Power corrupts absolutely [Lawr/Porsha]

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Baneful
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Power corrupts absolutely [Lawr/Porsha]

Postby Baneful Tue Apr 30, 2019 9:44 pm

Ten after six the text came in asking if the good doctor would like to get a drink at a bar located not that far from the gym Porsha had ownership over. It was short, simple and to the point, and the fighter had no doubts whatsoever that Lawrence would take her up on the offer.

She'd sent the text on the way, and she waited now for the older man to join her, a drink in one hand and attention idly resting on a couple of men lingering at the other end of the bar. They'd been shooting her glances, talking quietly to each other, and she thought perhaps they recognized her and we're working up to an approach.

That or they appreciated the dress she'd changed into. Little and black, it draped over her shoulders with a halter-styled top and the Hem of her skirt touching her legs at mid thigh. It'd been paired with a cropped Jean jacket, and she'd braided back parts of her hair that set the shaved sides on display.



Lawrence showed up to the bar in good time for their arranged meeting. He looked different out of his white coat and work attire, much neater and impeccably dressed, looking younger and more free than he had on the job. He couldn’t miss Porsha, drawn immediately to her physique and always extra appreciative of a good body in his line of work.

He shot her a very playful smile, the same sort he had when he’d given her his number. “Well good evening.” he said. “Fancy running into you here.”

It always felt good to be out of the hospital, like he could be who he really was, like he could /breathe/.



She spotted him as he made his way over to where she was sitting at the bar and darkly painted lips split into a pleased grin. "Fancy that."

Her drink was a Moscow mule, copper mug and all, and she took a quick sip from the little black straw before offering it up to him. "Thirsty?" A violet brow arched. "Do you drink?" It was fine if he didn't, she was just curious. She doubted very much that she'd have any trouble getting him to do what she wanted, so social lubricant wouldn't be needed.

"How did surgery go? Smoothly, I hope." Scheduled didn't mean easy or routine, but he hadn't seem nervous about it earlier.


“Oh yes I drink.” Lawrence said. “In moderation. You’d be surprised how many doctors and surgeons nurse socially acceptable alcoholism to function. It’s not for me, I have other vices, and frankly am a bit of a lightweight.” He took the offered drink and took a brief sip of it before handing it back.

“It went well, it was just a routine appendectomy, they’ll be much happier without it.” It had mostly been a straightforward procedure, and the patient had come round well from anaesthetic afterwards. “Not very exciting I’m afraid.”

He looked her over appreciatively. “You have excellent taste. I love that outfit.”



"Considering what they're faced with from day to day it's not so surprising." Especially anyone in trauma care, or oncology, or with terminal children. They were faced with some of the worst things imaginable in the reality they lived in. "More surprising is how many aren't chasing away the death and despair of the day down the neck of some bottle." A rather bleak topic but her voice was light, her smile lingering as she watched him take a drink.

She was curious about whatever vices he had but just for now she held back from asking. He was very forthcoming so far, but it was damningly personal question. They could circle back around to it a little later.

While spoke of the surgery she'd turn so she was facing him fully, one shapely thigh crossed over the other, and gave him eager interest. "There's got to be something to it still, even when everything goes perfectly. Knowing you're holding a person's life in your hands. Literally.". The last came with a flash of teeth as she grinned.

"And thank you!" The grin brightened as she sat up straighter and fanned the jacket out so he got a better look at bare shoulders, the ink painted across the left in swirls of smoke and music notes and a flash of something white and round disappearing down her sleeve. "You clean up well yourself, but that's not surprising." And because she knew it'd please him she did a scanning flick of her eyes, down to his toes then sliding back up.



Lawrence found it difficult to relate to the traumatic effects of suffering, for him it was distant, the suffering of other people mostly surmounting to the breakdown of a machine. Most of them did it to themselves with poor diets or bad choices and though he repaired them to the best of his ability, he didn’t feel for their pain or the grief of their families.

“True.” He said with an inclination of his head. “It can take its toll and it’s difficult not to bring it home with you afterwards.” Home meaning to a bar, in this instance.”

He ordered a small glass of some a rather expensive and slightly effeminate cocktail before replying. “There is a lot of power in it, there are some surgeons who find the responsibility difficult or who struggle under the weight of expectation. Those aren’t the sort who thrive. I enjoy it, I was forged by it. You’ve never really known power and trust until you’ve had to stop someone from bleeding to death.” Normally on dates, he didn’t talk about work, people found it off putting. He felt like this girl was different, special. She had a taste for the carnal.

He openly admired her. “Women are so lucky.” He said, “Its socially acceptable for you to frame yourself in any fashion you like, and you are certainly a work of art.”

With that same smile he added. “ But I’m glad you appreciate my humble canvas.”



Leaned in as he spoke, like she was hanging on his every word, and in a way she was but not for the reasons he was being led to believe. "That sounds riveting." You don't even know, she mused to herself, sipping at her drink as she looked up at him. Letting him see that dark, eager spark in the pale grey of her eyes.

And of course she let him see just how much she appreciated the compliments, lips tugging up on one side as she glanced down and away before looking back up through a friend of dark lashes. "You think so?" It wasn't quite could. "Not everyone appreciates the ink or the scars, or even the muscles. I'm not soft enough." And she chuckled, as if she found it silly.

It was.

"I appreciate ambition," she admitted with a purr, leaning even closer. "And some that looks beyond the stereotypical norms." Her cup tipped to point the tip of her straw at his chest. "You're different." Special, was the provided subtext.



“I prefer people who are expressive, who embrace their own aesthetic wholeheartedly. Confidence shines like a beacon.” Lawrence had always been a fan of strong women, it was just a fact, there was so much to be said for someone who could be both feminine and powerful at the same time. “Their loss ultimately.”

He didn’t move away from her at all, embracing the invasion of his personal space wholeheartedly as he picked up his drink and took a sip in a convivial fashion.

“You do me too much credit.” he said. “I’m not all that special. But I do have my little quirks, I’m sure.”



She gave an approving hum as she took another drink. "I agree. Why waste time on someone with no appreciation?"

At the mention of quirks she let her head tip in curious interest. "I'm not usually one for handing out unwarranted credit." Which was absolutely the truth. She gave her agents the accolades they were due, when praise and reward were deserving, but where work was needed, improvements required, behavior in need of modification, she was was exacting.

"What quirks do you have?" It was playful, almost teasing as dark lips pulled into an eager grin.



Lawrence gave Porsha a look that lasted perhaps just a moment too long as he considered what to even say to her. Sometimes it was fun just to be honest with people, to see if they laughed it off or took it seriously, but he didn’t want to take that risk with this very attractive woman because if he was honest with himself he was hoping he’d get to see how strong she was first hand later on. Instead he gave her a cheeky sort of smile.

“This is the part in the interview where I say I’m just /so much/ of a perfectionist right?” he teased.

“I suppose I have a tendency towards being a little intolerant of stupid people, to be a little cold when I’m irritated, to have a little unconventional tastes in some areas. I’m sure you don’t need to worry about any of them, you are intelligent, considerate and pleasant.”



Porsha chuckled again at the joke before laying her elbow against the bar beside her so she could rest her cheek against curled knuckles. "If that's the avenue we're traversing I suppose it's my turn to say I'm a bit of a control freak in some areas." Most areas, and then decidedly not in others. "There's a lot ventures I oversee, and I like things to be handled a certain way."

The more he takes about himself the more she was sure she'd found the right man for the role she had in mind. She needed competence, professional detachment, discretion, and pride. Lawrence had those things and then some.

"If I asked about those unconventional tastes, would you tell me?" The toe of her boot brushed against the inside of his calf as she shifted and it very easily could have been an accident. If not for the way she was watching him, drink retrieved and lips pursed around her straw.



Lawrence could understand a need for control, after all it was something he was obsessed with whether he meant to be or not. Maybe if the world wasn’t so completely full of useless morons he wouldn’t need to be, but as things were, that was just the hand he’d been dealt. “Nothing wrong with a bit of control now and then.” he said.

“And hmmm, maybe.” he said drumming his fingers nimbly on the bartop. “Some of them are the sort of tastes better communicated in private.”



Perfect.

An absolutely devilish smile overtook pale features, and the press of her foot against the side of his leg was no accident this time. She kept it there, toe sliding up slowly. “Do you want to get out of here, maybe?”

She set her drink on the bar, sitting up straight again so she could slide to the edge of her stool, closer to him. "My gym is close, there's no one there this late."



Lawrence gently touched her foot with his fingertips, his normally cold blue eyes seeming more intense and sharp as he looked at her.

“I think that’s a truly wonderful idea.” he said. It had been a long day, he could go with a bit of diversion from it all. “I’d love to see your gym.”

It was certainly a change from hotel rooms, that was for sure.



Grinning broadly she took a twenty from the pocket situated on the heck of her phone case and set it on the bar beside the mostly empty mule mug. It'd cover them both, plus tip, and it freed the fighter up from delaying card transactions or waiting for change.

Standing put her practically against him and a small hand brushed his side for balance before she was slipping away from the bar to lead them both towards the door.

It was cooler outside, not cold but certainly crisp, and Porsha took just a moment to savor the scent of spring on the wind that pressed in against her back.

She glanced up at him as she felt him at her side. "Have you ever been in a fight before, doctor?" The grin was bright, teasing, as she started leading the way down the sidewalk.



Lawrence raised a brow at her handing over the twenty and laughed. “Very generous of you.” he said. In spite of his wages, he was inherently a really stingy person who didn’t like to give anyone a tip for anything unless he was trying to garner favour with someone or something.

He shivered a little in the cool air, sensitive to cold at the best of times and moved a little closer to Porsha out of sheer instinct.

“Oh, a few.” he said. “I grew up with two brothers and a very scrappy sister, as the smallest and youngest I had to do quite a bit of standing up for myself.” He didn’t go into detail about the fights he’d had beyond that. He wasn’t physically large or particularly strong and when you had the odds against you, you found ways to even them out.



In her heels she was taller than him but she didn't make any comment on it, nor him walking so close to her. She just smiled broadly as she glanced side long at him, hands sinking into the pockets of her jean jacket. "I make plenty, and I don't spend it on much," she said with a shrug, regarding her being generous. "My apartment is paid for."

A nod followed him mentioning his family as she started leading the way down the street. "I'm sure that's got to be interesting. I was an only child." And the boys hand girls had learned very quickly not to give her a hard time. Not when she was so willing to get into fights to defend herself.

"The gym is only two blocks down and around the corner."



“Sounds like a very ideal lifestyle, I’m jealous. My profession is an enjoyable one but one which consumes my every waking hour like a ravenous and rather relentless beast.” The main attraction for him had always been the fact that it gave him power over others, plenty of money and plausible deniability when he wanted to escape family life. Sometimes he wondered if he should have gone into con artistry instead.

He grinned. “Oh I WISH I was an only child, if I had the choice I would have loved to be.”

“Excellent.” he said. “It’s a little bit chilly out.”



"Sounds very much like a beast. Have you ever considered going into private practice?" Brows arched, heels smacking the pavement as they walked.

Her shoulders rolled in a small shrug, and she bumped her side into his accidently. "It was interesting. We didn't have much so I wasn't spoiled or anything." But it was true that she'd haf not competition for anything. Except from her mom's boyfriend.

It didn't take too long to walk the two blocks down and she fished her keys from her pocket as they turned the corner so she could unlock the front door to let them in, leaning on it to hold it open for him. Then she locked it against behind them, just to be on the safe side.



“It wouldn’t be quite as exciting, I’d imagine.” Plus there was a lot of effort to be put in in private practice. “I like the roulette of the hospital.” And some of the internal drama, if he was honest too.

“Oh you certainly don’t feel like someone who was spoiled.” he said. “You’ve got a down to earth kind of practicality, independence. It’s something I like.”

He watched her lock the door and looked rather pleased that she had.

“Just us.” he said.



"Just us," She confirmed as she stashed the keys in her pocket once again and shrugged out of the jacket to lay it on the front desk. Turning, the fighter l|and her hips up against the counter, her hands resting lightly on the edge of it.

"So are you ready to tell me about those unconventional tastes yet?" Her. Body language was open, inviting evening as she watched him, lids half parted and smile devious.



Lawrence smirked. “Well. Normally I avoid telling people, but you seem rather different from the normal rank and file I run into. I think you can handle honesty better than most.” He gestured vaguely.

“Sadism. Control, a bit of bondage, a bit of dabbling in various things. Anything pleasurable, anything exciting. My tastes run towards anything thrilling.” He absent mindedly rubbed his own throat, without even realising he was doing it. “Even the exceptionally dangerous.”

Shrugging his shoulders he added. “Of course, I am truly a versatile creature, I’m always happy to facilitate my partners but deep down at the heart of who I am, my tastes run towards the truly dark.”



Nothing he’d been hesitant to tell her was a surprise to the young woman, and the dark grin she was wearing deepened as the list concluded with excitement and thrilling. Her chin tipped up, gaze half lidded as she pressed on the edge of the desk to hoist herself up to set on it, and pearly teeth caught the bud of her lower lip as she she toed off the heeled boots to let them clatter to the floor beneath her.

“That’s quite a list,” she mused back at him, head cocked to the side, shoulders rolling as she eased the little jacket down one, and then the other so she could slip it off entirely. When she leaned forward, a hand resting on the counter between her thighs and the other out to beckon him closer, the loose front of her dress fell in such a way that it gave an uninterrupted view of her cleavage, as well as a rather nasty looking scar just above that a little to the right.

“You are right, I probably do handle honesty better than most. And I know that not everything is sunshine and rainbows and light. There’s dark in this world too, and there’s no reason to run from that. It should be embraced.”



That brilliantly cold gleam from before in Lawrence’s eyes returned at her response to his admission, always exceedingly pleased when a risk paid off in a good way. She hadn’t run a mile at his statement, which she could have, it was always a bit distressing to be told that the man you were alone with enjoyed dishing out a hearty dose of pain. In his book staying was as good as a confirmation of interest. All he’d had was a vague hunch previously based on her exciting profession and personality, but it had borne out into something he wanted to now follow to its conclusion. He closed the distance between them both with lazy ease, reaching out to gently touch her jaw.

“And yet you seem more interested than afraid.” he said. “That’s not a normal response, I knew you weren’t quite a normal woman.”



Her knees shifted as he neared so he could stand between them, and the touch of gentle fingers on her cheek had her tipping her head against them, gaze lingering unwaveringly on Lawr’s face. There was no hint of apprehension there, no worry, no disgust or distaste. Her hand lowered beside her, the other following a second after. Not reaching out, yet, but certainly not pulling away from him.

“Normal people don’t normally find excitement in participating in bloody, intense fighting. Not participating, in any case.” There were plenty of fans that enjoyed to watch, it kept her comfortably independent even without her other ventures. Those same fans would never dream of climbing into the octagon themselves. It took a rare breed of person to willingly inflict pain, if not all out enjoy it.

She used the heel of one small foot at the back of his knee to draw him in even closer. “I’m not a normal person.”



Lawrence always enjoyed when he found someone a little different, a little bit against the grain, it was like finding a treasure or a rare piece of artwork no one else really appreciated. Most of the time people were conceited and highly resistant to things they didn’t truly understand, fleeing from unconventional tastes or inclinations like frightened rabbits. He interacted with those people in a far off distant sort of way, feeding them what they wanted to hear, what they wanted to know without ever really touching them, they became more an object than the unconscious slab of meat on the operating tables he worked on. Meeting someone more in tune with the ebb and flow of violence and who wandered boldly off the beaten track was an opportunity to permit himself to be truly seen, to flash a fin of his own nature below the surface.

He took hold of her jaw firmly, but not too tightly, his every movement holding the kind of precision expected of a surgeon and a pianist.

“I love it.” he said. “It is like being truly alive, feeling the desperate ragged breaths of someone curling into pain like a disciple, feeling the way they look at you when you hold the ultimate decision of what they experience next, being able to decide if pain or pleasure is the remedy they most require.” He wasn’t a very good fighter, but of the conflicts he’d had in his life, he’d made certain they were short ambushes that ended in his favour.

“And no, I can tell.” he said. “You are out of sync with it all, and I really do want to know you better.” he said, leaning in closer to kiss her.



Fingers closed around the point of her chin and along her jaw and the fighter grinned, excited. Yielding to the strength in his hand to move as he wanted her to. Giving him the control she knew he wanted, and finding humor in him parroting her own thoughts back at her. He wasn’t a fighter, she was sure of that, but they were like minded in how they felt about the rush of violence and what it meant to them. If she hadn’t already been certain she would claim him for metalia, that would have sealed it.

From the moment they’d met in the ER Dr. Lawrance Weiman had done exactly what she’d wanted him to do, when she wanted him to do it, and that was no different now. He’d taken ever cue as if they’d rehearsed it, the perfect partner in this little dance she’d been orchestrating, and as he leaned in to kiss her she hummed her delight. Legs came up to wrap around his hips, hands lifting finally to curl into the fabric of his shirt at his sides to keep him close. Soon.

She parted her lips for him, melting into the kiss with eager enthusiasm.



Lawrence kissed her with an intensity that was surprising, his hands slinking around her as he pressed his body against her. He didn’t need to talk any longer, at least not for now, letting his hands and body do the talking for him, and they were much better at communicating intent and emotion than his words ever were.

His breathing picked up a little, and for someone who was unruffled by even the most traumatic situation in the ER, it was one of the few times that it ever did.



He’s going to be a fun. The thought flickered through her head as she melted into the intensity of the kiss and the way he’d pressed in against her. She almost regretted having to interrupt things, but there was no reason, in her mind, why they couldn’t just pick up again where things left off when they were finished with the messy business of his impending corruption.

In the middle of the kiss she called the chaos to her, let it wrap around that fit, feminine frame as she pulled him even closer, legs locking around his waist like muscled steel. She didn’t think she’d have to force him into this, but she didn’t want him jerking away from her either when felt the change in her clothing from slinky little black dress to tight fitting leather and ridgid bodice.

With a last nip at his lower lip the general finally broken drew back, and artfully applied make up had given way to smudged war paint that made silver eyes blaze even brighter. Her fingers tightened in his shirt, thighs squeezing around his hips, as a silent declaration that he wasn’t going anywhere, nor should he try it.

Like this, power coursing through her, she was more than twice her original strength.



Generally, Lawrence was someone who was capable of being utterly single minded, able to zero in on a goal with absolute focus. This in some ways for him was a goal, something he had to focus towards. This single minded focus meant that he didn’t immediately notice the flicker of chaos nor the alteration in her clothing, the tight hold on him was perfectly acceptable, in fact he found himself thinking that it would have been nicely placed elsewhere too.

It was only when she drew back he finally noticed the change in her appearance, the war paint striking and bold. He almost did a double take, but his composure at the very least remained cool and calm, used to dealing with shocking things in his line of work.

“.. Hm.” he said. “How did you change so quickly?”



There’d been barely a flicker of surprise on his face and Xenotime smirked, chuckling at his question. Since he hadn’t pulled away she let her grip relax on his shirt until she could slip warm fingers beneath it to rest her palms on his sides. “Would you believe magic?” Violet brows arched, chin lifting as leaned in to brush her cheek along his before murmuring next to his ear. “I told you I wasn’t a normal girl.”

Teeth caught on his earlobe, nipping softly before she sat back again. “You wouldn’t believe what I’m capable of, the power I wield like this.” The tips of her fingers tensed against his sides, pressing in hard enough for him to feel her strength without actually causing harm.

“It would take nothing for me to end you here. I could snap your back,” and she tightened her legs around him, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs. “But I don’t want to do that to you, Lawrence.”

Nails trailed in light lines along his sides as she withdrew her hands, and one lifted, the tips of her fingers coming to rest at the center of his chest. “I want you to join me, like this. I can give you the power you want, the control your crave. I can give you everything you want.

“Would you like that?”



Lawrence was skeptical of magic, as a rule, he had built his entire life on the back of science and facts. However he wasn’t averse to things he’d not yet considered or flights of fancy, provided they had some ultimate purpose towards his own ends. Changing clothes instantaneously probably had some kind of logical explanation, but it wasn’t his area of expertise, so he wasn’t incredibly concerned with solving it like a puzzle. He simply accepted it. In that regard perhaps he could accept magic existing in the universe, simply using it as a catchall term for things he hadn’t unpicked and didn’t intend to.

He could feel the power in her just from the contact, her muscles feeling stronger than he was used to, almost steely and unnatural. He’d been grabbed by people in the throes of seizures or other startling spikes of strength and even they hadn’t felt the same.

He felt the strength in her legs too, and rather than being afraid he was simply exhilarated. It didn’t matter if he died, it would be a pity certainly to deprive the world of someone like him, but he wouldn’t be there to mind. He’d just be dead. He didn’t doubt that she could make good her promise if she chose to. “If you did snap my spine.” he said. “I’d have asked you to be certain I was out. I wouldn’t want to end up on the table under someone I knew, the shame.”

His tone remained light and playful, but she could feel the adrenaline in his body in the way he breathed and the way his heart fluttered at the prospect of the danger he was in.

“I would though.” he said. “I would love it. Whatever it takes.”



There weren't many questions and that was good. Either saved for later or simply accepted, it made things so much simpler in that moment and Xenotime have a pleased smile, the hand not resting on his chest coming up to cup the sharp angles of his cheek. The one with the bandage covering her knuckles. "Good. You're well suited to this, the tasks that need doing. You have a natural apathy towards the masses that will let you serve the greater good to protect this world from those that would threaten it."

Her thumb stroked his cheek, gliding down to smooth along the bud of his lower lip. "It's a lot to take in, and what happens here is only a small piece of a reality that's been shut off from you, but still affected you and the rest of the city." Her hand dropped, but only so she could pull at the bandage with her teeth, freeing up the wound he'd stitched earlier. Instead of hours old it looked days old. She held it up so he could see.

"There's strength to start, speed, accelerated healing." She flexed her fingers, gaze dipping to the expertly tied stitches. "And that's only the tip of the iceberg." Back up to his face. "You say you'll do anything, I need your obedience. You're willingness to follow my orders as delivered. From here out, Dr. Weiman, you answer to me."

The tips of her fingers sank into his chest unrestricted, curling around hard edges of the crystalline starseed that rested there. In that moment she held his life in her hand. "You're mine," she whispers as she leaned forward, free hand lifting to the back of his neck. She kissed him then, smiling against the feel of his lips, and chaos rushed down her arm, through her hand, and directly into his core.

It would hurt, worst than anything he could have imagined, but it was quick.



Lawrence was curious, listening to what she had to say and downright surprised at how far along the healing on her injury already was. No normal human should have been able to mend so well between the emergency room and a few hours out of it.

He didn’t argue with her about the obedience, simply because you didn’t argue with someone who could snap your spine with one motion. But he didn’t fully agree with her demand, he was after all used to being his own boss and someone who enjoyed a bit of control. But he’d see, he’d live it for a while and see how it worked out.

He was however about to flirt again when he felt her hand sink into his chest, a sensation that felt both impossible and somewhat uncomfortable. The kiss helped, but not enough, nothing would ever have been enough to drown out the bolt of sheer agony that laced into him, into the very heart of everything he was.

His reactions were all instinct, all his body jerking back against pain it couldn’t stop, couldn’t restrain, even the sound he made in his throat was one that was completely involuntary, tearing through him like a natural disaster. He was someone who didn’t mind pain too much as a rule, but this went above and beyond anything that could have been tolerated or powered through, every single nerve in his entire body lit up with agony. It got so bad, just in that moment that he found himself almost wishing for death just to make it stop.

When it did finally relent, he slumped weakly against her, his breath coming in shivery sobs. “Wh.. what the ...what the fuck was that?” Lawrence didn’t swear often, but sometimes you just /had/ to.



Xenotime knew how much it hurt, she’d been through it, not once but three times, and with every wrung of the ladder she climbed the pain was worse until at the end, when she’d finally obtained the status of general, it felt like she was being ripped apart by at the seams. It was a crippling pain, debilitating and wretched, but that was the price paid for the power Metalia granted them. To her it had always been a fair trade.

Her grip on him tightened like gentle steel as the he struggled against her and she drank down the sounds of his screams through his mouth on his until his attempted thrashing made it too difficult to continue the kiss. Then she was straightening up to watch as darkness spread from the point on his chest where he wrist disappeared into it, wrapping him in chaos, both power and uniform. Neat and respectable, like him, with a long jacket and drape of a capelet over his shoulders. It reminded her of Jack the ripper, or Jeykal and Hyde. Hyde…

Lips ticked up in the corners as he sagged against her and she curled an arm around his shoulder, smoothed a hand through his hair to brush it back from his face. It was over now, and the the worse of the pain would be quick to fade leaving only a lingering ache in the bones, but that too would fade given time. “That is the price we pay for power,” she answered him, voice softer, kinder.

The stroking hand smoothed along his cheek to cup his chin, lifting his head to look up at her. “You’re so much more now than you were a moment ago, can’t you feel it?” At the very least he could feel her, the chaos that radiated off her in waves. Thick, almost overwhelming, she’d burn like a dark star just behind his eyelids.



It took a while for Lawrence to manage to pull himself together enough to speak, he’d never experienced anything quite like it, and though it had been completely horrible in the moment, afterwards there was definitely a rush that wasn’t all that different from some of the adrenaline kicks one got in the bedroom, especially someone like him who had a bit of an inclination towards breathplay. He felt weak and sore from what had happened, but unmistakably different in a very fundamental way, it was as if something innate in his body had shifted, some switching of gears that he couldn’t quite define. For a moment he wondered if he’d been drugged, but he was fairly familiar with drugs and none of them would have had those exact effects he’d just experienced.

It took him a moment till his mind stopped circling the airport on wings of sheer adrenaline to realise that his outfit had changed. He noted it as another absurdity to be puzzled over in a few moments and instead focused on getting his wits back about him.

“I do feel different.” he said. It didn’t quite feel like more[i/] just yet, but he assumed that would also come in its own time. He couldn’t let go of the idea of being able to snap bones with his bare hands.

He could undoubtedly feel her though, her power almost addictive to be close to, something new and fascinating that he could really get used to. He felt like a cat on a radiator next to her and just the sensation of her power was enough to take a little of the ache out of his body. “You feel different too.” he said.

He felt sore, but she was right, he felt good too.



She could actually see him processing the moment, collecting himself back into the cool unflinching man she’d met earlier that day in the ER. Generally it took a bit of time for new recruits to really come to grips to their new reality as a member of the Negaverse, but Xenotime doubted it’d take as long for him. Even now there was a notable lack of [i]wonder
in his face, in his voice, and the general grinned down at him. “I should hope.”

Now that she was sure he wasn’t going to fall or run away from her her grip around his hips loosened. If he’d wanted he could have stepped away with only the soft touch of her hands to slow him, but she didn’t think he would. “You’re now a part of an organization called the Negaverse. I know that sounds like something out of a scifi movie, but do keep an open mind about that and everything else I’m about to tell you. I assure, it can be easily confirmed.” Her other hand came up, and for a moment she was holding his face between both her hands, but they slid away to rest on his sides again.

“It’s something of a military organization, only instead of worrying over domestic and international affairs, we’re dealing with space and other dimensional bullshit.” A shrug followed that, head tipping as she rolled her eyes. “A band of individuals that borrow powers from planets and stars and asteroids threaten our world as we know it, and we’re tasked to defend it. You, a lieutenant, are now under my direct command as a general. Like this, you will address me as Xenotime.”

A small pause followed that statement as she considered what his name should be and after a moment her lips pulled back in a smug smile. “You’re name is Hydroxyapatite.” It was a mouthful, but there was a certain lingual link to it he might appreciate. “But I think for short we’ll just call you Hyde.”

Thumbs stroked along his hips. “Now I’m going to give you a choice here.” Leaning forward spilled long, purple hair from her hood over her shoulder. “We can continue this discussion at length and go over all your new found abilities, or,” she grinned cheek brushing his cheek. “We can continue what we were doing before I so rudely interrupted the moment. Choosing one will only only delay the other, but which is up to you.”



True to her expectation, Lawrence made no effort whatsoever to depart from how close he was to her, enjoying the sensation of the chaos close by in a sort of raw and animal way. He listened intently, and there was something a little blank and animal in that too, as if for the moment he’d dropped the smiling mask of approachability in favour of true focus.

The Negaverse. He noted the term, because regardless of how it sounded he was willing for the moment to take it at face value. Lawrence wasn’t someone who questioned the fine details of things too deeply, his curiosity extended to people, not to concepts or universal laws. He’d want to know more about the individuals in this organisation, but what its goals were didn’t actually concern him too much. There was something feline about the way he appreciated having his jaw held, though at the same time he found himself wishing she’d dip a little lower.

Space military, that was certainly a change from normal military. He didn’t laugh though, because right now the things that had happened to him meant it was still a fairly plausible situation. He’d be fighting aliens. Actual aliens. It would take a while to process it, he thought, and if it turned out to be some kind of big joke, well that was fine too, he’d just shrug it off as just another weird thing he’d done on a night out. He’d probably done worse and not even remembered it the next day.

So Porsha was now Xenotime, much more exotic and fancy.

His own name made him smirk, it was very long, but it wasn’t unknown to him either, the mineral apatite was one he’d always remembered, partially because it sounded like appetite as in hunger, but also meant “deceit” at its core. Calcium, of a sort. It amused him that she’d chosen it and amused him even more at the nickname derived therof.

“I like it.” he said. “Hyde.” Incidentally the antagonist of one of his favourite musicals.

He smiled under her touch on his lips. “I think learning all about what I am now can wait until after we celebrate the event.” Because the brief moment of agony had only succeeded in dinging his interest, not extinguishing it.

“I listen better when I’m relaxed.”

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