The Secret Chamber (For Akuma)

[CyanDimitrik]

A bemused look crosses the Egyptian's face at the answer. Her mouth opens to note that there were multiple pinfalls, she mentioned three different ways! She's not exactly innocent of the suggestiveness of it, herself, of course. She'd covered Bea's prone body different ways simply to feel her, to press herself over her in different ways, to explore which way she liked experiencing the skinny blonde more, herself...

But Beatrice clarifies what she meant before any of that could escape. Nefret's brows raise. "Aha. Face to face..." Her expression starts to relax again, only to - suddenly - inhale through her teeth at the feel of Beatrice's hips pushing forward. She can't feel her hips and thighs as clearly as she had with that singlet, and that's making her firmly in the camp of hating skirts.

"Now I know how to pin you when I want you to want me..."

She inhales slowly again, the breath faintly shuddered. She's hoping it wasn't noticed. She's the composed one here, the blonde westerner isn't! That's their dynamic, and she means to keep that control! "How did it feel when you were lying on me?," she asks next. The words got away from her, rushing past her defenses like a flaming bat through the gates of Hell before she has a chance to quell her curiosity.

"I think any time we wrestle again, you shouldn't wear gloves. Don't you agree?"

The distinct memory of Bea's gloved hands over her thighs, along her waist... it must've been infuriatingly dulled through gloves! She knows she would've preferred the brush of her bared hands.

[BlackAkuma]

Oh, Beatrice definitely noticed that shudder.

The longer they were together, the more she was getting a feel for how this woman worked, her little…idiosyncrasies. She did a good job of hiding herself, of making it hard to pick up on her fears and concerns. Beatrice wouldn’t call it an act, she clearly had confidence in everything she said, but there was something going on beneath the surface. Something she didn’t want to let on.

Man vs. Self. The greatest conflict in fiction, the human heart at war with itself.

“I want you right now.” Her eagerness was starting to win out over her trepidation - having Nefret this close, teasing her, was just so much more than any sane person could take, and she was starting to reach her own limits. A growing voice urged her to do something crazier, but before she could follow it, something else took precedence.


“I’ll wear as little or as much as you want me to, but a match?” She tipped her head to the side, curious and excited and terrified to different degrees. ”You want to wrestle again? In private or…”

[CyanDimitrik]

Blissfully unaware that she's being studied as intently as she is, Nefretiri is mistaken in at least one point: assuming Beatrice's mind is primarily focused on one single thing.

She exhales a soft, purring hum at the admission of wanting her right then. The feeling was mutual at this point. If they had more privacy, better circumstances, she's entertaining the idea of first pinning the blonde back against the wall. Then down on her back.

The errant thought causes the Egyptian's hips to push forward again, meeting the lap of the skirt.

"Yes... though management may not go for it after tonight. I could see them not wanting to risk hurting you. That they may want someone fresher for you to contend with."

"But I would gladly break this body again and make you mine." Her head tips forward again, touching nose to nose with her. "To feel you struggle, hear your cries turn from fear and pain to what you truly feel, quiet only for my ears..."

She smiles wickedly.

"Unless you desire to feel what it's like for me to truly wrestle someone. The result would be the same; you, lying on your back. Me, lying upon you. Making everyone in the arena take notice that your body belongs to me..."

Inhale. Exhale. It's a little heavier than before. A little warmer, too. The pounding kf her heart echoes through the thin material of her bralet to Bea's lingerie and beyond.

"Would you like to know a secret, though?"

Without waiting tk hear her answer, Nefret tilts her head to lean in closer. Her lips draw close to her ear, that every whispered word beats heat against her skin: "I'm going to watch your next match. And I would love to see you on top. I wish that for you..."

[BlackAkuma]

Ooo. Nefret really had a way of putting things, didn’t she?

It was a simple question, and she hadn't expected much in return. It was a question she wasn’t even sure of, too. She hadn't seen Nefretiri wrestle before they met, but she had felt the woman’s power, clearly and without an ounce of ambiguity. She knew what the Egyptian could do, what she would have done if Beatrice hadn't said the right words at the right time.

And yet, here she was. Ready for that again. Even anticipating it.

“Ugh, god, I love the way you talk.” She couldn't help but laugh a little, flustered, as the woman talked about crushing her, taming her, taking her. It was aggressive, but her mind wandered with the possibilities, seeing it all play out in her head.

What came last really took her attention, though. It might’ve been hard to recognize it as such, but that was support. Positive reinforcement. Somehow, Nefretiri wanting her to succeed felt like a mandate. Something she needed to make happen.

“If that’s what you desire, then…then I’ll do it.” She met Nefret’s eyes and nodded. “I’ll win my next match.”

Making promises she can’t keep. Not a good thing.

[CyanDimitrik]

It is support, that much is true. It's support in as best a way as Nefret knows how to manage. She's not often in positions where she feels compelled to encourage people, or when she sees it as "appropriate" to do so. Everything is about measuring time and opportunities, managing assets. This is rather different. Unfamiliar territory.

But hey. She's trying.

And hearing that Beatrice likes the way she talks is terribly amusing, at that. Did she mean her accent? Or the way she words things?

"See that you do," she says with a minute, dutiful nod. "And I will be watching."

She said that already, right? Is she just repeating herself? She'd become so focused on watching Bea's response and thinking over the implications that she'd lost track of her own self in the process. But now that the moment is done and conclusions have been made, she at last loosens her grip around the blonde's waist. It comes with a sigh, and internal intentions to do it again soon. And more.

"My people," she gently reminds. There's a little more to it, but she's holding back. "I have to admit, it was... unique... deceiving everyone in that way. Without your commitment to it, the whole ruse would've failed. What now, though? If we're going to wrestle again...," she trails, her head subtly canting.

She lifts a hand, fully freeing the girl's waist with that arm in favor of drawing the backs of her fingers along her cheek. It's a lovely cheek, she decides. Very soft, very smooth. Not too sharp, just.. youthful. Pretty. And the doting touch is far more than anyone else has received in a very long time. Possibly ever.

"While I'm admitting things, I'll confess something else. You've created a problem for me, where I'm caught between wanting to see how much your body could take... and... not wanting to really hurt you. What am I to do with that, hm?"