Mother

by Jane St. Clair and Te

Jane: Contemplating a who. Callisto's the obvious choice, but I know less than nothing about her, except that she led the Morlocks and Storm kicked her ass and Marrow loves her (comic calls her Marrow's mentor, but). Backstory, maybe.

Te: *nodding* All I know is that she's butch, angry, bitter, had an epiphany at some point down the line and became somewhat good, may have lost that epiphany at a later date.

I, of course, love the vaguely incestuous taste of this one, the comfort and rage beneath it all.

I see Callisto smiling savagely when a sharp and sudden bone growth leaves her with a long, shallow slash along her thigh and pelvis. When Marrow leans down to lap away the blood...

In a way that's as threatening as it is submissive. Animal-girl all sharp edges and claws. Only intimate after the first seconds. Tongue on her skin, flattened against the wound, holding it closed for single seconds. Starkly pleasurable above the wound's burn, something she could moan into, except that Marrow looks up at her with just the thinnest edge of blood on her mouth and *smiles*, like she's won some kind of hunt, like she's been soaking in the blood of a killed thing, lips the same oxidized colour as her hair.

Pack mentality of course. They all lived on their own. The ugly ones. The *strong* ones, stunted because of the up-world. The world that's supposed to be her own, now. Reconciled and healthy. No one to take revenge on, no one touchable, so meekness becomes a virtue. Except that right now, right here, with her favorite girl, it's all bullshit.

Mad, scared Sarah, big girl with memories no one should have. Marauders and Callisto wants a gun in her hand. One with real, inhumane bullets to rend and tear the flesh that rent her pack. Or just another family, well-fed and tall and just mad enough, like the womanchild grinning at her, half-pinning her down.

Well and fine, and she's wet. Is this wrong? Upworlders would have a million reasons to say yes. Callisto's instincts, however... Begins to lay back, settle into the motions of surrender, looking up at the rot-beamed roof of this old warehouse in the middle of nowhere, dusty grey sunlight setting the dirt and bugs to sparkle within the beams. Nasty things, disease and filth, gilded as falsely as any dime store charm. No room for fantasy here.

Sarah leaning over her, crawling up close to her and Callisto strikes, tooth and claw, little dirty rat-fighter and the taste of iron in her mouth and Sarah only grins wider and it's beautiful.

Knife-slash smile gleaming in the dimness, leaning in to claim a brutal kiss just as a relatively small spike of bone pierces her cheek, slashes Callisto's own.

Instant of agony, brighter than before, and Sarah jerks back. Huge fear in her eyes. Of making greater ugliness, maybe. Until Callisto dips a finger into the new wound and licks it, carefully. Dips again and offers it to Sarah.

Who takes it and sucks. Long, careful wetness with the only part of her not physically dangerous. Verbally . . . but nobody upworld pays particular attention to that, do they? All Sarah's curses just make her a filthy, swearing thing from down below. Never heard her affectionate obscenities and the way that love can pour black out of her mouth.

Callisto sits up, leans in and kisses more carefully, withdrawing her finger only once she's found Sarah's tongue with her own. Wet, wet like she's wet between her legs, wanting this girl. Reaching into her ripped t-shirt to find the rounded, scarred breasts inside. Kneading them while Sarah pulls back and traces a tongue-tip over the gash in Callisto's face.

Bloody all over her face and gasping by the time Callisto can pull her back down. Sarah hunches above her, aware again of how impossible the animal pleasure of full-body contact is. But grinning just the same.

Fuck, *yes*, and what's better than this, right here? Joy of one of her young ones and the reek of sex and blood in the air. Screw life, screw *their* beauty, because they can't know anything like this.

Callisto slides her leg between Sarah's carefully, gaining a scrape on her calf before slipping into place. Shifts a little so her knee is right where she wants it, pressing hard against Sarah's sex, hot, so hot and yeah, wet, too. Little 'o' of surprise, skewed out of proportion by the bone sticking out of her cheek.

Curved and jagged and all the encouragement Callisto needs to start rocking against her, kneading against her, flexing her thigh muscles for more leverage and movement, and just because it feels *good*.

Sarah braced above her, head thrown back and gasping, breath catching somewhere deep in her chest to produce tiny half-moans and grunt. Animal, animal wild and right and Callisto rips open Sarah's shirt, chuckles under her breath at the slick satin prettiness of her bra, lacy at the top, purple red as her hair.

No patience for finesse, and she just yanks the bra down, tearing it a little to leave Sarah's heavy breasts high and trapped there. Wrong angle for her mouth but perfect for her hands. Thumbprint circles around her nipples, getting harder and harder, flesh rippled and pink. Scratches her nails over them once and again, harsher this time and leaving welts that make Sarah cry out, push back against her knee.

Fast, tough rhythm, counter to her ragged and random squeezes and brushes at Sarah's breasts and *fuck* this she wants them in her *mouth*.

Flips them over with a grunt, barely manages to avoid impaling herself.

Comes at them from the side, licks up the track of every welt and Sarah has her eyes closed, writhing beneath her. Sudden heat where Callisto's holding Sarah's wrist down and she jerks clear just in time to miss the new bone growth there.

It's all right, it's just fine, and the best part is knowing the only comfort she has to give is just what she's doing -- nibbling at the rows of white scars, lapping around the bone jutting from Sarah's sternum, dried blood and ravaged flesh. Back up to a nipple and sucking, crooning in a hum before getting up on her knees for one, long look at what she's wrought.

Strange line in her head, then, about the lilies of the field. Strange because it's so terribly wrong, in mood and in colour. Agony and labour in her touches, and the path she's left is raised purple and red. Bruises in the shape of teeth around the torn flesh healing itself carefully, and the now-shredded lace of Sarah's bra, and the hair she knows will be *there*, just under the cut-off jeans, when she can get them down and off.

Harder than it sounds. Bone-edges catch on the denim, rip it and snare and refuse to let go for the longest time. Better only because now at least the shorts are open, and if Callisto can't get them off, she can at least get *in*. Stroke the somehow oddly tender flesh just above Sarah's pubic line, stroke up the thinly-haired insides of her thighs.

Then *loose*, because the shorts give when they strike the next bone and Sarah kicks them off. Lies there almost naked, hips held together with bizarrely chaste white cotton, the crotch of it soaking to translucence. Wetness Callisto can touch and taste without ever reaching skin. Rubs there with the heel of her hand and gets to witness the sensation run up Sarah's body to the base of her skull. Into her throat where it comes out as a barely-voiced

"*Fuck*."

There's blood barely dripping down her own thigh, unimportant in the face of this body and the pain that tracks up it at unpredictable moments, but blood just the same. Brilliant and almost strange-coloured when it slides from her flesh down to Sarah's.

Rubs it into a stain that will crackle and itch later. After. Bends down to it and just nuzzles the air above it. Lets out the tip of her tongue knowing Sarah's watching this. Watching her.

Grins wide and scuttles back hefts and spreads strong thighs and dives in. One long lick from cunt to clit and back again. Gets scored again when Sarah bucks and the pain just adds to it. The whole bloody sex *thing* they've got there, just for the two of them. Morlocks forever and suddenly Callisto could be a child again. Not the pretty child she was, not *ever* that vapid little thing, but a grinning little devil with an eyepatch and a face full of pussy.

Pushes closer, sucks and licks and bites too hard, just once, to hear her beautiful girl growl and she knows neither of them feel like games here. Not with the seam of her jeans making her sweat, not with hot slick salt and musk, and Callisto drags a hand away from Sarah's breast, down and down, spreading her a little more, getting her finger wet and shoving in with a sort of careful brutality she's been using on herself for years.

Welcomed with a cry and she's inside now. Knuckle bumping her chin and fucking Sarah, making her moan and writhe, tasting her and testing her and *making* her. *All yours and you're mine,* she doesn't say.

Doesn't think she has to.

Faster now and sucking it up, juicy and fresh pretty girl and Callisto knows no one who's mattered has ever been here before. No one but her can make it this good for her baby girl.

Crooning it now, come on, come on, give it up and the name Sarah gives Callisto when she comes might as well have been her own all along.

Yeah, she can be Sarah's mama, too.

Stays crouched there, breathing the smell of Sarah's ecstasy while the girl pants in front of her. Little heaving breaths moving that scarred belly. Warmth in her own belly and breasts just from watching, just half-aware of how wet she is herself.

Callisto feels rather than sees Sarah move. Raises her head and meets the eyes starting down that wonderful body at her and rolls back to her heels to meet that look. Thick, luscious *glow* under Sarah's fierceness. She scoots herself up, gets her center of gravity under her without breaking her gaze off.

One hand comes up. It's been a bad day for it; the flesh's almost invisible under the bone growth. Sarah flexes it for a second and turns it over, showing off. The jagged places. Keeps watching Callisto while she brings her other hand up and begins snapping those bones off and tossing them away to reveal the skin underneath, like shelling some creature from deep under the ocean.

Fascinating and bloody when it emerges, blood streaking over the flesh, and the whole appendage looks more than vaguely wounded, but Sarah stretches each finger out as though she's suddenly broken loose.

She reaches out with it and hooks one pale finger into the waist of Callisto's jeans to pull her forward. And undresses her, piece by piece, with just that one hand. Less careful in the gesture than Callisto's ever seen her, and it takes her a minute to realize that Sarah's betting on the bone growth in that hand having exhausted itself for the foreseeable future. Making it safe to touch intimately. Callisto's breasts, the small curve of her belly between her hipbones, the swell of flesh under her pubic hair.

Down low, and Callisto's leaning up when Sarah slides that touch down the extra pair of inches, between wet, forested lips to brush her clit. Slick from the spreading pressure her clothes gave, this bundle of sensation that only pulses harder every time Callisto imagines one last, unexpected bone presenting itself there. While she spreads her knees and grinds down a little against that focussed touch and gets rewarded by the sum of Sarah's hand curling in. Fingers sliding farther back while the scarred heel remains, a real surface for Callisto to press against while she gets opened and explored where she's wettest.

Sarah spreads her open, leaves her empty like that for long seconds, letting the air's cold touch her suddenly unprotected cunt. Grinds the heel of that hand against her clit harder. Grins. Feral, a little blood on her teeth from the facial spike.

"C'mon. Lie back."

The other hand -- the boned, dangerous one -- reaches out to help her. Careful and not doing more that surface damage, and the pain of the tiny cuts *glitters*. Green and purple-red as Sarah, silver as her own taste on her lips when Sarah brings the wounded hand up to her mouth. Slick, smoky substitute for a kiss, and Callisto lays flat, enjoys the stroke of that sticky hand down her body, back between her legs.

Two fingers in her immediately, but not deep. Opening, instead, keeping her aware of the aching centre of herself and growling at the absence of something to fill it. Happier when it's three fingers, pushing a little deeper. Still not fucking her, though. Just touching. Just *in*.

Sarah's still, very still while the fourth slides in, ignoring Callisto's writhing, her growls to *do* something. Aching for this, for anything, and she has to bring her hands up, rub her breasts, twist the nipples between her fingers just to keep herself from going over the edge.

Only understands when she feels the thumb brush her clit, then her inner lips. Hisses *yessss* at the very idea of it. Flare of wet between her legs, too, and she knows that can only be a good thing. Then breathes, relaxes, *feels* while Sarah slides the thumb into the fingers' hollow and starts to press in. *Yes* and *ohhh* and *fuck*, and the wide part of that little hand *slides* in, slick as water.

Used to laugh at the stupid upworld boys looking for a thrill who couldn't satisfy her, wants to laugh harder now. The pure *joy* of it, both of them waiting it out a little, less to get Callisto used to it than to just *feel*. Blood and come and one thankfully smooth little knob of bone that Sarah has missed.

Finger and knuckle and the wrist she's trying to squeeze on, work those muscles and make herself sweat and groan and Sarah flexes. Once, twice, then over and over again. Callisto stretched and aching with that purest expression of control.

Spitted on Sarah and roasting with need, trying and failing to bite back the whimpers, to focus on the satisfied glitter in her girl's eyes. Lets her head fall back, lets it rock back and forth in helpless denial of pressure and sweet, sweet need.

Only you, she wants to say, and Sarah begins to push a little. Not far to go, bumping against the tough muscle of Callisto's back wall and pulling out again with the slightest twist. Pulling her and pushing her, ass slipping and scraping on smooth dust and rough concrete, senses reeling, pulling her up higher than anything and fucking her down.

Again, again and the feeling's so right where she needs it that it's like dreaming the same dream, familiarly surreal, more vivid than she can take without losing it completely. There in the tremble and flex of her internal muscles, that possibility of pure surrender.

Whimpers again and *takes* it, falling into the dark of herself, knowing herself safe and protected and loved with Sarah seemingly all around her. Velvet black and flashes of color in her vision, psychedelic eyelid movies, like the time they'd all taken a lick at poor, dead Groove with his indigo afro and perpetual state of otherwhere and everything like right now.

Can't hear or understand the sounds she's making, wonders if they're anything like words, anything like what Sarah needs to hear and sinks back below the surface to gasp and moan.

This moment when she thinks Sarah's going to crawl right up inside her, bloody and wet and be totally *hers*, possessed in the act of possession. Long rattle of her breath during which she can't deny Sarah that. Anything. All the pleasure she can imagine running out from a dark, beautiful centre-place and she comes, wailing and in that moment so totally out of control of her body that she has to trust Sarah utterly to protect her.

Focuses again when she can and Sarah's spikes are like hard armour between her and the upworld and the things that lurk underneath the dark. Protective spirit while she eases her hand out, soaking wet and sticky in the cool air. The little lick Sarah gives across her own wrist a finishing ritual. Shine of it on her lips when she smiles at Callisto.

Sharp and bright, this girl. Callisto's pack mate who carved her apart. Waiting now, protective and loving, while she puts herself back together.

End

back to Jane St. Clair's stories | back to felicitas! | comicfic.net