hearty 'fuck you', spitting out gobbets of thick, greasy blood with it.
"Maybe later, my pet," she says, eyeing the blood on her shoes distastefully. She's going to make him clean them with his tongue when this is over. "But right now I've brought you dinner. Aren't you grateful? Aren't I just so good to you?"
He pushes himself upright, and it's obviously painful for him. Vampires can be hurt, but they heal and heal fast, or they do if they're not starving. King most certainly is starving, but then they do say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach; Danica has grown bored of King's constant insolence. A little denial will be good for his soul, what she's left of it.
Of course, being a stubborn little shit, King still isn't cooperating, but, oh, he wants to, he really does. She can see it in his eyes when he looks at the girl: all of his defences stripped away; all of the humanity he clings to so desperately, as though it's anything but a farce, slipping through his fingers. His eyes are golden, glowing with hunger as the thirst rises in him.
But he's not moving, and she sighs, already bored of this. It might be fun when he resists her, and it's even more fun if she gets to beat it out of him, but there can be too much of a good thing and they're rapidly reaching that point.
She steps towards him again, not missing the way that he flinches back from her. That, at least, does something to soothe the savage beast within her, the one that's currently wondering exactly how he'd look if she flayed the skin from his bones, inch by pretty inch; vampires don't usually scar, but perhaps he would if she used silver. Maybe it would leave lovely, swirling patterns on his body. He's already very pretty, but he might be even more so once she's marked him to her satisfaction; her eyes fall to the mark she's already left, the one low on his stomach, just above his groin where the hair grows thicker, a treasure trail leading downwards, and she purrs in satisfaction.
King flinches again at the sound, and she didn't even have to touch him this time. She smiles, pleased, and her fangs show clearly. The girl whimpers, and the sound jars Danica out of her contemplation of King's admittedly attractive form. She'd forgotten that the little bitch was even there, and now she's irritated. Danica kicks out at her, not even glancing in her direction as the girl scoots away and cowers in a corner. Danica is far too busy stroking her fingers through King's hair to worry about kine.
She curls her fingers and digs them into King's scalp, leaving red ribbons as she digs deeper. The blood wells up, sluggish and slow, and the marks don't heal as fast as they should.
"I'm getting bored, King," she pouts, letting her fingers trail down over his neck. She doesn't dig her nails into the flesh there. If he isn't healing properly, if he is that starved, she doesn't want to leave her mark on his neck. That's too commonplace, too bourgeois; every vampire leaves a mark there when they bite, whether to feed or turn some pretty little toy.
Danica bit King in the curve of his groin when she turned him, holding him down as he bucked and screamed, blood pulsing out of his femoral artery to slick his skin, and hers, with a bright, vivid red. She thought she'd killed him, the way that his struggles slowed as the life leached out of him, and she hadn't cared one way or the other at the time. On balance, though, she's glad he lived long enough to turn. Life was so dull before, and King, at least, is interesting.
He's being very dull now. She sighs again, pushing him roughly away and ignoring him when he falls to the floor with a stifled groan. "You," she says pointedly, pouting just a little, "are going to eat this scrawny little bitch and then you're going to crawl on your hands and knees and kiss my fucking feet for treating you so well. Don't be boring about it, King. Be a good little boy, and eat your vegetarian."
King rolls over onto his back, his chest criss-crossed with the marks she's left; she likes her whip ends to be silver, even though she can't touch them. The cuts must burn and ache where the whip dug into his skin, and the flesh around them looks scorched, but King still glares at her and tells her to go fuck herself.
He can't quite hide the furious, tormenting hunger in his eyes, though. It quivers in his voice, such a giddy, happy making little sound, and she doesn't miss the way that his gaze slides towards the sobbing, broken heap in the corner, or the way that King's mouth is salivating.
Time for mommy to step in and make sure that baby takes his bottle. She rolls her eyes, striding across the room and sinking her hand into the little bitch's hair.
The girl screams as Danica drags her across the room, stopping in front of King; by the time she lets go, the girl's knees are scraped and raw. Danica can smell it, the scent of blood rising, and King moans, lost and afraid, back to rocking in his little ball, head buried in his hands as though that will help block everything out.
His reaction is just perfect, and Danica savours it, feeling a little hungry herself. Being horny always does that to her.
She stabs her fingers back into the girl's hair and hauls her upwards, sinking her teeth into the girl's neck.
The girl screams, of course, and struggles, but it does no good. Danica's got several hundred years and vampirism on her side; fighting does the little bitch no good. The blood flows into Danica's mouth, down her chin, spilling over the girl's neck to run down in red rivulets between her pert and twitching little breasts.
King watches, panting, his lips parted and his fangs showing.
Danica doesn't kill her; she waits until the girl's screams turn to broken little sobs and then lets her drop to the floor, like a marionette whose strings have been cut. And then she steps back, that delicious taste still lingering in her mouth, staining her lips red, running down her throat and lighting her up from the inside, little shocks of pleasure that feel almost as good as sex. Almost. Maybe she will let King fuck her later, or fuck King. Either would be good, but right now there are lessons to be learnt, and rules to be obeyed.
She pulls out her compact and wipes the blood away from her face with her fingers, licking the traces of it away with a sharp, darting tongue. And then she dabs carefully around her lips, checking that her lipstick hasn't smudged; Danica believes very firmly in always looking her best, especially when she goes out for dinner.
When she's finished primping, King is still watching the girl, rocking mindlessly, little jerky moves that bring him closer and closer to her, his fingers twitching with need and with greed. But the stubborn little prick still doesn't lunge for his midnight snack.
Danica sighs again, cocking her hip at him impatiently. "She's going to turn, King. I didn't kill her and now she's going to turn. And she'll live forever, a monster like you and me, and I will make each and every day of the rest of her eternal life a fucking shit fest if you do not end her right the fuck now!"
She doesn't know if it's her words or the hunger that finally overwhelms King; he lunges, a beautiful, fluid surge of flowing muscle and rage, and scoops the girl up, snapping her head to the side and burying his fangs into her neck.
He doesn't cradle the girl like a lover; he rips her apart with his teeth, lost to savage fury as his fingers sink into her skin, deeper and deeper until blood wells up beneath his nails to spill down the girl's arms. The girl jerks once, twice, her limbs going limp and her head falling back, and Danica can tell the exact moment when she dies.
Danica licks at her lips, slowly and hungrily, as King drops the corpse and sinks back down onto his knees. There's blood smeared across his face, dripping down to land on that beautifully shaped chest, and his eyes are empty, lost and finally, finally broken.
"Good boy," she purrs, moving forward to slide her fingers back into his hair. The cuts are gone from his scalp now, and the marks her fury left on his chest are fading. "That's my good little pet. You know what you need to do now, don't you?" She pushes him downwards, and this time he doesn't resist her. Why would he? All of the fight drained out of him just as soon as he drained that ragged little doll, lying broken and abandoned next to him.
She lets go of him half way down, but his lips settle against the leather of her open-toed Jimmy Choos anyway. He lets out a low sound, something that comes from deep inside him, but it's soft and muted, muffled by the press of her painted toes against his lips and the sobs he's trying desperately to keep inside. The sound wells up anyway, choked with blood and snot and grief.
Danica's smile deepens. He's slobbering all over her feet, but her shoes are ruined already; what's a little more blood on them?
The end
Author: alyse
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Danica Talos/Hannibal King
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: Violence, blood play, references to torture. Set pre the movie
Genres: Established (non-consensual) relationship
Word Count: 1,950
Status: Complete, one shot
Disclaimer: Blade: Trinity, the motion picture, is owned by New Line Cinema. This is a not for profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Thanks to
aithine for beta reading duties. Any mistakes remaining are my own. Title and quote from 'Girl With One Eye' by Florence and The Machine, which is dark and twisted and gives a flavour of the fic. Written for my kissbingo card square 'body: toes'.Summary: "You're going to eat this scrawny little bitch and then you're going to crawl on your hands and knees and kiss my fucking feet for treating you so well."
-o-
I took a knife and cut out her eye
I took it home and watched it wither and die
-o-
The girl's eyes are wide and terrified, and normally that would be enough to hold Danica's attention, but tonight she's got other prey in mind. The girl's just the means to an end, an appetizer as it were, and Danica is nothing if not a collection of appetites.
Take her latest, tasty little morsel, for example. Hannibal King, he'd introduced himself, all cocky smile and with a body to die for, as long as he was the one doing the dying.
Danica licks her lips, remembering how smooth he'd been when he'd picked her up, how sure of himself; now he's anything but and the air is heavy with the taste of possibilities, her favourite flavour.
"King," she purrs, her eyes focused on the girl. She doesn't need to look at King, not when she knows exactly where he is - he's where he belongs. Curled up in a loose little ball by her feet, beautiful and broken. But he isn't cowering; he's breathing in harsh, panting gasps and every now and then, when the pain of his broken ribs stabs into him, he curses under his breath, like he thinks she can't hear him, but he's not cowering.
She might not have broken completely him yet, but she's working on it. That's the thing about being immortal - it leaves you plenty of time to hone your skills, and she's been honing hers on King in the most delightful of ways. He can't die now that she's turned him, but he can hurt and he hurts so deliciously.
He doesn't answer her, the stubborn little shit, and she pulls back one spike-heeled foot and catches him neatly under the ribs. The blow grinds into him and he snarls out a hearty 'fuck you', spitting out gobbets of thick, greasy blood with it.
"Maybe later, my pet," she says, eyeing the blood on her shoes distastefully. She's going to make him clean them with his tongue when this is over. "But right now I've brought you dinner. Aren't you grateful? Aren't I just so good to you?"
He pushes himself upright, and it's obviously painful for him. Vampires can be hurt, but they heal and heal fast, or they do if they're not starving. King most certainly is starving, but then they do say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach; Danica has grown bored of King's constant insolence. A little denial will be good for his soul, what she's left of it.
Of course, being a stubborn little shit, King still isn't cooperating, but, oh, he wants to, he really does. She can see it in his eyes when he looks at the girl: all of his defences stripped away; all of the humanity he clings to so desperately, as though it's anything but a farce, slipping through his fingers. His eyes are golden, glowing with hunger as the thirst rises in him.
But he's not moving, and she sighs, already bored of this. It might be fun when he resists her, and it's even more fun if she gets to beat it out of him, but there can be too much of a good thing and they're rapidly reaching that point.
She steps towards him again, not missing the way that he flinches back from her. That, at least, does something to soothe the savage beast within her, the one that's currently wondering exactly how he'd look if she flayed the skin from his bones, inch by pretty inch; vampires don't usually scar, but perhaps he would if she used silver. Maybe it would leave lovely, swirling patterns on his body. He's already very pretty, but he might be even more so once she's marked him to her satisfaction; her eyes fall to the mark she's already left, the one low on his stomach, just above his groin where the hair grows thicker, a treasure trail leading downwards, and she purrs in satisfaction.
King flinches again at the sound, and she didn't even have to touch him this time. She smiles, pleased, and her fangs show clearly. The girl whimpers, and the sound jars Danica out of her contemplation of King's admittedly attractive form. She'd forgotten that the little bitch was even there, and now she's irritated. Danica kicks out at her, not even glancing in her direction as the girl scoots away and cowers in a corner. Danica is far too busy stroking her fingers through King's hair to worry about kine.
She curls her fingers and digs them into King's scalp, leaving red ribbons as she digs deeper. The blood wells up, sluggish and slow, and the marks don't heal as fast as they should.
"I'm getting bored, King," she pouts, letting her fingers trail down over his neck. She doesn't dig her nails into the flesh there. If he isn't healing properly, if he is that starved, she doesn't want to leave her mark on his neck. That's too commonplace, too bourgeois; every vampire leaves a mark there when they bite, whether to feed or turn some pretty little toy.
Danica bit King in the curve of his groin when she turned him, holding him down as he bucked and screamed, blood pulsing out of his femoral artery to slick his skin, and hers, with a bright, vivid red. She thought she'd killed him, the way that his struggles slowed as the life leached out of him, and she hadn't cared one way or the other at the time. On balance, though, she's glad he lived long enough to turn. Life was so dull before, and King, at least, is interesting.
He's being very dull now. She sighs again, pushing him roughly away and ignoring him when he falls to the floor with a stifled groan. "You," she says pointedly, pouting just a little, "are going to eat this scrawny little bitch and then you're going to crawl on your hands and knees and kiss my fucking feet for treating you so well. Don't be boring about it, King. Be a good little boy, and eat your vegetarian."
King rolls over onto his back, his chest criss-crossed with the marks she's left; she likes her whip ends to be silver, even though she can't touch them. The cuts must burn and ache where the whip dug into his skin, and the flesh around them looks scorched, but King still glares at her and tells her to go fuck herself.
He can't quite hide the furious, tormenting hunger in his eyes, though. It quivers in his voice, such a giddy, happy making little sound, and she doesn't miss the way that his gaze slides towards the sobbing, broken heap in the corner, or the way that King's mouth is salivating.
Time for mommy to step in and make sure that baby takes his bottle. She rolls her eyes, striding across the room and sinking her hand into the little bitch's hair.
The girl screams as Danica drags her across the room, stopping in front of King; by the time she lets go, the girl's knees are scraped and raw. Danica can smell it, the scent of blood rising, and King moans, lost and afraid, back to rocking in his little ball, head buried in his hands as though that will help block everything out.
His reaction is just perfect, and Danica savours it, feeling a little hungry herself. Being horny always does that to her.
She stabs her fingers back into the girl's hair and hauls her upwards, sinking her teeth into the girl's neck.
The girl screams, of course, and struggles, but it does no good. Danica's got several hundred years and vampirism on her side; fighting does the little bitch no good. The blood flows into Danica's mouth, down her chin, spilling over the girl's neck to run down in red rivulets between her pert and twitching little breasts.
King watches, panting, his lips parted and his fangs showing.
Danica doesn't kill her; she waits until the girl's screams turn to broken little sobs and then lets her drop to the floor, like a marionette whose strings have been cut. And then she steps back, that delicious taste still lingering in her mouth, staining her lips red, running down her throat and lighting her up from the inside, little shocks of pleasure that feel almost as good as sex. Almost. Maybe she will let King fuck her later, or fuck King. Either would be good, but right now there are lessons to be learnt, and rules to be obeyed.
She pulls out her compact and wipes the blood away from her face with her fingers, licking the traces of it away with a sharp, darting tongue. And then she dabs carefully around her lips, checking that her lipstick hasn't smudged; Danica believes very firmly in always looking her best, especially when she goes out for dinner.
When she's finished primping, King is still watching the girl, rocking mindlessly, little jerky moves that bring him closer and closer to her, his fingers twitching with need and with greed. But the stubborn little prick still doesn't lunge for his midnight snack.
Danica sighs again, cocking her hip at him impatiently. "She's going to turn, King. I didn't kill her and now she's going to turn. And she'll live forever, a monster like you and me, and I will make each and every day of the rest of her eternal life a fucking shit fest if you do not end her right the fuck now!"
She doesn't know if it's her words or the hunger that finally overwhelms King; he lunges, a beautiful, fluid surge of flowing muscle and rage, and scoops the girl up, snapping her head to the side and burying his fangs into her neck.
He doesn't cradle the girl like a lover; he rips her apart with his teeth, lost to savage fury as his fingers sink into her skin, deeper and deeper until blood wells up beneath his nails to spill down the girl's arms. The girl jerks once, twice, her limbs going limp and her head falling back, and Danica can tell the exact moment when she dies.
Danica licks at her lips, slowly and hungrily, as King drops the corpse and sinks back down onto his knees. There's blood smeared across his face, dripping down to land on that beautifully shaped chest, and his eyes are empty, lost and finally, finally broken.
"Good boy," she purrs, moving forward to slide her fingers back into his hair. The cuts are gone from his scalp now, and the marks her fury left on his chest are fading. "That's my good little pet. You know what you need to do now, don't you?" She pushes him downwards, and this time he doesn't resist her. Why would he? All of the fight drained out of him just as soon as he drained that ragged little doll, lying broken and abandoned next to him.
She lets go of him half way down, but his lips settle against the leather of her open-toed Jimmy Choos anyway. He lets out a low sound, something that comes from deep inside him, but it's soft and muted, muffled by the press of her painted toes against his lips and the sobs he's trying desperately to keep inside. The sound wells up anyway, choked with blood and snot and grief.
Danica's smile deepens. He's slobbering all over her feet, but her shoes are ruined already; what's a little more blood on them?
The end