Archive of Our Own ^beta

COUPRIS KINEEMA - The motor carriage rolls away, carrying Kim and the body. Like the Lieutenant, it manages to look cool and totally in control at the same time as it rounds the turnpike, disappearing from view.

You’re left alone with your thoughts.

VOLITION - Well *that* can’t be good.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Excellent work.

You’ve done well, my pupil, and grown powerful under my tutelage. We’re well on our way toward forging you into the ultimate superhuman superstar avatar of law enforcement.

But what if I told you there was a *fifth* drug?

YOU - Oh! Is it love?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Even better.

Sex!

Sex won’t leave you wondering why the smell of apricots makes you cry. You’ll never annihilate your memory trying to get sex out of your head. When sex appears in your dreams, you’ll be happy!

YOU - Really?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Have I ever steered you wrong?

TASK GAINED
Have Sex

BOOK STORE - The interior of the book store is poorly lit, for a place where literature is sold. Maybe the owner doesn’t want people browsing too long. Certainly, Plaisance watches you not buying anything, probably running down a mental timer before she crows at you that this isn’t a library.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Look at her, watching you watch her. *That* is a woman practically *gagging* for a spin on the cock carousel.

VOLITION - Please no, not this shit again.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Look at the swell of her hips.

Look at her tits, practically bursting out of her clothes and into your hands!

PERCEPTION - Look at the wedding ring on her finger.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Quiet, you!

RHETORIC - No, he’s got a point. If you’re going to get her out of those clothes and onto your dick, you’ll need a better pitch.

YOU - You pretend to browse the stacks while you piece together what you know about her that might help.

SUGGESTION - She reads a lot of trashy romance novels, or at least enough to fill a store with them.

INLAND EMPIRE - She believes wholeheartedly in the paranatural. The infinite power of the realm beyond.

DRAMA [Challenging: Success] You’ve got a plan.

YOU - “I’ve come up with a way to remove the curse and revitalize the doomed commercial area.”

PLAISANCE - “You have?”

YOU - “It involves magic.”

PLAISANCE - “Yes”

She nods, giving you her complete attention.

YOU - “Fascist magic”

PLAISANCE - She nods again, not daring to speak, not daring to breathe.

YOU - “Fascist *sex* magic”

PLAISANCE - “*Excuse* me?”

YOU - “Fascist magic of the sex variety.”

“The curse can only be lifted by the energies released by the coupling of man and wö man under the auspices of the old gods of Sun and Soil.”

HALF-LIGHT [Easy: Success] That gets her brain humming like a hive of anxious bees. Her face flushes with a rush of embarrassed, intrusive thoughts.

What about my daughter?

What about my husband?

What about my *shop?*

PLAISANCE - “What do you need me to do, Officer?”

SUGGESTION - She’s hooked. Just have to *reeeeel* her in.

YOU - “We need to generate a pulse of white hot orgone energy to burn off the dark forces of the curse.”

You pause for emphasis. Did she quiver with anticipation, just now?

COMPOSURE - Among other things.

DOOMED COMMERCIAL AREA - You open a couple windows into the old storage room on the second floor, where you found the four-poster bed. You’re going to need as much light as possible for this.

PLAISANCE - “Officer, are you sure this is safe?”

She is *not* happy being up here. And that was before you told her to take her clothes off.

YOU - “The ritual requires that the focus be restrained”

Thankfully you “borrowed” a pair of handcuffs from Kim before he left with the body.

AUTHORITY - You need those handcuffs! What if you had to arrest someone, and found yourself cuff-less?

EMPATHY - He probably noticed you take them and just didn’t say anything. He does that a lot.

PLAISANCE - She lets you cuff her to the bedframe. You tie her ankles with towels from the hair salon and bandages from the taxidermist.

HALF LIGHT - Her instinct is to press her knees together and protect herself. She shivers, wondering if she could get out if she really needed.

YOU - “And now, *absolute silence*”

CONCEPTUALIZATION - You paint a spread of welkins and wurms across the broad dome of her soft belly. You cover her stretch marks with bold colors and delicate chiaroscuro shading.

The tableau sprawls downward to the bristly mound of her pudenda.

YOU - All those wiry little hairs are going to interfere with your brush strokes.

Should you try to shave her pussy?

HAND EYE COORDINATION - Do it! Lather her up and shave her cunt bald.

VOLITION - Don’t. It’s one thing to play with paint, it’s another to play with sharp things around someone’s genitals when you can barely keep your hands steady.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Shaky hands are your body’s way of telling you it needs a drink. Marinate those worries in the sweet, sweet sauce and watch them dissolve. Think about how much more you’d enjoy this if you were drunk!

YOU - You settle for darkening her vulva with kohl.

COMPOSURE - She squirms in spite of her promise to keep still. You slap her thighs with the spoon to keep her in line.

PAIN THRESHOLD - But it *does* hurt you, Plaisance. Oh, tell me it does.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Challenging: Success] - You extend the black smear around her pubic mound upward, to become dark flames licking at the gotterdammerung raging across her abdomen. It’s an awkward composition, but you make it work.

You really want to flip her over and go to work on her back.

COMPOSURE - If she spends that long on her knees she’ll probably fall flat on her stomach and smear the paint before it dries.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - And what am I, chopped liver? I’m *dyin* down here!

YOU - “It is complete. You may speak now”

PLAISANCE - She whimpers a little. She’s not sure if she should talk. Swallows, once.

“What happens next?”

SAVOIR FAIRE - Don’t fuck up the delivery.

YOU -  “Now, we melt the paint”

You undo the belt of the robe. Your hairy dick stands at attention. A visual cue as to how exactly you’ll be melting the paint: the heat and sweat of love sex.

SHIVERS - Annette looks up from her math homework. She’s supposed to be minding the store, but there are no customers to be found. And it’s hard to concentrate with the rhythmic creaking, thumping and grunting coming from upstairs.

She recalls, for a moment, a couple choice passages from the books under the counter. The ones her mom doesn’t want her to know about, and *definitely* doesn’t want her reading.

She rolls her eyes, pulls on her gloves, and steps outside to brave the freezing Martinaise morning.