guinegreer | inbox for saltburnt;

I would like you to read me a book. Fiction. Something from your childhood. With a pretty girl's name doodled on the inside cover, which your fingers violate with a bad crease because I'm fucking you, ass-up, on your stomach. I'd like to hear your voice change. Break at the edges first. Crack toward the center in a crawl. The faster you read, the faster we go. And when you lose it, I would like to enter your mouth with two fingers. Hold you down. Crush you so still, we can feel the soft water of your cunt slick tides in the blanket. And then I will fuck you until you forget the regrets bruised into her name and the spine snaps in your hands.

[there might be a familiar turn of phrase, a concept discreetly poached. none of the originals were all that fucky, but he had an assignment.]

Ah. Okay.

I hope you like books.

[ greer's never been able to help it – she's a blusher, and her face gives away much of what she's thinking before she can do more than think it, which is why it's probably a good thing no one else happens to be around when she glances at her messages and finds that waiting.

but after she calms down, she decides to have a little pity. ]

I love books. But I'd remember if I'd ever read one quite in the manner that you're describing.

[ a pause, and then: ] I think I'd like to, though.

[not every error deserves pity. not every person who makes a mistake benefits from it.

but the shape of her 'pity,' if that's what that is isn't something most people would decline.]

Yeah? Do you know what you'd like to read? I have a lot of gaps in my knowledge.

If we’re following this exact scenario to the letter, maybe a collection of poems?

[ short, easy, reliant on a certain rhythm that could be thrown off with little difficulty. ]

I like that. Earth does good with meter and rhyme. Guess the rest would be up to you, focus, and elocution.

What's your name?

You're from somewhere else?

[ most people wouldn't refer to it as "earth," so it's a bit of a giveaway. ]

Greer. And you're [ a quick glance at the username. ] Qimir?

I'm from space, is what I've been saying. Other planets.

Yeah. Like 'chimera' no last syllable. Stress on the first. Regular name, in space.

Has anyone ever told you you have a lot of composure?

There would have been a time when that seemed inconceivable to me, but I've been here long enough to meet superheroes, so I guess anything's possible.

I like it. It makes you seem kind of mythical.

[ that question, once read, elicits a quiet chuckle. ] Years of growing up in political circles. But it's admittedly easier to be more composed over text.

[why thank u greer. a balm, after being compared to 21-year-old girls and kittens through these texting errors. (he hasn't really minded. girls and kittens have specific power.)]

I was trained in diplomacy, but I forgot most of it. Did you have rank? Hold court?

[he's met princesses and superheroes. all kinds, out here.]

My family was very politically-minded, so the expectation was always there. But I didn't really get involved myself until I married my husband.

[ that's putting it mildly — when your grandfather served as vice president, the most daring thing you could do is become an english professor instead, but leo galloway had always known where his granddaughter's heart truly lay, and it wasn't in washington. ]

He's the president, back home. [ technically, he's still the president here, but like her, ash hasn't insisted on any of the treatment that typically comes with the office. ]

I understand the concepts. We have presidents and marriages too. Seem to work a little differently here, though. Can't say I've personally engaged closely, despite the training.

[he flunked out. maybe he wouldn't have, with more family pressure.]

It won't be a problem for him, you reading poetry to another man?

Truthfully, we met before he became president, but we didn't get married until after he'd been elected.

It'd only be a problem if I never told him about it. But we talk about things. Who we might be interested in. Who we're thinking of bringing to bed, either together or separately.

It doesn't always happen. Sometimes it's just a fantasy that we indulge in sharing.

Awfully romantic, for politicians.

[at least by the standards of a sith lord, whatever that means.]

You can tell him the guy from space liked your voice even before he heard it.

I think Ash would consider that the highest form of flattery.

How do you know the real thing will live up to first impressions?

You like books. You know most of perception is in the head. Beauty, beholder.

Though I guess you could do a funny voice, pinch your nose. Give my intuition a run for its money. Ruin it with a laugh at the end. Both scenarios work for me.

I could, and then where would we be?

Sometimes a laugh at the end can be cathartic, especially on the heels of a heavier scene.

[ that's the kinky side talking, the woman who knows that subspace is a possibility right alongside the satisfaction of release — and the emotions that often bubble up in the aftermath. ]

Sure. We'd be in the same room. Same bodies. Same company.

Do you think you'd live up to first impressions?

[it's very challenging for him to ignore the possibility of blood in the water, no matter how small the trace. but he doesn't always bite.]

I think that would all depend on who you'd want me to be.

[ because she can be the wide-eyed, gentle submissive, eager to satisfy any whim, but she's been leaning into different instincts lately, depending on the scenario and the person involved. ]

[the normal answer would probably be, as you are, the real you, but this does not occur to the stranger.]

A married woman, a little hard to impress. Bored of dignitaries. Mad about something, trying to forget. Is this anything?

[ for a moment, she's genuinely taken aback — because his assessment is so close to her current state, the building frustrations she's been having about ash and embry breaking up yet again, that she has to wonder whether he's been paying attention long before now. ]

Very much so.

['anger, fear, loss, and desire.' it's good rhetoric for a reason. the stranger just doesn't say it to random people on the internet—it comes off a little intense for casual conversation.]

I'll let you pick her favorite color.

Do you know what you want from me? Who I am?

[he hasn't placed this in someone else's hands in awhile. the mask. masks, plural.]

I know that sometimes I don't want to think. That sometimes, having the choice taken away from me, playing the part someone wants me to play, can be freeing in its own sense.

[ it's as much a general confession about what submission has to offer her than anything pertaining to a specific scenario, but at least she can type it out these days without blushing to her hairline. ]

[there is a practical question or five he could transition to. he wouldn't be the only man in this world who'd want her, and could think of nothing else.

but he is, always has been, curious about people. it is one of his redeeming characteristics.]

You don't worry, what you want might cut backward and hurt you? We've all trusted the wrong people before.

There's always that risk. But that's also what a safeword is for.

[ she hasn't quite decided yet if she'll keep to the same one outside of ash — if it would be better to use something less personal with others, should the moment require it. ]

Then the trust goes both ways after that — trust that I'll use it if my limits are pushed too far, and trust that it'll be honored once it's used.

@qimir (nsfw)

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