| |
The Colour Red
by cryptictac
Disclaimer: David Shore =/= me.
+++
You see red when you look at her.
No, not the red mark on her pale, white neck. Right there on the pulse-point of her throat that throbs with every beat of her pulse. Right there where you know he marked her. No, not that.
Not the red shirt she's wearing. Not the fact that you can picture that shirt being peeled from her body and thrown aside in the midst of hot, wet kisses that take her breath away. Revealing her bra underneath. Revealing her breasts underneath that. No, it's not that, either.
No, you're seeing red because, to you, those marks on her throat are marks of betrayal. You know that red shirt she's wearing spent most of the night on his hotel floor. You're certain that if you lean close to her you'll be able to smell him on her; on her shirt; on her skin.
Maybe even on her breath.
You'll never forget how he tastes, how he smells, how the taste of him used to linger on your tongue. Is the taste of him burning red and hot on her tongue, too? You wouldn't be surprised that, if you were to kiss her, you'd taste him on her lips, on her tongue; the sickening taste of betrayal. The taste that would make you see red.
You want him to see red, too. For leaving you. For leaving you for her. For making you come to terms with the closeted side to you that you never knew existed until he kissed you. Again, and again, and again.
And buried himself deep inside you. Again. And again. And again.
Just like he's kissed her. And fucked her. Just like he fucked you.
Again.
And again.
And again.
You've always been a jealous man. A possessive man. A vindictive man when you see red. And you're seeing nothing but red as she sits at the conference table, sipping silently from that red mug she's nursing close to her. You're seeing nothing but red when you stare at that mark on her throat. Beating, pulsing, throbbing. Like blood pumping through her veins.
You decide to make him see red. As retribution. By seizing her when no one is looking. Seizing her by the arm as you draw the drapes in your office shut. Pull her close. Kiss her angrily. You're sure you can taste him on her lips, on her tongue. It just makes you angrier. And so you keep kissing, and kissing. You kiss down; down to her pale, white throat, where you bite and suck just enough to leave a mark of your own. A red, red mark; an angry, red mark.
She leaves your office with a look of shame burning on her face, but you don't care. You don't care at all because the next time he comes to your office, his anger is as red as red can be. So red that he violently and angrily kisses you.
And kisses you.
And kisses you. From your mouth, to your throat and down, down, down.
Not here, you tell him. Not here. And so he waits until you are both in the safety of your apartment. Where he resumes kissing you again.
And again.
And again.
Until you are covered in red, red marks. Just like the marks you see on her throat.
And when you see him go back to her, when you see her come back each day with a new red mark on her throat, on her pale, white flesh, you decide that so long as you keep seeing red, you're going to make him see red, too.
And so you do.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until the only red marks that end up on her throat are yours, and yours alone.
(But the marks on your throat become less and less of hers, and more and more of his. Just the way it should be. Just the way you want it.
Until she's the one left seeing red.)
+
Fin
Please review
+++
Please post a comment on this story.
Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
|
|
|