/ false flag

[dominic vinten cuvo]

Interactions with Kitty were delicious torture, much like tonguing at a dry socket or pulling on a rooted hangnail. A little pleasure, a little pain, never sure what you would get or just how much for how long. A guessing game that gelled well with his flickering attention span, Dominic infamously bored of topics and people so easily yet she kept pace with the manic rotations of his mind. Her words give him pause, a gratifying shiver rattling down his spine, unable to help his smirk. He wasn't sure who was his primary puppeteer at the moment, her or the lapping waves of his buzz. “Good girl,” he purred, close to making good of his previous claim about the state of his genitals. The imported tile floor threatens to slip out from under him with every pace, each step leaving little puddles and amusing squeaks in his wake. Soaking wet, wine neck loose in his fingers, he watched Kitty gain on his leisurely pace and disappear into the massive bed he’d been previously rotting in. A side quest to a large bureau had him tossing a Princeton shirt her way, one he’d worn more for the aesthetic than any pride in his alma mater. He adjusts the light and sound settings with a remote before falling backwards into the plush comforter and silk sheets ten generations of silkworms must have died for. God everything felt so good. He ran his hand through his hair, raking it over his face to explore the contours of his own features, a fingertip catching in the moist corner of his mouth. Perhaps if the real world were this exciting all the time, he would be more interested in participating. At her invitation he rolled over and nudged apart her knees to settle on top of her, fingers spreading out the wet tresses like her face was radiating ink. “What did you want me to remember from your grandma’s conservatory?”

[kitty smith-sato]

Everything around them feels like a continuous entity, the bedsheets and the bedposts, the floor, the bedside table, all one continuous thing. Only they are distinct to their environment, though Kitty can't decide if they are two things or one, something she had struggled with deciphering practically since birth. Nothing made sense with them, not-siblings who had been birthed by the same woman, sharing an intimate bond that went far beyond anything she had ever experienced with anyone else, even those she'd slept with. Even the one she'd married. For the first time ever, she feels a twist of guilt at that particular secret, yearning for there to be none between her and Dom but also unwilling to sour the mood by revealing it. Yet again, stuck between two contradictory desires.  She puts the Stanford t-shirt to one side for now, though she runs her fingers over the cotton, inhaling the familiar smell of her best friend. "You're all wet," she laughs, though she parts her knees all the same. She's very aware of her breath and with him on top of her, his too-- it's loud, like when you have noise cancelling headphones on and it's the only sound left to you. She pushes his hair back from his face, tilting her head to one side again, contemplating if she was high enough to get straight into it. If he'd asked the question just ten minutes earlier she would have chided him for not remembering and told him it was just too bad, but the weight of him on top of her feels so good and this close he seems human again, slipping into the twin category and out of the adversary one. "Just that I love you," she says, her tone softer than before, though she doesn't expand on the topic.

[dominic vinten cuvo]

Proximity to Kitty had the most drugging effect on him than any substance. Earning this view must be what like dragon riders and snake whisperers feel like, finally taming their beast enough to handle it. She is so thin and nothing beneath him, yet when cradled between her hips Dom is convinced this is the extent of the universe. He’s entranced by the slip of their warm skin and the crumpling of the cold sheets, the softness of her dampening T-shirt, the bite of her lace. There was a fuzzy blanket around here somewhere that would have them making comparisons to heaven. The tip of his tongue feels lovely against the edges of his teeth, betting the inside of her or her mouth would feel infinitely superior. He would need to take a separate pill if this turned out to finally be the night, of which the chances were slim as always. But not zero. The confession is said casually but quietly that he knows her defenses are down, dipping into those elusive waters of vulnerability. Here they were, messy and damaged by recent events, laying down their arms together. “Oh. I remember that..” Dominic said after a beat with a chuckle, hands snaking up along her wrists to lace his fingers with hers. Then pin them down beneath his grasp, wary of her suddenly turning on him. “I just wanted to hear you say it again,” he grinned, touching a kiss to her chin. He hoped he would be alive when technology enabled mankind to completely harness the brain; he would watch that memory over and over again, his favorite film. “Do you still love me, Kitty?” he asked, another kiss to the tip of her nose, moving his targets. “Tell me you do.” To be forgiven and loved in one night, oh that was ecstasy indeed.

[kitty smith-sato]

Kitty's legs wrap around him, criss-crossing across his back, holding him in place. He smells of chlorine and himself, a strong exotic cologne that she wasn't sure was cologne at all, maybe just a borderline supernatural ability to smell good even when battling through a hangover. She shifts under him, not from discomfort but to really feel him, the weight, the contours of his body against hers. In normal circumstances she would be shoving him away, furious about his getting her wet but more furious about the impact he had on her. Furious was the wrong word-- fearful was more like it, forever nervous of altering the delicate balance of their dynamic. But she can't worry about that, chemically can't, her nervous system flooded with serotonin.  "Shut up," she says though she can't help the silly smile on her face, longing to hit him if only her hands weren't pinned down. There's a fraction of a second where her rational brain attempts a feeble rebellion, trying to urge her to get to safer territory, both emotionally and physically... but it's a stillborn impulse, gone as soon as it arrived. Giving herself over to the drug she reassures herself that he won't remember anything from this interaction, and if he does, she'll simply deny, deny, deny. She manages to slip one hand from his grasp, smirking triumphantly as she uses it to cup his chin, squeezing that handsome face between her fingers. "I still love you Dominic," she says, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "more than that, I need you."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

So few layers between them physically, so many secrets otherwise. Fortunately the possibilities of such things escape him at the moment, because this is as close as he could be to anyone. Of his lies and histrionics and escapism, Kitty had gathered the most glimpses of the real him, often times knowing him better than himself. It’s how she remained one step ahead, in addition to his memory being so easily manipulated when so few things stuck. It’s a surrender to the senses now, feeling himself sink deeper into the bed with her, being swallowed up whole by both her and itbeneath him. His brain can only generate wonderful, lofty thoughts about the world, as if nothing negative could ever exist, connected to some higher form of thinking. There is a little fight from her, which thrills him. He kisses her harshly to shut her up, a fitting consequence to her insolence that he hopes hurts, though those receptors may not be working very well. She says those delirious words and his mouth pulls taut with a smile, music to his ears. It’s her next works that make fireworks go off in his belly, blood starting to rush elsewhere as he groaned his indignance, letting go of her hands to flip them over, bringing her on top of him. Everything is so warm he’s convinced they’re dry again, the water evaporating around them, broiling the natural scents of out of their pores. His palms flit over the shirt, tracing where her real shape was beneath the loose fabric, admiring the perky tents protruding through it. Grasping her hips, half tempted to push her panties to the side and half tempted to wring them out in his mouth, he looked up at her from on her rightful throne. “Prove it.”

[kitty smith-sato]

Alongside psalms, the ten commandments and holy rites, Catholic school had taught Kitty one important lifeskill that she had been abusing ever since: the art of edging. Of all her many tricks and talents it was the one that came in most useful, as she knew when to pull back and when to push forward, able to get a rise and make it swell. She had known that teasing the release of Dom's secret would let it become something bigger, getting on Calvin's radar and under Dom's skin. She knew that playing the good Catholic schoolgirl was the single most powerful thing she could do with men, so much so that she wound up engaged (and married) to one of the most eligible men in their social strata, all by the tender age of nineteen. He kisses her hard and it hurts, opening her mouth and the cut on it, the metallic taste of blood coating her tongue. Seeing him with her blood on his lip is another sight she files away for copious reviewing, before she runs her tongue across it, cleaning him up. He smiles and she feels like prey, which brings with it a rush of novelty. She can feel every inch of him - and wow, the rumours had been true - making heat build in her core, making her needy. As soon as his hands find her hips she starts to rock them, slowly, slowly, her hands on his stomach, digging her sharp nails into his skin. "Now now, you know I'm a good girl," she purrs, bending down and giving him a gentle kiss. When they part she stays close to him, admiring his face up close, all that perfect olive skin. With their faces so close together she feels a flicker of something close to fear, a sense that the usual iron grip of her self control may start to actually slip for the first time ever. Again that rational part of her brain screams at her to get up, to get dressed and tease him from a comfortable distance, but she feels glued to him, completely unable (or unwilling) to move. "Tell me a secret."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

The obvious part of him wants her now and wants it badly. This was a game of theirs, but easily her specialty; he shouldn’t be surprised, after all, when he’d seen it work on so many others before. Thinking he was exempt from it was foolish, the classic first mistake made with Kitty. But another part of him—usually clouded from his consciousness by the most gratifying and distracting associations of lust—worried, no, feared, what would happen once they crossed this bridge of no return. He didn’t date, and any respect or interest went out the window once he slept with someone. Pawns in games easily won by someone with his looks and privilege. It was more fun to want Kitty than to have her, because once he did, everything would change and she might be knocked from her pedestal. The pure, virginal act only worked as long as he pretended to believe in it. But his body doesn’t know any of this, Dominic not at all embarrassed by his reaction to being mere threads away from the most sacred place in the world. Whether it’s instinct or practice that has her moving against him doesn’t matter, his eyes screwed up in pleasure, letting the hormones and drugs work in tandem. Sex was not always easy or even possible depending on the substance, but he suspects this would defy all of biology if it were to happen. There has been kissing and various iterations of fooling around in the past, but it was always an excuse or emergency that stopped them short, becoming a routine now to see who could last up until the very last minute before calling it off. “You can be my bad girl in private,” he said following her kiss, passing his tongue and probing the irritated slice of blood. Of course she wanted a secret, the price for admitting to her love. With his hands still hungrily roving her curves and hips moving on their own accord, Dom tried to roll his eyes—but they nearly disappeared into the back of his head. Trying to think of a secret meant cross-referencing with what he wanted her to know, something that would sate her without ruining him. “I think a little bit of me dies every time you’re with Henry.”

[kitty smith-sato]

The problem with playing pretend was that it either stopped being fun, or it stopped being pretend. Kitty had practically willed herself virginal again, managing to abstain from carnal indulgence... most of the time. She wore a lot of white and always kept her signature cross around her neck, which was currently nestled in her cleavage, under his shirt and close to her heavily beating heart. She had learnt early on that it was less that she was some sort of master of disguise and more that if you told someone that you were something, they tended to take you at your word - especially if they wanted you to be that thing. It was how Dom looked past her wedding band, currently warming against his own skin. It was how her dads saw the fallout of her many friendship break ups and never stopped to consider the possibility that she might be their architect. No, Kitty was sweet, angelic, even-- the perfect daughter. They knew this because they'd made her so. Dom is not impervious to this folly. Willing to play along when it was fun or when it flattered him to do so. He did so with more awareness than others and she can see a flicker of it in his eyes even now, hooded with lust though they are. She moans into his mouth as his tongue presses against the cut, pressing her body into his with real hunger. Of course nothing could make her more ecstatic than fresh knowledge, something she hopes he's impaired enough to slip up and give her. The secret she gets is certainly that. She stops dead, straightening up and going still for a moment, caught completely off guard. For only the second time in her life (the first being that fateful night) he has managed to render her speechless. It doesn't help that her brain is muddled, from drugs and recent contact with the man in question... still processing what his visit had meant to her, this little kernel of vulnerability from Dom was another factor she'd have to consider. "Why?" she says finally, her voice less confident, for once sounding her age. She realises quickly that she doesn't actually want to know, another first for her, shaking her head. "Don't answer that. Want to watch weird Japanese porn?"

[dominic vinten cuvo]

Dom’s image was not as crafted as Kitty’s, and much less believable once in true proximity to him. The presentable side was the shinier half of the coin: charming, well-traveled, energetic. He touted himself as a hardworking model and diligent Princeton graduate, identifying with his mother’s fashion instinct or his father’s artistic eye, wielding both of their surnames for his needs. But what he never dignified with responses to paparazzi or commented on in interviews was the other side of the coin: the typical nepotistic wastoid, a partier and a playboy. The most unserious about life, like he dared society to rip it away from him. Abusing his status and riding on coattails, no major interests or talents of his own to carry him further. Privilege made him confident that his future was guaranteed, but complete apathy prevents him from investing any thought into it. Positively brimming with vulnerability, a part of his brain unlocked that rarely got to see the light of day, Dominic opens his mouth to spill out with secrets and also steal some air. But Kitty stops him short, changing her mind; maybe it’s for the better, trusting her judgment over his own despite somewhat equal incapacitation. It might get a little too real and spoil their fun, end up in tears and heartache rather than laughter and pleasure. Perhaps he was confusing that fuzzy feeling of connection with the staggering onslaught of serotonin. The thought quickly drifted from his attention, watching wet spots collect on her shirt, wondering whether they matched any bruises beneath. “Mmm you know I just get jealous that I don’t have any tentacles,” he protested, flipping them over again so that he could hover off to her side, bury his face in her hair and neck, delighting in the contrasting textures. “Give me a secret,” he returned, tossing a sheet over their bodies to indulge in the sensations.

[kitty smith-sato]

Dom flirted with notoriety far more than she did. Despite their nepo status, he had more followers than the rest of their little cabal combined. By a huge margin. Kitty did not want that kind of exposure, knowing her facade would not hold up to the scrutiny of hundreds of thousands of people... in truth she found her private Instagram pressure enough, the handful of people she had allowed to follow her there specially selected for their discretion, and yet still feeling like more of a risk than the considerably larger following she had on her public profile. As a general rule access was not a given with her, far from, which made this interaction with Dom all the more salacious. His vulnerability scared her as much as her own, maybe even more.  There's a moment where she's come up for air, the real world ramifications of what they could say to each other becoming all too real. As soon as he responds she's back under the spell, giving over to the moment, giggling like a schoolgirl (and not the worldly wise schoolgirl she had been). "You'd be truly irresistible if you did," she agrees. Last time they had moved from hentai to real videos she'd found of poor Japanese women entangling themselves with real, live octopi... Kitty's reach on the internet was deep into the dark web, and she loved few things as much as surfacing truly taboo content, something she only felt safe to show him. She feels more secure with him by her side, turning her body towards his as he buries into her neck, her leg hooking back around him. Moving under the cover is a smart idea, bringing her deeper into the conspiratorial nature of the day. It's easy to pretend that nothing would leave the safety of this little den. She knows that isn't true but she doesn't have the energy to scheme, giving him the first secret that comes to mind. "Calvin and I have started sexting. I can't resist un homme qui parle français."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

If Kitty weren’t here he’d have taken another pill by now, straddling that fine line between not enough and too much. Any other group or pairing would have encouraged him, or at the very least not stopped him—like good, enabling friends do. Despite having just crawled from the depths of a bender two days ago, he trust-fell straight back into the warm churning machine of euphoria. It’s simple, there’s no other way they could do this; not of their own accord, certainly not with a straight face as they spilled with confessions and emotions. Slightly reckless enough that the excuse of being altered shields them from responsibility or consequence. It’s one of his favorite reasons to do drugs. At her secret, his nuzzling into her stops and Dominic slowly rises to hover above her, his face gravely slackened. “Kitty that’s so fucked up,” he deadpanned, unsure why she was so attached to French of all languages. He found it guttural and spitty rather than romantic, though he could mock the accent well. Nevertheless, of course his twisted curiosity was piqued. “Show me later. Or give me the summary,” he amended with a grin, kissing her fiercely to stake his claim. The image of his beloved friend surfaced in his mind’s eye, and not for the first time while in such a lusty, nude predicament. “Are you trying to make me jealous?” he realized, lips finding purchase along her slender neck. Maybe he would bite her here and leave a mark, though she hated the practice. Kissing along her jaw toward her ear, he nibbled on her perfect lobe. “Do you want him?”

[kitty smith-sato]

Dom seems initially unperturbed by her confession and that's a relief, as even in her altered state Kitty is confident she'd be able to sense if she had said too much, given away too good a card. "Oh you know, the usual, I want to eat you out, I want to suck you dry, et cetera..." she grins, kissing him back with the same ferocity he offers her. "It sounds better in French." Truthfully she'd had no idea how well he would take this news, knowing he was possessive of her but also acutely aware of the lingering looks he'd throw Calvin's way. It was a murky trinity where she was never sure of her ranking, convinced mostly that the boys were in cahoots against her, though some rare times she felt the scales tip in her favor. Calvin was a significant threat to her in many ways, a blocker to Dom's unwavering worship, altogether too smart for his own good. There was a sense deep down that one day she would have to rid herself of him, but she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy his company in the meantime. It makes Dom's question a complicated one to answer. She gives it proper thought, trying to ascertain what her motives were. Finally she settles on an answer, "jealous of him, or me?" You'd think jealousy would be a useful tool for her but Kitty was aware of its volatile nature... unlike many other negative emotions, it tipped too easily into indifference, and that was too risky a play. If Dom thought there was a serious spark between them then that would be dangerous, as he'd pick a side, or worse, choose to disavow them both. If he didn't, then he wouldn't be jealous, but it would make her seem petty and desperate to make him so. So it was a game she didn't like to play, as evidenced by her rigid refusal to acknowledge Henry around him. This makes his next question difficult, the inebriated girl taking her time once more to think of an answer as his nibbling drives her to distraction. "He's too clever," she says finally, hoping that's enough of a response. "Your turn to tell me a secret."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

It takes a moment for his addled brain to process, as Calvin and Kitty mixing was a simultaneous fear and fantasy of his. A different state would likely yield a different reaction. In a worse mood, perhaps the day prior, Dominic would have rejected this news entirely. It would have been received as a threat, perhaps an ultimatum—but one he would not have indulged in the slightest. This would have been a terrible discovery sending him into another spiral that denounced both friends and returned him to his elusive vacationing. But on better days and in higher spirits, Cal was one of Dom’s favorite subjects. “Such a busy, dirty girl,” he laughed a gritty sound against the shell of her ear, fingertips tickling the sharp of her hipbones as his imagination ran with the information. He felt equally possessive of them both. “That’s so fucking hot.” What would be his ultimate fantasy…the devil’s threesome? A cuckolding scenario? Perhaps fuck him as he fucked her? At her question Dominic smiled dreamily, drowsy lids and dark lashes fluttering, refusing to elucidate because jealousy was such a tricky edge to find footing on. “Now I wish Cal was here with us,” Dominic nearly pouted, trying not to slip into a downstream of darker emotions. Ones that in his mind were gray or blue or black, when he’d rather surf on the vibrance of bliss. “No no no,” he tutted, much less interested in secrets now that he was excited. Peppering kisses down to her shoulder and tonguing the outline of her clavicle, a hollow he wanted to drink wine from, an idea came to mind. “Call him and tell him you want to have phone sex. I want to listen.”

[kitty smith-sato]

It's not until Dom speaks again that Kitty releases a breath she didn't know she was holding. It wasn't often that she was afraid of the consequences for anything she said or did, having more contingency plans than Batman. Practically every word she uttered had gone through a mental flowchart process before it reached her lips, Kitty testing what she'd say if the respondent were to reply with X, Y or Z, starting again with a couple of adjustments and following the conversation through, so that by the time anyone actually got a chance to reply, she'd practically drafted the rest of the script, regardless of which option they chose. But she hadn't thought this through at all, and even in her altered state a frisson of fear had rippled through her, soothed when he replies approvingly. Truly the only person she had ever had any desire to impress. "I was thinking of you the whole time, scout's honor." She slips her legs between his, hungry for more physical contact-- she'd have climbed into his ribcage if it was an option. Her head tilts towards his as she rides her high, only to shake her head when he mentioned Calvin being there. "Nooo, I need it to just be you, I need just you," she murmurs, childlike again, head far too clouded to even attempt to play it cool. Her fingers curl around his bicep, holding him there as if he might slip away from her. "Ugh, you think I can talk right now?" she says, trying to imagine holding a live conversation with a sober person... the thought is like an ice cube dropping down her spine. She shakes her head again, curling ever closer into him. "I'll leave him a voice note but you need to hold the phone for me, my visions all blurry."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

If he tried, Dom could vaguely feel a heart rapidly beating away in the cavern of his chest. Instead it felt like everything inside had turned to liquid, a wine made of viscera, sloshing about within him in this sea of sheets and Kitty’s warmth. If felt like his skin had grown skin of its own, doubled in nerve endings, reveling in every square inch of air and fabric gracing them. Kitty was an entire planet, and he was her satellite. “If I’m not there in spirit then that’s literally cheating,” he reminded, as if they held each other to such strict standards rather than capricious whims. Just as easily as she could exact revenge over any perceived wrong against him, she could sabotage anyone who threatened their bond—and usually without his ever knowing. After all, they were seeing the consequences still ripple in Violet. Where only sex had been on his mind, now it was blindly Calvin. To avoid examining her confession too closely, he needed the instant validation of his demands being met. It should flatter and endear him that she wants only him, but now Dom cannot say the same with another on his mind. “Oh you’re no fun,” he sighed, kissing her anyway. They were a knot of limbs in a silk cocoon, his hand only emerging from the shelter to grope around for her phone, urging her to unlock it. “Kitty, this is so serious. Don't fuck it up,” he snickered, like they were conducting a sting operation. In reality it was given as much thought as a practical joke. But first he had to take a few selfies of them together, featuring filthy open-mouthed kisses and dueling pink tongues. “I won’t make a sound. Pretend I’m not here,” he whispered, finding Cal in her contacts, his finger hovering over the record button. “Ugh and no French. It will make my head hurt.”