darkathena: (Default)
Gunsmoke
Rated: G
unbetaed

Riddick places his hand on Vaako's hip, pulling him back so that their hips slotted together. "A projectile weapon," Riddick growls in his ear, his breath a hot wash across the purification scar, and it's all Vaako can do not to lean into those hips, to press back against that chest, "Is not the same as a pulse gun." Vaako wants to snort, to say he knows this.

"This one," he says running his thick fingers down the length of Vaako's arm, steadying his grip, "has a kick like a," Vaako fires, "whore with a grudge." The impact slams Vaako back into Riddick who laughs, and bites down over the purification scar. Vaako notices through the twined pleasure pain that the scar causes that the head of the mannequin has exploded.

"Beautiful." Riddick's voice is a low growl, a rumble in the darkness. Vaako knows Riddick finds the strangest things beautiful. The more dangerous then the more likely he is to be entranced by it, for brief seconds before he works out how best to turn it to his advantage.

Vaako can feel Riddick's interest slowly thickening against his ass, but with Riddick it's hard to tell if it's for him or the gun.

He rubs back a little just in case it is for him, making it look like he might just be aligning himself better. "Gotta know more than just blades and pulses." Riddick grumbles in his ear. "Can't trust that shiny armour o'yours." He wraps his non dominant arm around Vaako's waist, holding him firmly in place. Vaako isn't wearing the vast majority of his armour, just his boots, and mamaat vest and pants. He has plastex greaves that sheathe a pair of ulaks that match Riddick's own. It's strange, he knows that the mamaat is laced through on a molecular level with metal, but he's sure he can feel the heat of Riddick's arm against his own cold chest through the leather.

Even Riddick wears mamaat leather now, it's his one affectation to the Necromonger way. It adds to the scent of him, burnt ozone, leather, musk and blood and Vaako's knees weaken when he smells him. Riddick prefers the half light, the darker the better. Vaako can appreciate the flash of muzzle flare in the dark-light of the Lord Marshall's quarters, the smell of cordite and sulphur smoke, and the irresistable heat of Riddick's arm fixing him in place.

"A knife's good in close quarters," Riddick says, and runs the fingers of his dominant arm to the hilt of the ulak, feeling the way Vaako shives, "a pulse gun is good when you don't want to kill, but sometimes," then he laughs to himself, "you just gotta kill every fucker in the room."

Vaako laughs too but it's not because of what Riddick says, it's the way that Riddick is holding him, how easy Vaako thinks, to shuck him off, to take the knife from his armguard, he could wound him before Riddick could move. Instead he twists a touch, just enough that the mamaat vest he's wearing rides up just enough for Riddick's finger tips, rough as sandpaper, to rest against Vaako's skin.

He could kill him easy enough, Vaako thinks, maybe, definitely wound him, but let him think he's got a pet, let him please his pet, but never let him forget that this is one that could kill him in the end.

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darkathena

August 2011

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