Mizrah's Ladder

...in the heat of the Pit, you come face to face with your one true rival yet again.

Your breath comes in short, frenzied gasps.

Sweat slicks your black hair to your scalp, and blood vents from a cut above your eye.

The crowd has grown denser, their numbers buoyed by the spectacle of your near-nightly thrashing at Annie Pak's fists, feet, elbows and knees...because little by little, you're gaining on her and you just keep coming back for more.

They gibber and scream like a pack of inhuman things more bestial than you, the repulsive human instinct to watch their own fight and bleed since the murky dawntide of Man drawing them down into the dark beneath the streets; this was anything but unusual behavior for the rabble of humanity, but what you and she did down here - Werewolves, struggling not for territory, mates or Prey, but for the entertainment of Humans - was the kind of transgression that would earn you ire and disdain.

Not that you cared; not that your reputation could get any worse.

This place has the stink of Hades - mortals who'd thrown themselves against each other moments before had stained the rusted metal with the reek of their struggle, but the intimate scent of Annie's sweat streaking her body has become a complex bouquet of scent and sensation...at once you are drawn to her, for she is your foe and you cannot turn away from a rival; on the other hand you are...well, further drawn to her, for the memories and sensations you'd come to associate with her sweat. It reminded you, in some ways, of how Lena had treated you, but...this was different

Despite the violence, there has developed a kind of congenial kindness between you; the mask she wore in the Pit was a snarling demon's visage covering a blushing smile.

The target of your many complex emotions is patiently striding after you, following you through the ring - she'd been punishing your mistakes with stinging kicks and strikes, and today was a show of femur-rattling roundhouses and sternum-bruising right-crosses...all about making a point, of course. Her expression is neutral and nonplussed as the corded steel-cables of muscle shifting beneath her legs threaten to distract your attention -

WHACK

"OW!" you shout as a roundhouse slips in, buckling your leg inward and causing your guard to drop almost instinctively to right yourself -

CRACK

You wheeze as she knocks the wind from your lungs

again

- this is easily the third time, and that little Quado of an announcer is shepherding the crowd to guffaw at your expense.

"AGAIN YUSUF MIZRAH?! HAVE YOU NOT LEARNED YOUR LESSON?! PERHAPS YOU SHOULD TAKE A BREAK, REPEATED BLOWS TO THE HEAD HAVE TURNED LESSER BRAINS THAN YOURS TO A THIN PASTE

They're laughing at your expense again but you don't care anymore because for a brief moment, she favors you a little glance that isn't quite as cutting as she plays up, almost well-intentioned; dancing over the precipice of a smile.

Silly

she mouths with affection, the muscles in her thighs tightening alluringly again as she brings it in for the roundhouse and this time you're ready!

You slide back along the iron-grated floor and the strike goes whooshing by - success, your heart leaps with savage elation and when she makes to dig in and push the air from your lungs again, you take the bone-creaking right cross against your shoulder; it's bruising, but better than your organs which had only survived this long thanks to your supernatural physiology

There's a drawn-out sound of anticipation that rises from the hundreds of spectators as you finally go on the offensive, pushing her back with your own lightning-fast combinations and deadly hooks...vexing, though predictably each wild blow only meets air or the stinging retort of her forearms. Your years of amateur boxing and all the lessons Lena pressed into your head were nowhere near enough to face a professional like Annie but you were getting better. Faster. She wasn't simply dancing circles around you in the ring anymore, and any mortal competition wilted before you - before they'd sent you against her tonight, you'd faced a pair of contenders at the same time. They'd fallen at your hand like all the others, but Annie...

A right-left hook combo catches her chin and sends her stumbling, and you think that you finally have the advantage! You press it by tackling her against the cage, scrambling to get your arms around her waist and lifting her off the ground to bring her crashing to the iron with you.

"OHHHH THE GERMAN SUPLEX!"

This was where you'd learned you had an advantage, in your weight and leverage. You scramble with her as she spins around, trying to get your arm around her neck and choke her out and you manage to do so! The half-Nelson is masterfully applied, there's no way she's getting out now -

-SMACK-

You can't hear anything out of your right ear, and you realize it's because Annie just slapped it so hard that your ear-drum burst. You're wide-eyed and slack-jawed and your grip weakens; it's all she needs to slip free, dig a hand into your hair, ball her fist and

oh no she's giving you that sweet smile as her fist comes toward your face.

...

Later...

"I really don't get why you insist on doing this. It's not like I'm gonna get an infection."

You wince every time she presses the acerbic cold of the alcohol soaked q-tip against the scabrous, bloody cut above your eye. "Hold still," she entreats in a soft voice that's totally different from that smooth, no-nonsense gonna-kick-your-ass tone...when you first met her it was all confrontation, a show of fearlessness and challenge that had given way to...this, ever so steadily. A few straggling tendrils of dyed azure hair hang down around her face and tickle your chin, entrapped in stubble as she disinfects your cuts needlessly. Her lap is an intriguing combination of hard muscle and very smooth skin, and you're continually surprised at how soft her palm is against your cheek as she holds your head in place.

Her severe, almond shaped eyes are icy with focus, and you note the eyeliner she'd put on after your fight...you can't help but wonder why, but mom insisted that 'you don't mention a lady's makeup, you just notice how pretty she is' yada yada. She does this thing when she's paying attention to a small, detailed task - something besides beating you up - where she gently sucks in her bottom lip and it's terribly cute. You never thought you'd view her in this light - as someone who could be cute, or sexy, or gentle even - but here you are, admiring those round cheeks where just moments ago you'd been scrambling for refuge from those rib-breaking sidekicks of hers.

She notices you staring, icy eyes shifting to yours, and the corners of her pink lips quirk upward. "The hell're you lookin' at, huh?" Her palm shifts from your cheek, fingers pinching your lips together lightly.

"Oh you know, just looking at this really cute girl who alternates between beating me up in front of a live studio audience, and y'know. Inviting me into her bed." Your turn to grin now as pink crawls under her eyes, and her lips spread to reveal her pretty white teeth.

"I'll never be able to beat that arrogance out of you, will I, you cocky son of a bitch." She brushes your hair back, setting the Q-tip aside as she leans forward and kisses your lips, very lightly. Truly unexpected, a woman of many surprises, but her touch is surprisingly gentle and controlled, and her other hand strokes up and down the definition of your abs as you lay back on her couch. "You're just lucky you're pretty."

"You're beautiful," you answer, and she sucks her bottom lip all the way in, looking away and rolling her eyes.

"Oh I won't lie, you're pretty damn cute." She's grinning at you. "And sweet." Her gaze softens and her smile widens...there's that light in her eyes, one that bespeaks her deepening affection for you. "And smooth."

"As satin," you quip, and you pull her face back to look at you. Annie's serious composure is lost and she's grinning that silly, enamored grin and you sit up to kiss her again

No joke...you didn't expect that this was where your relationship with your rival would go and to a certain extent it makes you guilty. You were supposed to be...castigating yourself and purging your weaknesses so you could go back to Isabel, not canoodling with this woman after only a week. You'd even slept here the night before, just another boundary that was slipping away between the two of you with each act of combat

For someone with such a violent way of interacting with humanity and the wider world, hers was a gentle affection (agonizing disinfectant rituals aside)...she was complex, a woman of layers who was showing herself to be more than a simple savage living in the gloom of the Pit. Annie's hands hold lightly on to your shoulders, nuzzling your nose with hers. The Rabid's eyes are closed and you can feel her teeth against your lips as she grins. "You got this long, hooked nose. It's so different from mine, mine's all like, little and stuff..." she observes, surveying your body as she leans back, reaching up to stroke her fingers through the black bristles of your hair. "And these...just-for-show muscles, you're all ripped and yet you're not even stronger than little old me...why is that, Yusuf Mizrah?"

"Because you're a freak who does nothing but work out and beat people up," you answer dryly. She tsks and pushes you down to your back, resting your head on her lap again...at least she doesn't go for the alcohol, but instead strokes her fingers up and down the bridge of your hawkish nose. "And because, y'know, some of us give a bit more attention to form over function."

"Mmm, well, I don't exactly mind I suppose...you've got both in your own way." She watches the cuts on your forehead close, the contusions on your bare chest and arms fading as she speaks.

"Yeah? I don't exactly mind your form or its function either." You grin at her and she covers your face with a pillow.

"Dude I'll smother you, no cutesy cringey shit allowed you jerk. It's too wonderful." You struggle with the cushion and she chuckles mercilessly, pinning it over your mouth and soon you're wrestling with her on her ugly taupe couch. Annie is, of course, a frustratingly advanced grappler and before long you're tumbling to the floor with her, breathlessly laughing even as she puts you into an arm bar. You roll over, pinning her wrists to the ground - her legs wrap around your waist and she pulls you close to her. "Fucker...gonna Mike Tyson your ass," she growls, biting your ear roughly, but she doesn't tear it off.

You grow hot with arousal - finally you'd been able to cum again, thanks to her, and your cock is a rod of steel pressing between her thighs as she clamps lightly on an earring and tugs. "You know what that does to me," you growl in a saucy voice. She makes a sound of longing when you grind against her, rolling her hips upward against you to signal her desire as you undress each other and take it to her bed.

You'd heard stories about this...rivals in the arena, lovers in the bedroom, but it was not something you'd imagined happening to you since Lena kind of...perverted the whole idea. The actual process, though, was surprisingly natural, as you'd discovered about a week ago when she'd invited you to her bed for the first time.

"

Ahhhnnnhhhh...ohhh that's right, right there, don't stop...Yusuf, faster, harder, that's really nice...!"

she breathes quietly in your ear, keeping you close as your tempo increases, rattling her bed against her wall. As satisfying as the sex is, you can't help but find your mind wandering to Isabel...wondering what she's doing, if she's safe. You grab onto Annie's headboard with one hand, forcing your attention back upon her and hope she didn't notice you zoning out - her eyes are closed, her mouth opening in silent song - you recognize the opening notes of her climax. You're unable to resist the allure of her breasts and take her nipple between your lips, sweet against your questing tongue.

"YES! YES OOoookay, slower, slower oh, oh god touch me, please - "

she bites down on her forearm to silence herself as much as she can, and her powerful, deadly weapon of a body arches like a freshly oiled saber as her orgasm overtakes her.

As she convulses and throbs, fighting to remain dignified even as you hilt her on your cock, you take the time to admire Annie Pak, your greatest rival in The Pit. Outside of the bedroom, her cold-tempered, steely expression haunts you, trailing you around the ring and beats you like a dog, but right now her lips are set in a wide, ecstatic smile, her blue hair is trailing around her head and her beautiful eyes betray little but simple happiness as she open them to gaze up at you. Annie's golden skin is scarred and pitted in places, but firm to the touch, the modest swell of her breasts capped by small, dark nipples that feel wonderfully hard against your tongue

Her waist narrows inward, perfect for your hands to hold - sometimes you imagine walking out there with her, your arm looped around it and your hand resting on her hip, but this isn't a public...fling, or whatever. Your gaze trails down her flat stomach, ridged with defined muscles that you adore more than you thought; none of the women in your life had been...muscular, not like this. She's truly beautiful, you weren't kidding, even if she ventures to look plain, perhaps, blue hair aside. Curiously, you've noticed her doing little things when you come see her after the fights, when the sun is almost up...lipstick, a bit of eyeshadow, not that you'd comment.

You never cared about makeup, but you understand the intent, and it's sweet. She's...not the person you thought she was.

But she's not Isabel, either.

When her climax has run its course, she lies there, cheeks pink, her hands akimbo above her head before reaching up to grab your arms. She can't help but smirk as she squeezes, enjoying the definition of your biceps and forearms. "Typical dude, use all that testosterone god gave you to look strong instead of

being

strong."

"Oh so I'm not strong now?" You pull free of her warm sex, turgid and slick with her arousal, and slide your arms under her legs - she laughs and holds on to your neck as you heft her from her bed easily, weakly beating a fist against your shoulder (it's ironic because she could probably snap your neck with little effort from this angle

She's really close to your face, rifling her fingers through your hair and breathing heavily, her post-orgasmic heart rate easily audible. "You're not as strong as me, that's for sure," she teases you. "You might be someday, and until then youuu should take me to the couch and let me ride you. You owe me another orgasm, and..." Annie gives you that sweet smirk that almost seems out of place until you've seen it a few times. "I think you'd like to cum inside of me, wouldn't you? Consolation prize for getting whooped again?"

"What happens if I do actually beat you? Do I stop getting consolation prizes?" You carry her to her couch, the weak lighting of her apartment on 55th and Saxby more than enough to make out the finer details of her somewhat musty carpeting, cracked walls, the faulty wiring in places...less egregious, since you'd stripped some out and replaced it for her (nobody needed to know you did electrician bitch-work for your dad's school during the summers).

"You get something better Yusuf," she teases as you sit down on her couch, and she stays like this for a bit in your arms, over your lap. "I could..." Annie clamps her lips shut and does this self-deprecating laugh you recognize as a Tell - it's how she keeps something emotionally vulnerable and profound from escaping...girl is all about those masks. You get it, you wear masks all the time.

"You could what?" You press gently, turning her face so you could kiss her cheek. "Come on don't go gettin' coy with me, that's so not you." Your teeth grace the edge of her jawline and the laughter is genuine this time. She looks into your eyes in a special way, and instead of an icy mist you feel as if you're gazing into a vast, frigid sky. Annie doesn't say anything, she just presses her lips gently to yours, stroking your face as she settles her knees on either side of your hips, taking you inside of her. You know she adores your piercings, the way they touch those deep, special places within her but she hasn't asked about them yet...you're grateful for it.

"I could...really learn...to just enjoy this..." Annie half-whispers, half moans breathily into your ear, her naked, tight body fragrant and sheened with sweat against yours as you bite lightly on her shoulder. "I could...maybe just, oh, oh god

yes that's nice I love it when you grab my ass

, ahem..." she straightens and places her hands on your shoulders, riding you with sinuous, practiced motions, looking into your eyes; it's almost business-like, confrontational even. "You're not who I thought you were, and it's, y'know...it's...not bad, oohhh..."

You know what she's trying to say, in between the effort of maintaining her composure while milking your cock, and also not letting

too

much out. She's making sense too, because this...it's not bad at all. Annie is right.

But she's not Isabel...

what are you doing?

She pulls you back in to be close to her, holding your face between her firm breasts and caressing your head, working you and squeezing the pierced helm of your cock against the entrance of her pussy when she crests, rolling her hips forward at the nadir, circling them. She's not the sort of person you expected either; you never expected that she'd be skillfully and almost lovingly coaxing your climax forth.

It's what she does though, and she keeps you close as she takes in every last drop of your seed. She loves the way you growl and steam like a foundry, calling her name through your orgasm, and afterwards she stays mounted upon you, smiling lethargically as she leans her head upon your shoulder.

Neither of you move for a minute or so, until you stand up with her still curled around your waist which provokes a keening laugh and a gasp of pleasure. "Annie?" You ask her as you walk back to her bedroom, kneeling on her mattress and letting her fall back heavily. She holds her hands out for you, sliding them over the carved surface of your back as she pulls you in to embrace you against her body.

"Yeah...what's up big guy?" she sighs in contentment, relishing the sensation of your still-hard manhood against her sticky, cum-slicked sex.

"Be honest...how do you feel when you are around me?" You query carefully, marveling at the way you've taken Isabel's role in some ways - usually she's the one heading off the hard conversations with the blunt questions like this.

"Like a badass chick who throws down this big, strong-

looking

man in front of a live studio audience seven nights a week," she quips and slides her legs up and the outsides of your thighs, crossing her calves around the small of your back. Annie puts a finger to your lips before you can interrupt her. "Shh...right now, I'm enjoying this while it lasts. Please."

Yeah...she was smart enough to figure out this wouldn't last forever...that you had to leave the Pit, and her arms, to find Isabel at some point. Sooner than later - you'd had almost no contact with her and she wasn't answering your text messages which was worrisome. She must have been incredibly angry at you, but still for you to be seeking comfort in the arms of another Lone Wolf...it was shameful in a way, even though your relationship had always been an open one and you didn't mind her trysts and side-pieces.