Appearances By: Darkstar
Mentioned: Darkstar, Adrian Tanner Junior, Xavier Phibes


Dancing On Graves
In Stiletto Tap Shoes


My first match: a success. Wonderful. I just hope that it will set the air for the rest of my career. What a nice thought. The flight back to Alaska was retched. Of course, flying in general was wretched no matter who my company was and how smooth the flight was. Yeah, I hate flying. There was just something about being twenty thousand miles in the air with only a thin layer of metal keeping me from being alive and having my head explode.

Darkstar hadn’t done a damn thing since he finished his match. He was still covered in black and red paint. Somehow, I managed to convince him to put a bandage on the deep cut on the top of his head. We got into the house and he skittered off somewhere. Demonica returned to the basement. I stood there quietly in the front foyer, letting out a very light sigh. I hadn’t had a chance to really talk to Demonica yet. She seemed okay with my relationship with Darkstar, but I was gullible in that sense. I didn’t take everything for face value, but with the people I cared about, I trusted them not to lie to me.

I moved into Darkstar’s bedroom, putting my duffle bag onto the edge of the bed. I pulled the zipper back and was hit by the smell of my vanilla body spray and deodorant. I began to unpack the very minimal amount of things that I had. Most of my clothes and possessions were in my cottage in Picton. It was a nice, little town that had about five hundred people in it. I lived on the outskirts by a lake in one of the more secluded parts. My home was surrounded by trees. The only withdrawal… it was one hour away from the nearest airport. Note to self, buy airstrip. Ugh… planes.

Knowing DS would be busy for a while, I wiggled from my pants and shirt, tossing them back into my duffle. I drew out a pair of black tear-aways with two red stripes down the sides, and my old Harley Davidson t-shirt that I had had since I was eighteen. I slid quickly into my clothes before pulling a brush through my hair. A few strands were pulled out with my brush, forcing me to cuss. I hated when that happened. The rest of my hair fell smoothly around my shoulders.

A shudder crawled down my spine as I heard something that I didn’t want to hear and would haunt me for the rest of my days come roaring down the hallway and into the bedroom. I winced a little bit, moving out of the bedroom and down the hallway. My fingers curled around the doorknob to DS’ washroom. I took a few deep breaths before opening the door. Another wince crossed my face as I saw DS stitching his own head closed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, moving further into the washroom. It was a dumb question. I knew what he was doing. I should have asked ‘why the fuck are you doing it’, but I had already spoken. What’s worse, I knew what he would reply with. Some moronic bull shit about nothing being wrong or wanting to do it himself. He was looking at me though the mirror as he continued to pull the needle through his scalp. It made my stomach turn unhappily.

“What I always do…” he replied. Okay, so I was only half right. I moved a bit closer, noticing the shattered glass on the floor and countertop. I took a slow breath, putting my hand on his back. I was watching his eyes through the mirror, my sapphire orbs no doubt sort of curious.

“Let me help.” I stated, flatly. There was no jest in my tone. I was utterly serious, and wasn’t taking no for an answer. I knew he could tell. It was frightening how similar we were. My fingertips softly pressed into his back, my thumb stroking back and forth across his spine. I could tell he was hurting. Even if I hadn’t heard the bloodcurdling howl, I would know. I could already tell he was pissed at me for asking. He was so drilled into his ways that he’d dig his heels in at every turn just to get his way. Or at least, that’s how I saw it.

“Fine…” he muttered after a very long and very uncomfortable pause. I ran my fingers softly against the back of his neck before taking the needle from him. Men: so friggin’ temperamental. With cautious fingers, I made him sit down on the toilet seat. He was just too damned tall for me to stitch him up while he was standing. I felt my face grow blank, my eyes dull. It was the first time I had seen the wound, and it was looking very bad. I sucked in a soft breath through my teeth, before pushing the needle in one side and out the other.

“I see you’ve had lots of practice, chéri…” I murmured quietly, pushing the needle through again. Not many people could stitch themselves… especially on the top of their heads. Already, my fingers were tainted with red and black paint, and his blood. It was sickening sight, no doubt. Not for me. My brothers always played war in the backyard, but since I was a girl, I always got to play the medic. Ha. Showed them.

“Done it once or twice…” Was his reply, which made me snort in the most unladylike of fashions. Another pass through his skin with the needle and the thread closed tight around his skin. At one point, I had to put my free fingers on either side of his head to push the skin together carefully. It made a chill crawl down my spine.

“Once or twice, my ass.” I mumbled beneath my breath. “Christ, by the way these first ones look you could have been a World War II field medic.” I stated as-a-matter-of-factly. He didn’t say anything else, and I couldn’t help but think I offended him in some strange, abstract way. I got to the end of his cut and tied the thread into a firm knot before tearing the thread, careful not to tug too hard on the half that was in his skin. I moved over to the sink careful to step around the glass on the floor. The needle was placed on the countertop. I began to wash my hands quietly, some of the larger shards of glass clinking beneath the stream of water and soap. I finished and picked up the trash can, carefully picking up the glass and putting it into the bin. I felt a few of the pieces cut into my hand, but ignored them. My own blood was mixing with the glass and the remnants of, what I assumed to be, a cleansing alcohol that began to burn my skin.

“Fuck.” I hissed quietly, looking down at my fingers and palm. I wasn’t cut up too badly, but there were enough cuts to make the alcohol make my entire hand feel tingly and burning. I felt Darkstar’s fingers wrap around my hands. He seemed to look them over as I just stared blankly at my own blood oozing from my hands. It looked worse that it was, and I knew that. He turned on the faucet for me and I recoiled at the chilliness of the water. My fingers curled into my palms briefly before stretching out, allowing the alcohol and my blood to be washed down the drain. I grasped the towel in both my hands and a light twinge went up my arms from the difference in fabrics and temperatures.

“Better?” He asked. I looked up at him slowly, putting my hands against my stomach, still holding the towel. I regained my composure, giving a little shrug of my shoulders. All right, so sue me. Any girl can feel all gushy over the knight in shining armour bit. It’s a disease, I swear.

“Yeah, thanks.” I said, giving a bit of a lop-sided grin. I put the towel into the dirty clothes hamper before picking up the last bit of the glass, thankfully not cutting myself open again. I glanced at my palms again. The bleeding had stopped, mostly.

“Well, I’ll just… leave you to shower or something.” I walked passed him, lightly rubbing my hands together. The action was only to stop the tingling sensation. I got about as far as the door before I heard his pants drop. I leaned against the doorframe, my gaze looking languidly down the hallway. He laughed; a deep, throaty chortle that made my spine quake. I turned slowly, crossing my arms beneath my chest.

“Really?” He asked. I could hear the sarcasm dripping from his words. I stared into his eyes that were a lot like my own. My gaze swept across his body faintly, a grin sliding along my lips until I was smiling fully. He was naked, as I expected, and utterly irresistible, despite being covered in the paint that those mother fuckers had attacked him with.

“Well… maybe not.” I cooed, moving into the washroom more and kicking the door shut with my heel. I stepped a bit closer to him, my index and middle fingers lightly walking up his torso. My top row of teeth lightly pinned my bottom lip. The dull, purplish-red lipstick glinted faintly in the dim light of the washroom.

“Changed your mind quick.” He said. He hunched over a little ways, his mouth collapsing on my own. The kiss was brief, but enough for me. I grinned lazily as he moved to turn on the faucets. I couldn’t help but look at him, entranced.

“Yeah well, I had help.” I replied sarcastically. I saw the grin before his words registered. And I knew I was in trouble within the same breath.

“Get over here.” Was what came to mind when I finally realized what was going on. My eyes went wide. His hands wrapped around me and dragged me into the shower. I screeched faintly in surprise as the water hit my back. I was drenched in a matter of seconds. The water was a little cold, but nothing that was horribly awful. I hit his chest lightly with my fist, pulling my punch but knowing it wouldn’t have mattered if I had or not. I smiled a little bit, before chuckling lightly.

“You are such a bastard!” I exclaimed. He just grinned and slid the curtain shut.

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We had our fun and moved into the living room to be good children. Promise. Everything looked like something I had in my own den. All the furnishing were black leather. My favourite. I took one of the swigs of my beer and put it on the glass coffee table. There were coasters, and since it wasn’t my house, I used one. I could have not given a flying fuck in my own home. I grasped my cigarettes and lit one. As I sat back, I brought the ashtray with me.

I had had to change since Darkstar got my sloth clothes all wet. Jerk. He was only wearing a pair of black slacks. Men had it easy. Sure, I could have gone nude, but even the bravest of us have shy moments. I dragged out my cliché, black jeans and a black sports bra. I was settled beneath his arm, the back of my head against his shoulder. I curled my naked toes against the sofa, leaning my head back and giving the underside of his chin a little smooch. He wasn’t wearing his makeup. I had seen him without his makeup before, but I had kept my distance when he was with Villana. The thought made me shudder.

I ran my fingertips lightly down his naked arm, as I gazed at the insanely huge television screen. We were watching the latest SSW tape. I was up against some Tanner guy and had to know how he fought. For some odd reason, just from his name, I figured that he fought like a pussy. He was fighting against Squat. I grinned faintly and chuckled as Squat preformed what I assumed was the Nippleplex. Who would have thought that a guy could be subdued by a glorified purple-nurple?

“Beautiful.” I muttered to myself, shaking my head. It was so dirty, but utterly hilarious. I saw DS shake his head at me. I poked my tongue out at him before gazing back at the television. The match was over and the commercials began. It was Phibes, walking through a damp-looking dungeon. My eyes went wide as I glanced back to DS quickly. I knew that dungeon. I sat up quickly, his arm dropping down to rest on the small of my back.

“Friends, are you bored with your sex life? Do you need a little more swank in your spank? Have we got a little something for you, it’s the Gwenivere Bondage Kit.” He holds up a box that had a picture of myself, spread-eagle and tied down. I was nearly naked in that picture and poised almost perfectly as the Savage tattoo magazine center-fold. In the commercial, I moved up beside Phibes, my arm sliding around his shoulders and my fingers walking up his chest.

“So what’s in it Gwen?” Phibes asked, glancing up at me.

“Well, Phibes. There's a beginner's ball gag with comfy leather straps. Black, fuzzy handcuffs with adjustable thumb attachments. KY Jelly for when you really wanna get down and dirty. Stainless steel nipple clamps with optional electrode ports. French tickler that comes in either purple, black or red. Leather horse crop, a flail, nine tails, fold out bondage cross, gas masks, edible body paint, and of course a blindfold.”

“ Like I said friends, I wouldn’t sell it if I wouldn’t try it. Let’s see how it works shall we?” It was then that Phibes ripped off his clothes in one smooth motion. I pushed him to the ground and sprayed the body paint all over myself. I grabbed the flail and smacked Phibes across the face with it.

“On your knees, whelp.” Phibes got onto his knees and I slapped the ball gag on him. I then proceeded to clamp the nipple clamps on him and hook him up to a battery.

“Fuck yes!” Xavier cried as I ripped the clamps off and cuffed him to the fold-out cross.

I breathed hard, my nails digging into the sofa. My heart was pounding in my chest. I was on the edge of the sofa.

“Tell me I’m a naughty boy!” He begged before I slapped his ass with the nine tails. The screen faded briefly, elapsing about fifteen minutes, showing me taking off the handcuffs. Phibes moved away to put his clothes back on, lights two smokes and puts one between my lips.

“It’s your turn, and this time I’m getting out the KY Jelly.” The scene goes fuzzy and zooms in on an announcer who looked like the late Rod Roddy.

“You can buy the--” The announcer started. I screamed in the background for Phibes to put it in fucking harder. “As I was saying…” He started though I screamed again. “You can buy the Gwenivere Jordan Bondage Kit and other fine items in the Xavier Phibes Catalogue!” He shouted loudly over my noises.

I turned my head slowly to look at DS, eyes wide. My stomach churned. Christ, Phibes sure as hell had the best timing. Everything slowed down. Everything. The words on the television sounded monotonous and deep. I could see him tensing up. The ‘flight of fight’ mechanism was taking effect, and I knew DS wouldn’t choose flight. He vaulted off the sofa and I didn’t think I could move so fast. I was on the other side of the couch and on my feet. He grabbed the table and flung it against the wall. It shattered into a zillion pieces, some shards hitting me, but not cutting my skin.

“What the fuck?!” He bellowed. I took a few steps back, my heart racing in my chest. Time had sped up. My own flight or fight was coming into play, and I sure as hell knew I didn’t stand a chance. DS had at least a hundred-fifty pounds on me and nearly a whole foot in height. I was frozen, like a deer in headlights. My arms were shaking, fingers curled into my fists. I tried to speak but nothing came out. I cleared my throat, staring at him. I wasn’t afraid to admit that I was terrified. Any asshole who wouldn’t admit it would be a fucking liar.

“It… it was just a commercial.” I tried to put on a brave face but I failed miserably, and I knew it. “For fuck’s sake, it was taped a month ago and I wasn’t really fucking him. Fuck. I was standing behind the camera with a cigarette, busting the cameraman’s ear drums.” I said, quietly, trying to sound confident though again, I failed. My voice cracked a few times as I spoke. I stared into those crazed eyes of his, and it made my stomach tense hard.

“It shouldn’t have been aired. Millions of people saw that...thing...touch you! Did you know that was going to be on there?!” He was fighting a losing battle. He was angry. No, angry didn’t cover it. Livid would be a proper term. I swallowed cautiously, as if the movement would give away a weakness that he would go for. I took another step backwards, putting more distance between him and myself. He may have been my boyfriend, but he scared the fuck out of me on occasion.

“No. No, of course not. I completely forgot I’d even done it until just now.” I said. My voice was so quiet that it was barely audible over the sounds from the television. My own thoughts on Phibes were indifferent. He was a pig, but had a sense of humour. He wasn’t my friend, nor my enemy. He was just some guy that I had done a commercial with. “We were just acting.” I whispered, putting one hand on my chest to stop my heart from beating too fast.

“Phibes… that manipulative little fucker. This is his doing... his fault. I'm going to rip out his tongue for it's touching you. This isn't your fault. I’m not mad at you, it's his. He will pay...” He was pacing now as he spoke. His voice told me he had calmed a bit, but I didn’t dare go near him. I just stayed on the other side of the room with quite a few feet separating us and furniture in the way. On some level, I knew he wouldn’t hit me. He would have done it already and I would be out cold. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there, afraid to move towards him or leave the room. I felt sick to my stomach, but not enough to make me vomit.

“I’m so sorry…” I said softly, wringing my hands together in front of me. The guilt was etched into my face. I knew I shouldn’t have been guilty, and with anyone else, I wouldn’t have been. He stopped moving and looked over at me. I saw him take a deep breath that made his chest expand and made him look even more intimidating then he already was. He took a few steps closer to me, and it made my chest tight. I didn’t move back any further.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” He said. His neck was thrust to the side and I heard the vertebras crack all the way down his neck. It made me wince a little bit, but not extremely. I had seen him do it before so it was old news. We grew quiet again, just staring at one another from across the room. My nervousness was a heavy air within the room and I knew he could smell it.

“I’m just… gonna go to bed now.” I said nothing more as I turned on my heel and left the room, almost praying that he wouldn’t hurt himself. I made my way up the stairs and into his bedroom. I rubbed my hand up and down my arm nervously as my heartbeat began to slow, my breath becoming normal. I had heard him stating that he was going to work out, as I had figured he would do.

I cast a listless glance around the room. The walls were a dark shade of blue that was so near to black, especially with the lights off. There weren’t any windows; so really, the only lights in the room were on the ceiling fan and the black, bedside tables. There was a door a little ways to my left that I could only assume was a closet. I didn’t snoop so I didn’t know.

I moved to the bed, putting my duffle bag that I had left down on the floor after pulling out my pyjamas, which only consisted of the bra I was wearing and a pair of black, denim cut-offs that were torn and ragged but oh-so comfy. I changed quickly, piling all my stuff back into my bag after retrieving a thick novel and my reading glasses. I’m not blind, no. The words were just so incredibly tiny. I crawled into bed putting a pillow up behind my back against the headboard and pulling the black, satin sheets over my legs. I put on my glasses that sat on the bridge of my nose as my fingers curled around the lamp to turn it on. My glasses were plain, almost boring and not really me. I barely wore them so I wasn’t going to spend hundreds of dollars on a pair of glasses that were for reading only. So what? I was cheap that way.

So I opened the book and gazed down at the pages. It was my favourite author and my favourite series. The Anita Blake Chronicles by Laurell K. Hamilton. This specific book was called The Laughing Corpse. It was the second release. I had all of them at home, but I barely had time to read so I was only on that one.

I gazed quietly at the words on the page, but nothing really registered. I sighed lethargically as I closed my book and put it on the bedside table, followed by my glasses. It took me a few seconds to pull my hair back into a ponytail. I shrank down into the bed, taking the pillow from behind my back and putting it beneath my arm. I curled up on my side with my back to the rest of the bed. One arm was draped over the pillow, the other curled beneath the pillow under my head. And there I lay for the longest time. The bed was so wide, cold and lonely. I only took up about a quarter of the bed, and that was only width-wise. Length-wise, there probably was still an extra two, maybe three feet at the bottom of the bed.

My fingers crawled up to the lamp to turn it off, leaving the room in darkness, save for the glowing numbers on the little stereo system beside the television set. I hugged the pillow a bit closer to my chest. The room became dull, the noises throughout the mansion beginning to sound like it was all spoken through a tin can. My eyes fell closed and I was out like a light. There were no good nights, tonight. No sleepy kisses that were repeated when we woke up again. It was just me, in an overly large bed that dwarfed me in size like everything else in this place.


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