The Scottish Play

XXXX

Sabrina_Elouardi · Fantasy

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54 Chs

XIV. The Serpent & The Apple

❦❧♱❦❧

¿Estás aquí, Robin? (Are you here, Robin?)

͠ ̠͍͔̺̯̝͉ ̖͍̖̬͕ ͓̟̲͕̬̘͓ ̺̹͉͎̬͠ ̧ ̟̯̠̙͙̹̳̕ ̸̙̼̤ T̡h̥͍̜̪͉̳e҉͓̮ ̶͉S̝̹̳͓̹̦̪͝e͍͔̰̕r̨p̤̫e̦͎̭̪͉n̖̪t̨̹̠̠̮̤̯ ͕̝͚̪̜h͚i̞̰̳͝s̴͓̼̖͎ͅs̥͔e͖d̦͟;̖͉ ͟i̛t̫̗ ̝̣̩͕ͅhi͓̠͎͕̳̞̣ṣs̰͔̯̟̟̜̣e̡͇d̫,̺͘ ̻̜̗̭͙̰Ṱ̻͉̬̭́h̠̙e̫͓̲͈̣̳̫ ̳̤̥͞S͈̫̹͕̀e̷̜̣̻̥̤͕r̜͍͙̭͘p̩e͎̙͇͎͇̗ń͕͙̥t͇̟̲͖͢.̷͇̠̬ ̘͎̼̟̟̀ͅ

̧͕̰̳̪̹̻

̫̤

Coiling, coiling, coiling around her feet. It made her body churn hungrily, carryinʼ the sour, tepid water that was drenching, drenching the sour, tepid water that was being carried, carrion –

The crisp leaves crunched underneath the soles of Robinʼs feet as she headed into LʼAmant de Nid. The morning was cold, silky wind combing its frosty fingers into her tousled brown-black curls, but even then, the torn dreamcatcher dancing in the wind, the birds tweeting softly, the first day sun beaming down shrewdly – it was all quiet. And right now, quiet was good. She needed quiet. She needed it more than she needed to breathe.

"Good morninʼ, Dollie," Robin choked to LʼAmantʼs owner, the woman who leased her apartment: tired, dark circles crimping her eyes. Her lips – tied together like a satiny red bow, heart-shaped and haughty, pinched a cigarette between them – and the nicotine was so sour, so bad, that Dollie could probably taste her panic, her fear, her exhaustion, and all Robin wanted to do was bask in it. But she had mouths to feed, and her selfishness, her grief, her hate, her pain – she would never sabotage her children for her greed.

For her sickness, her hallucination.

̧͕̰̳̪̹̻

Beautiful women in the water, daughters of the sea that ensnared their first virginal loves with pleasant choruses – begging for her full attention.

Daughters of the sea that ensnared their first virginal loves in the water, beautiful women in the water. The Serpent coiled, and the women broiled, and she heard it all all with Her stupid voice in stupid stupid stupid Spanish:

¿Estás aquí, amante? (Are you here, lover?)

"Morning, Robin dear," Dollie hummed lazily, tending to her herbs and her flowers. Robin shook, viciously at first, and then hurriedly...rampantly, her bones straining against her muscle.

"Is Damon in?" Robin asked.

She nodded distractedly, a pleasant smile on her face.

"Damon is inside brewinʼ coffee if you need him, sweetie."

She began a dialogue.

¿Estás aquí, bebé? (Are you here, baby?)

̧͕̰̳̪̹̻

Blood blood blood letʼs play with blood blood blood–

Grim, Robin nodded back and slipped into the diner. Greedily soaking in the ambiance of LʼAmant, Robin listened to dancehall music blare through a scratched-and-torn boombox and watched it replenish old wounds that were far too deep. The oily scent of m*rijuana, as well as the scent of limey margaritas and cheap cocaine stacked the diner – and to that, Robin watched Damon Maverick, Dollieʼs ward and her bartender, scrub the counters down.

He prepared two flaky, golden blueberry pastries for himself and extra black, extra bitter, and extra roasted, nutty coffee on the side, and she watched. Watched his muscles bulge as he wiped it down, skin glistening with sweat, his dark skin as heated as the warmth in his solemn brown pupils yet goosebumps erupting across his skin, exposed to the cold. As Robin watched him, his jaw clenched, busy and distracted, she strolled towards the counter languidly; hungry for...something that wasnʼt food.

¿Estás aquí, amor? (Are you here, love?)

Him letʼs play with him you love him he may not be Scott with his body and his rock hard c*ck but itʼs him silly girl and you love him –

̧͕̰̳̪̹̻

̫̤

"Another empty bottle, DeMarcus?" Damon called out. Robin chuckled.

"Morninʼ," Robin called back. "And you know it. Whiskeyʼs not good enough to put in a glass. Or at least for Wil, who doesnʼt clean his cups so he shoots whiskey straight from the bottle."

"Eh, you could put it down. Iʼve got better stuff in here. Can make a cappuccino, some coffee with extra froth and confectionerʼs sugar. Dollie even brought up some oʼthat good stuff. Cuban ground beans. Black, of course. For sobriety," Damon mused, and Robin watched as his lips twitched into a smirk.

"I donʼt want to think about home, amor," Robin said wryly. "Howʼs Mikey-Ray? Is he in Florida?"

"Yup. Heʼs a deputy now. How come I never see you around here no more, Robin?"

"I buy in bulk. I thought beinʼ local, drinkinʼ

alone, and beinʼ hot attracted customers. What you need me for?"

"Sometimes itʼs nice to....spice up the clientele," Damon mused.

"How you been, Robin?"

"Howʼre you, Damon?"

"Ladies first, DeMarcus. You know my rules."

̧͕̰̳̪̹̻

̫̤

Youʼve spent your life getting used like a cheap cheap wh*re with curls with pearls with earls, Robin, go on and f*ck him like the dirty whore you are go on and enjoy him and use him as they all use you with their girls that had their curls their earls their pearls–

Robin huffed, smirking as she leaned against the counter. Sliding her a coffee, Damon drank his own, and passed her a creamer and some Splendor sugar packets. She rolled her eyes, tongue between her teeth, eyeing him the way he did her.

"Trying to make a living. Booze costs money, you know. Usually."

"Thereʼs better ways to hustle, or grab money than digginʼ into other peopleʼs business, darlinʼ," Damon said smoothly.

"Itʼs the only thing Iʼm good at," Robin retorted. "Well, that and rough f*cking."

"Cheers to that," Damon mused, mirth dancing in his eyes as he laughed.

"How good are you?"

"I can be so good; for you, oʼ course," Robin said in a deep, husky voice, gazing up at him darkly. Damon held her gaze, lust tinging the pupils as well, and his breath hitched slightly – the veins in his jaw wrapping around the muscle and clenching in anticipation.

"That so?"

"Mhmm."

"Tell me what you see then, cher."

Robin sniffed, squeezing in the residue the way one would squeeze a sponge, and then scanned the premises: the lingering ketchup stain at table four, the grains of salt that slapped the timbre floors, the tequila spill in the back. She was a wolf in spirit, and a slave to the hunt.

"Some man had buffalo wings last night. With barbecue sauce," Robin concluded. "Gave you a hard time, or had a g*y thing for you, ʼcause the floor is broken."

"Name was Regie. Had a thing for touchinʼ the ladies."

"There were two people boning in the alley this morning. It smells like c*m is in the back, and you open the door to let in the breeze."

"Maybe I was in the back," Damon retorted. "Or maybe I like it when you watch."

"Maybe," Robin agreed. "Itʼs a habit."

"Or itʼs flirting," Damon countered.

"I told you, I donʼt flirt," Robin murmured, smiling sheepishly.

"See, that sounded like flirting to me," Damon murmured back. Robin leaned in, closer, tentative.

"I donʼt flirt, Damon. I say...what I want."

"And what do you want?" he breathed, ragged, ruined.

A beat.

"You. I want you," she whispered, breathless.

̧͕̰̳

¿Estás aquí, p*ta? (Are you here, wh*re?)

Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes–

Everything was hazy. And yet, everything was so good. Strolling towards him, Robin roughly grabbed his hands and placed them on her hips – eyes following his tender ones, eyelashes fanning the perfect curves of his cheeks, her fingers tracing the chapped crevices of his lip. Gripping his shirt, hand wrapped around the curve of his hip, her words a whisper and her lips hanging on a prayer.

"Es tú y yo," Robin breathed.

Itʼs you and me.

He damn near ripped her apart.

Panting, Damon kissed her, his hands tangled in her hair like he was about to break her skull. Shoving him up against the bar, Robin moaned brokenly – digging, digging his fingers into her hips. Tracing up and down. Groping her *ss, Damon growled and Robin jumped his bones – mouth slanting against his and tongue possessively licking, stroking, taking. Stubble scratching her skin, Robin gasped as he kissed her chin – biting the inside of her neck – grinding against her relentlessly.

"Dollie," Robin panted as Damon yanked her shirt off; her bra coming undone with it. "Sheʼll

hear us. "

"Only if I make you scream," Damon said with a wink, gasping like a starving man, and surging towards her br*asts.

¿Estás aquí, p*ta? (Are you here, sl*t?)

̧͕̰̳̪̹̻

̫̤

Hotandheavyhotandheavy–

"You like this, donʼt you? Gettinʼ with me? Puttinʼ on a show for Dollie?" Damon groaned, rutting against her with renewed vigor. Gripping his wrists, Robin struggled against him – fighting him, almost, and pressed his hands into the bar. Clutching fistfuls of her hair and nearly tearing them out, Damonʼs teeth grazed her jaw.

"N-no; I love it," Robin panted. Crashing her lips against Damonʼs brutally, cruelly, she crushed her fist against his throat; pinning his body against hers, she squeezed; feeling the muscles against his throat and gasped into his sweet and sweaty kisses. Gasping and gaping, she ground against him once more and m*aned out when he slammed her against the counter of the bar and squeezed her heatedly; hands threading in her hair, and yanking down the roots.

"Sh*t," Robin cursed, his lips meeting her shoulder with warm, effervescent, rough bites. Thrashing wildly, her hair clamped in one hand and the other on the hook of her jeans, Robin groaned as he gripped her hips. Nipping and kissing the tender flesh, Damon gripped her hips fervently, reverently, desperately, and his groans were sweet as honey, exotic like drink.

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me –

"Ruin me," Robin panted, hauling Damon for another harsh, addictive kiss, and spreading her legs. Sinking her teeth into his ear, earning a sharp hiss from Damon's end, Robin and Damon growled as they kissed hard, harshly, heinously, moving like animals in heat and gasping at the intensity of their heated, sweaty bodies. Uninhibited lust wracked Damon's body, burned through them like a wildfire, and it absolutely wrecked her. She didn't need him, just the idea of him, and f*ck – it was going to ruin her.

The pleasure was overwhelming, suffocating, simply divine and she was lost – lost in translation, lost in him, lost in his hips smacking hers. Damon stared at her, hands on her hips, smoldering her in such an intense look.

She wasnʼt going to last.

Crying out, her fingers massaging his scalp, Damon flipped them over again and spread her legs as wide as they could possibly go – she rocked her hips against his in a punishing rhythm, picking up the pace, bodies smashed against one another. Pistoning his hips, Robin moved onto her chest – hands braced against the table, thighs quivering against his, and gasped: so goddamn full.

"Oh," Robin whined, voice trembling as Damon squeezed her thigh and tightened the distance between them. A throbbing, whimpering mess, Robin dug her nails into his sweaty shoulders, plastering them against her body and kissing him urgently, greedily, hungrily. Panting, Robinʼs lips met his urgently, desperately, whimpers escaping her lips as her tongue and teeth clashed with his, a plateau of curses elevating.

"Come on, DeMarcus," Damon gasped.

She incoherently cried out Scottʼs name when she did, without even realizing.

"Please, please, please," she chanted, staring at him with delirious, wide eyes.

It crashed down.

The alcohol and booze couldnʼt erase the feeling of it all.

And in that moment, in realizing the weight of her pain.

She felt nothing.

Just like that.

"I donʼt think thatʼs a good idea," he murmured with a sullen smile. "Iʼll buy you some time with Dollie. You take care of yourself, Robin."

̠͍͔̺̯̝͉ ̖͍̖̬͕ ͓̟̲͕̬̘͓ ̺̹͉͎̬͠ ̧ ̟̯̠̙͙̹̳̕ ̸̙̼̤ T̡h̥͍̜̪͉̳e҉͓̮ ̶͉S̝̹̳͓̹̦̪͝e͍͔̰̕r̨p̤̫e̦͎̭̪͉n̖̪t̨̹̠̠̮̤̯ ͕̝͚̪̜h͚i̞̰̳͝s̴͓̼̖͎ͅs̥͔e͖d̦͟;̖͉ ͟i̛t̫̗ ̝̣̩͕ͅhi͓̠͎͕̳̞̣ṣs̰͔̯̟̟̜̣e̡͇d̫,̺͘ ̻̜̗̭͙̰Ṱ̻͉̬̭́h̠̙e̫͓̲͈̣̳̫ ̳̤̥͞S͈̫̹͕̀e̷̜̣̻̥̤͕r̜͍͙̭͘p̩e͎̙͇͎͇̗ń͕͙̥t͇̟̲͖͢.̷͇̠̬ ̘͎̼̟̟̀ͅ Ḁ̟̱͎̺̤͙n͏̹͍̟͎̺̭d̯ ̻̟̗͙͕s͓͕̼̗̠h͓͍͚e͈͈͚ͅ ͓͔h̤̫i̟̲͓̣s͏s̻̭̤̤̗̪e̱̯͕̗̙͕̞d̺͓͎̰̭̭̥ ̳̙͞ͅw̠̳̘̕ḭ̸͚̦̟t̖̖̲̲h͇̹̮̟͚ ̤̰it̨̳̺͍̹̫̻

̧͕̰̳̪̹̻

̫̤

Slipping from her, Damon slapped her thigh playfully, and as his chest heaved with exertion and release, Robin felt naked. Not necessarily the stark n*ked she was, but exposed – raw, strung out, unhinged.

¿Estás aquí Robin? ¿La pr*stituta, la p*ta, la ramera, el amante, el bebé, el amor, mija?

And then, she was gone, lost in her thoughts, lost in her wet thoughts, like he was. Consumed.

You played with him and you like it you liked the blood and being the beautiful girl and the curls the earls the pearls you played with him and his rock hard c*ck even when he wasnʼt Scott you played with him mmm f*ck you did hotandheavy yesyesyes–

Consumed, and then, forgotten.

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