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Calla	By : TalaXRei Category: Beyblade > Het - Male/Female Views: 577 -:- 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. Taissa Ivanov (c) R. L. Kinghorn.

Chapter List
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Twelve fourty-three. She had taken an abnormally long time to get here, even from the city centre. When Bryan pulled open the front door, the chime from its bell hadn’t even ebbed. He tightened his jaw like a vice against the trenchant cold that slinked across his exposed skin. It was snowing heavily and standing on his doormat, as expected howbeit tardy, was the petite Taissa. She was swathed in thick chinchilla furs with an ushanka atop her head. She blinked against the light that fanned out across her and bestowed an apprehensive smile in greeting, looking demure amidst the encompassing curtain of snowflakes. It clung to every accessible part of her in shimmering silvery clumps.

    Bryan eyed her. “You walked here.”

    It was not a question. Given the time it had taken he concluded damn well she had. The layer of snow that’d amassed on her overcoat and boots sure as hell wasn’t from just walking down the driveway from a limousine. She’d blatantly disobeyed him. Taissa wisely chose not to answer him and entered when he moved to allow her, closing the door behind her with a clack of the brass latch. He slid the bolt into place and turned around. The chill that had caressed his skin began to fade forthwith.

    “Yakov didn’t need to be bothered this late,” Taissa finally said, shrugging the thick coat from her slender shoulders. Snow flicked onto the floor underfoot with each jostle, melting as they touched the varnished parquet in the contrasting heat of the apartment. Bryan grabbed the garment by its collar and pulled it down her arms. He wasn’t gentle and his annoyance with her overt disregard for his conditions was made apparent.

    “Yeah, I bet.”

    She was a terrible fucking liar. He knew damn well she hadn’t brought her chauffer along because she didn’t want anyone knowing where she was going and having a driver waiting for her like the loyal lapdog he was meant she would be going home. Hell, she’d not even appointed a bodyguard. Both of them would have known that any person who was staying here beside Tala wouldn’t allow her to stay. Now there was no one waiting for her. No one knew where she was and Bryan was stuck with her.

    Begrudgingly, he marched across the foyer and into the lounge. He carelessly threw the coat onto the burgundy leather armchair without stopping. Taissa followed, trailing some feet behind like a wretched stray animal. She stopped in the doorway, watching him with large, curious eyes. The friction between the two could be sliced with a knife.

    So could her throat, in all fairness.

    The silence prolonged as Bryan lowered the blinds in the room with a small single-button control before throwing the said device onto the neighbouring bookshelf with a sharp clatter.

    “You’re angry with me.”

    He cast his glower over his shoulder, stony countenance a picture of inscrutability. The cocktail of guiltiness and unspoken apology she wore on hers however betrayed that she was fully aware of her behaviour, as he already suspected.

    “Really?” He drawled, voice exuding sarcasm. “Tell me, what gave you that impression?”

    Bryan allowed her no time to reply to a question that was rhetorical as he stormed back toward her. She shrunk in against the wooden frame, physically wincing as he barged passed her and clipped her shoulder with his. “Sit down, for fuck’s sake and stop standing around!”

    Taissa did as she was told, ironically. Leaving waterlogged tracks from her goatskin Oscar Sierras she promptly made her way to the three-seater settee against the northern wall and sank down onto one of its sizeable cushions. Pulling the fur cap from her head she tousled her muggy, toneless hair back to life, placing it at her feet with more diligence then Bryan had cared to impart her expensive coat. He emerged a few minutes later, a blue and white striped mug clutched in one hand. He stopped when he reached her and unceremoniously shoved it toward her face.

    “Here,” he said. The languid steam rising from its contents billowed into the air like a beckoning finger. “Drink it.”

    “What is—?”

    “Coffee. Black with no sugar. Now shut up and take it.”

    She dropped her eyes from his face and took it without a word. His hospitality skills could do with some serious work, but he was far beyond giving a shit right now. Taissa watched him from beneath her fan of painted ebony eyelashes as he stepped around her and sunk down into the space at her side. The burgundy leather depressed beneath his weight. He placed a robust, bare arm across the back cushion behind her head and reclined.

    She shuffled, sitting stiffly upright and to attention like some spooked hare. The chiffon of her miniskirt whispered. Bryan knew he made her nervous, like he did everyone he met, and with just reason. He was dangerous and unpredictable. The redhead smiled weakly, feigning with great effort to appear relaxed and cheery and not at all like she’d stepped on already cracked eggshells. “So, were you sleeping when I called?”

    Bryan snatched up the remote from his arm of the settee and thumbed the power button. The plasma widescreen on the opposing wall sparked to life, fluid brilliant colours materialised in place of soulless black. The room filled with the contrived, gaudy laughter from the programme’s host. Some gameshow. Bryan in all honesty was seeking solely to dissuade her from dragging him into idle conversation but Taissa wasn’t so easily put off by the blader’s incivility. He should have remembered that. She stared at him, expecting an answer.

    He pretended to lose himself in the imagery on the screen and replied disinterestedly, “No.”

    She didn’t take his blunt terseness as a sign of nonchalance. “What were you doing?”

    “Showering.”

    This time Taissa did not reply. She instead sipped at her unsweetened coffee, Bryan surmising the conversation had taken too awkward a turn for her liking with his candid answer. Good. He focused intently on the screen but absorbed nothing as a contestant, perched on a tall stool, was quizzed by the show’s host in hysterical Russian.

    The solace in the living room didn’t last.

    “Can... can I ask you something?”

    Bryan felt the vein in his temple throb. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at her though he could feel her eyes roving his profile. And this is why you didn’t want her to come over at all, he reminded himself. You got no one to blame for this major clusterfuck of a situation but yourself.

    Taissa took his silence as concurrence. “Why do you hate me?”

    There it was. The question he knew was doubtlessly going to arise, just two years too late. He shifted on the couch cushion, her dainty mass wobbling beside him with every motion like some little ship on the waves, his eyes still fixated to the television and the show he wasn’t paying the slightest mote of attention to.

    “What gave you that impression?” He asked, repeating himself from earlier and voice still armed with the same dry sarcasm.

    It didn’t go unnoticed either. Out the corner of his eye the Russian saw her angelic face meld into a disapproving frown. “I’m being serious here. You’re never—or rather, have never—been nice to me for the whole time I’ve known you. You’re always so nasty, so cold.”

    “I’m cold to everyone.”

    “But you’re especially cold to me.”

    He slid her an icy, sidelong glance and saw her shrink beneath it. “Then you should feel so lucky.”

    At that he expected her to withdraw into the pattern of defeated silence, maybe bow her head over her coffee in regards to his especially curt attitude and accept the last word and finally just shut up. But she didn’t and to Bryan’s private surprise she lost her temper for the first time in his company. The mug in her trembling and itchy fingers slammed down onto the coffee table before her, the impact causing the tar-coloured liquid inside to upshot the porcelain and slosh across the veneer surface. Her face was the image of barely-stifled outrage, anger threatening to boil over like a volcano incarnate and now that she had truly fucked off his last nerve, Bryan looked identical. He stared lividly at her, brow rumpling beneath the weight of a murderous scowl. But as his mouth opened to snap at her Taissa beat him to it.

    “Why?” She demanded. Her voice was contrarily calm to the expression that graced her face, a contrast to the way she had just reacted. “Why—after I have gone out of my way to be nothing but nice to you, to impress you, to show my genuine care, do you still treat me so fucking terribly?”

    The profanity seemed alien coming from her, a girl who rarely if ever turned the air blue, but she wasn’t done. Not by a longshot.

    “I know Tala’s friends mean a lot to him, the few he has. I know what this sport means to him and I know what his team means to him. I’m not some dumb manufactured tween idol who came off a conveyor belt like others in my business.” She flailed a hand dramatically to emphasise her point. “I have tried to make an effort to bond, with all of you. I thought Sergey was difficult enough to gain the respect of but you? You’re impossible. Two years, for godssakes! Two!”

    She hadn’t looked at him the entire time. Her downturned glare was so vehement she could have seared a hole straight through the table and into the floorboards beneath. And he could have burned one through her skull. Leaning forward Bryan snatched the cardboard box of tissues off the corner of the coffee table and threw it down into her scantily-clad lap.

    “Well, you’re doing a great fucking job so far by coming here in the middle of the night without a chauffeur like you were told to do, like you promised to do, and throwing drink all over my furniture.” He slumped back against the sofa moodily, nothing short of seeing scarlet. His temper was practically nonexistent when he had to deal with her or any other little, vexatious insignificant who crossed his path. “Now fucking clean it.”

    The tissue box came back, hitting him twice as hard in the bicep. Blinking furiously Bryan wheeled his head around just in time to see her striding off across the parquet, her high heels stomping. She snatched up her fur coat from the armchair and was out the living room before Bryan had even sat up. He almost let her just walk out of there. Fuck her. But something within him wouldn’t let it be. His ill temper got the better of him.

    Tearing himself off the three-seater Bryan strode after her, his hulking form exuding toxicity and menace. There was nothing to gain, he was after the inevitable argument and angering her was two seconds off producing it; one that’d been brewing between them for a long, long time. She’d said it. Two years. Two years of restrained bitterness and distaste that had finally reached its limitation. He was in a foul mood. Fucking bring it.

    Bryan caught up with her. His hand came forward and snagged her upper arm as she reached for the bolt on the front door.

    He spun her around to face him with a single violent tug and was faced with wrath in the guise of a thunderous black look. Her lower lip, glossed with glitter, trembled but she was living fire.

    “You let go of me, Kuznetsov, right this fucking minute.” She wrested herself about in his grip, endeavouring to free herself but to no avail. “Coming here was a huge mistake and I am done with trying to please you. You hear me? So fucking done.”

    She quavered everywhere something horrendous, like a leaf forsaken in a stormy breeze, her nerves as highly strung as her fear. She was fighting to keep the situation from affecting her voice but failing.

    “Grow the fuck up!” He snarled, shaking her like a ragdoll. “You came here, and now you’re going to march your prissy ass back into that room and sit the fuck down till one o’clock!”

    Fear shot across her features before it vanished.

    “Otvali!” She spat, those large, doe-like eyes teeming with a firestorm that she could not control, one which Kuznetsov had thrown gasoline upon and struck the match. She jerked again in his iron grasp with as much success in liberating herself as her previous attempt. She braced her heeled, fur-shrouded feet on the welcome rug like a defiant mule. With no real effort Bryan dragged her back across the foyer and toward the living room doorway by her arm, ignoring her infuriated screams. She dropped the chinchilla overcoat to the floorboards with a heavy sigh of fur and tried to pry his ruthless fingers from her reddening skin. He wanted the fight. The bitch wanted to be here, she was gonna be here. He had almost reached the doorway...

    That’s when her hand flew up. A small, balled fist adorned with glistering rings and acrylic nails that aimed impulsively for the general proximity of his face. Bryan was not only stronger, he was much faster. He grabbed her knuckles in his free hand with a sharp smack of flesh on flesh well before it connected with his person and swung her to his right. She hit the very doorframe he had almost triumphantly pulled her through with a loud bang. The blow was forceful enough to make her screech and falter but he gave her no opportunity to recuperate from it. Bryan shoved her to the wall and, with her hands restrained steadfast against the plasterboard, Taissa could only snarl into his enraged face. Her demeanour was untamed, something he had never seen in her before. Wild. Her familiar benignant personality had evaporated into the unknown, leaving in its wake this undomesticated, prepossessing animal of a woman.

    Taissa thrashed once again against the prison of his callous hold and when she spared no effort to kick him Bryan pressed himself against her, leaving her no leverage to attempt so again. Flared nostrils sucked in a deep, compressed breath. Her saccharine designer perfume caught in his throat.

    “Hide quite a temper don’t you?” He drawled derisively, boring into her blue eyes with those of steel. “Seems you really are more than a one-trick pony.”

“Go to hell. I hate you.”

    “Hate this,” he retorted acidly and swooped down to arrest her mouth in his, smothering her shocked angry cry with viciousness.

    She tasted of sugar. Taissa immediately stiffened and ceased her futile threshing. He forced his tongue against the soft cushion of her lower lip, demanding entry to twine with the one behind them that had so freely vilified him seconds ago. When she tightened them in refusal, he crushed her wrist in his fingers. Taissa winced and renounced to the forcible caress, and without any form of forewarning pressed the pierced flat of her tongue against his with the same measure of urgency. Their explosive dispute had impassioned them. This dangerous state of affairs had turned completely on its head. It hadn’t been what Bryan had initially hoped for, granted, but it would suffice over beating the living fuck out of her.

    He unhanded her limbs, moving to tangle his thick fingers in her hair before she had time to hurl another punch or turn away from him. Bryan wouldn’t let her. He kept her face turned up toward his and grunted in welcome surprise when her lissom fingertips caught his belt buckle and yanked his body against hers. Those pink stiletto nails, crowned with tiny embellishing jewels, raked their way up the rigid muscles of his stomach, marking the alabaster skin with rosy welts. They held one another’s gaze as they drank deep, heavy lidded and fervid, tongues pervading and exploring. The paroxysm of his temper was receding, his metamorphosis taking him to something far hotter and cataclysmic then anger.

    Bryan broke their liplock with a need for oxygen, tearing his mouth from hers with a wracked breath. He ran his hands down the sides of her face, the calloused pads of his thumbs skimmed threateningly against her trachea in passing. A minute ago perhaps, he would have happily strangled her, but now other things he could be doing to her engaged his subvert mind.

    He saw the question she had asked him earlier cross her softening expression. Why. Bryan stole her lips again to stop her from articulating her thoughts. He didn’t care for words, he never did and he sure as hell didn’t now. Talk was cheap. Actions—the most intrinsic ones at that—was the language he was eloquent in, even more so then Russian; throwing punches, shooting beyblades and tyrannising those of lesser calibre beneath his heel. Take what you want. He couldn’t impart less of a fuck to what Hiwatari’s reaction was going to be whenever he finally discovered this, or even Tala’s for that matter. They were impressively astute, both of them. If her earlier evidenced guilt was anything to go by, Taissa and he could walk into the same room as the other two Russian the day following and both would sense that something or other had changed, just because of her body language.

    He wouldn’t be able to get away with it. But that impending shitstorm was tomorrow’s, next week’s, next month’s worry. This was now, and Bryan intended to revel in now.

    His hands found the small gold zip at her bodice. He watched as her blue eyes fluttered to a lulling close as the smouldering embers of prior aggression left her completely. She was once again the woman he knew. She inhaled sharply as his groin, semi-erect, twitched against her thigh. With the faintest arrogant smirk, Bryan ripped the zip down until the garment unfastened and slipped a hand inside. His fingertips touched the lace of her bra, the material warmed by her sultry body heat, and ventured to the crest for the nipple. He found it with practised ease and raised a thick brow when his thumb brushed against a small metal barbell. What a delightful surprise, he mused, moaning his appreciation deep within her mouth and rolled the pierced nubbin between his fingers.

    Taissa’s mouth fell open beneath his, breaking the kiss. She gasped as if he had just pressed ice to her flesh and pressed her manicured hands to his bare chest, attempting effetely to push him away. Her actions were exceedingly half-hearted.

    “Net! Oh god, don’t do that—!”

    Grin gleeful, wide and unbridled, Bryan ignored her sweet pleas, channelling a series of fierce kisses along the length of her jaw to occupy his hungry mouth. He twisted again, more firmly, pulling her breast into a small but taut cone. He crushed her against the wall with a shove of his hips when she gasped again, wanting her to feel just what she’d done to him, what she had inflicted him with, feel his wolfish desire conveyed by anger running rampant throughout his body. Taissa’s knees weakened and very subtly she pushed back against him. Yes, he would have her completely delirious for it. Bryan’s lips reached the junction of her throat, hovering at the curve of her earlobe.

    “What’s wrong, Migi?” He teased in a husky murmur, each breath stirring her hair. “Not feeling so feisty all of a sudden?”

    Her head came forward. Striking like a snake, her teeth caught the skin of his exposed neck. She bit down, hard enough to assert herself more than injure and buried her nose in his hair. Bryan felt his throat palpitate and sparks raced his spine, both admiring and enthusing over her newfound pluckiness. His hand joined the first, nudging aside the material of her open bodice and seizing the other breast. They fit into the palms of his hands perfectly, dusky nipples hard like tiny diamonds against his skin as he kneaded them. She emitted a delicious gasp of intense delight everytime he switched to flick the twin barbells, her body melting at the knees, inch by inch slithering down the wall as she tuned to liquid at his fingertips. Bryan watched her face mantle and heard her moans until he could take it no longer.

    He pressed his open mouth to hers.

    “Lounge,” he muttered.

    The word was everything. An invitation, infidelity, command. In that moment this game had changed, its dice cast. Hate became a passionate kiss, and a passionate kiss was about to turn into something far, far more dangerous. Bryan watched her eyes open and saw the hesitancy cross them in a flicker of apprehensiveness. He believed for a moment Taissa would decline but her reservations proved fleeting. She conceded with silence, those full lustrous lips came forward to take his triumphant smirk between them and tenderly she bit down.
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Calla