He looked at her sharply when she asked him to teach her – about darker pleasures. Darker pleasures, what a ridiculous way to speak of pain. Agony. Terror. But – wait, were those what she meant? Or was she asking for the meeker games, of silk scarves and kitten fur floggers? “... I will, if it is your desire.” He said it carefully, not happy or certain about what he was agreeing to. “Only words, though. If you want... demonstrations, then Master Ryan must know of it.” He wanted to say ‘no’ to her, he wanted not to let her see the bitter, cruel desires that stalked the shadows of the soul. Why was she so eager to cut away her innocence?<br/><br/>But if he didn’t teach her, she might be curious enough to find someone else, who would not treat her carefully.<br/><br/>He stopped and turned to face her, his free hand lifting to brush her jaw. She was asking him to do something intimate. She knew it, on some level, for why else would she ask outside the House, away from prying ears.<br/><br/><em>Skin pale as the moon traced over with red welts of a whip, kissed in places with violet and brown bruises. Thin, pink scars writing dark hungers over her. Tired wariness in blue-green eyes. Sprawled on a Briar bed, silk outfit ripped to get to what was needed, muscles relaxed but anticipating. The faint coil of opium hanging in the air. </em><br/><br/>It was an awful image. He was sick to find it so alluring. She was his friend, he shouldn’t find the fantasy of her broken appealing in the least.<br/><br/>“It’s up to you to tell me to stop,” he said, his voice coming out sounding a little dazed. “It’s been years since I did... ‘dark pleasure’. If things go too fast, too deep, you tell me.” It sounded like they were planning something else, other than an education. His hand started to move from her, then hesitated when she asked for a kiss. He couldn’t hold a laugh down. “You flatterer. No wonder they love you.”<br/><br/>Still, he couldn’t resist. His hand moved, to cup the back of her head, and he dipped his head, so his mouth brushed against her lips. His body moved, hand sliding free of hers and curving around her back, pressing her body to his own. Soft and delicate, almost fragile. It was a nice sensation, holding someone who held no threat to him near. His lips slid against hers again, catching her lower lip, suckling upon it and lazing his tongue over the soft velvet of it, the deep nick in the muscle a numb emptiness.<br/>