/ false flag

[kitty smith-sato]

In a different scenario Kitty would be irked by his insistence on bringing Calvin into this, even if she was the one who had first uttered his name. There were times she liked to slip into obscurity with Dom, let him busy himself with other people so she'd have more time to strategise, or worse, hang around with Henry without feeling a bizarre sense of guilt over it. However none of these emotions are available to her right now, she's not even sure she can fully remember what Calvin looks like, thoughts slipping through her mind with the impermanence of a summer breeze. It's true bliss to have this reprieve from her usual state, when her mind would be constantly teeming with contrivances and insecurities and a thousand overlapping considerations. "Mhmm," is all she can say, letting herself melt into kisses she had no idea who initiated.  Making out was a rare pleasure. Despite herself, she enjoyed the mingling of tongues and swapping of saliva, the intimacy and the almost innocence of it, feeling like a teenager again. He snaps pictures she knows she'll cringe over later but in this moment, skin on skin on silk on skin again, she can't imagine that later will ever come. His insistence on following through with the plan makes her eyes roll, though she props herself up on one arm to speak into the phone, the light of the screen blurring in front of her eyes. "If I don't say it in French he'll know something's up straight away. Seriously," she says, trying her very best to give him a pointed look though it lacks all severity. It takes all her will but she's pleased when the language naturally returns to her, words lazily slipping from her lips, muttered in a husky whisper. As soon as the recording stops she falls back into the comforting depths of the bed. "I'll translate for you, dumbass. If he even replies."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

Kitty could tell him that the world was ending and it would be the most enthralling string of words ever uttered. Being up so high meant no bottom in sight, unreached by the natural flow of biological signals and typical needs of the human body. That was all best muffled or hijacked, replaced with things synthesized and manipulated to exploit the better parts of the brain, disconnect from the pesky aspects of being human and tap right into the fun pathways. With bated breath Dominic listens to Kitty pour with French, watching her lips make the words, taking her cue to end the recording. He preferred the kissing over the language, but in this state even he could admit that she sounded like a goddess blessing him. “Yeah yeah I heard,” he teased as they awaited a reply, “foie gras and memes.” He knew much more than he let on, enough gleaned from his travels and its adjacency to Italian. But selective stupidity saved him a lot of trouble. It didn’t take long before a message popped up on the screen, not even a second passing before it started playing beneath Dominic’s insistent thumb, quickly seized by the timbre of the familiar voice. Maybe he should be jealous, why didn’t he receive these types of memos? He makes out enough—especially a reference to Italien—that he knows the jig is already up. Kitty was right, Calvin was too clever for his own good. With a dramatic roll of his eyes Dominic snatched the phone out of her manicured hand, wet mouth to the speaker. “Listen here you little fuck,” he clipped, smothering all urge to laugh before stealing a glance at Kitty’s expression. His voice softened as a joker smile split his face. “Cal darling. Kitty and I are rolling, you should come over. Whose virginity do you want?”

[kitty smith-sato]

The drug currently insistently working its way through her bloodstream was doing something particularly challenging, in that Kitty almost felt bad about this little rouse. A learned weariness of Calvin had been dulled by his easy fluency with the language she loved so dearly, as though knowing it was clandestine, special, and not something the entire country of France and much of Canada was capable of. So she can't help but cackle as it becomes clear that they've been rumbled, Kitty high enough to enjoy the magic trick of Calvin's omniscience without wanting to know how it was done.  Still, she groans as Dom invites him along. "Oh Dommy, you're so desperate sometimes," she sighs as he stops the recording. Though she did not have the same gift of omniscience, Kitty was fairly confident that Calvin would never sleep with either of them, too aware of the den of vipers he had found himself entangled in to ever give up something that might later prove useful. But it's easy to be optimistic for her friend when she's chemically imbalanced, propping herself up on an elbow once more, cheek in the palm of her hand. She gazes at him unashamedly, pushing some damp hair out of his face and admiring his strong brow. That had always been her favorite of his features. "Does it hurt?"

[dominic vinten cuvo]

Kitty and Calvin competed not for Dominic’s attention, but for control over him. By withholding what he wanted most, giving him just enough to keep edging him along, Dominic was as good as theirs. Between the drugs and general apathy, he was easy to manipulate. However, in his mind they were pitted against one another in many ways: who he loved most, who knew him best, who said yes more often. Sure he was useful for his money or connections, but there were things more rare: his sincerity, his honesty, his devotion. Value to him was what people were willing to do for him, especially knowing they didn’t want to. He liked a little suffering with personal gain, knowledge of peoples’ downfalls and indignities much more precious. Of course Kitty is reluctant to give him over in any way. “I just love you both so much,” he reasoned, thumbing the swell of her lip. Right now, given object permanence, he loved her more—and the ecstasy was convincing him that this love was endless, unconditional. “He won’t care, don’t worry,” he assured, tossing the phone into a shadow of the comforter. “It’s just us, baby,” he murmured, petting the side of her face with a knuckle. He’d lost track of his body and sensation in some of it, shifting to rearrange them onto their sides, dragging her impossibly close, not surprised that his body was still enthused. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly to her question, having never taken a girl’s nor himself ever bottomed. Could he speculate and detail his history of encounters, or use a doctor’s platitude about just a pinch before needling you? They joked and teased and fantasized about her virginity, about waiting until marriage and him finally defiling her; if that spell was broken, and he knew who had first, this would all change. “Do you want it to?”

[kitty smith-sato]

It's becoming obvious that their high is peaking, or at least she can tell hers is-- it was entirely possible that Dom's tolerance was stronger, though he likely had less serotonin to play with after his few days of Californian debauchery. It's obvious because Kitty forgets what she says as soon as she says it, each response from him making her furrow her brow for a few seconds as she rummages through her memory, trying to uncover the questions she'd asked literally seconds before. When she does her face breaks into a grin, amused rather than alarmed by her stupidity. It lubricates what tended to be a forced act of naivete. Pulled in close, she gently pushes him onto his back so she can lie on top of him, hands layered on his chest, chin nestled on her hands. "He can come if he wants." It's not until she says it that she knows it to be true, feeling like anything could happen and she'd be able to take it as it came, a complete u-turn from her usually ferocious need for control. Kitty is addicted to looking at his face. There's a hint of threat at the edges of her intoxication, a looming possibility that she might realise how far gone she is and panic, wanting to get off the ride at the very top of the rollercoaster track. But he soothes her, any hints of alarm eased with every touch, the grounding reality of his presence and his unending familiarity. "I don't know who I'd be if I wasn't Good Little Kitty, waiting for marriage." Another confession her sober self would kill her for. The secrecy of her reality made it easy to suppress, letting it slip away from her with everything else. "Depends who's doing the taking." She pulls herself up for another sloppy kiss, tongue lolling almost lazily against his. "Want another half?"

[dominic vinten cuvo]

It must be exhausting to be Kitty, he thinks. All their lives Dominic watched her try to impress the world and vie for her fathers’ attention. Rise above, please everyone; the model minority with an unconventional upbringing. In his own ways Dominic had tried to placate his parents—going to Princeton, calling modeling a job—solely because it was easier to follow road signs than try to forge his own path. The pride or approval of his parents didn’t quite bring the same satisfaction as measurably pushing them, reinforcing the knowledge that they would never disown him. Erratic involvement and lack of consequences let him slip into ennui, and soon enough he noticed the less was asked of him the lower the bar was. Dominic regards her seriously for a moment, her beautiful face framed in his hands. “But Kitty.. No one can be good forever,” he said, surprising even himself with the clarity, nothing snide or playful about it. As if he momentarily broke the surface of their high to steal a breath of sobriety. If he chases the thought, he can squeeze a few more drops of meaning out of it before it evaporates. “It’s more impressive when a bad person is occasionally good,” he continued, finding them shifting and rolling again, her angled on him. His fingertips wrote messages along her sides, his reflection clear in her blown-open pupils. “It’s inevitable that a good person becomes bad.” Either he could add philosopher to his résumé, or this was getting too real. Fortunately the prospect of more drugs would mediate this. “No,” he lied in answer before sticking his tongue out expectantly, making the sounds of a waiting dental patient.

[kitty smith-sato]

Something eases. Her vision is clearer, her breathing less deafening. She's still incredibly high, yes, but there's a trickle of thought creeping back into her head, and that thought is a whisper, something she can just about force herself to tune out though she knows what it's saying: stop. Stop, shut up, you will ruin everything you have built Katherine, all because of this pathetic need.  This thought comes just as Dom decides to speak clearly, his words ringing with sincerity in a way that makes it sound almost like a different person is speaking. She resists this, resists all of it, her guard creeping back up with every passing second. "I'll be good forever," she says firmly, goosebumps bubbling up on her skin where his fingers trace it. She realizes this resoluteness is a mirage, not sobriety peeking through but her high tinging negatively, cracked by that one little thought.  Time to do more. She sits up, straddling his perfect physique as she leans over to find more, gathering the wine bottle as she does it. This time she puts it between her teeth, bites and lets the half fall into his mouth from hers, grinning as she washes it down with more wine. "If you aren't going to tell me any more secrets and you're done telling me how beautiful I am, what's left to talk about?" Just the thought of another wave to come has completely brought her back under, bliss drowning out her critical thoughts. "Want to touch ourselves while the other watches? I think Jesus would be OK with that, I'll go to confession tomorrow."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

That momentary foray into lucidity meant that another half a tablet was long overdue. The smart drug-doing part of his brain wanted to kick himself for not calculating better to maximize this trip, but it was a voice easily bowled over with wine and the distraction of Kitty's body. He’s already forgotten what he’d just said, watching gears turn in Kitty’s head that he’d hoped were paused for the time being, wanting to keep her from straddling that line of reality. If she was thinking clearly then she was scheming and devising, and there was no way he could keep up. “Not with me you won’t,” he said, perhaps too seriously again before sealing that promise (threat?) with a kiss. He watches her torso elongate as she reached for the wine and pills, chewing his lip in anticipation. His hands gripped and kneaded, two entities seceded from his body, sense of touch becoming disembodied and telescopic. Witnessing her partake is always a special treat in itself, privy to the side of her she meticulously hid from the world. No doubt she had rearranged her priorities and practiced her alibi for the day just to come here. Down the hatch goes the other half, chasing the remains of the first. At her suggestion, Dominic quickly turned and sat up to hug her near, squeezing her face in his palms. “I might shed a tear,” he said, nudging a knuckle near his eye. “I was literally going to suggest the same thing.” Although Jesus wasn’t the addition he was after. “You are my fucking soulmate,” he sighed before nudging her off him, scooting next to her with the sheet tactfully pulled up to their chests. “At the same time. I’ll do that face you love.”

[kitty smith-sato]

Sobriety laps at her ankles, but there is no real risk of this coming to a close any time soon. Kitty had more restrain than most of her friends, and indeed most people on the planet, able to resist practically any desire or impulse if it was in her ultimate benefit to do so. In contrast to her brother, she liked her gratification delayed, edged out to the brink of almost nonexistence but pulled back just in time. So when she did give in she would commit to it, giving herself over to hedonism, to Dom, her personal Dionysus. "Well, certainly seems that way," she says after he breaks away from the kiss, starting to feel the pain throbbing in her lip. They should have re-dosed sooner. His hands knead her flesh and it reminds her of her cat, her aggressive pawing her most sincere show of affection. She giggles again as he rushes up and around her, a surge of affection coursing through her that her sober self would shy away from. "Oh I'd love it if you cried." It pleases her that they had the same dirty thought, secretly thrilled when any of their similarities revealed themselves. "Don't you forget that," she says, another rush of affection at being called his soulmate, however fleetingly. Soon they are back in their side by side formation, her sore lip caught between her perfect teeth as she briefly considered if this would be a good idea. The MDMA reassured her that yes, it was the best idea ever, actually. She moves a pillow down to the small of her back, her knees bent and falling open, adjusting herself until she was in the optimal position. "Ready? Try not to fall in love with me, it would be so awkward."