Chapter Text
She's dreamed of this reckoning for a long time, of getting her hand around Fitchum's grimy, scruffed throat, and he can't do anything to stop it. Not since she tied him stretched across the backseat, sitting over his stomach, her stilettos digging into his knees, and blindfolded him with the driver's black tie. It was easier than she predicted in the end, dropping down on top of him in the alley, she thought he'd appreciate an assault in one of his favoured places to attack, getting him drained just enough to drag into the back of a sedan, the valet driver dispensed with much quicker than this. She kept letting up a little, both to wipe her mouth and to allow him to get something of a grasp on what was happening, then enjoying sending him under again. But she's stopped short of killing him, just yet. She wants him to know where he is, who he's with, at the end. To feel her kneading his neck lovingly with her hands as he comes around, fully understanding his helpless state. He winces and coughs as he swims back towards achingly available consciousness, the vitae spraying out a little, then laughs wheezily, firing himself up.
“God fuckin' damn it, Jane.” So he's figured it out sooner rather than later. It don't matter. Might as well let him see her, now. “Are you okay, babe?” Far be it for you to ask.
“Shut the fuck up, you sick, twisted Malkavian trash. This night right here, this is the night you're gonna pay for what you did to me.”
His wrists rotate slowly on their axes, testing the constraints of the webbed cargo net she's used to bind them against the handle with. He's way too weak to get out of even that at this stage. “Yeah, I'll say. So we fucked you up pretty damn good, huh, Jane?”
She puts the heel of her hand hard across his mouth, forcing his head into the door, and winds the long black dress tie through her fingers in the other one, ready to shove it in there he won't obey.
“...Did I tell you? You ain't got nothin' nice to say, you shut the fuck up.” There is a swallow of consideration as they stare each other out. He nods, after a few seconds, when she presses down even harder, and she draws it away.
“Mmkay. You fuckin' got it.”
She snaps, “I meant this instant, Fitchum. Not tomorrow, not next week.”
“Right, but you of all people should know I don't listen too damn good.” He lifts his chin towards her hand. “Perhaps you're just gonna have to use that. Or jus' fuckin' kill me.”
“Oh, no, you see, I'm afraid I'm not gonna kill you for quite some time. You gotta ask me for that. First you're gonna tell me where to find Bishop, and his messed-up little brother. Wonder how he's gettin' on with that brand, in this day and age. But I'm prepared to wait. Yeah. You're shutting up now, aren't you?”
Nope, not for a second. At least he licks his lips before he speaks again. "What if I don't know?"
"You mean, if you pretend you don't know? Then it's just gonna take even fuckin' longer."
“Oh, great. That's juuuust fuckin' great. So that's all comin' out of me, is it? What you got there to make that happen, some good old bondage toys, you gonna peg me, you gonna fist my ass? You gonna rape me, Jane? Cause you gotta know I'm only gonna goddamn enjoy the hell out of it.”
There's a grunt as she pierces him, still. Just with her fingers, dry, no lube to make it easier on him. They didn't afford her that much courtesy.
“Surprised you weren't ready for that, then.”
“Fuck you, fuckin' bitch.” His boots slam hard on the door once, twice, probably with the last of his strength, as she removes them. That was pointless. But in fairness to him it's gonna be too late, too exquisitely painful to move his lower limbs much at all soon.
“No, fuck you, Fitchum.” She twists the toy in, mercilessly, stroking over his face, closing her eyes tight on his anguished shout, locked in the rear of the car with the windows up, cramped with his long legs folded behind her body, which is music to her ears. Practically orgasmic, to hear that, it makes her want to put a finger in herself. But that can wait, as well. She's gonna leave him spread on there with the most powerful vibrator she could find lodged right inside for a spell, flush against his prostate, stuck on the highest speed function. He can count himself lucky she's not fucking off and leaving him lying there with the door and his legs wide open and the dash light on, bleeding from the throat for any other kindred that don't consider diablerie a crime to find, but she does want him all to herself.
Instead she reapplies her lipstick and smears a rough, rouged kiss on him, from between his eyes, down the bridge of his nose, over his cheekbone, sliding across to one ear (mangled from the consequences of his criminal activities way back when they first knew each other) then onto his bobbing throat, positioning her fangs just above the skin so he can feel the tips of them hovering over it, on the verge of breaking into the vein again. She licks him there, whispering, “How does it feel knowin you're gonna be abused and diablerised by your own childe.”
He shakes his head, holding one eye closed, like nah. “You're all Bishop's childe. I was just there, Jane. Man, that was a long time ago now, huh? Still, thanks for the ride. Gonna let me make a fuckin' morsel of your tits again?” He opens his mouth slightly, and brings his jaw upwards in the same motion he woulda used then, only of course he was on top of her for it.
Yeah, so fuckin' funny, so not gross. She has to give him some credit for making it this far after though, as one hot blooded fuckin' lunatic. Guess they're both of them dark-eyed survivors, despite belonging to vastly different clans. She wonders what generation Fitchum is, he's obviously younger than Bishop, but how many asylums has he been locked away in through the years, or even before he was turned to a vampire, to walk the endless nights, how much of his restless soul had already been scooped out of him.
“Nope. An' I'm gonna make you wish you hadn't.”
Then she gags him with the tie, holding the knot tight in a clenched fist and jerking his head sharply before she ties it back against the handle as well, so it won't slip out easy, his neck rested on his clenched fists. He had his fangs already open and waiting anyway, his noises will sound a lot better, more frustrated, that way. She tightens the bonds at his wrists a little, making sure he can't slip out of those either as he tries tugging again. She didn't undress him much, because she doesn't need him thinking she actually wants him, god no. Just pulled his pants down far enough for the rabbit to go into him, and the extra humiliation of it. She can't even bring herself to put her mouth on his cock that looks so painfully hard either though it is very, very tempting to make it worse. She should have brought a ring for him, though. Never mind, they'll get there regardless. She hitches his thighs slightly further apart, jogging the thing a little, and he lets out a filthy, indolent groan. Probably another fuck you lost in there somewhere. She smiles, runs her nails down his critically exposed throat, the jagged zig zagging scar that hasn't faded away yet.
“Don't sweat it too much, Fitchum, metaphorically speakin' of course. Infact, take your sweet fuckin' time about it. I'll sit up front, switch the radio on for a while, maybe have a cigarette. You decide when you wanna talk, okay, babe? Just bang on the seat with your feet or somethin', you decide that you've had enough. Not like Bishop's gonna kill you, or anything, if I decide your shitty vintage ain't worth the expenditure.”