Title: Cut

Author: Harper

Fandom: Domino

Pairing: just thoughts and imaginings, mostly

Rating: NC-17

Archiving: This will be at www.realmoftheshadow.com/harper.htm, thanks to Kim. Any others please ask.

Disclaimer: This is based on the movie, which itself says it’s only sort of true. I’m not claiming that the real Domino Harvey did any of these things. This is a work of pure fiction, not meant to have even the slightest to do with real life. I don’t own any of the characters and don’t make any money.

A/N: This will make more sense if you’ve seen the movie. It’s a tiny thing. I’ll be at Xfjnky2@yahoo.com if you’ve anything to say.

She wasn’t sure she ever learned the girl’s name. Maybe it was about the only thing that didn’t come out of her mouth, and it wasn’t until the third day of their acquaintance that Domino had learned that the only way to shut her up was when that mouth was otherwise occupied. She’d never actually met anyone who talked that much, especially when they had so little to say. There was something almost endearing about it, in a cute coked out kind of way, but Domino much preferred the girl when she was on her knees with her face buried between the bounty hunter’s thighs and not babbling on like a maelstrom of irrelevance.

The leer she’d thrown in, just for fun, when she relayed that bit of the story to Ms. Miles pulled at the stinging cut on her upper lip, but she didn’t care. After all, if the other woman was going to be thinking of her pussy that night when she had her fingers buried in her own, then the least she could do was offer up some color commentary.

“Remarkable stamina, she had. Could have had at it for hours,” she said blithely, trademark bored bloody stupid British making the words sound anything but lecherous. “And she especially liked getting it from behind. Screamed fit to wake the dead from the first touch.”

She tapped her cigarette carelessly, gray ash floating down to disappear against the dull gunmetal gray of the interrogation table. Miles was sharpening her pencil again, and Domino wondered where she’d picked up that particularly odd bit of torture. Irritating and yet not at the same time, and if she hadn’t been holed up in a police station, she would have pinned the other woman’s hand to the table with the by now razor sharp number 2.

There was another smirk, a quick drag off her cigarette as she let the tension build for a second, waiting until the air was heavy with anticipation and ripe with something like malice. “I imagine you’re not a screamer, luv. More the domineering type, all about control and shackles and everything in its place.”

Another drag and a slight, speculative narrowing of her eyes. “I could make you scream.”

There was a hint of boast in the words alongside a hint of truth, and the pencil lead broke again, this time quite by accident.

The glass of water once again played host to errant shavings, thought this time when it was shoved back her way, Domino caught it handily. A splash left a ring of liquid at its base, the newest imperfection causing Ms. Miles’ brow to wrinkle.

“Were you this cocky when you went to deliver the money?”

Domino sighed, the tap of her cigarette sending ash down to float in water. The whole thing dissolved into more grayness, as if part of the table had leapt to life and was trying to swallow the glass whole.

“It’s no wonder you haven’t been laid in a year,” the bounty hunter replied arrogantly, brashly. With an almost hedonistic hint of joy, actually, particularly when dark eyes narrowed and she wondered if maybe she’d hit her mark. “Always with business on the brain… no time for a good fuck.”

Miles’ back straightened, came away from the back of her chair briefly, then consciously relaxed. Minute movements, all so small Domino would have missed them had she not been paying attention, and she wondered if she’d finally driven the collected agent to the brink of physical violence. “I had a rather marvelous fuck last week,” the other woman replied calmly, voice as nonchalantly neutral as if she had been discussing the weather or the Dodgers or her favorite brand of moisturizer. “I’m just not insecure enough to find it necessary to compare notes.”

“When I walk out of here, we can compare much more than that.”

She threw in another leer, this one perhaps a tad bit over the top. But, she liked seeing the barely visible tic in the other woman’s jaw, the hint that she had something running through her veins other than ice.

Ms. Miles’ voice was, surprisingly, even more droll than before as she looked up with distinctly non-amused eyes, a single arched brow conveying her disdain of Domino’s particular brand of charm. “Do you honestly think this is helping your case?”

Domino pretended to ponder, took a deep draw from her cigarette, and then another before cracking a smile. “Not especially. Actually, I’m really rather hoping it will get me laid, instead.”

Dark brown eyes didn’t flinch. They narrowed, but didn’t flinch, as if the minute tightening had been able to hold back all of the rage she knew the other woman was feeling, harnessing it in a web of silky lashes before it could fly out at her and flay her where she sat. Instead, voice deadpan, Miles muttered, “Apparently I need to call in psych then, as you’re clearly delusional.”

“Oh, come on, luv. You can do better than that. You’re slipping,” Domino taunted gently as she ignored good sense in favor of searching for any kind of reaction, leaning forward slightly and placing her elbows on the table, bloody and battered face sliding into a pocket of light, highlighting her rakish attractiveness in ways she hadn’t premeditated. “Don’t go soft on me now. Wait till I’m out of here for that.”

She paused, smiling slightly. “What am I saying? I don’t really want you to go soft on me then either.”

The agent was tapping the pencil sharpener into the glass again with undue force, the dull thud threatening to organize a headache in Domino’s already battered brain. So she faded out momentarily, pictured a life infinitely more interesting, and imagined what Ms. Miles would look like face down on the desk with her skirt rucked up over her hips and her fingers clenching the edge of gunmetal gray so hard that her knuckles turned white.

Kimmie, Domino realized with a flash, the name from out of nowhere. The never-ending font of words she’d fucked did have a name, and she smirked, insufferably proud that she remembered it though it was about as useful to her as the lead-filled glass of water. It did make her feel a tad bit less heartless though, which made her smile.

“Something you care to share with me?”

Miles frowned in her patented, unhappy yet threatening FBI way, and Domino’s mind flashed again to long, dark hair spilling down the other woman’s back in a writhing wave as she slammed her fingers into her again and again. Rather perversely, her mind saw that accursed water glass lurching with each pass, water sloshing up over the sides and onto the table, soaking into Miles’ shirt and plastering it to her body, flecking it with lead and scraps of wood. It would be a fitting punishment, she decided, for the rather unique brand of pencil torture Miles had been trying to perfect for the entirety of her story.

Oh, she had plenty to share. Business first, though.

With a wry sigh, she continued on with her tale, only half engaged with what she was saying. Perhaps it wasn’t the brightest plan, given what she wondered was true hatred from Miles, her own less than savory (and thus, in need of careful editing) deeds, and the fact that she could either walk out of there a free woman or on her way to spending the rest of her life in prison.

But, it was just so deliciously naughty.

She changed her mind suddenly, the shift not enough to disrupt the smooth flow of her story. But, it just wouldn’t do to have Ms. Miles face down on the desk. She wanted to see those eyes as she fucked her, wanted to watch the mask of cool slide away from that impassive face. This time, she saw legs thrown over her shoulders and a shirt half-way unbuttoned and long fingers digging into her hair as she left a hint of her blood on the inside of the other woman’s thigh.

No, switch that. She wanted the ever cool Ms. Miles’ face between her thighs. And, she wanted her naked. She wanted to wrap her fingers through silky black hair, pull it loose from the restrictive ponytail to feather around the other woman’s shoulders, and she wanted the agent’s tongue on her clit.

She rode high on the visual throughout the remainder of her increasingly more convoluted explanation, each clink of that pencil sharpener against the glass twisting in her mind to become yet another flick of that tongue between her legs. The resulting smile was enough to turn burning dislike into fury, and as she lit her final cigarette, Domino wondered if Miles would kill her if given the chance.

Or maybe she’d channel that fury in other ways, if she was lucky.

It was when the interview had ended and she was stubbing out the hint of ashes clinging to what had been a cigarette that she caught her, eyes darting ever so briefly to pass swiftly over her shoulders, her breasts. And when Ms. Miles looked back up, she could see in the smile cum smirk that she had been caught. Caught looking, caught wanting, caught with the mask knocked slightly askew, and it never entered Domino’s mind to pretend that she hadn’t seen it.

“Til next time, then, luv.”

The End


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