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racethewind10 in passion_perfect

Because the muse wouldnt shut up....

Sofia, Sara and The Lady herself wouldnt let go on this one, so here it is, the sequel to "Submission" *flops over dead* I think I'm going back to drawing, its not as draining!


Title: Acceptance
Pairing(s): Sara/Sofia, Sofia/Lady Heather, Sara/Sofia/Lady Heather
Rating: NC – 17 (Heart attack warning) If this doesn’t make you want to take a cold shower, I’m quitting show biz, but there IS more than smut…somewhere in there.
Disclaimer: Jerry B (who owns them) would NEVER let them do this…which is a pity.
Archive: Yes please, just let me know where
Spoilers: None – I think. I do make mention of Sara’s back story, and may have taken some liberties with it because I haven’t seen all of the relevant episodes.
Summary: As their relationship begins to develop, Sara finds out about Sofia and Lady Heather. Will she be able to come to terms with it? Or will she shun Sofia for good?
A/N: Warning. If you haven’t read my other Sofia/Lady Heather fic “Submission” you might want to. This story picks up right where the other one left off so some things are assumed. Also, the muse ran totally amok with this, so its darker and a bit edgier than the last one. You have been warned.
Kink: As with Submission, some of the sex here is NOT vanilla, crops will be used and not to get horses over a jump! Once again though, I don’t think its particularly hard core, but you have been warned.
Shoutouts: as always, to serenitymeimei my beta and biggest supporter, to so_wicked for the beta and the inspiration, the YouTube video “Sofia’s Back” – because after watching that, I just HAD to tie the woman up, and to all the readers who went “Where the hell is the sequel?” after reading Submission. YOu asked for it! (Oh, and halfbloodme made me a pretty pretty icon to go with it *huggles*


I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited for breakfast.

Ok, so its not the meal itself, but the woman who has agreed to meet me, but I can’t help it! Ever since she smiled – not her sexy half smirk, but the full, sweet smile that lights her entire face – and said “sure, I’d love to” when I asked her to breakfast, I’ve had to fight the urge to grin.

Throughout my shift, the image of her smile sneaks into my thoughts, ambushing me, and basically killing whatever concentration I might have had, until even Brass comments on it.

“What’s up with you today? You’re almost pleasant.” he asks gruffly, but there is a twinkle in his eyes that softens the words.
I give him a smile that I hope is enigmatic, but I have a feeling borders on stupid when he harrumphs and just shakes his head at me, and I see his lips twitch in a suppressed smile as he turns away.

Every now and then I catch glimpses of her through the glass walls of the lab, and every time I do, I have to struggle to look away. Its not that I suddenly find her more attractive – I’ve always thought she was beautiful. Before however, I saw her as if through a distant lens – one created by my own fear and uncertainty and my position within the lab. I never allowed myself to acknowledge what I felt around her, because that way lay madness.

Now though…now I let myself savor the memories of being in her presence – how there is just something about her that both calms, and arouses me - even while I’m nearly tingling with anticipation for the possibilities to come.

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Sofia, Sara and The Lady herself wouldnt let go on this one, so here it is, the sequel to "Submission" *flops over dead* I think I'm going back to drawing, its not as draining!


Title: Acceptance
Pairing(s): Sara/Sofia, Sofia/Lady Heather, Sara/Sofia/Lady Heather
Rating: NC – 17 (Heart attack warning) If this doesn’t make you want to take a cold shower, I’m quitting show biz, but there IS more than smut…somewhere in there.
Disclaimer: Jerry B (who owns them) would NEVER let them do this…which is a pity.
Archive: Yes please, just let me know where
Spoilers: None – I think. I do make mention of Sara’s back story, and may have taken some liberties with it because I haven’t seen all of the relevant episodes.
Summary: As their relationship begins to develop, Sara finds out about Sofia and Lady Heather. Will she be able to come to terms with it? Or will she shun Sofia for good?
A/N: Warning. If you haven’t read my other Sofia/Lady Heather fic “Submission” you might want to. This story picks up right where the other one left off so some things are assumed. Also, the muse ran totally amok with this, so its darker and a bit edgier than the last one. You have been warned.
Kink: As with Submission, some of the sex here is NOT vanilla, crops will be used and not to get horses over a jump! Once again though, I don’t think its particularly hard core, but you have been warned.
Shoutouts: as always, to <lj user= serenitymeimei> my beta and biggest supporter, to <lj user= so_wicked> for the beta and the inspiration, the YouTube video “Sofia’s Back” – because after watching that, I just HAD to tie the woman up, and to all the readers who went “Where the hell is the sequel?” after reading Submission. YOu asked for it! (Oh, and <lj user= halfbloodme> made me a pretty pretty icon to go with it *huggles*


<lj-cut text= "Acceptance">I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited for breakfast.

Ok, so its not the meal itself, but the woman who has agreed to meet me, but I can’t help it! Ever since she smiled – not her sexy half smirk, but the full, sweet smile that lights her entire face – and said “sure, I’d love to” when I asked her to breakfast, I’ve had to fight the urge to grin.

Throughout my shift, the image of her smile sneaks into my thoughts, ambushing me, and basically killing whatever concentration I might have had, until even Brass comments on it.

“What’s up with you today? You’re almost pleasant.” he asks gruffly, but there is a twinkle in his eyes that softens the words.
I give him a smile that I hope is enigmatic, but I have a feeling borders on stupid when he harrumphs and just shakes his head at me, and I see his lips twitch in a suppressed smile as he turns away.

Every now and then I catch glimpses of her through the glass walls of the lab, and every time I do, I have to struggle to look away. Its not that I suddenly find her more attractive – I’ve always thought she was beautiful. Before however, I saw her as if through a distant lens – one created by my own fear and uncertainty and my position within the lab. I never allowed myself to acknowledge what I felt around her, because that way lay madness.

Now though…now I let myself savor the memories of being in her presence – how there is just something about her that both calms, and arouses me - even while I’m nearly tingling with anticipation for the possibilities to come.

<i.Funny what having your body flayed until your soul’s laid bare will do for your outlook on life</i>.

Finally, despite Time’s apparent attempt to spite me by moving very, <i>very</i> slowly, our shifts are over.

I catch up to her in the locker room just as she is finishing up. Content to wait, I lean against the door frame in what I sincerely hope is a, “I’m just too damn sexy for this” pose, and take the opportunity just to enjoy watching her profile. For moment I think she is unaware of me until I see her lips twitch and she turns and rakes me head to toe with molten chocolate eyes.

It’s the cocked eyebrow and smirk though, that let me know I am <i>so</i> busted. She’s caught me fair and square and I can’t help but smile in return; she always did see right through me. Slamming her locker she strolls over to stand just close enough I can smell a hint of whatever scent she wears, but not nearly as close as I’d like her to be standing.

<i>Patience</i>…
“Sara,” I say, half teasing, half questioning.
“Sofia,” she responds in kind.
“You ready to get outta here?”
“Absolutely.”

~*~

She grins at me with that sly smile I love so much, but it’s the concern I see behind it that makes my heart swell. We’re sitting in the little café, and the easy, surprisingly flirty conversation has moved from current case loads to past.

“You ran outta here pretty fast the other night; hot date?” she asks carefully.

<i>There is no warning, only sensation. From a single point, pain blossoms, hot and white, just below the nipple of my right breast.

My breath stops.

Behind my eyes, blackness gives way to red - like blood dropped on water - it stains my awareness.

She shifts, and another flower of pain blooms under my left breast.
Over and over again; each time in a different place, a different blossom of pain and pleasure until I am begging her. For what, I don’t even know at this point.

But she does.

Hot? Oooh yes. Date? Not so much</i>.

Snap. Snap. I am jerked back to the present by Sara’s fingers in my face. She is looking at me with a mixture of worry and amusement, as if she isn’t sure which is appropriate. I don’t blame her; I’m not really all that sure either.

“Wherever you just went, it looked interesting. Is everything ok?” she asks softly, and a part of me gets hung up on just how much I love the way her voice sounds when she is concerned.

Trying to deflect her scrutiny a bit though, I use the too perfect opening.

“It is now,” I say, pitching my voice low and holding her eyes. I lay it on a little thick, but I mean it too. Though my body still aches, and I really, really wish I’d packed silk instead of cotton for my extra shirt, I feel almost reborn, and sitting here with Sara, I feel a giddiness and an energy that I thought lost a long time ago.

She smirks, but I see the flicker of genuine warmth in her expression as she shakes her head at me. We both chuckle - which turns into what I won’t call giggling, which turns into outright laughter - until our eyes are watering and I’m gasping for breath. The waitress took one look at us and turned around, but I don’t care. I haven’t laughed freely - even if it is just at myself - for ages.

“That,” she manages when she gets herself under control, “was pathetic.” The sparkle in her eyes, however, takes away any sting from her words.

“But it worked didn’t it?” I ask.
She raises her eye brow in question, <i>God, I love it when she does that</i>.
“You laughed,” and now my gaze drops. I’m not quite brave enough to look at her, but I want to say it all the same. “You’re beautiful when you laugh, you should do it more often.”

When I finally do look up, she has the oddest expression on her face - almost like it’s never occurred to her that someone might think she was beautiful. After a moment though, she seems to accept it and smiles again – that full, radiant smile that takes 10 years off her face – and teases me.

“Detective Curtis, are you flirting with me?” she says, only half mockingly.
“And if I was?”
Now it is her turn to look away and I see the faintest stain of a blush steal across her cheeks. It makes me want to cheer.
“You might get to see me smile a lot more,” she says quietly.

It’s a good thing we are in a public place, because if I was alone, I’d probably try and do a back-flip and just end up spraining something. As it is, I think my heart just cart-wheeled out of my chest. I’m fighting to keep a stupid grin off my face, and find that I really don’t know why.

After a moment, she mentions something about a case she is working on, and I go with it. The moment passes, but the conversation is easy and the air between us comfortable. I’m reluctant to leave, but she has another shift to work and I’m going to pass out on my feet soon.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she says at the entrance to the café. “And Sofia,” she pauses, “Thanks.”

I want to tell her that I should be thanking her – that this is what I dreamt about but never dared hope for - but I want to keep the mood light, and so I shake my head. “Don’t thank me yet, next time you’re buying.”
She grins and we part ways; her to the lab and me to bed. It’s probably a good thing I’m so tired. Otherwise, I think I’d be floating.

~*~
Over the next few weeks we repeat breakfast – she buys – throw in coffee, dinner and catch a surprisingly good jazz concert.

I’m not sure who is more surprised at how easy we are in each other’s presence outside of work, but I admit that this is the first time I feel no sense of <i>hurry</i> in a relationship. She fascinates me, but for the first time, I feel no rush to understand the enigma that is Sara Sidle. Simply being in her presence is enough for now. Being too near her might light my nerves on fire and even the lightest accidental touch of her hand seems to burn my skin…but there is something about her soul that calls to mine, soothing some long buried ache I never realized existed until it was gone. Her ability to drive my body to distraction even as there is a part of me that wants to wrap her soothing presence around me like a well worn blanket is…unique, to say the least.

I find we have a lot in common, at least when it comes to the important things – work, our sense of justice, loyalty; how annoying Catherine can be when she wants to, though you have to love her anyway just because she’s so damn gutsy; how Grissom is both fascinating and revolting at the same time, and how Ecklie should just be castrated for the good of the human race…you know, the important things.

I actually look forward to work now – not just for her - but because it seems that even though we haven’t spoken of our relationship, her acceptance of me has paved the way for the others to do the same. They are easier around me and I find I feel less like a hunted animal within the walls of the lab.

Brass of course doesn’t change. He just takes it all in and accepts it with that stoic way of his. I know he knows what’s really up between Sara and I – he wandered by the door where I was saying good morning to her once. It was casual; no matter how much I would have loved to just press her up against the layout table and take her right there, I was able (barely) to settle for just brushing my hand across hers as we parted. She had tangled her fingers in mine briefly, and the long, quiet look she gave me told me my table fantasy might not be all <i>that</i> far out in left field.

We parted ways and I saw Brass standing in the hallway. He gave me one pointed, raking look with his eyebrow raised. He didn’t say anything, and I just stood my ground. <i>This</i>, I would never apologize for. He seemed to get the message, because he simply nodded and turned away, understanding on his weathered features.

Despite my new contentment however, I am eventually unable to deny the deeper desires of my body and soul. So once I again find myself driving away from the Strip and parking in front of an old, weathered house to be greeted by arctic blue eyes filled with mirth and danger.

~*~

My visits to Lady Heather’s are, in a way to me, what drinking the finest wines, or getting a spa treatment are to others – something to be experienced but rarely so as to be treasured.

Her skill at reading me – my body – never ceases to amaze me. Since that first time, the lash has only teased and promised, never fallen. She has found other, very inventive, ways to make me scream and beg, but none have been as soul-shattering as that first night

She also lets me reciprocate. I was unsure at first; both of my place with the Lady, and of how I felt touching another woman when I was pursuing Sara. But I was taking things slow with Sara, treading carefully and reminding myself to enjoy the journey. Which was fine - except that every time she looked at me, or I heard her voice, or when we stood near enough to each other that I could feel her heat and smell her perfume, my body burned with an almost painful longing that even my own release couldn’t entirely quench. I needed to touch, not just be touched, and even though my heart wanted it to be Sara whose skin I caressed and whose lips I drank from – touching Heather is like making love to a wildfire – there is a fire and a passion there that moves something beyond just my body.

I came to her when the sickness and cruelty I saw in humanity nearly overwhelmed me, and now - more often lately – I come when working next to Sara every day starts driving me crazy.

She is always waiting when I walk through the door, and either greets me with a command, or a gentle smile, depending on what she sees in me. She always understands what I need, and I know that no matter my feelings for Sara, there will always be a part of me that will only belong to My Lady. She is a source of strength for me, but the fact that I need her makes me wonder,

<i>What the hell am I going to tell Sara?</i>

In many ways, it might be easier if I loved Catherine, whom I know is comfortable in the world of dominance and submission and understands, at least to an extent, the place it holds in human nature.

But I don’t love Catherine. My heart belongs, for better or worse, to Sara. Dark haired, dark eyed, enigmatic and passionate, she can be driven and violate and it makes me wild with longing. It also makes me fearful. So I wait, unsure of how and what to tell her.

In the end, the decision is made for me.

It’s after a brutal case, where Sara and I worked side by side for days to put the sick bastard away, that I find myself at Lady Heather’s. I’m nearly seething with pent up anger and a lingering arousal at being so close to Sara for so long – watching her passionate hunt for a killer – but unable to touch her.

The Lady takes me in, and then takes me, but this time, she refuses my touch.

Lying panting on her silk sheets with my body sated but with a burning need in my hands to <i>touch</i> someone, I can only stare at her as she smiles knowingly.

“Go to her Sofia. Stop hiding.”

Before I can protest, she shakes her head. “You hide both your nature and your passion from her and therefore waste it, and squander the best of what you have to offer her. Go to her and show her what you truly feel. Only a complete fool would turn you down, and I doubt you would give your love to a fool Sofia.”

And with that she turns, leaving me to get dressed and let myself out.
I think about disobeying Her command, but while I’m arguing with myself, my hands steer me surely into Sara’s driveway.

<i>Well, so much for disobedience</i>
.
Now that I am here though, memories and images of Sara cascade over me, washing through me, taunting and arousing my senses with their visceral power, and the next thing I know, she’s opening the door and I’m kissing her.

I surprise her I know, but before I can pull back and explain, she grabs my shirt and drags me inside. Her body pins me to the wall, but her lips part to my assault and I plunder her mouth.

Some part of me is yelling that it wasn’t supposed to be like this; it was supposed to be slow and sweet and gentle, but then her hand is sliding up to cup my breast and I tell that voice to shut the hell up, because I’ve never felt anything so wonderful.

~*~
SARA
When Sofia walked out of the lab that night, I thought I might scream in frustration. All week we’d been working side by side – a rare treat – but kept too busy to really talk. We’d barely touched, despite orbiting each other around the lab and the field. I was constantly aware of her presence though, somehow soothing despite the intensity with which she worked.

I had hoped that tonight she might come home with me. I could see that <i>look</i> in her eyes and it made me shiver to think of it directed at me.

When she first asked me out for coffee I was shocked, but delighted. When she flirted with me, I was floored. Like some tidal shift had been made, suddenly the woman that I will readily admit I’d fantasized about was making it <i>very</i> clear that she was interested.

At first I was suspicious. Despite a few small, scattered moments of quiet connection, Sofia has always held herself aloof from everyone – including me. I used to watch her walking through the halls of the lab or at scene, and the image of a wolf always sprang to my mind – focused and dangerous, holding herself apart from everything around her. I was drawn to her from the first, but it never occurred to me how much lay beneath that wary exterior.

As I saw more of her however, I began to realize just how unfairly I, and everyone else in the lab, viewed her. Her sensitivity and generosity are amazing, and she has a dry, whip-sharp sense of humor that matches my own.
She’s being careful with me, I can tell. Our time together is casual – our conversations easy and exploratory. A part of me loves it; loves the fact that she cares enough to go slow.

A part of me thinks I might go insane if she doesn’t do more than kiss me one of these days.

I can see the desire in her eyes sometimes: like there is some powerful predator just waiting to be unleashed, and when it stretches its chains, I can see it looking out from behind that normally serene sapphire gaze.
It never fails to send a delicious shiver down my spine. Whether it’s from fear or fascination though, I’m never quite sure.

Tonight, that look was there, when we closed the case. I could tell it had affected her – hell it had affected all of us, even Cath, though she would never admit it. For one moment, after all the paperwork was done and the bastard had been hauled away, I saw her look at me through the glass…and I could see the wolf behind her eyes. For a moment I felt frozen, held in place by the shear, electric force of her gaze. Then some tech passed between us, breaking the spell and she was gone, striding out the door
.
I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so angry or disappointed with one person.
I drove home alone and took my frustration out on my apartment, cleaning it thoroughly.
It didn’t help much.

I was actually considering going back out and finding a bottle with my name on it when my door bell rang.
I pulled it open and she was there, some trick of my porch light making her summer sky eyes incandescent, and I saw the hunter staring back at me.

Before I can say anything, before I can even think, her lips are on mine and it feels <i>so good</i>. She is hungry and possessive and her mouth is so soft and hot that my brain shorts out with one massive explosion of lust.
I feel her start to pull back and I don’t stop to consider, I just grab her by the shirt and yank her inside, pushing her up against the wall and sliding my body against hers.
She’s everything I ever imagined; lean and strong and curving all in the right places and I can’t get enough.
A part of me is shocked at my own passion and tries to back off, to slow down and play it safe, but then her tongue is in my mouth and her hands are tearing at my clothes and nothing else matters.

~*~
SOFIA
I’m shocked at her aggressiveness, <i>but God, what a turn on</i>.
I loose track of whose clothes are getting tossed where, but somewhere between her trousers and mine, we stumble back and fall onto her bed. Sara straddles me and I can’t help my body’s instinctual response: I go passive, my hands falling to the side of my head and my breath catching.
My heart, already pounding, threatens to beat its way out of my chest as she licks her lips and her eyes go black.
She slides her hands along my arms and where she touches me, goosebumps rise.
Her fingers close over my wrists, and even though her touch is gentle, I can’t help the hiss of pain as my bruises protest.
I see the moment that she realizes that it was pain and not pleasure that made me cry out – confusion and uncertainty seeps into her eyes, leeching away at the heat that was there just seconds ago.
She leans back and now her eyes are sweeping my body again, but there is no hunger there. With the gaze of a CSI and not a lover I see her catalog the bruises, the tiny cuts and abrasions. The evidence is faint, but even in the dim light of her bedroom, clear.
My heart is racing now, but not from arousal.
With a tentative finger, she reaches out and traces one of the older cuts and I see the question in her eyes: a question, and a rapidly growing anger.
The silence seems to stretch; only the thready beating of my heart proof that time still moves forward.
“Who…Sofia who did this to you? Why didn’t you report this? Report them? Sofia, we can help you…”
Her words are tumbling together, fear and horror and anger chasing themselves across her features and I have to stop her before she gets too worked up.
“Sara…Sara! It’s ok. It’s not: its not what you think. This wasn’t an attack. It was… it was something else.”
She doesn’t understand, and I know that I have to make it clear. I can’t bear to see her face though, and I close my eyes as I speak.
“The marks aren’t from an attack, they’re from Lady Heather.”
I open my eyes and watch as my nightmare is made real.
I see comprehension dawn on her, followed by horror, and finally disgust. I see her shut herself off from me and then she’s pushing away, scrambling off the bed and grabbing a robe.
“How could you let…how could you want someone to do that to you? You know what, never mind. Get out.”
Her voice is flat and choked, almost frail, and each word makes my heart feel like its being dragged over broken glass. I’m bleeding inside, and I can’t make it stop.
“Sara,” I try, “let me explain, please.”
She looks at me like she’s never seen me before and I have no courage left to fight for her.
With a body gone numb, I pull on my clothes and stumble out the door into the cooling desert night.
There is only one place I can go now.


~*~
SARA
I sink to the edge of the bed, reeling from the cavalcade of emotions charging through me. Anger, betrayal, shock, disgust and fear: under it all fear.
I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. <i>No, its more than that, I can’t believe she enjoys it at all!</i>
Anger suddenly burns through me: anger at Sofia – for what I’m not truly sure - at myself, for falling for her, and at one other – for being the cause of all this.
I find myself dressed and driving before I realize what the hell I’m doing, but by then its too late. I’m pissed as hell, anger overriding every rational thought or impulse in my brain. I don’t even have a plan. I’m rarely this rash, but I could never control my anger, and tonight is no exception. Like a living thing, its controlling me, taking over my awareness, so that when I park in front of a weathered old house off the Strip, I fail to notice a very familiar car already there.

~*~
I came here to confront her, though I have no idea what that would have accomplished, I just knew I <i>had</i> to.

From the moment I stormed into her lobby and she met me as if she had been expecting me for some time however, I have fought a loosing battle for balance. Where I was angry, she was calm. Where I was terrified, she was sure. With a look she silenced me; holding me trapped in the electric current of her eyes, and with her calm, precise words, she proceeded to tear the true reason for my being here from me, and with it, my soul.

“You say you abhor me; that you abhor this, but it is more than that isn’t it?” she asks softly, even gently, though her eyes are piercing.

My heart is racing; beating at my ribs like a wild thing in a cage and every muscle in my body is taught with the desire to flee, to fight; to be anywhere but here. I want to scream at her, to make her stop. But I can’t. Her words tear at me – each one ripping away a shred of the armor that I have built around the secret in my heart.

She stalks closer, until I can feel the warmth of her body tingle along the edge of my awareness and smell the faintest hint of her perfume. I want it to repulse me, just like I want to hate her. But I can’t. Even though she isn’t touching me, I can feel my body respond to her. It’s as though her very soul is caressing me, moving through me, awakening a part of me I have sought to keep buried and dormant for so long.

If this is what Sofia felt – I am beginning to understand.
She is just inches away from me, her arctic eyes holding me tighter than any restraint, when she continues.

“You aren’t just afraid of the violence, you are afraid that it is inside you. You don’t hate me; you fail to see the distinction between cruelty and the delicate balance of dominance and submission, and with that failure, you purposefully blind yourself. What you truly hate, and fear, is the possibility that there is not only a capacity, but an enjoyment, of violence within you.”
She reaches up and with the lightest of touches, traces along my jaw and over my lips.

Her fingers burn; her touch searing across my nerve endings and my eyes flutter closed.
“You fear the darkness inside yourself,” her velvet voice whispers in my ear, wrapping its way down my spine and through my soul and I tremble: in fear, in desire – I’m no longer sure which.
In the darkness behind my eyes, my mind is screaming. Here at last is the truth I have worked so hard to bury; to deny.

From the moment I watched my mother murder my father, splashing his blood across the walls of our wretched home, I have known - but never truly let myself examine - this fear. And so it has lurked, a constant seeping wound that never truly heals.
“<i>Do you think there is such a thing as a murder gene</i>?” I asked Grissom. That was as close as I have ever come to facing what I fear – that I could be violent; and worse – that I might like it.

I couldn’t bear to have the question answered, because I feared that the answer would be wrong, and so I have buried it, successfully, nearly my entire life.
No one; not my friends, not any of my lovers, not the department shrinks, not even Grissom, have truly guessed at my fear.

In less than a day, The Lady has not only guessed, she has torn the question itself from its darkened prison where I tried to hide it, bringing it to light and leaving a gaping wound somewhere inside me. So now I stand here, bleeding to death under her touch and her words, too weak to fight any longer.

And then her hands are cupping my face and she gently commands me to open my eyes. I do, and her face is all I register. Her gaze scorches me, stripping away my last defense until I feel naked before her.

Her voice, when she speaks, is low and forceful, “I will tell you a truth, Sara Sidle. There is darkness inside you. There is the capacity for violence inside you,”
Just as I feel my heart shattering, she growls at me, “Listen to me!
“Human nature; all human nature, contains the capacity for violence. Every person, in the right circumstances, can take another person’s life. But then, as a criminal investigator, you understand that.”

I have stopped trembling. I am too exhausted. She is right, I do know this, and at some logical level, accept it. But this is not the sum of my fear, and she knows this too.
With a caress of my cheekbones she draws my focus back to her and continues; her voice infinitely gentle…and completely unyielding.

“You have no capacity for cruelty or violence without justification Sara, and you have no capacity for the enjoyment of it. You could never revel in the pain and suffering of another human being.”
I hear her words, but my heart, though desperate to believe her, is still too afraid to accept them.
“How?” I choke out, and she simply looks at me as though I have missed something that should be perfectly obvious.

“If you truly had such a capacity, you would not fear it. In your darkest terror, Sara, lies the proof you’ve been looking for. No truly violent or cruel person is ever afraid of their own cruelty.”

My heart gives one last, brief struggle before her words shatter the last of my splintered fear and relief – so powerful it chokes me and I feel dizzy – flows through me, burning away the last of the infection in my soul.
Dimly, I feel my legs give way and I cling to the only stable thing in my world right now – her.

Time slips away on the tracks of the tears slipping silently down my cheeks. Eventually I become aware of the fact that I am kneeling, my cheek resting against a warm, leather covered thigh and a gentle hand is stroking my hair; petting me.

A part of me briefly wonders why I feel comforted and safe, rather than humiliated, and for the first time in a long time, I tell that rational, ever-cynical part of me to shut the hell up and just go with it.

I feel exhausted, hollowed out; strangely light and emotionless. Its as though my entire life I was struggling against something, and only in the moment I ceased to struggle did I become aware of it.
Almost reluctantly, I move away from her and try to stand. I am not surprised when a gloved hand enters my vision in offering.
Tired of fighting, I take it and get up, my legs as weak as a newborn foal’s. The only solid thing in right now is her hand, warm and strong, clasping mine.

“Let me show you, Sara. There is nothing to fear here. Not even yourself.”

She leads me up the stairs to the door of a room where she stops and pins me with a look.
“I am about to show you something – the evidence, if you will – of the subtlety of my craft. This is not <i>for</i> you. This is for the woman in there. It is for her experience and satisfaction that I am doing this. You are a guest in this, do you understand?”
Her tone is soft, but there is no mistaking the steel behind it. Her house, her rules.

“What,” I hesitate, “What do I do?”
“Nothing. It is not for you to participate, only observe. You are not to make a sound or interfere in any way with what happens, is that clear?”

She gives me no time to think, just waits long enough for her command to sink in and opens the door.
I follow her, lost in my own uncertainty and…anticipation? My mind stumbles over that, and her body blocks my sight for a critical moment so that when I look up, my body nearly stumbles as well.

<i>Oh, my God, Sofia</i>, is my only thought. There are so many emotions screaming through me right now I couldn’t pick one to feel if I tried.

Fear: at being here – at being discovered.
Anger: at Lady Heather, for putting me in this situation.
Confusion: because I have no idea what the hell is about to happen.
And beneath it all, though I try in vain to block it out, comes anticipation and the first stirrings of arousal.

I tell myself that its just biology. The woman I thought I was falling in love with is sitting – no, kneeling – on a cushion in the middle of Lady Heather’s bedroom, her head bowed and her eyes covered with a white silk scarf, and the only thing she is wearing are padded leather shackles. It’s bound to turn anyone on, but I know it goes deeper than that. There is something about seeing the normally aloof, wary, gutsy Detective willingly submissive that… <i>no, I’m not going there….not yet</i>.

<i>She doesn’t look afraid though</i>, I dimly realize. Her hands are folded loosely in her lap, and the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, <i>God, they’re beautiful</i>, is slow and steady.

It becomes very clear that the only person uncomfortable here is me.

Lady Heather turns one last time and looks pointedly at a high-backed oak chair in the corner that I never even noticed. My legs move woodenly, and I nearly collapse into it, gripping the armrests for support.

The Lady gives me one last, long look which I can only decipher as “don’t mess this up,” then turns her back on me, and the scene begins.

“Stand,” she commands Sofia, and the Detective rises smoothly. I feel my throat go dry at the sight of her standing there, pale skin glowing in the candlelight. I can’t help myself; I stare. I knew she was beautiful, but seeing her like this? <i>She’s magnificent</i>.
Lady Heather takes both of Sofia’s hands and attaches the links on the padded cuffs to chains dangling form the ceiling and pulls them tight until the Detective stands with her arms spread above her head and I can see the first signs of strain in her slender limbs.

The Lady considers Sofia for a moment – like an artist examining a canvass – and then goes to her tool wall (which I <i>also</i> didn’t notice until now) and retrieves a black riding crop with a partly padded end on it, acting for all the world like a painter choosing a brush.
Somewhere in the back of my awareness I recognize that my heart is pounding…and its not from fear</lj-cut>
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Comments

DAMMIT RACE!!!!

You.... you can't leave it there... *whine* you just can't...

This is only other fic I can think of that looks at S/M the way I do. Damn, this is good! I might have to let my kinky LWM muses loose after this...

Though I can sure see why this particular aspect of the muse is so exhausting!
Weel, first of all, that it's a perfectly healthy outlet. At least with the right people. Sure, there's going to be wackos out there, but that's true for any group. Law of averages if nothing else. We're so trapped by our puritanical society that an outlet is safe. Frankly, I think there would be a hell of a lot less violence if people would get over their sexual issues. That's not the only problem of society, duh, but it sure makes the problem worse. Not to mention that in the right hands, the whole damn thing is really sexy. I suppose that I should get off my soapbox, huh? I'm not sure I expressed myself correctly. Dace is so much better at it that I. *smiles*
YAY i'm so glad you made this. -runs to read part 2-
I was curious if you would be amenable to me friending you. I've enjoyed this series and think if I get the courage to post some of mine here, you may find they are not dissimilar.

K
....cor, that's hot! poor Sofia! I'm glad Lady Heather is there to clear some things up for Sara.

there's something a bit funky going on with your setting out, i dunno. the lj tags aren't working..

but yes, great fic! i hope you write these three more!
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