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FanFiction
- The Last Minute
Dancers
A/N:
Dave "Percy" Sledge, or Anna, do not belong to me. They belong
to Stephen Norrington, Palm Pictures, and the film "The Last Minute.&quo
Feedback is much appreciated. Archiving with permission only. Contains
NC-17 rated material (non-consensual sex, violence, and drugs), so consider
yourself warned! He
pushed her legs apart roughly, grasping her knees in his hands, the
knife blade brushing carelessly against her thigh. The handle of it
was warm now, heated by his touch, thouhe hhe had wondered vaguely if
it would still be cold, owing to his ruthless ways. She didn't dare
try to move her legs after he'd let go of them, fearing that he'd use
that blade to mark her still further. He studied her body with detachment,
and ran two fingers over her clit, and teased her sex. Her arousal had
fled, and he had little response from her. "Pity,"
he said calmly. "For this is going to hurt."
Percy flipped the switchblade shut and put it back into his pocket,
leaving Jennifer a bit relieved. She tensed when his leer returned,
and his hands gripped her thighs. "We're
not done," he said, noticing her relax a bit. Abruptly he thrust
two fingers into her, making her cry out with pain. She was dry, and
his fingers were a harsh intrusion. "We can't have that,"
he remarked. He removed his fingers, and carefully began to stroke her
cl clit, slowly and gently. "Don't,"
she said, trying to close her legs and move away from his hand. She
didn't want him to be gentle - she didn't want him to do anything at
all to her, except let her go. Percy's eyes narrowed, and he moved away.
She nearly breathed a sigh of relief, except that he didn't move far.
He opened the drawer on the bedside table, drawing out a long black
cloth. It looked like a blindfold, but he wasn't planning to use it
that way. "Open
your mouth," he ordered. She shook her head, still having enough
daring to defy him. His expression darkened, and he reached into his
pocket again. With a quiet click, switswitchblade gleamed in front of
her eyes. He traced it down her body, stopping between her legs. "Open
your mouth," he repeated, "or I know of a much easier way
to make you wet." He pressed the cool blade against her flesh,
and she relented, holding her mouth open for the gag. "Much
better," he said, removing the blade and roughly inserting the
gag. He tied the cloth behind her head, and she tried not to think about
choking. Her world was starting to feel hazy, and her stomach gave another
ominous roll.
Percy's fingers drifted back down to her sex, lightly stroking her clit.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to ignore his touch. Her body felt
cool, and his hand was warm, making it that much harder to ignore. "Keep
your eyes open," Percy said, his voice suddenly gentle. Her eyes
opened more in surprise at his tone rather than his command. He continued
to stroke her, and she shivered, her body feeling colder than before.
Her blood had cooled, but the dampness of the duvet against her skin
made it hard to stay warm. His finger slipped inside her, finding her
damp. He smiled to himself, and continued to touch her, increasing the
pressure on her clit. She felt a bit of warmth from her sex, and its
fingers seemed to reach out into the rest of her body, teasing it with
its warmth.
Jennifer's breathing began to slow, and her body began to respond to
his touch. Her vision seemed hazy, and she couldn't quite focus on what
she ought to be doing. His fingers skillfully teased her, and she rocked
her hips against his hand, wanting more. A sort of languor stole over
her, and Percy knew that she would be mortified to think that she was
responding to him, even after all he'd done.
Percy unbuttoned his trousers, freeing his hard cock. He pushed into
her with one quick, violent thrust, bringing her hazy mind back to focus.
As much as she'd begun to become aroused with his touch, that arousal
fled swiftly. She screamed against the gag as he thrust into her again
and again, and she tried to struggle, but her limbs wouldn't respond.
She felt like a weight was on her chest, even though Percy kept his
weight off her. She gasped for breath, and her eyes reflected her panicked
struggle for air. Percy kept his gaze on her, watching with detached
amusement as her struggle faded. Her eyes rolled up into the back of
her head, and her body went limp. He thrust twice more into her unresponsive
flesh, then pulled out, masturbating himself to a quick finish.
He cleaned himself up, then looked at the body on the bed. Her chest
rose and fell almost unnoticeably, and he knew that she likely wouldn't
be alive for much longer. He moved her body off the duvet, and wrapped
it in one of the black sheets underneath. Her head lolled unresponsively.
He untied the gag and tossed it carelessly onto the bed. He lifted her
body, leaving her clothes where they lay, and opened the back door of
the flat. He moved quickly down the back stairs, fortunately seeing
no one because of the late hour. He pushed open the heavy security door
with his back, his hands full with her flesh.
The rain splattered on them as he walked quickly to his car, the black
sedan gleaming in the streetlight. His hand groped in his pocket for
his keys, and he pressed the trunk opener. He smoothly deposited her
body into the recesses of the trunk, then closed it and slid into the
driver's seat. The car started with a low purr, and he put it in gear,
a destination already in mind.
He arrived in a rundown part of the City, where the only eyes that watched
were the stray animals feeding on the rubbish strewn in the alleyways.
He backed the car into a darkened alleyway, not bothering to cut the
engine. He got out, shielding his eyes from the rain as he walked to
the trunk, opening it. Jennifer's crumpled body lay within. He felt
her neck, and detected only a soft pulse. He lifted her from the trunk,
the black sheet dragging on the pavement. He turned, seeing a clutter
of rubbish bags and a dumpster a few steps away.
Percy laid Jennifer carefully behind the dumpster, her body hidden amongst
the black bags of rubbish. He draped the sheet over her body. It clung
to her in spots where the rain had caught it. He took one last look,
her pale skin beginning to turn blue in the chill, wet air. He felt
the rain trickle into his collar, and drew his suit jacket up in the
hopes of staying dry. He walked swiftly back to the car, and drove away.
Once back in the car, he rang one of his lackeys, ordering them to dispose
of the sheets and clothes they would find in the apartment. He turned
on the stereo, singing along to the Sinatra CD that was playing.
...All the beautiful strangers who held me for a night...
And fell down in the darkness on pillows soft and white...
One of Percy's crew - Derek or Robert, Anna couldn't remember - came
in to set up a folded chair. Through the shaking and nausea, she vaguely
registered its presence. Less than an hour later, Percy entered, his
suit pressed and pristine. He seated himself on the chair, and observed
her silently for several minutes. After she failed to acknowledge him,
his smooth voice cut through the quiet. "Do
you dance?" he asked her. She thought it an odd question, coming
from him, and shook her head. "Not
in years," she croaked. Percy rose and walked over to the bed,
lifting her to her feet with an iron grip that felt like a vise around
her upper arms. "You
have the build of a dancer," he said, looking her over critically.
She had stripped off her jacket and shirt some time before, and was
clad only in a thin white undershirt and her trousers. Her feet were
bare, her boots having been kicked to the side of the room, and when
she looked down she could see the silvery white of scars crossing her
feet. "But
I can't, not anymore," she said, trying desperately not to let
her emotions show. Why should he ask this of her - this, of all things
he could have required? She knew he was enthralled with tormenting those
in his power, but this was too much. A finger came under her chin, lifting
her tear-filled eyes to his cold ones. "You
know what I ask you will do," Percy said smoothly, his voice seeming
to cajole rather than threaten. His fingers caressed her neck gently,
then tightened until she could barely draw a breath. "This
one thing I ask of you," he said. "Then you can take your
gear and go." Anna nodded, and his hand relaxed. She coughed and
gasped for breath, and he let her go. She stood unsteadily on the floor,
willing herself not to collapse. Percy returned to his chair, lighting
up a cigarette.
Anna rose onto the balls of her feet, feeling the ache of her long unused
talent and her weak muscles. She recalled some of the ballet exercises
from her youth, and set about repeating them as best she could. She
bit her lip in concentration, and sweat stood out on her brow as she
tried to ignore the pain the unaccustomed movements caused.
Percy watched her with a detached sort of fascination, his mind returning
to his plaything of the night before. How he had loved to see the fear
arise, and then the hopes crushed under the weight of someone ultimately
more powerful. He felt himself growing aroused again as he remembered
the girl - what had her name been? - as her blood had stained his hands
and her screams had come, muffled behind a gag. He remembered the beauty
of her dark eyes, begging him silently for mercy. But he had none, he
could not remember a time when he had. And in his line of work, mercy
was a liability. Just a hint of compassion and rivals would swarm over
that weakness, exploiting it. Art was such a weakness, and he kept it
hidden, his singing a mere amusement for his underlings, and his preference
for dancers completely unknown.
He came back to the present, seeing Anna awkwardly but skillfully move
with the grace of a ballerina, until she turned on her ankle and crumpled
to the floor with a cry of pain. He rose from his chair and knelt down
at her side, a rare occurrence. Even in her pain, she tried to move
away from him, fearing his violent retribution. It was then that he
saw her scars. He lifted her onto the bed, surprisingly gentle for one
so long accustomed to violence. Then he rose and left the room, ordering
Derek to give her some gear and drop her off somewhere near 'Shanks'
old haunts.
Alone in his private rooms, he lit a cigarette, his mind on the dancers. The
End. |
