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Orchid	By : TalaXRei Category: Beyblade > Het - Male/Female Views: 1024 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade/Bakuten Shuuto, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. Beyblade/Bakuten Shuuto and its respective characters are (c) to Takao Aoki. Lucya (c) R. L. Kinghorn.

Chapter List
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A prequel of sorts to "Dandelion". A visit from a flame in the Ivanov household turns into more then mere friendliness. [AFFO/MF/Hetro/Anal/Timeskip/AU/OC/WIP]

_{Done for now. There will be a chapter added to this where, y'know, the sex happens. But for now I'm content with it. It'll be added to eventually.}

With a quick flick of her ankles, both Jimmy Choo stilettos left her dainty feet and whipped across the length of the sitting room, one after the other. She couldn't see them in the near darkness but she heard them. They hit the oak dresser across the way with a sharp clack before bouncing across the carpet. They would have left an ugly black scuff across the white wood from that impact. A woman usually so diligent and proud toward her extravagant belongings, Lucya couldn’t care less for them at this minute. Material things had, miraculously, become unimportant. Armed in one hand with a tall glass generously filled with chardonnay and a smouldering cigar in the other, the Russian sank down onto the cushions of her chaise and laced one willowy leg over the other.

      The coffee table that had once sat a foot across from her, the one exquisitely carved from glass she had ordered from London, was shattered into pieces, the frame thrown on its side. Shards lay scattered all across the plush carpet this way and that, like stars strewn across a peach sky. Her husband would pay for breaking that, she promised, and took a sip from her drink. The argument that had ensued between them not even an hour ago was still both a fresh memory and a fucking embarrassment. Christ. It replayed in her mind like a scratched record.

      Lucya relinquished a sigh, feathery and ethereal, shaken with so many emotions. Anger predominantly. She took another sip, the liquor was a familiar, cold comfort. When affected with distress she turned to drink and tobacco. Her crisis-aversions. She rolled the wine on her palate, savouring its fruit tartness before forcing herself to swallow.

      If those shit-eating vermin, known more commonly as “paparazzi”, were lurking outside like they usually were, then they would have seen Tala leave. No doubt they'd have snapped a few shots of him from behind their tinted car windows, all ready to photoshop and plaster over the front of the magazines by tomorrow morning.

      Wonderful, she venomously mused. Fucking wonderful. She replaced the tang of white wine with that of smoke, slipping the cigar between her thick lips. She took a deep draw and exhaled with another tiresome sigh, slouching forward and rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. And it had been such a long time since she had been in the media for drama too. She wouldn’t let the press make a field day out of this, no. Another long sip, another dry swallow. They’d eaten up her one time experiment with cocaine a few years ago, just some asshole who’d taken a lucky shot at a sleazy party. Purely experimental, and yet they’d made it out to seem as if she were some hardcore addict who’s life depended on it. Monsters wrote tabloids. She had no other justification for the vile bullshit they spread about her otherwise. The destruction was cataclysmic. It had caused a rift between her parents and she, she’d been sent to rehab to merely please her agent to cure a disease she didn’t have. She had shamed Tala, he spared no expense reminding her of that, and a film studio revoked a role they had offered her. That'd been a rare job opportunity. All because of journalists. The media liked to ruin the lives of those dubbed “celebrities” and since Lucya’d discovered that fact the hard way she'd made a conscious effort not to give them a reason to even sniff in her direction.

      And now it was Tala’s turn to shame her. His infidelity would be everywhere. Everywhere. There wouldn't be a single maganize that wouldn't cover it. Her eyes glazed. Tears slowly began their decent down the powdered apples of her cheeks. Fuck. The sheer heat of the argument and the screaming wouldn’t have gone unheard either by their neighbours, and all this only months after their marriage.

      God, what a fuck up. What a royal fuck up. Lucya felt a familiar sinking sensation in her chest, a feeling that everything was about to hit the rocks. She glanced to her mobile, sitting on the matching armchair across from her, its face faintly glowing in the shadows. No messages, no missed calls. Who was she kidding? He wouldn’t be home tonight and regardless of her anger she felt herself wonder where he would spend the night, if not under the roof of their penthouse. Probably with that tart of his, or his little sister.

      This was the last thing she needed right now.

      She had been so lost in her dismal train of thought that she had failed to notice the lean figure leaning in the doorway, watching her with a look of careful indifference.

      “He’s not worth you crying over, y’know. At the end of it, he does what the fuck he wants. He always has.”

      Oh for fuck's sake. Lucya sniffed delicately, straightening up on the cushions, and quickly raised a bejeweled hand to wipe away the crystaline tears that had streaked her cheekbones. She turned her head away from his cold gaze, vainly attempting to hide her misery. She was in no mood to feel judged or be a subject of entertainment.

      Bryan however, wasn’t going anywhere.

      “You’re so cliché it makes me want to vomit.”

      She could hear the snide twist of his lip without even needing to look at him. His sneer of disapproval. “Drinking in the dark? Brooding with the lights off? What are you—a fucking teenager?”

      Bryan slapped the switch to the overhead chandelier, rectifying his statement with a click. Lucya scowled against the sudden harsh light that filled the grand sitting room, glaring at him from beneath her asymetrical bangs. Her blue eyes were glassy and red, the fires of her feisty nature were still at boiling point in their depths. The feud with Tala had only made her all the more vicious tongued. She leaned forward, placing her glass on the floor beside the lounge and ran a hand down the smooth nylon stocking that clad her leg.

      “What do you want?” She asked, her voice leaden. She sounded more tired then anything else. Did she look as defeated a she felt?

      Asking him what he wanted she needn’t have done. When it came to Bryan, there was only one thing that they wanted from each other.

      And as if he had read her mind, the crook of his mouth inched into an impious smirk. “There was a time you wouldn’t have needed to ask.”

      Dropping the sports bag he had in hand to the floor by his foot he entered the room. His boots crunched the splintered glass underfoot, eyes drifting over the carnage Tala had left. When he reached the chaise, Lucya could see more clearly the emotions lurking in his ivory face, just beneath a mask of indifference. Callous glee.

      “Marriage made you soft, Luc, or just age?”

      This time it was her turn not to reply. She snorted, a derogatory sound, and pushed her blonde fringe behind her shoulder with lithe fingers and looked away. She didn't move at all when Bryan sat down beside her. She knew the sight of right now her aroused some twisted part of him: the bruise on her chapped and dry lips, the teltale wet stripes that lined her fac. Even the make-up around her eyes, which had taken her the eat part of two hours that morning to perfect, was spoilt and waterlogged. The bastard ate misery like a man starved, and he found an especial delicacy in the proud who fell off their pedestals.

      Bryan snatched the smouldering cigar from her numb fingers. She turned her head, watching him with a look of disapproving lour at his boorish behaviour as he brought it to his own lips.

      “Please, help yourself,” she drawled sarcastically.

      Kuznetsov kept her gaze as he took a drag and then handed it back, butt-end first. He released the smoke from his nostrils. She watched it curl high up toward the plaster penchants and then snatched the cigar. She again sniffed and again tuned her head away. He smiled at her petulance.

      “Tell me, did it hurt?”

      She exhaled, eyes turned downturned to watch the thick haze of smoke roll from the bank of her lips through the fan of clumped black lashes. “What did?”

      “Your haughty pride, after you found out he’d been sticking it in your PA two nights a week.”

      The abusive remar was just that. Abusive. An insult which pierced through her inner defences. But the steel walls around her heart that would usually have deflected such vile words and insolence were ruptured and breeched. She sucked in a breath, churning her fury like a forge and tuned back around to meet his lavender gaze. The look on his smug face was enough to want to slap him.

      “Did you come here to relish in my humiliation or did you have something else you wanted? Otherwise I suggest you get the fuck out of my room and leave me alone.” Her blue eyes narrowed, conveying silently the seriousness of her warning, telling him he was close to walking on dangerous ground, to not push her, to not overstep his boundries.

      But Bryan didn’t comprehend the rules or personal boundries of others, of ones he deemed below him. No. He liked to push them, to see how far people were willing to go to enforce them, how far he could shove them before they royally lost their shit. And she knew that.

      He smirked a little wider and reached a hand out to tuck the golden tresses of her hair back behind the crook of her ear, exposing the glittering gemstone studs ornamenting her lobe. His tenderness was domineering, prepensive; the calm before a storm. Lucya resisted slapping his hand away when his fingers wrapped the back of her head and slowly drew her toward his face as he leaned in. And it starts. Like it did everytime. She knew he was about to pour petrol all over the fire inside her, and she couldn’t deny the need she felt stirring. The void of lonliness and anger and shame Tala had left was craving to be filled with anything, any love or affection being thrown her way. Anything to rouse regret, jealousy, revenge. Anything. And bryan was just the right size to fill that void.

      The scent of him envoked memories of nights passed. Before she’d married Tala, from a date she couldn’t recall, the times they’d slept together. Monogamy since then exacerbated her huger. A leash on an untamed animal who longed to be wild once again.

      “Temper, babe." His breath touched her parted lips, denying her the first kiss she craved to feel on her skin. "I came here to return the injustice. Y’know, like the nice guy I am? I know how you are, Luc. I'm sorry your marital tantrums turn you into a bitch.”

      She dropped her eyelashes. Inclining her head and twisting her body toward him she murmured hotly, “You turn me into a bitch.”

      Kuznetsov was unable to stop the unbridled smile of rich conceitedness from breaking onto his face. “I thought you hated me, last time I recalled? Couldn't stand me.”

      “I’ve since altered my opinion.”

      His steely eyes watched her keenly, falcon by nature. Before Lucya closed her eyes on him, she saw his thick eyebrows rise. “Prove it to me, dorogaya.”

Like a flower her lips parted beneath Kuznetsov’s. He granted her the kiss he’d intentionally kept back to make her hungry, his tongue flooding into her mouth and descending upon hers. He was slow, passionate without intention. His hand planted itself upon her silky thigh. It didn’t stay put. It crept upward, pushing at the navy velvet of her dress.

      Lucya sighed, cupping his cheek. He’d barely touched her and she could feel the heat between her legs melt like heated glass. She reclined against the plush cushions, her leg hooking over one of his knees and pulled him down onto her. Bryan allowed himself to be guided by her wordless instruction. It was scarce he let a partner take the lead but he was feeling generous. It wouldn’t last long. He would humour her mood for now, before his avidity took over and he threw her to the wolves. Lucya arched herself up against him, her breasts thrusting against the leather of his jacket. She was drinking him in, this moment, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She thirsted for more.

      Bryan prised her thighs apart and positioned himself between them, smothering her voluptuous form beneath his full weight. She purred against his mouth. Trembling hands roved their way across his neck and over his wide shoulders. She traced the vertebrate of his spine as she inched her fingertips southward, her touch rasping on the leather. God, it seemed like forever since this had happened. Them, like this. He was different from her... from Tala. His taste was of whiskey and smoke, his scent of vetuver and patchouli, his trademark brutal ferocity excited her. Everything about him was the opposite of Ivanov, what he used to be.

      But despite Bryan being here with her now Lucya only replayed Tala’s face in the darkness behind her eyelids. She couldn’t unsee it, the memory of him and her personal assistant fucking by the penthouse swimming pool. It was stained on her mind’s eye, like a revolting cataract. Both completely devoid of clothing, his lean hips pressed hard against her upturned backside, her reddened cheek on the damp stone. Her face contorted in euphoric pleasure as he thrust his prick deep inside her, uttering air-starved cries that reverberated about the glass enclosure from being fucked like a hog. But it was the look on his face Lucya wouldn’t forget, when he raised his gaze from Klara’s rippling ass and noticed his wife, standing at the French windows, watching their coupling with gelid hatred. How his expression had gone from lascivious to horrified in a millisecond must have been a record holder.

      Lucya scrunched her face up. I don’t want to remember.

      When lithe fingers reached down between their bodies and eagerly fondle the hardness between his thighs, Bryan grunted. Through the material of his trousers, her stiletto nails grazed against its underside like a kneading kitten. He was rocklike, hot like hellfire. He pulled his tongue from the depths of her soft mouth.

      Why did he stop? To mock me? Lucya’s eyes fluttered open and she gazed up at him languorously though heavy lids. She must have looked like an inebriated or drugged whore, her blonde hair a tangled mess beneath her head and lipstick smeared to match her mascara. She didn’t give a fuck. She was beyond that point.

      “Well you waste no time,” he whispered fervently.

      Her fingers inched up and worked on loosening the buckle of his belt, the button and zipper. The slowness of their intimacy was abolished on her call. She’d reached the threshold of this pointless foreplay before him, this time. “You told me I didn’t need to ask.”

      Bryan smirked wickedly and rolled to the side. He pulled her atop of him, changing their positions, loins grinding against one another, separated by a few layers of fabric. That was going to change. His boot went off the side of the lounger, crunching glass beneath its sole. It seemed almost absurd she’d lamented the loss of her designer table now.

      “And there she is.”
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