Author: RavenWolf
Pairing: Isabel/Tess
Rating: R
Summary: Isabel searches for a way to work out her feelings about Tess. Post S2.
The evening after Tess left, Isabel wondered how it would feel to snap her neck. The sounds it would make, the way her face would look. Her neck was a long, pale, regal stem of a thing. Isabel imagined that her fingernails would draw blood, so red and shocking in comparison to that fair skin. She would wrap her hands around Tess’s throat, and twist. Quickly to the side, and the cracking snap she imagined made her own spine ache.
She wasn’t sorry for thinking it. She wanted to, wanted to so badly. Michael and Max said something about closure, needing to move on, etc., etc. Isabel wasn’t exactly sure what they meant, but she was certain that she didn’t need it. So she still saw Alex on the streets. So what? And the images of Tess, which she’d been conjuring up every night after she left, those were just petty comforts. She was fine. Of course she was fine.
Though she did secretly suppose that that’s why she started having the dreams. The need for the mythical closure. All she was sure of was that the dreams featured her both making love to and killing Tess. And she wasn’t sorry for any of it.
Tess’s body would look good in the throes of passion. Isabel daydreamed about holding her down, fucking her into the mattress. Maybe she would scream. Didn’t matter whether in pain or pleasure.
Isabel knew that she herself had an inherently fuckable body. Big breasts, wide hips, flat stomach. Gold skin stretched across long, tanned, shapely legs. She knew she was beautiful.
Tess, though. There was something about her small, shapely little form. Not as curvy as Isabel herself, but that was okay; Isabel had never considered herself a breast woman, anyways. Blue eyes, blonde hair, and the fairest skin.
It was her skin that fascinated Isabel the most. Living out in the desert, she couldn’t help but be tanned. But Tess, Tess looked as if she’d never seen the light of day. Isabel wondered what crimson blood would look like on her snowy flesh. Her fingers itched to find out. Her tongue itched to taste the difference in the fair skin.
Too late now, besides. But at least she had the dreams. Such sweet things they were. Filled with Tess, screaming, begging, bleeding, dying, coming.
But then there were the other times. The other times when it wasn’t Isabel in charge, wasn’t her dishing out the pain in her righteous and detached anger. There were times when Tess was on top, riding her hard. Her fingers left bruises on Isabel’s neck and collar. Her wrists were tied and Tess hit her and fucked her and bruised her, and these were not the fun kind of dreams. These were the dreams that left Isabel with an ache in her heart that seemed to reach all the way down to her womb.
From the other dreams, Isabel always woke up unmarked, untouched, and unaffected. But the bad dreams...
After the bad dreams, Isabel always woke up with a necklace of bruises decorating her throat.