You’re not going to shoot me, Sarah
BANG
You’re not going to shoot me-
BANG
You’re not going to shoot-
BANG
You’re not going-
BANG
Rachel had gone to bed hours ago but sleep had eluded her. She lay in the dark, arms stiff at her sides, fists clenched.
The look on Sarah’s face as she fired the gun. That ridiculous eyeliner that somehow made her eyes sharper and more dangerous. The tremor in her voice as she said Kira’s name. The sound of the bullet as it whizzed past her ear. The explosion of glass just behind her. The surge of adrenalin and the ringing in her ears. Her humiliating loss of composure.
And then.
The crack as Sarah’s hand hit her face, pain blossoming out from her jaw, the feeling when she hit the floor. The weight of Sarah’s body pressing down on hers, the sensation of the gun muzzle, still warm, digging into her cheek. Sarah’s face so close - closer, closer.
She realised her hands had moved from her side, gliding slowly across her stomach as she squeezed her eyes shut and saw Sarah’s eyes boring down on her, Rachel’s eyes, really, just another pair of Rachel’s eyes. She could feel the tender area where she had bruised along her jawline. It throbbed along in time with her clit, as she brushed her fingers against it and then down her thighs. Back up her thighs, then she pressed down, biting her lip, feeling Sarah’s weight on her again. She’d felt so warm, so familiar yet so foreign, like a twisted mirror version of herself.
You don’t own us Sarah had hissed. But Rachel wanted to. She wanted to take Sarah, strip her down, wash her clean, remake her in her own image. She wanted to put her mark on her, so whenever someone looked at Sarah, they saw Rachel. She wanted Sarah beneath her, right now, gun pushed lovingly into her cheek, staring up at Rachel in fear.
But as her fingers moved against herself, feeling the slick wetness as she spread it over her clit and circled around it, teasing herself, she could only see Sarah above her, pressing down with her hips, letting the gun slide to the side and catching Rachel's mouth with her own. The idea of surrender had always been an alien concept to Rachel, but she allowed herself to consider it, just this once, alone, in the dark.
She replayed the scene in her head, over and over, until she came, letting out a small gasp, and the tension finally left her body.
In the morning, she organized to begin shooting lessons at a private range. One day she might have the chance to point a gun at Sarah. She wanted to be ready.