Dark Connections (Keating Pls)

[Cassandra Coven]

Cassandra was so giddy with excitement and lust that the walk back to Keating's place hardly registered. The only focus of her mind was her own fast beating heart and the man's muscled arm looped around hers as he held her hand. She couldn't take her eyes off him and when she did, they were just outside the threshold of his simple abode, the door opened and waiting. But Keating's arm blocked the way, his softly spoken words calling her attention back from her dark fantasies. He was giving her one last chance to back out it seemed. Almost as if she wouldn't be coming back out in one piece. Cassandra gave him a coy smile, all sultry and full of temptation. Gone was the facade of the innocent barmaid, the mask she always wore when on the job serving drinks, replaced instead by a woman growing to find the desires of her own flesh, one only discovering her need for passion and want of physical attention. Whether it was her true nature or not remained to be seen. She stepped forward, as if she meant to enter, but of course the man's arm was in the way so she ended up pressing against it. Tall Keating held his arm low and at an angle, about chest level to her and fully blocking the way to prevent her entry inside the room. Cassandra leaned against him until Keating could feel his forearm nestled between her bosom. "I'm not afraid, sir," she said huskily. She licked her lips, wetting them with her tongue. "Are you?" How bad could the night be?

[Keating Ash]

No. Keating shook his head, and the corners of his generous mouth turned upwards. “You wouldn’t have come here if I was the fearful kind,” he answered, studying her moistened lips. “You need a strong man, Cassandra. I can see it in you.” Keating slowly and deliberately let loose the doorframe, allowing Cassandra’s weight to lean more fully against his arm. Rough fingers slid across her dress, and he could feel the womanly undergarments beneath as he ushered her through the door. Shutting it firmly behind him, he said, “You want a drink?” But he didn’t wait for a reply, as if one wasn’t really necessary. Instead he walked over to the dresser and poured each of them a glass, one-handed. The other arm still pained him, and it hung by his side, stiffening as he tried not to move it. Boots loud on the wooden floor, he walked the few steps to deliver the drink to her, his own having been left on the dresser. Once the drink exchanged hands, Keating did not move away. In actuality he stepped closer to the barmaid. Small talk and idle chatter were things Keating had no use for. He was a man of action, not of words. Still he said, “You can sit if you want,” but he seemed not to notice that he stood in the way of the path to the chairs. His dark eyes shone in the dim light as he almost spoke then, but reconsidered. “Petch this!” he exclaimed, unable to control his considerable lusts and pulled Cassandra to him roughly and finding her mouth once more.

[Cassandra Coven]

Cassandra stood in the middle of the room holding the liquor-filled glass, not knowing what to do with it. Despite the nature of her profession, serving drinks in a tavern, she wasn't much of a drinker, not having much tolerance for it. A mere glass of an alcoholic beverage, even if it was just ale, was enough to get her tipsy. Still, to show her appreciation of Keating's attempt at being a gracious host, she smiled and took a polite sip from the glass. It was whiskey. The drink's vapors filled her nose and it was all she could do to freeze her expression and not gag from its potency. She swallowed as soon as it passed her tongue but immediately regretted it: the fiery liquid burned her throat before it settled into a little ball of warmth in her belly. She coughed as blood rushed to her face. "Wow..." she gasped, fanning herself with her hands. "That was...that was something..." And then Keating was upon her, his lips pressing against hers as the man imposed his lust upon her. He held her close, his one good arm holding her tight. Caught off guard, Cassandra dropped her drinking glass as she melted into the kiss. She knew not if it shattered on the floor, her world centered once more around Keating's lips and the growing passion between them.

[Keating Ash]

Cassandra’s glass fell to the floor, and sent amber droplets flying. A small part of Keating’s mind noticed, and with a kick of a boot, he sent the glass rolling away from their feet, a wet line of whisky trailing behind it. The liquor on her breath became his as he kissed her and Cassandra’s softer body conformed to his in their embrace. Keating’s response was almost entirely physical; his chest and hips pressed more firmly into hers as the kiss deepened. Unconsciously, the injured arm lifted to caress her womanly curves, yet it was still too tender to use, and he winced in pain as the arm dropped. Instead, he loosened the other hand from where it rested along the curve of her spine and slid it upwards into her thick hair, his fingers playing with the stray strands. There was no thought to what he did, there was no plan to how his body moved; it acted of its own accord. His mouth kissed hers hungrily for Cassandra ignited a dark yearning within his loins. He wanted more! His good hand slid around to rest against her jaw tenderly; he cradled it, tanned hand against pale skin. Strength lay in his fingers, though he did not need it. It was contained for the moment, but it was there, pervasive, powerful and patient. The kiss lengthened as it lasted, and Keating grew energy from it as he pulled away slowly. Still within inches of the barmaid’s face, he stared at her, watching every tiny expression play across her face. His hand lowered, fingers pressed lightly on her skin to trail over her chest and down to her abdomen. Keating was fully aroused, as Cassandra would be aware, pressed against him as she was. Watching her eyes, Keating lifted a fistful of the skirt fabric, and rested his palm upon Cassandra’s hip. Her skin was soft, so womanly. He could feel her breath upon his face. A contented rumble of appreciation sounded deep within Keating’s throat and slowly his hand began to slide lower.

[Cassandra Coven]

The taste of Keating's mouth, tinged with the flavor of the drinks he's had earlier, became Cassandra's world. She felt urgency in his touch, in his every movement, a barely controlled yearning for gratification. She reveled in it, never having experienced such burning need from anyone before. The emotion was infectious and she craved for it; it was addicting! Her arms circled around his neck and she pulled herself closer to him. She felt his body's reaction to her nearness and knew without doubt his desire for her. She herself could not deny the fact that she felt the same for him. Her breathing grew labored, excited. Her gloved hands were grasping, one trying to find purchase between the short locks of his hair, the other running like claws down his back. Had the gloves not been there, she would have scratched him with her long fingernails. Cassandra was losing herself in the sensation of the kiss. Keating became her world. Strong, powerful Keating. She moaned in his mouth, a song of pleasure. Her body tried to recall when it was she had experienced such torrid passion before, digging deep into memory. When was it? Everything felt familiar to her, even the stiffness pressing against her hips... And then, suddenly, Keating's lips drew away and Cassandra found herself deprived. Eyes half-lidded, she tilted her head up, her full lips searching for his once more. It did not return. Where was it? He musn't do this again, taking away the source of her pleasure! A different sensation, his rough fingers tracing a line down her throat, replaced the heaven his lips provided. It moved lower, between her breasts, resting briefly on her abdomen before sliding down to her hips. And then it moved even lower. And Cassandra remembered. --/-- The man's touch felt vile, roaming over her virgin flesh. Squeezing. Pinching. Groping. She tried to shy away, recoiling from his intentions, but he was ever present, pressing against her. Inescapable. A knife, cold and keen, kissed the side of her neck. "Don't resist," he taunted her in a cruel whisper even as he undid her blouse. "You know what I would do to her, yes?" She could only nod, powerless to disagree. She did not even struggle when his knife slit her undergarments open. His grubby hands continued to roam her body. Exploring. Violating. Desecrating. She took it all stoically. When he finally took her, forcefully, not a sound emerged from her lips. Tears only fell. --/-- Keating's touch brought back memories, and they were not pleasant ones. Not even close to it. They were memories of a helpless and frightened girl, long buried to keep herself sane. The pain from them may have gone but the scars remained. And recalling them was akin to ripping the long-healed wounds open. And it made Cassandra snap. Dark eyes shot wide open, panic and not a little bit of madness in them. She did not recognize the man before her as Keating but someone else entirely. "No!" she shrieked. "Leave her alone!" She beat her hands against his chest in an attempt to get away but the man was too powerfully built that she may as well have been hitting a wall. Undaunted, one of her hands lowered to her thigh and practiced fingers pulled out a hidden dagger secretly strapped there. Cassandra held it up in an underhand grip, ready to plunge it into the Keating's heart.

[Keating Ash]

Keating loved the feel of Cassandra’s skin against his hand. She was soft and small, and his fingertips lightly squeezed her flesh as they dipped past her abdomen. He wanted to feel each part of her and his need guided his hands lower, and - Thank the gods he had been studying her face! For suddenly Cassandra went wild and screamed at him. His sluggish mind tried to lift itself from out of its pleasurable, physical focus and grasp what was happening. What had happened? Willing lover to crazy woman! The barmaid’s rapid change was mystifying, and Keating’s eyes went wide as he held onto one of her biceps tightly, trying to control the screaming woman. Small hands beat at his chest and she yelled loudly. But when the knife came out, he exclaimed, “Woahhhh!” and both hands came up, palms open. It pained him greatly to lift the injured arm, but Cassandra looked all to willing to use that knife. He gritted his teeth through the agony, but the girl had gone that crazy! And he’d no idea what she was talking about! Keating’s black eyes narrowed, this was not the first knife he’d had pulled on him. But it was the first in a situation like this… and Keating reacted just as quickly. He barked, “This will end now!” His experience brawling in taverns and as a bouncer had honed his reflexes. The smaller woman was no match for him and Keating simply struck out and grabbed Cassandra’s tiny wrist. His voice lower now, deep and threatening growled, “Drop it! Drop it now, Cassandra!” And he squeezed her wrist, and twisted it painfully to make her let go. The glove also twisted in his grip, turning sideways.

[Cassandra Coven]

Cassandra was still lost in a different place and a different time as Keating gripped her by the arm. The image of her stepfather, Roald, leered at her from inside her mind and she thought Keating's resistance was him fighting back against her. She needed to kill him, to stop his maltreatment of her mother! She didn't care what happened to her as long as the man paid for his abuses. With renewed strength, Cassandra drove her dagger forward. Or tried to, at least. Keating was too strong, too experienced in the ways of fisticuffs and hand to hand combat, and he easily had her arm twisted behind her, gripping her by the wrist. A shift in his grip had her dropping the small weapon from nerveless fingers. Cassandra tried to hit him once more with her free hand, but another twist by Keating had her crying out and standing on tiptoes, the pain too much for her to bear. That brought her back to her senses. "Oh, Priskil," she gasped, realizing that she had lost control of herself once more, that she had brought herself back to a time that was most dark for her. But this time her hands were not stained with the blood of a lover. This time, she was stopped by the man she meant to make love to. Cassandra leaned back against Keating, trying to ease the pain of her twisted arm, and drew in a long, ragged breath. Tears were streaming down her face, borne from fear, shame and frustration. Fear, because she was afraid to share with Keating her inner demons, terrified as she was of rejection. Shame, for attacking the man who had done nothing against her and had even protected her earlier that evening. And frustration, for it wasn't the first time that this has happened. She wondered briefly if she was doomed to go through something like this with every lover who tried to take her to bed. The realization hit her like a kick in the gut and she found it hard to breathe. Sobs, uncontrollable, wracked her small frame as she lowered her head. "I'm so sorry, Keating," she whispered. "You can let me go now. I'll...understand if you want to kick me out of your room." OOCIt's totally cool if you want to lay the smack down on Cassandra. I feel like I need a shower after all this drama, lol!

[Keating Ash]

Her heart beat rhythmically against his chest, and still he had not let go. Slowly Keating twisted the girl around with his one good hand. Cassandra was now facing him, and his grip tightened, as he squeezed and lifted her arm uncomfortably. The area reddened automatically, but he was not about to let go. Not yet. There was no telling if she would attack him again. Apologetic and face tearstained, Cassandra looked up at him. But Keating’s face remained stoic and hard, even as she cried at his use of force. She was crazy, there was no doubt. All the women that surrounded him were not right in some way. Cassandra, Rose, the whores, and many girls from his past. There was Rysol, bringing chaos into his life again. Hell! He had to get out of this city and away from its patron god! The girl apologized, and told him to let her go, which he promptly did. Unwinding his fingers from her bruised skin, he released her, but immediately slapped her face, hard. The force behind it rocked his injured arm. “Arrghhh!” he grunted, grabbing his shoulder and turning away, so she could not see him grimace. “Petch!” It was time to see the damage done back at the tavern. Keating tried to peel off the shirt, but had trouble getting it over his shoulder. Barking at the tearful barmaid, he directed her, “Help me with this!” But the girl was slow, and he worked the shirt off painfully, his toned back muscles straining with effort. It was sore and tender to the touch and bruises, angry purple and black dotted where the chair had hit him. Poking with his fingertips tenderly, he didn’t think anything was broken, but so badly bruised that would be useless for awhile. Keating moved to sit down carefully on the edge of the small bed, and told Cassandra, “Come here...”

[Cassandra Coven]

If Cassandra thought the man would be understanding, she was sorely mistaken. Keating released her, only to slap her hard as soon as he did. Tall and powerful, the blow struck with the force of thunder. Cassandra staggered on impact, her head snapping the opposite direction. She was fortunate that the opposite wall caught her or she would have tumbled to the floor. The inside of her mouth tasted of blood as well, her lip having been split open. Already she could feel half of her lower lip swelling. I deserve all this, she thought, ashamed as she meekly approached Keating when the man called for her to help him remove his shirt to inspect his injured arm. She came forward hesitantly, afraid now to face his wrath her again but unable to leave his side for she wanted to make up for the pain she had inflicted on him. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. Gaze lowered contritely to the floor, Cassandra assisted Keating in pulling off his shirt, though she could not help but steal an occasional glance to admire his muscled frame. Her eyes would at times flicker to his, hoping for him to return the look, but Keating was busy inspecting his injured arm - one he had used to protect her from the masked man in the tavern, Cassandra had to remind herself. She needed to make it up to him. So when the man asked her to come closer, she did so immediately, unthinking. "Are you...going to hit me again?" she asked without realizing what she was saying. "Maybe you should..." Cassandra's gaze was still down, eying Keating's injured arm. She wanted to take it in her hands and make the pain go away if she could. But she knew what she could do was exactly the opposite of that. Didn't she get that ability from the same madness she had displayed in front of this man tonight? Cassandra wanted it all to go away. Maybe then she and Keating would be doing something else, rather than having this awkward moment between them. Without it all, maybe she would have let him do what he wanted. "I would let you..." She trailed off, letting the thought hang in the air. Let the man think what he will of that. Even she didn't know what she was saying.

[Keating Ash]

Blood roared in Keating’s ears and his chest heaved with effort, as his emotions threatened to boil over once again. With one last glance at his injured arm, the man shook his head and looked at Cassandra. His gaze sized up the apologetic girl; she was docile now with her eyes downcast and a bright, red handprint covered her tear stained cheek. Her lip was already swollen. “It wouldn’t matter if you ‘let’ me or not…” he said, pausing to let the words fully sink in. It was not a boast, only a simple statement of fact; he was stronger. “But once was enough, though you deserve worse.” Bala help him! He still wanted her, even after all she had done. How could he not stare at her dark featured beauty? Keating was doomed to forever be a bad judge of women, even though now he was wary and untrusting. But even so, it did little to curb the man’s appetite for the lady. “Cassandra,” he said, seriously. “We are not about to sit here on the damn bed and have a heart to heart talk. Do you understand this?” It was not Keating’s way to be the consoler of women, let the weak-willed men do that. “So you can do one of two things. You can turn around and walk out that door right now...” Into the dark night, alone, she would go. He would not escort her back to the tavern, she was unworthy of that much kindness. “Or, you can stay… If you strip right now. I’ve not got a whole lota trust in you, but I need to know you don’t have another blade.” He paused then, scratching his cheek, “No arguments. No explanations. Neither of those matter to me. Either do it – or get the petch out.” Keating’s eyes never left hers, though they drifted intimately down her body once or twice. Cassandra would be able to see clearly that he wanted her still, but he refused to take too many stupid chances with his life.