irrational and sublime (agent carter | dottie/whitney)

[fiachairecht]

(fear) irrational and sublime. agent carter, dottie/whitney. breakable things can still torture: the canon divergence. 772w, rated m. for the_wavesinger in chocolateboxcomm round 4.

They're nothing alike, and it's almost a relief. Dottie has room in her head for maybe one person, sometimes two depending on how silly Peg's been recently, but Whitney—

Oh, she wants her, that much is true. But whatever the pictures turned Whitney into, it wasn't a gun, wasn't whatever Dottie was. Whitney can see through her like she's more of a ghost than even Peg's new boyfriend, but she can't see into her head.

"Tell me, then," and even as she speaks she can feel something new creeping into her voice, something that isn't yet fear, isn't yet anything, in this nowhere-space Dottie's tied her up in. "If we're not in the same ocean, then why am I here?"

Whitney pulls off her gloves, finger by finger. Dottie wonders if she's ever contemplated pulling her fingers from her hands with such care. It's been a while since she's hurt anyone like that; Peg always wants her to behave but the way Whitney moves makes Dottie think they could have some fun together.

The ones who think they can beat her are always the most fun, and Whitney's still thinking about that, imagining taking all twenty-eight of her fingerbones out and arranging them shortest to tallest on the table between them when Whitney's bare hand descends on her throat.

Not fair, she has time to think in the brief moment before nails break skin, because stealing breath was supposed to be her trick, Whitney's taking all her best tricks tonight and it's boring. And then she doesn't have time to think at all because something is crawling under her skin, something black and slimy that's blood and void and Whitney , and when Dottie wrenches her eyes open against the pain she can see the zero matter spilling out of the cracks in Whitney's face like poison rain.

"There, there," Whitney says absently, and Dottie sees, as if from very far away, that she isn't even smiling, and that just makes it hurt more. "Stop moving, you'll just make it worse."

Dottie shakes her head, all that's left to her with the zero matter congealing on her tongue. She's not sure anymore if she's hearing her own screams or just the echoes of them, but if she stops moving, itwins, Whitney wins, and she can't do that to Peg.

Won't do that to herself.

Whitney sighs and settles herself in Dottie's lap, the soft weight only accenting the sensation of knives dragging themselves down her face. Dottie would have wanted this — does want it still — every second and every want all collapsing down in on themselves until there's no time and no desire, just a Dottie-shaped held together by pain and shining black light and Whitney Frost straddling her legs—

And then just as suddenly the pain is gone, the knives all back in Whitney's hand, and Dottie's vision blurs with the sudden rush of being able to breath again.

"Pretty thing," Whitney muses, and she must have hidden the knives so very well because her skin is velvet-soft against Dottie's cheek. "Tell me what I want to know and we can try that again, all of the power and none of the pain."

"Where's the fun in that?" Dottie's voice is hoarse, tears streaking her cheeks, and she's not sure she's ever been more scared in her life but she's also sure she's ever been more eager. Pain is power and pleasure both, and she can make Whitney give her it all.

The cracks have spidered all down Whitney's neck now, glowing like a star ready to burst. Her fingers twine into Dottie's hair, all fourteen bones, tight and irresistibly strong as they pull Dottie's head back as far as her bonds will allow. Dottie won't beg, not now, not when every inch of her skin is itching for Whitney's touch, for the beautiful hungry searing everything that she could give Dottie.

They're not in the same ocean yet, but Dottie can bring them together, if Whitney will just come a little closer, so they're pressed together bone to bone and not just skin to skin. She wants to touch, she wants to bite, she wants to burn and Whitney's in her lap but still just slightly out of reach, everything that's been waiting all night to happen still so close to almost.

"Pretty, desperate thing," Whitney amends, and kisses Dottie with all her teeth, kisses hard and close and biting like they both know she'll let the thing inside her break and swallow Dottie whole if she opens her mouth too wide.

Dottie isn't sure it won't be worth it.