/ false flag

[kitty smith-sato]

She gets up, looking at herself in the reflection of a large mirror. Her tiny cream cardigan was buttoned in the middle three buttons only, her black lace bra visible through the fabric. Her favorite plaid Miu Miu micro mini skirt was looking especially good, her legs tanned from her brief foray to Europe. "Aww, I was thinking we could go skinny dipping," she says, seeing the pool beyond the large French doors, glittering in the background of her reflection. She fluffs her hair. "Come on then," she encourages, picking up the bottle of wine and swigging from it, leaving her glass abandoned.  Kitty wanders through the house like she owns it, as is her custom. It's not as familiar to her as his place in New York, of course, but she doesn't let that slow her down, striding towards his bedroom. Before long she's rifling through his bedside drawer, pushing condoms aside and fishing out an array of small baggies. Eventually she strikes gold, holding up a bag with little neon pink pills inside, pressed into a Playboy bunny shape. "Come on, take half with me," she says, though it's more of a demand than a question. She fishes one out, biting it in half and ignoring the acrid taste that spreads across her tongue. She swallows it down with another swig of wine, holding the bottle out to him.

[dominic vinten cuvo]

His thumb flicks across his phone screen as Kitty searches through his junk drawer, hearing the glass and plastic rattle around, wondering if she was also stealing any of his clothes while she was there. Still, moving around the house made him notice more things he was beginning to hate about it, seriously considering complete demolition when the flash of a small pill baggie caught his attention. Although he was quite attached to his suggestion, Kitty’s invitation becomes a plan as soon as a pill splits between her teeth. His body begged and pleaded for him to reconsider, to give sobriety a chance for more than a day. This is a terrible idea—he’ll lurch back into the dark pit that is a comedown, risking serotonin syndrome even. Worst of all he won’t be able to keep his hands off her… So of course Dominic snatches it from her and washes it down with some wine. Fresh air outside does wonders, a second bottle of wine dangling from his fingertips. How nice it is to see trees and hills and the sparkle of the Pacific beyond the infinity edge. “What if I had the pool filled with wine?” he wondered out loud, testing the surface with a toe, unsure of how many people tended to this place while he was gone. “Actually. Can you start saving your bathwater for me?” he amended, though it would take some time to amass a pool of Kitty stock. He undid the buttons of his shirt (expensive and uncomfortable, worn solely for her approval) and tossed the fabric away, undoing his belt with one hand just the way he knew she liked. His underwear next, tactfully hiding his nakedness behind the bottle of wine, grinning up at her before lowering into the pool and waiting for the drugs to turn him into butter. "Here, Kitty Kitty."

[kitty smith-sato]

She looks at him, his dishevelled face. For the first time maybe ever she considers the possibility of him denying her, turning down the pill and leaving her to come up on her own. But it's not a thought that lingers long, his half soon snatched from her fingertips and disappearing down his throat. "Good boy," she purrs, knowing their day had taken a turn that could only lead to bad decisions. But she doesn't care about that, desperate to get out of her own head and interested in getting into his, surrendering her senses in the comfort of knowing that he would too. Stood outside in the sunshine, it seems like an even better idea, the yard expansive and private all at the same time. Maybe LA wasn't so bad after all. "No, you'd only drink it," she says, suspicious that he actually might. Her eyes scan over his physique as he strips off, feigning indifference whilst inwardly noting that she was being harsh with her comments about the gym. As with everything, he moves fluidly, confidently, making her skin feel hot as she pointedly looks away, her eyes falling to the glistening pool. She starts to strip down herself, shrugging off her cardigan, skirt and knee high socks, folding them neatly. She leaves her thong and bra on, maintaining her semi pretence of prudishness. She slips into the water and it feels incredible, like being baptised all over again. "Come here, asshole," she murmurs, tilting her head back to coax him closer. "I can feel the truce starting to wear off... you'd better tell me I'm pretty again. Just to be safe."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

He’s appalled that he has never entertained this idea before, mind going so far as to imagine the dimensions of his largest bathtub and how many it might take to fill this pool. If there could be a way to directly route her drain to his pool, or even better: be delivered to all the faucets in the house… “I would not,” he denies quickly, smirking into the wine bottle he drank from. Kitty brought out something sick and twisted in Dom that made him fantasize about consuming her one way or another, driven to possess her while simultaneously serve her. The ache and pain of wanting her, but never having her, sustained him. Kitty wants them on an even playing field, he knows; she won’t expose herself in any sense of the word unless he does, and often Dom must first. It’s always quid pro quo between them, who had the upper hand and who needed to be knocked down a peg. With delight he watched her strip, eyes appraising every inch of skin revealed. Even meticulous in the way she peeled off the layers and neatly folded them, black lace remaining an obstacle, tempted to call her out on it. Already she seems to need his reassurance again, easing into vulnerability the tablet would only help along. “Pretty?” he questioned, as if the word did not even belong in his mouth. He edges closer to her like a shark tracking blood. “Oh, no… You are exquisite. Perfection incarnate. The muse of men, bane of women,” he sang, wondering if he should be considered an art historian and a poet. “If you were born earlier in time, you would have toppled empires...” he hummed, circling her. “Imagine the wars waged in your name...” he groaned, hovering behind her, planting a kiss on her shoulder. “Whichever god sculpted you is the one I believe in.”

[kitty smith-sato]

Kitty tips her head back, her hair fanning out in dark tendrils into the water. She would usually be fussier about getting her hair wet but she can't bring herself to waste energy on worrying about that now, not when her thighs and stomach are still mottled with bruises, the persistent sting of her lip reminding her of her current roster of imperfections. Just as she was willing to show her ugly insides to her faux brother, Dominic was also privy to the most unkempt physical version of her, a privileged view shared by few. After all, it was Dom who was the first person to hold her hair back as she threw up multicolored jello shots after a dorm party. Dom who had been the first person she saw after her break up with Henry, unwilling to cry in front of him but her eyes so red and puffy that she might as well have. It was Dom she would have been happy to see in that Venetian hospital, but then you can't win them all. She's acutely aware of the game he plays as he circles closer. An apex predator herself, if they were animals there would be Youtube videos dissecting who would win in a one-on-one fight, assessing each strength and weakness against the other. One of her weaknesses and his strengths was on full display now-- her vanity and his ability to convincingly appeal to it. Tempered by his grandiose compliments and particularly open to being swayed on the subject, she lets them sink in, words that warmed her more than the Californian sun ever could. "That's enough, thank you Oscar Wilde," she says with a smirk. Still being circled, she knows better than to leave her back to him, turning sharply so that she could rest her back against the side of the pool. Protected but also cornered now, her eyes follow him like he's a dorsal fin protruding from the sea. "You have quite the way with words. Is that everything you said to Violet to get her to go home with you?" She rests her elbows on the side of the pool, turning her face up to the sun. "Actually, you probably just told her there was more coke at home."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

The wine and the pill were competing in his blood as to which could liven him up first. His body felt perfectly enveloped by the water, hugged even, unable to discern where he began and it ended. Moving fluidly around and behind her, equally enticed by the distorted view below the surface and the reflection above it. Quite proud of his eloquence, Dom celebrated with a tip of the wine bottle. So many things bounced between extremes for him: his mood, his energy, his interest in the day-to-day. Kitty was probably the one only to understand this and enjoy the extremes. But her compliment comes with strings attached. A groan rumbles in Dom’s throat, tipping his head back until the water lapped at his ears and briefly masked Kitty’s voice. The mention of Violet is boring and tired, beating an overdosed horse. “Kitty, that was soo long ago,” he sighed, settling along the edge near her. Perhaps five years ago or five months ago, he couldn’t be certain. If anything could bring Kitty comfort, it was Dominic’s strangely staunch rule against repeating hookups. “Besides, it's not polite to speak ill of the nearly-dead,” he tutted, an idea abruptly rising to his attention. “I know you’re planning something. I’m sure it’s brilliant and maniacal as always,” he said, thinking of her sitting on such a juicy secret. “But I think it’s in our best interest, and that of the friend group, that you don’t be foolish.”

[kitty smith-sato]

There. There it is. Kitty feels her teeth sharpen in her mouth, a flicker of something twinge in her belly. His groan and accompanying comment, drawling and lackadaisical though its delivery was, lets her know that she was still in possession of something worth having. Revived by this knowledge, she can feel a layer of herself start to regenerate, enamel restored to a tooth. "You can say what you want about the living, that's practically biblical." She tilts her head at him, a pose MiuMiu had taught her well, eyes round with feline innocence. "You think so little of me, Dommy. What could I possibly have to gain from such knowledge? In fact..." she pulls herself out of the pool, sitting on its edge, underwear rendered transparent and hair dripping. "You seem to have completely forgotten that I did you a favor. You got my hands dirty and now you seem to think we're in this together, partners in crime, equal stakes."  She reaches over, lifting the wine from the ledge and taking a long swig. It tastes better than she remembered. "I assure you that is not the case." It's hard to tell if she's started to come up or not, drinking on an empty stomach, dining on leverage. Still, she doesn't want to sour the day so early on. "Come here," she repeats, tone turning syrupy, opening her legs and encouraging him to close the gap between them. "I want to give you a shoulder massage. I've gotten so good at it, you'll see."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

Despite her mostly naked body hoisted out of the pool, Dom feels the burr of her words. His head tilts to the side quizzically, considering this. Despite how fucked up he had been that night, the whole ordeal managed to plant roots in his memory for how surreal it had been at the time. Kitty knew the full extent, Cal knew the parts Dom wanted him to know, and Violet was none the wiser. Reaching for Kitty as a lifeline had been a terrible mistake now that she was lording the truth over him. He says nothing back, annoyed by the riddles in which she liked to speak. Of course he was also easily distracted by the invitation into her body, literally, as he swam up between her knees dangling into the water. Smooth and thin as a baby deer, imagining the ease with which his hand could wrap around the flesh. He turns, slowly, like she might slit his throat though he doubts he would be able to discern the temperature of his own blood from the pool water. “I would hate to know who you’ve been practicing on,” he muttered, trying to banish Henry from his thoughts. But since the topic had already been broached, Dom couldn’t help the worst of his curiosity. “I’ve always wanted to ask you,” he prefaced, his back to the wall of the pool with a pleasant scrape. “Do you ever think about what would have happened if you hadn’t called?” he wondered, letting his eyes close and her hands work. “You were playing god, you know,” he murmured, humming with pleasure before breaking into a smile that leaked into his voice. “She could have died.”

[kitty smith-sato]

She shrugs off the non-question, glad that he's taken his rightful place. With his thick head of hair so close, it's one of those moments she feels like melting into him, slipping into the water and folding her body against his. Ah, so she was coming up. With forced concentration, she places her thumbs at the nape of his neck, her slender fingers meeting around his clavicle. She thinks about closing her hands together, wonders if she'd have the strength to strangle him, or push him under the water... instead, she presses into him rhythmically, feeling the firm muscle under taut skin. "Yes. Don't remind me, it's not often I have regrets, but..." She casts her mind back to that night as she continues to work his shoulders. Despite the leverage it had provided her, it wasn't her best work. Kitty didn't like to have to react instinctively and that panicked call had given her very limited time to think her options through, each second slipping by a decision of its own. Looking back, there were many, many little decisions she made, all of which teemed with the potential to alter the outcome. In truth she made every decision with Dom in mind, not Violet. She knew from her volunteering with a suicide hotline that it was best to call ambulances locally, that calling from her borough would have added precious minutes to the response time. She knew that going downstairs and across the block to beg someone in a smoking area to lend them her phone was another act of self preservation, again adding minutes when there were none to play with. But she'd make the same choices again. "I wouldn't have let that happen--" she says quietly, softened by the stimulants in her system, "--to you."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

When Dom looked back on that night, he didn’t think how could he have done better or what lesson did this teach him? No, instead the somewhat coherent strip of frames that he could remember were rather like the teaser of a secret snuff film. The only part, and frankly the worst part, that nobody knew (well, briefly, Violet did) was Dominic had been the one to procure the bad drugs. In a rash moment of desperation that their supply was dwindling but the night was not yet over, Dom bribed their DoorDash driver into also delivering them more coke. Of course drugs were just fine from around his gated community, but not wherever this stranger had come from. And then Violet was the first—and only—to try the new tainted supply. If he knows Kitty at all, she was seduced by the high of omnipotence. “I think you might be my guardian angel,” he mused, his hands rubbing along the svelte calves framing his head. The pressure and motion she delivered to his muscles was turning him into delicious pulp. He should think about timing his peak just right, contemplating another tablet to maximize the effects urged along by the wine. “I must be full of knots. I’m soo stressed lately, I need a vacation,” he said, leaning into her ministrations. He spun around in his position, eyes locked on hers, his chin coming to rest against the pool edge…mere inches away from the apex of her thighs. With a smirk on his lips he let his eyelids drift shut, inhaling deeply, exhaling a delighted hum. His eyes cracked open to a vision of wet black lace. “Let’s go somewhere together.”

[kitty smith-sato]

Though she longed for New York, Kitty had to admit this made for a more scenic setting to carry out some good old fashioned substance abuse. LA was a duplicitous city in her mind, one that had chewed up and spat out one father, whilst reverently carrying the other to legendary status. For her it was a playground, somewhere she came to tan and intoxicate and find new people to torture. The sun feels incredible on her skin, so much so that she doesn't feel uncomfortable in her wet clothes. "You don't even know the half of it." Mercurial as ever, there had been plenty of times Kitty had schemed against her supposed best friend, but then there were also times she'd seen him as an extension of herself and therefore had acted to protect him. Online harassment of people she felt didn't have his best interests at heart, for example, or getting teachers fired who'd dared to give him bad grades. She forgets what she's doing, her hands instinctively carrying on the massage though she soon slips them down his chest, resting her cheek against the back of his head for a second before he moves. Pouting, she places her palms on the tiles behind her, back arching up to the sun. "Oh, so now you want to go to Paris with me?" She slips her legs over his shoulders, splashing water behind him. "Too late."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

When he able to feast his eyes on her up close once more, he’s reminded how ethereal Kitty is. All his poetry from before now feels inadequate, paling in magnitude and in dire need of amendment. His skin buzzed with anticipation, senses ratcheted up a notch and expelling his previous hangxiety. The edges of his world are growing fuzzy, the beginnings of euphoria dripping through his blood, becoming one with the pool water. “I didn’t suggest Paris,” Dom said lowly, breath hot against the crotch of her panties. Quite literally facing the one place he desired to be in the entire world, wishing he could climb into her body and disappear for good, to be absorbed and carried by her. Resting his cheek against her thigh, Dominic simply stared up in wonder at her, from this angle rendered a statue. Single digit body fat percentage, no crease or imperfection to be found, especially stretched out behind herself in a way he could only describe as feline. The smooth flatness of her face punctuated by lips and brows almost alien in size; the slight pull of her eyes from half her heritage, slick hair dangling like plant roots freshly pulled from soil. He pressed a lazy kiss against the soft skin, wondering how hard he would have to bite to leave scalloped impressions in her flesh. “Frankly, all of Europe is dead to me now,” he murmured, choosing spite for an entire continent after her incident. Maybe he would change his mind if Kitty received a personal apology from Giorgia Meloni herself. “Can cities be purchased?” he wondered semi-seriously, thick brows momentarily crimped. “Maybe we should just buy an island.”

[kitty smith-sato]

"I did, and you said no. So I'm saying no now." There was a petulant side to Kitty that only really revealed itself around Dominic and her dads. A strong desire to ball her fists and stamp her feet like Veruca Salt when they ever dared to deny one of her whims, an undignified display that she wouldn't offer to anyone else, since it made it clear she felt wronged. She can't stay mad though, not when his breath is hot against her skin, her vision starting to swim as her high climbed higher. The tiles feel invitingly cold under her touch, his cheek feels scorching hot against her thigh. The amalgamation of sensations envelop her comfortingly, overwhelming in the best way, all her machinations slowed by the pleasure of the moment.  Her skin tingles where he kisses it and she slips into that out of body experience again, the experience of seeing him as a distinct being, untethered to her. Usually this bothered her but she's intrigued by it now, wishing she could crack his skull open and read all his thoughts. "Everything can be purchased. You know they let those hideous cruise ships down the Grand Canal? It's like watching someone put a billboard over the Birth of Venus. Worship at the altar of Taco Tuesdays." If there was something beyond casual cruelty that bonded the two, it would be a reverent love of beauty, the more severe the better. Speaking of, she remembers that he's naked, a smirk spreading across her face. "You must be so shrivelled up. Get out, let's go watch something trippy."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

His palms curve like hooks over her knees, briefly imagining himself to be dangling in the frigid Atlantic while Kitty was buoyant on a door. Then again, Dom’s not so sure he would be as selfless as Jack Dawson. The sass in her voice urges him to nip her inner thigh in retaliation, glaring up at her from beneath the shadow of his brow. “Fine. You’re grounded,” he said instead, forbidding her from ever leaving. That alluring pull to possess her, like if he could keep her than he could harness her power. It was fun to sic her on other people, or even be gifted by her work pro bono...but less so when her ire was aimed at him, Dom still crawling back into her good graces. Although what she says is true, he pouts when Kitty doesn’t entertain his ridiculous impulses (on Kaz’s dime). Meanwhile, Dominic thinks about nominating her lips for Pantone color of the year, matching the hint of nipple he catches through the lacy windows of her bra. At her comment he looks down at his naked self beneath the water, forgotten he even still had a lower half, much rather a floating torso. “Actually, I’ve been rock hard this entire time,” he admonishes, which would not be entirely unbelievable. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?” Still, he knows her idea is less of a suggestion and more of a command, snaking his way through the water and up the steps, his backside fully exposed to her before tugging on underwater that clung to him like a second skin. “If you put on clothes I will genuinely be upset,” he promised, grabbing for the bottle of wine before making his way inside.

[kitty smith-sato]

His hands feel good on her body, jarring compared to the nip to her thighs that makes her breath catch in her throat. There it was again, a reminder that he was a man, not just an idea of one. Her mind wanders to what he'd be like in bed, though she's confident that if they were to ever cross that line it would be unlike all the times before for both of them, completely uncharted territory. Maybe the universe would implode. "Yes Daddy." She looks at him as she says it, her eyes lit with a flicker of challenge. She wondered if he could tell that this time she wan't just pissed off by his disobedience, she was actually wounded, spending her time in Europe mostly stewing on how to move forward. Her usual comfort of scheming revenge wasn't hitting the same, even fantasies of humiliating him on a global stage coming up short. "Sounds uncomfortable." Her eyes follow his frame as it emerges from the water, his ass infuriatingly making her think of marble statues - his favorite comparison. She tears her eyes away, getting up and collecting her clothes, though she makes no attempt to put them on. "Can I trade you my bra for a t-shirt?" Following him inside, she avoids the trail of water left in his wake, manoeuvring past him to get to his bedroom first, where she promptly plops down on his bed. She's hitting a crest now, curling her back with pleasure as she stretches out, her whole body feeling light. "Mmm, I forgot how good this feels. Come here."