Used

CODE: D (set in the D Is For Damien storyline)

TAKES PLACE DURING (specific story): All scenes: NA

PAIRING: Det. Max Kristeva/Natalie Kristeva (M/F)

EXPLANATION: These two share a rather odd history, and based on it, some people might think they are either insane or really, really stupid. Well, if you're thinking that, you're wrong. *cough* Anyway. Kristeva is a ritual abuse survivor who became a detective, and Natalie is an artist whom he met when...she ran into his car. Aw. After a very brief engagement they married, but it only lasted about three months due to Kristeva's abusive behavior--he tended to throw angry fits, during which he occasionally threatened her, hit her, and once held a knife to her throat. The marriage ended after he sexually assaulted her...but oddly enough HE was the one to ask for a divorce, when she had simply wanted a temporary separation. You see, when Natalie called 911 after the rape, she discovered that Kristeva had nearly passed out in the bathroom, incoherent and with a badly bloody nose; the ambulance that was meant to carry HER to the hospital ended up taking HIM. Afterwards, he claimed no memory of the event. Natalie believed him (she'd seen the blank look in his eyes as it was happening), but granted the divorce request; he didn't want to keep hurting her, and so they separated. (She also refused to press charges, insisting that she would lie if pressured to do so.) Some time passed, and Kristeva eventually went into therapy and started to remember what had happened to him as a child. He went home one night, sat down upstairs, took out his gun, and put it to his head--and just as he was pulling the trigger, the phone rang. Turns out that his therapist, worried about him, called his chief at work...who told his partner, Devetko, to keep an eye on him...and Devetko called Natalie. Natalie, as luck would have it, called Kristeva up just as he was about to kill himself. Well, to make a long story short...they started seeing each other again...and eventually remarried...and although he still hasn't taken care of all of his problems, he has yet to ever hit or attack her again. In real life, I would have no sympathy for a guy who hits or assaults women...but remember this is just fiction. I made up what's going through Kristeva's mind so I know he is truly remorseful; although Natalie has apparently long gotten over it, he still carries great shame over the way he treated her. (Somewhere I have written up the scene immediately following Natalie's rape, when she finds Kristeva in the bathroom, but I have not been comfortable enough yet writing the rape scene itself for some reason.)

DISCLAIMERS: Yipes, I forgot. The first scene here, "Used," is from Max and Natalie's FIRST marriage, before he assaulted her. That's why he's acting so oddly. She touches him, and I do not think he would have liked this very much, so that detail may be off. The second two scenes, "Progress" and "It Shows," are from their second marriage and although there may still be some details off, they're more accurate than the first.

* * * * *

Used

She came awake abruptly, sitting up with a gasp. Her chest was heaving and her heart pounding; the dream had been so real that if she hadn't awakened right then she never would have been able to tell the difference. It was probably this that caused the surge of desire to course through her body. She couldn't believe something this strong had been caused by a mere dream.

She glanced over at her husband. He was fast asleep, lying on his side facing away from her. Evidently her startled awakening hadn't been enough to stir him. His breathing was still slow and even. Looking at him she felt the urge inside her grow stronger. She knew how easy it was to arouse him. Even this tired would he respond, or would he be angered by the interruption?

Any doubts she might have had were too vague, her desire too strong, to stop her. She reached over and shook his arm gently.

He instinctively jerked away, coming awake almost immediately. He blinked at the darkness, uncomprehending, then glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Natalie?" he asked, groggily. He rubbed his eyes. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry I woke you," she said. The truth was, she wasn't sorry at all.

He sat up, still rubbing his eyes and looking at her, puzzled. "What is it?" he asked again.

She leaned forward and, taking his head in her hands, kissed him passionately. He started with surprise, at first seeming to pull back; yet she didn't let go, and after a moment he responded, kissing her back, their tongues meeting; he grasped her head as well, biting lightly at her lips. He was lowering her before she could do anything herself, pressing her back onto the bed. She didn't caress him, knowing how much he hated that; yet she writhed against him, a sharp ache building up inside her like a bonfire. The dream--which she was quickly forgetting--had definitely sparked something in her, which she'd definitely sparked in him.

They were both breathing heavily. He pulled hurriedly at her undergarments, fumbling several times in his haste. Her chest was heaving again as she felt how hard he was through his own clothes. She'd been right; sleep wasn't a deterrent to how quickly he could become excited. She knew that she shouldn't--he usually didn't like it--but couldn't help it; she reached down and grabbed at him where his clothing bulged outward, squeezing tightly. He let out an odd strangled noise--she couldn't be sure if it was one of pain or pleasure--and tore off her nightshirt, his fingers raking at her bra and digging into her breasts. She arched her neck, hissing at the air. He pulled off his own clothing hastily, spreading her legs with his own. He was biting her lips again. She whimpered when she felt his throbbing heat again, and gasped and arched her back when he forced himself inside. He gasped as well, letting out another strangled animal sound. Natalie's hands tore at the bedclothes to keep her from tearing at him; he lifted himself so that he wasn't kissing her, planting his hands beside her for balance, and started grinding into her rapidly, clenching his teeth and groaning as if in pain or rage or both. She writhed beneath him, gasping and moaning. Again she couldn't help it; she clutched his buttocks in her hands, and though he jerked again at her touch he did nothing to remove her grip. As he pumped his hips against her, harder and harder, swollen and throbbing inside, she shrieked breathlessly, trying to urge him deeper, further. Her knees were bent, her feet digging into the mattress. He bore down on her, thrusting quickly; the sheets clung to her sweat as he pressed her into the bed repeatedly. He'd started out fast; yet he grew even faster, gasping and crying out, his voice ragged and guttural in his throat; she continued clutching at him as his fingers dug harshly and painfully into her hips, breaking the skin. His cry rose to a shriek as he plunged, desperately, over and over; Natalie shrieked as well, tossing back her head. He finally thrust roughly inside, pinning her down, his cry breaking off in a strangled gasp; she threw back her head again, clawing at the bed and wailing as his hot fluid spurted inside her. As it waned he sank down over her, gasping for breath. She was panting heavily as well, finally feeling the flush of her skin and the sweat sticking the sheets to her body in tangles. She lay still, waiting both for her breath to come back and for him to lift himself. After several moments had passed, and their breathing had slowed considerably, he finally did so, pulling himself out and collapsing beside her, panting at the ceiling.

She half-hoped that he wouldn't speak. Her sudden show of lust, now that it was past, was starting to shame her. What had she been thinking? She never acted this way, not even after a dream. She couldn't even remember what it was that she'd dreamed. She simply couldn't believe that she'd awakened him just for that. Of course he'd responded, but it wasn't like there was anything else he could do, when all that he had to take was a look before he'd become aroused. She wondered if he felt used. She certainly felt like she'd used him, and was glad for the darkness which hid the flush of guilt creeping up her face.

Thankfully, or perhaps not thankfully, considering that she didn't know what he was thinking, he turned over onto his side again, his back to her. He didn't speak. She sensed that, physically, of course, he'd gone along with her, though emotionally he was still as empty as ever. She felt a sharp pang of remorse inside and wished more than ever that she could put her arms around him and hold him close, but of course he would never allow that. All that she could do was lie back, staring at the ceiling until sleep again took hold.

Progress

The two figures moved quietly and slowly in the bed in the dark.

They were covered from the waist down by the sheets, but above they were bare. Both were breathing softly but heavily. The woman arched slightly with each forward movement, baring her neck to her husband's kiss as he gripped her arms, running her own hands over his bare shoulders and down his back as he thrust gently.

She let out her breath, softly moaning his name. "Oh, Max..." He made no sound as he made love to her, save for the steady brush of his breath against her cheek. She shifted beneath him and he kissed her, tracing his fingers over her breast. A moment later he pushed and they both went rigid, afterward relaxing against each other, panting softly. He pulled himself out and lay at her side, running a finger along the line of her jaw. She smiled at him.

"That was good," she murmured, snuggling up to him.

His eyes were dark gray, almost black in the dimness. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

Natalie punched him lightly in the arm. "Max. As if I'd have to."

He smiled this time, cupping one of her breasts in his hand and rubbing gently. "It's your job to," he returned, kissing her before she could retort. His smile turned tender and he touched her face. "I have to be in early tomorrow." He kissed her cheek, pulling away and turning over onto his side. She could hear him sigh as he burrowed into the pillow. She allowed him to relax before moving close and draping her arms around him, nestling her head in the crook of his neck. He didn't flinch as she did so. They both fell silent.

A year ago she wouldn't have been able to do even this. He'd never liked being touched, was still a little unnerved by it; but when they were together it was all right. He'd managed to get past that in therapy, so now both of them could enjoy being together. She remembered the time before the divorce, when he'd strike her for no other reason than that he was angry, how sex back then had been more like something he'd needed rather than something he'd wanted. Getting back together had been difficult at first, with all of his painful memories coming back, his guilt and depression; he'd told her how he'd been sitting in his room with his gun to his head and his finger pulling the trigger when the phone had rung, with her on the other end. A couple of millimeters short of the end. Nothing less than a miracle.

She'd stayed by him since then, since he'd reluctantly welcomed her back into his life. He'd needed someone to help him pull through the memories. He hadn't wanted to load his problems onto her but there was no way he could have made it alone. He would have drowned long ago.

She was reminded of his need for her every time they made love--which was fortunately regularly now. The first time he'd asked her to touch him, after she'd moved back in, he'd had to pull away. The nosebleeds and headaches were purely psychosomatic, she knew that; he knew also yet that hadn't helped him any. Dr. Applegate had to help him accept that some touching could be good, didn't have to hurt. She'd put him under and had given him a suggestion. Of course it hadn't completely done away with the problem--he still jerked away when touched unexpectedly, even by Natalie--yet they were much further along than he'd ever hoped to be. She was holding him, wasn't she?

He still had the nightmares, too. That was only to be expected. Sometimes she'd wake up to find him gone, sitting in the dining room or kitchen with the light burning and his head in his hands; he'd told her that he didn't want to wake her up, and she believed him. He had already on several occasions, jerking upright with a shriek, his hands flying to his face. She could only imagine what horror he'd been reliving in his sleep, when most other people simply received rest.

At least he'd learned to control his temper, if not his nightmares. Natalie didn't have to be afraid of him anymore. Which wasn't to say that her parents stopped asking, every time they met, how he treated her. She was getting a little frustrated always reassuring them that he'd put that part of the problem behind him and was treating her fine, just fine. Fortunately they never asked about the possibility of grandchildren. Kristeva had told her flat out the first time they'd been together that he didn't want kids, never wanted kids, had said that he just didn't like kids; both of them knew the real reason why now. He never wanted to face the possibility that the same thing he'd gone through could happen to anyone else. He apparently didn't trust himself enough to make sure that it didn't. It didn't matter too much; she was sure she wouldn't do too well with kids, either. She was worried more for him now, what with how the nightmares were always waking him up, shattering his sleep, stressing him more and more though he tried to hide it. She could tell.

It Shows

Kristeva bent to unlock the door. "Devetko's just a study in civility. You'll hate him the more you get to know him."

"I already know him," Natalie returned, poking his arm. He nearly dropped the keys and they both laughed as he tried finding the right one. They were both buzzed from the drinks at the Falcon's Nest. Natalie took her husband's arm and squeezed it playfully as he pushed open the door. "I can sense dessert coming on," she said, and giggled. He looked up at her, as if in some surprise; a second later he smiled back and let her in.

He shut the door; she turned around and they kissed. She broke away and headed for the hall, trying to remove her coat, still giggling. She'd drunk more than he had so she stumbled as she walked. When they got into the den he managed to grab her arm and pull her to him so they kissed again. This time it was passionate; he grasped her shoulders while she took his head, murmuring under her breath as their mouths explored. They both fell down over the couch and she started laughing.

Kristeva pulled back and grinned down at her, reaching for the front of her shirt. Natalie couldn't stop giggling; she swatted at him with her hand.

"Max, on the couch?"

"You fell first." He bent to kiss her again as he pulled off his shirt.

"Come on," she protested. "We could at least--Max!" She shrieked and tried to squirm away when he tickled her, laughing hysterically and batting at him. "Stop it! What are you doing? Max--!" She dissolved into helpless laughter.

Her husband continued grinning and tickling her, reaching for her blouse. She was too busy laughing to protest him removing it, and only laughed harder when she felt him pulling up her skirt. He kept poking at her, making her squeal and try to swat his hand away.

"Come on," she giggled, tears streaming from her eyes. Kristeva balanced over her on his haunches, undoing his belt and pulling it free, unzipping and pulling down his pants. "This is so indecent. We should be in bed--"

"It's not like we're in the middle of the street," he said, bowing to touch her face. "Or would that turn you on?"

"Max!" She smacked lightly at his face, hitting his shoulder. He caught her hand and brought his mouth down over hers, tasting her hungrily. Natalie's protests died away; murmuring again, her breath coming faster, she fumbled to pull herself into position beneath him as he reached for her. He could be tender, he could be passionate; he was usually just what she wanted when they both wanted it. Right now both of them were on fire, hungry and eager for each other if they could only hold off long enough. Desire coursed like fire through Natalie's veins; she felt Kristeva grasp her hips tight in his hands as she moved, scrabbling against her skirt, trying to hitch it up and spread herself for him. Her whole body was tight, thrumming like a live wire. She could feel it in him too. As she squirmed from side to side he lifted himself slightly, pushing her skirt up over her hips and running his hands up her thighs, between her legs. Natalie gasped. She waited for him to plunge into her, yet he moved to her side, pulling her with him, never breaking the kiss; he shifted to his side and cupped her buttock in his hand. His hips pushed several times against hers, his hardness full and erect, hot against her lower belly. Natalie murmured and pulled herself forward to accommodate him, slipping one leg underneath his thigh, the other over him, drawing them together. He had to arch his back slightly to penetrate her, sliding smooth and full between her thighs, pushing up into her yielding warmth. Both of them arched their necks and let out their breath, waves of pleasure coursing through them.

Kristeva tipped his head forward to hers, smiling at her as he panted. "You never really know how much you miss it till you do it again," he said breathlessly; Natalie murmured laughter and twined against him. She felt his muscles tighten as he gasped and threw back his head, his grip on her growing tighter. When the spasm passed he grinned at her again, his breathing hard.

"You going to keep surprising me like that?"

"Depends on what you've got for me."

He laughed breathlessly and held her to him in behind, rolling his hips. Natalie let out her breath as the gentle thrusting motion stirred up the fire within her. Each move had her body crying out for more. She enjoyed sex with him; he'd made a complete turnaround with his life, and now it was as if he lived for nothing but to bring her pleasure. Before, the intercourse had been only when he'd needed it; the few times she'd induced him, he'd been caught offguard when something as slight as a kiss could almost instantly arouse him. He had more control now; control over his emotions and over his reactions. Still, she sensed his need there; but it was a need born out of true desire and love for her rather than the need to physically satisfy himself. He'd said that he wanted emotional gratification. She supposed that was why he enjoyed making love to her so much now.

Not that he ever pressured her into it, or she him; it seemed to be something they shared totally, completely. Both seemed to know whenever the other needed them. And both were always ready to fulfill that need.

He wasn't rough or aggressive, not anymore; that must have left him with the anger he'd felt whenever being sexually excited before he'd gone into therapy for what had happened to him. He was passionate, and he could be a little hurried, as he'd been tonight; but it was only because she'd felt that way too. Whatever mood one was feeling was reflected back onto the other. He'd sensed the heat inside her while they'd still stood at the door. That was the only reason why they'd collapsed over each other onto the couch rather than waiting to reach the bedroom, when that and all of the undressing would have taken them forever, and they didn't have forever, they had--

Natalie cried out and arched abruptly, impaling herself on him. Kristeva gasped again and clutched her close, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her buttocks, their skin warm where their bodies met. He clenched his teeth and strained into her, yet other than the gasp that he'd let out when she writhed against him he remained silent. She wasn't sure why. It wasn't that he wouldn't speak to her as they coupled, for he had, but ever since they'd gotten back together he never groaned, never shouted or cried out. He used to before. She didn't know what part of him the silence represented. But it didn't bother her now, as she shut her eyes and felt his muscles taut against her, wrapping her legs around his and swaying, almost snakelike, inviting him deeper. He accepted her eagerly, her moist, tender warmth, her heat wrapping itself thickly around him. He moved faster, panting. When her warmth contracted, squeezing tightly on him, she felt him thrust and his hardness break inside her, his stomach muscles tightening as he released, savoring her climax and his own, spurting warm and thick and full deep in her, his own heat cooling hers. Natalie moaned aloud on his final push, sinking away, down into the couch, her breath whirring out. Kristeva sank down beside her, still panting. He pulled out and his wife shivered at the feeling, her body alight with pleasurable tingles. She obliged him by untwining her legs from around his, and he cupped her head to his, kissing her cheek, her chin, her lips.

He didn't say anything to her, just smiled, desire, love, satisfaction, exhaustion, gratitude all mixing in his eyes. Natalie smiled back and nestled against him as she always did after they made love, yearning for the feel of his body against hers as she slept. And they both did sleep, drifting away almost immediately, exhausted...

* * * * *

Pain, pain and humiliation, shame and guilt falling one by one like chains around his heart.

Candles and a cold table and people standing around him, doing things to him, things that made him feel ashamed and dirty and hurt as no things should hurt someone so young; poking things at him, in him, placing him down on the table with the tears streaming down his face and the people taking their time taking turns, stabbing hard and painful inside him, degrading him, ripping through to his very soul, and among them he saw the face he recognized...

Kristeva jerked up and away, gasping and scrabbling at the couch, one hand flying up as if to protect himself from the sight. He saw light filtering between his fingers and glanced around, his heart pounding in his chest, terrified that the people in black might still be there.

It was his living room. No people, no candles. Just the lamp. And, looking down, his wife, Natalie, lying asleep below him, disheveled and peaceful, still wearing her bra and her skirt, though it was rumpled and bunched up around her hips.

His memory of the previous evening came back and he let out his breath, running a hand through his hair as he stared down at her. He closed his eyes and took several breaths to calm himself. It was just a dream, a memory, something that was over; it wasn't happening again. He was here, with Natalie, he was an adult, and he was safe.

Kristeva got up, careful not to stir Natalie; she murmured and shifted slightly before falling still. He pulled on his pants, doing them up and running his hands down his face, still trying to calm his frayed nerves. So far, this was the second full week in a row that he'd been having the dreams. He couldn't understand why. Why was he still having them now, when everything was getting back to normal? He had Natalie, he had his job, he had Devetko around to help him there if it got too tough and Dr. Applegate to talk to when he needed it; so why was he still having these damn nightmares?

He glanced over at Natalie as she slept. So peaceful, no bad dreams, no memories of being degraded and violated in the worst way possible. He was glad that he hadn't awakened her as he often did. It was probably still the drinks she was working off. He could feel a headache coming on himself, and went to the bathroom to take a couple of aspirin. He swallowed them dry and glanced at himself in the mirror, his eyes returning to his own image the minute he turned away.

Damn, it showed. He hadn't taken a very good look at himself lately, but it really did show. No wonder Dev and Dr. Applegate kept asking how he was doing. He could say that he was doing all right, but the nightmares showed. His face was almost white, with dark, almost purple rings under his eyes, which looked just like those of some animal trapped in a car's headlights. His recent illness was still apparent in how thin he was, his face appearing almost skeletal now in the mirror, with those shadows around his eyes. God, he looked like the walking dead.

He abruptly broke the stare, looking down into the sink at the swirling water he'd used to wash his hands. He splashed some on his face, as if hoping to wash off the paleness there; he barely dried himself off before leaving to return to the living room. Natalie was still asleep. Kristeva sat down on the edge of the couch, dropping his head into his hands and letting out a shuddery sigh.

He felt that he had to talk to somebody. Neither Natalie nor Devetko would understand anything, as much as they might try; as far as this matter went they were nothing more than outsiders, if sympathetic ones. Dr. Applegate was only an outsider as well. She might sit in her chair and pretend to know what he was going through, rehearsing all that her degrees allowed, but she would never truly understand. There wasn't anybody.

With a sudden start he realized that he was wrong on that.

Kincaid.

Kristeva lifted his head and blinked at the air. Kincaid. The lieutenant had been through the same things. Of everybody in the station house, everybody in his circle of friends and acquaintances, he was the only other one who knew. And Kristeva was certain that he'd been through much worse. Did he have nightmares as well? The nightmares and the flashbacks and the sudden irrational terrors about nothing at all?

Had he ever talked with Kincaid about any of that? No. He hadn't. He'd never even thought of Kincaid as a survivor, like himself.

So why hadn't he?

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This item is not looking for critique. It was written solely for entertainment's sake. Although a scene from a possibly longer story, it is complete in itself and unless otherwise stated there is not going to be any more of it written. Additional unrelated SCENES may be written, but single scenes themselves are complete as they are. So please do not expect more. If you are interested in reading the series which INSPIRED the scene, just look elsewhere in my portfolio and you should find something. (Use the "story codes" given in the scene headers. For example, "MI" = "Manitou Island" series.)

I am not looking for critique on grammar, spelling, style, sentence structure, flow, or the mechanics of writing. What I AM interested in is commentary on such things as characterization, plot, symbolism, theme, etc.--the deeper aspects of the story. I like to know if a scene is believable, if the characters are interesting, what you thought of how they interacted, if the writing evoked any emotions, things such as that.

Feel free to criticize, but just keep in mind that I'm working on more important projects and shared this just for fun and/or to illustrate character interactions, so I don't plan to revise it any time soon. Comments on the characters, theme, etc. are more than welcome.