Medea<br/>Victoria Barrowe's "Perch"<br/>Club Mercy, NYC<br/><br/>Stiffening slightly under the other woman's attentions, I become very aware of the musky warmth of Hellion's - Victoria's - skin.  Her body is hard, muscled and powerful, yet thoroughly feminine.  Forcing myself to relax I drop the crystal sphere to the floor behind her, the soft thud loud even in the noise of the dance hall below us.  It rolls only a little; the thin layer of wax that makes the heavy sphere sticky to keep it from slipping from my hands and arms keeps it from rolling far.  My hands slide down her arms to gently grasp her wrists, but I let them remain where they are, cupping my derriere in a very, perhaps overly, familiar manner.<br/><br/>It also lets me feel what her hands are doing, so that I can tell if she tries to steal any of the tiny glass vials of condensed sleep, terror, or pain.<br/><br/>I let her remain as she is, and speak in a normal tone of voice....at first.  "The death of the Comedian should let all those secrets remain with him in his grave, I agree.  But what if they don't?  The man or....<em>woman</em>...." I say, giving a menacing inflection to the word, suggesting something improbable in the mere tone of my voice, reminding her of how dangerous we can be.  "....who killed him, may have wrested a secret from him as he died.  And I would risk a great deal to keep one of those secrets hidden."<br/><br/>I roll my fingers along her wrists, tightening them now, and keeping them there.  I have the leverage to do so - she's leaning into me, and has to pull up and back, while all I have to do is keep my hands down - my body weight will do the rest.  And there is no denying her teeth, her lips are hot, and they do feel good.  It's been so long that it almost hurts.  I lean forward, pitching my voice for her ears alone, and putting into it all the potent menace I can, despite the words I speak.  And that, I know from experience, is a significant amount.<br/><br/>"I can feel how excited I make you.  But you wanted to see me without the mask, without the armour.  But that is not really what you want, is it?"  I let my breasts rub against her more firmly as I turn my head, my lips brushing along her ear so very lightly.  "No, that is not what you want.  Poor little Dinah is not dangerous enough for you, is not threatening enough for you.  And that is what you want, is it not?  A threat.  A danger.  Someone....anyone....who can make you feel...."  I lower my lips, kissing her soft, warm neck, tasting the sweat along her throbbing artery.  I roll my had around, closing my eyes so she cannot see them, and then play my mouth against her other her, my hands maintaining an iron grip on her wrists, keeping her trapped against me.  "...delicate....vulnerable....make you feel<em>endangered</em>."  I pull away and look into her eyes, piercing her own eyes with the calculated expression of knowing what she wants.<br/><br/>"I can make you feel that way.  Dinah cannot."  I hear the shower turn off, and despite the imminent arrival of our half-captive, half-watchdog, I keep her there, not letting her pull back.  Again, I have the leverage, the strength to keep her here with me....but when he nearly walks in, I will let her go.<br/><br/>But deities, I don't want to.