sweetsalome | (no subject)

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Life is busy and full, there is always something to do, some place to go.

School, home, practice, homework, some lesson, some other extra circular activity on the day planner. It has been like this ever since she could remember. There isn't ever a whole lot of down time. At some point she decided that she was a shark, any stopping would mean she would completely die.

Or something equally dramatic.

Shutting the front door with her hip, she drops her back pack near the front door and continues further into the house, tossing her gym bag into the laundry room without much of a thought before stepping into the kitchen to find food. Yes, food, there must be something because she is starving.

Headphones in, ipod on, inner debating warring on if she should even bother starting her homework now or waiting for study hall.

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Oh, yes, life is busy. Life is incredibly busy. Salome has no idea what busy life is like--Christ, even he didn't until recently, between Salome, running favors for Susan, his painting, and now Delilah and what she's brought into his life. Busy. A high schooler thinks she's busy, hah. That's adorable. He barely hears the slam of the door from where he paints, locked up in his studio with the stereo blasting Wagner, but he barely catches a hint of the sound and checks the time. He glances down at his color-smeared hands and makes his way down the hall, sticking his head down the stairs to see the bag dropped by the front door.

"Welcome home, kiddo, how was school?"

Beat.

No response.

Teenagers.

He snorts, heading down the stairs and toeing her backpack as he strolls by. How many times? Just put it somewhere out of the way, maybe on a table, or even in her room, is it so much to ask. But he likes her face, so he overlooks it and leans against the threshold of the kitchen, color-stained hands crossed over his ribs while he grins wryly at the girl digging through his fridge. "Salome. Sal. Salome. If you don't take your iPod out of your ears I'm going to recolor your hair with the paint on my hands so I hope you can hear me, or turn around before I can get a chance."

Busy though he may be, at least daddy's in a good mood.

Nope, sorry old man, no can do. No can do with a lot of things, including picking up the bag and putting it in it's right place, putting any bag in it's right place for that matter. It's not that she is a slob it's just that, well, there are other people out there to pick up the bag and do laundry and all that kind of good stuff that she doesn't really give any thought to, unless it's not done. Then that is just fucking rude and inconsiderate.

Teenagers.

She finds an apple and a package of cheese in the fridge and turns around to shut the door with her hip and catch the last part of his mouth moving. Did he say something? Eyebrows furrow in thought and she yanks the earbuds out of her ears with a tug of the white cord.

"What? Did you say something?"

Ah, the battle of wills that is having not only an illegitimate daughter who only lives with him part-time, but a teenaged one at that. If he didn't love her so dearly he'd probably have killed her by now.

She starts to turn around just as he's about to reach out and sweep his hand down the back of her hair. Damn. That would have been rich, although she probably would have thrown a little fit and then only one of them would be in a good mood.

"It just so happens I did, I was trying to greet you. Did we have a good day at school? Learn anything? Say 'no' to drugs, broken boys' hearts, straight A's in everything?" He leans down to peck the temple of her forehead before moving on to scrub his hands clean in the sink. "Don't fill up, I was thinking about getting Chinese or something delivered. Just because."

Just because he needs to butter you up for a little talk, Salome. It's a trap.

Edited 2012-07-29 04:13 (UTC)

Life is pretty rotten when you're a teenager, well, it only seems rotten, all those hormones make it only seem like shitcity, just wait until you have to pay bills, and taxes, that's misery. Salome isn't quiet so horrible, not on purpose anyway, not all the time anyway. It could be worse let's just put it that way. She doesn't do drugs (DAD) and she is doing well in school (DAD) and currently isn't knocked up or riddled with STD's (DAD - ohwait.)

"Sorry, I didn't hear you," duh, dad. He leans in and she wraps her arms around his middle to give him a hug while he kisses her hello. "Uhhhhhhh Say 'no' to drugs, didn't that DARE stuff go out in like, the 80's? Anyway, school is school, nothing very exciting happening there." So she is a little shit. She is still smiling when she says it, not a huge eye roll, maybe just a little one or something - because he is dad and it is against the laws of the universe to agree with anything he says.

Leaning on the counter next to him, she watches him wash up his hands. "Just because? Uh-huh, I dunno if you do anything just because. However I am starving so I am not going to question your motives just eat your food." A big smile and she leans over to kiss his cheek.

No, no, that last one is still 'DAD'-worthy. He's had at least one good scare in the past, and at least one--ahem, little accident, who stands before him in the kitchen. And anyway, he did well in his education when he was her age. He just didn't get along with the other children. But that's what private tutoring is for--to make the antisocial even more antisocial and protect most of society from them until they're on their own.

Richard chuckles at her comment about DARE and examines the stains still clinging to his hands, plunging his fingers under the water for one more quick scrub. "Yeah, well, there are things I have to pretend to be more worried about than I am. Poor thing. I know it's boring, but someday soon it'll be over. Be bored as you like, just keep doing well." She could skip half the days--and probably does for all he knows or really cares, although private schools do tend to be a bit more rigid about attendance--and he wouldn't be too concerned as long as she still managed to land high marks. Though, that's more a concern of obligation.

Sometimes he feels like a deaf man raising a soprano. Her responsibility, where the hell did it come from? Certainly not from him. And definitely not from Susan, holy shit. Must be from the same obscure gene her blonde came from.

"Of course I do things 'just because'." Like that amputee. That was a weird fucking night, but totally worth it for the story.

Richard suffers himself a kiss upon his cheek and grins, lifting his hand to flick the water from his fingers at her before grabbing for the phone. He places the order, over-enunciating, repeating himself and saying 'what' so many times Jules Winnfield would shoot him while he struggles with communicating with the Chinese immigrant on the other end of the line.

That's fine, he supposes. The longer it takes, the more he can delay the future conversation, which he expects will be--weird, to say the least, after sixteen years of bachelorhood.

"I have this conversation in my head where I do some really fucked up shit and you pat me on the head at the end of it and say: "Just keep doing well." And that's the end of that. Like I just torched an entire orphanage and the only thing that really matters at the end of the day is if I get good grade. You know that's, like, not - I don't know, healthy or something." She totally learned that on Dr. Phil or something.

"Narrow minded obsession and emphasis on one area of my life is going to turn me into an unhealthy adult." No, it's the fact that your mom is an odious bitch and your dad a drug user that will probably drive the final nail into that coffin lid but lets not split hairs. But really, dad, don't flip your shit when you find out about the B in biology.

What the ever living fuck. That's not an appropriate story for bed time.

Between bites of her apple she does way too much giggling over him ordering take-out, really, she should be the one handling this, she probably understands them better then him probably. Oh, and she is totally ordering over his shoulder because she wants the fried rice and the veggie stir-fry, no meat, it's this vegetarian thing she is going through.

Biology? Why not Aiology?

Not a story for bedtime, a story for when daddy's hanging out with his frie- acqu- the people he knows. He has at least some semblance of what is and isn't appropriate for a child, after all. Although finding out that she'd burned down an orphanage for a good grade would probably get her a puppy and a heart-to-heart lesson on covering up her tracks.

While he orders, and she's there with her inexplicable orders full of vegetables, he places a hand on top of her head and tries not to laugh, himself. When he hangs up the phone, it's with a sigh. "Jesus Christ, there. Hopefully they don't spit in our food."

"Obviously, grades aren't everything, I just want to discourage you from growing up to be a slacker like your father. That's why you have other things. Your mother has those horseback riding lessons for you, and piano, and swimming, and whatever else the thing this month is."

Susan has probably forced everything from dance classes to acting lessons on Salome, with Richard moderately approving of most of it, since it's an important for a girl to be involved in the arts. He has the bonus of looking as if his hands are totally clean of most of it; Susan looks like the she-demon from hell who finds whatever activities she can to get her daughter out of her hair, and he gets to be cool-dad just by virtue of the fact that he isn't Susan. Everybody's a winner!

Smirking to himself, he heads for the living room and drapes himself upon the couch, folding his hands upon his chest and examining Salome with a faint squint. He probably should have given this more thought before now, but there's been so much on his mind, and the past week has completely wrecked him. He's going to have to call in for another bottle of pills--this is legitimate pain, but it does nothing to deaden the euphoria.

Still, better to go with his gut when it comes to serious talks. Like the dead-serious, 'if a boy ever gets you pregnant or hurts you I'll break his legs' talk. He didn't think about that one at all before he came out with it, and it's still one of his favorites. So why not go with the gut with this one, too?

"You might want to sit down. I've got some news." He pats the empty cushion beside him, then pauses, adding, "You're not in trouble, don't worry."

. . . .

Puppies are awesome! Though that would be one more thing she would be semi-responsible for, and at this point all she can manage are grades and tormenting her father. Andddd the long list of school actives and after school activities that she has to manage. Everything from fencing, to sailing, from French lessons and of course dance.

"Yes, but slacking is nice, I would like to slack, a little slack in my life would be such a good thing, ermahgerd. And dance you always forget dance. Dance has been going on for a long time so this time I am pretty sure it's not a phase for her." Susan, not Salome. Susan goes through phases and Salome gets to do them until one of them gets tired first or something new comes along. There were a few things she did like, for instance guided meditation let her nap for a hour each day and she probably totally aligned her chi somewhere along the line.

Oh and her French teacher is totally hot, so that helps too. It's all about looking for the silver lining in life.

It is going to be a little heart breaking to find out that her mother isn't doing this because she is interested in seeing her daughter grow and flourish, but to get her out of the house. Yeah, that would be a little tough to swallow. Not that she is the most emotionally healthy girl on the planet but it would be nice to have the illusion that you are wanted intact and not shattered for the lie that it is.

She tosses out the apple core and washes up her hands before checking her phone and putting her ipod away. When he calls her from the living room she rolls her eyes. Knew it.

Looking at him from the doorway of the kitchen she sighs and finally, reluctantly goes to join him on the couch. "I knew it, I knew there was something up with the Chinese. Ugh."

"Now, how could I forget your dance. You're an absolutely radiant dancer, you make me proud every time I get to see you. I just felt it went without mentioning because that's one of the few things I'm not going to laugh at your mother for putting you in. Do you even look at that piano anymore?" He can't blame her. When he was a boy his own mother tried to get him to play the violin until it met its untimely demise after falling from a second-floor window. Not musically-inclined, this man.

There are a variety of motives. She's probably also counting every class as more debt Richard has building with her, but he does a good job of completely forgetting or ignoring that fact. And, yeah, sure, she probably sees no harm in broadening the kid's horizons, why not? After all, if she's going to have a daughter, she'd might as well make her a well-rounded girl.

Richard chuckles at her pained approach, patting her hand. "I know, kiddo, there's nothing worse than having to have a talk with your parent. The Chinese is totally separate from this. Don't worry, it's not bad." He squeezes her hand, his lips pressing thin while he chooses his next words. "I just thought you should know that I have...been getting to know a very lovely woman. For the past few of months. And I am growing...extremely fond of her."

Extremely, crushingly, violently. Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to. But this at least explains his inordinately good moods recently, Salome. It's been like a four-month-long manic upswing with none of the downsides. He grins broadly to himself at the thought of her, this woman and all the bizarre feelings she brings, but refrains from waxing poetic and continues. "But, I wanted to give you a head's up, since I figure you should probably meet her sometime. Soonish. You'll like her, she's sweet."

With another pat upon her hand, he smiles. "So. Like I said, nobody's in trouble, nobody's dead. Nothing bad. Did you get a lot of homework today?"

Yeah, Richard, you just try to steer the subject forward and see how that works out for you.

~~Spoiler alert: It's not gonna.~~

"She means well, I think she keeps thinking that it will all look good on a college application. I really doubt most colleges give a shit if I know how to play the piano or not, though at least I could tap dance for any sort of college interview, I bet that will impress them. I feel like I should love the piano more, I mean, Beethoven loved it . . ." And so should she, end of statement, but the piano is just dead weight and something she has grown to detest. The things she likes the most involve getting out of the house and on her own, she loves the swimming lessons, she loves the sailing lessons, and the riding. The idea of this sort of freedom that come with that.

She has this thought of jumping the fence and just riding off somewhere, forever, far away from the city. She has no idea where these ideas come from but sometimes they crawl around her brain and tighten around it like a noose.

Wait. What.

Extremely fond of her.

Someone has managed to suck all the oxygen out of the room. How did they manage to do that? How did they manage to pull out of the air and blood from her all in a split second? Shorter then that. What's shorter? Planck time. A billionth of a billionth - forty three of them, of a second. Her body feels very cold and she is trying to figure out why and she is trying to come down to earth and cope with this like a normal adult. He had never said anything about anyone before - why now? Why someone now?

Everything is going to change. He is going to leave me. I'm not enough? Why am I not enough?

"Okie-dokie," where did that word even come from? Who is moving her mouth and making noise come out? She is going to cry, that is something very real and completely coming so it's probably best that she should lift herself up from the couch and take her self upstairs.

And so she does. Slowly. And she isn't really thinking about Chinese any more, except maybe she has homework? "I have homework to do." Ah yes, cover your exit, very clever. Now totally go up the stairs, all casual like. Good girl.

Ah, it's those urges she gets from her father. How often has he thought about getting in a car and just driving? But, no, he's got Salome, and he's too fond of her to just leave her to Susan. That's a terrible thing to do to a girl.

Speaking of terrible things to do to a girl, apparently telling her that you've found a girlfriend is on the list and nobody warned him. He watches her move like she's in a dream, listens to her give a tangential answer to his question. Then she starts up the stairs, and he gets up to watch her, lets her get all the way to the top before clearing his throat.

"Don't you need your backpack?" He plucks it up from the floor, arching a brow while he gives it a gentle swing. "If you're going to be doing your homework, I'd think this would help."

And then he follows her up the stairs, passing it over, one hand finding a firm place upon her shoulder. Sentiment. It's horrible in moments like these. Any other time, it's fine, but when he has to be understanding, gentle, empathetic, things start to be a problem because he doesn't know how to be those things outside of what he's gathered from observation He's bad at being reassuring when that reassurance isn't based on the fact that he's willing to mutilate someone to defend his little girl's honor. But this is one of those times where it seems necessary, so he squeezes her shoulder and kisses her cheekbone. "This isn't going to change anything, you know. Daddy doesn't love you any less, and we're not going to spend any less time together while you're visiting. All right?"

Then, with another little peck upon her brow, he releases her and makes his way down the stairs again. "I'll let you know when the food's here."

Hey, no meltdown, that went pretty well. Self-high-five. Now he just has to think of a present to get her and she'll maybe start to adjust. Nothing crazy, just something to show her that he's not going to be any less a part of her life.

Hunky-dory.

It's like she has something in her ears. Headphones. Something that dampens the noise and makes everything sort of sound like one of the adults from the Peanuts cartoons. Plus, she's not sure that anything he is going to say is something that she wants to hear. Because, yes, yes, everything is going to change and yes, everything is going to be different and as little time as she spends with him that is going to get even smaller, even less and she is going to be left to her mother and all the activities that are supposed to fill up her time until she can safely be moved out of the house and someone else's problem.

Platitudes are not something that she wants to hear right now.

She would just like to sleep right now. For a very long time, and when she opens her eyes things will be better and there will be a solution to this problem. Because it is a problem and not something that she is prepared to deal with. Not that she was naive to think that he didn't have his little girlfriends or whatever they were, but they were never brought up in conversation like this and the word(s) fond or extremely fond of were never used.

His hand is on her shoulder and he is giving her the backpack and it feels like lead in her hands. "All right," but it's not, and it won't ever will be and she watches him walk down the stairs away from her and for a moment she feels like calling out to him to come back but she remains quiet. Instead she disappears into her room and shuts the door before climbing into bed and closing her eyes.

There is a solution to this problem.

Well, that's out of the way. He wasn't really sparing much thought to the situation, but he was expecting it to be more difficult with Salome, as much of a daddy's girl as she is--good to have it over with. Delilah's going to be thrilled. Hopefully the two of them meeting will go fine, because he could see Salome getting catty. But, then again, he could see any sixteen-year-old girl getting catty with her father's girlfriend.

Maybe he'll draw her something. He's been drawing mostly for Delilah recently, and so preoccupied with that damned portrait, Salome deserves something lovely. Especially if she's going to be expected to accept somebody new into her life.

He could see himself marrying this woman, at the very least, if not eating her alive. After all, he's already killed for her, and that was like the cracking open of a dam--once you go that far for somebody, everything else comes bursting out behind it until the idea of marriage is less offensive than it was when you were younger.

Digging around in the end table, Richard reclaims his seat and lights a cigarette, occupying his time with a book in his lap that he more or less stares at. It's hard to focus on reading, hard to separate the lines--he's had a hard time focusing on anything lately, but now, with Salome having a mope, and the sudden realization that the two girls meeting might not go so well as he could hope...well. It'll be fine. She wouldn't turn things into a production, his little girl knows better than that.

Dragging down once cigarette, then two, he glances up from his book at the ringing of the doorbell and pays, pleased to see that the contents of the bag look about accurate. He checks his watch--thirty minutes is enough time for a teenaged girl to finish being upset, right?

...Right?

God, who's he kidding. With a sense of ever-deepening dread, Richard climbs the stairs and knocks lightly upon the door. "Mein Spätzchen, food's here. How's the homework coming along?"

Oh totally. Thirty minutes is totally enough time for a teenage girl to get over whatever needs to be getting over.

Except not. Not even thirty years. Thirty thousand years. Thirty million years. By the time the sun's energy runs out and gravity takes hold, crushing it down to a white giant it will be five to six billion years later. Still not enough. The eventual collision of the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxy will probably just be enough time for a teenage girl to start to get over whatever it is that is bothering her. Maybe. That's with therapy.

Thirty minutes is long enough to form a plan, or an idea, or a desperate attempt to stop whatever is happening to her father downstairs. This woman, whoever she is, is clearly a witch and it's up to Salome to break that spell. It's really not so hard to figure it out when you look at it in this light, and thoughts that have been dark behind her eyes and in the back of her brain come bubbling to the surface once again. All those things that she had pushed down deep because they were wrong and inappropriate.

Maybe this should be the chance to let them all go, to move on. Or this could be the chance to give in, to make what needs to be done easier.

And so she brushes her teeth, and she fixes her face, lets down her hair and tries to think of what other steps to take - except - she comes up empty. Seduction isn't something she is well versed in - yet. Sitting on the edge of the bed she hears his knock, "come in."

Emotions are hard enough for him to comprehend on a good day. Teenaged girls, also difficult. Emotional teenaged girls are like fucking alien hellbeasts from the worst night-terrors imaginable, even his sweet little Salome. Surely feeling so much has to be unhealthy, there's no way it's anything but.

Richard had the same witch theory, though if anybody has a spell over anybody in the relationship, it's clearly Richard over Delilah. She's helpless for him, and oh, is it glorious.

Salome's voice comes to him muted through the door, and he grins at her where she sits upon the bed. His brows lift, his entire expression calculated to be pleasant and bright. "You ordered the sweet and sour pork with extra pork, right?" He grins teasingly--really, he can't wait for this vegetarian nonsense to end, it's ridiculous--and leans against her door, observing her face, her posture, her eyes before stepping into her room to kneel down and take her hands.

"I don't want you to be upset about this, darling. I'm going to be with Delilah regardless, but I would be touched if you might at least give her a chance." He kisses Salome's knuckles before lifting his chin to smile up at her, though it's empty from his eyes, because his mind is too busy calculating possible consequences, and trying to figure out how best to mollify his daughter in the face of all this. "I know it's big news, but I think the two of you will hit it off."

Chin resting against her knees, he gives her the puppydog eyes. "Penny for your thoughts?"

It's totally not ridiculous! It's a life style choice and totally legit, all those poor animals are being tortured and then murdered for human enjoyment and it's so disgusting! Salome doesn't even want to think about what they do to those poor cows and pigs, and chickens! And pigs are so smart and adorable they should be respected and not mindlessly butchered for their flesh.

Ha ha, no, meat is delicious, she's clearly out of her head. Whatever a phase is a phase, at least she's not drinking her own urine or living on top of a mountain.

"Oh dad, gross," which should really read: Oh dad you're a moron and I'm going to destroy you. Even if she does sort of think that a little bit she can't help but smile at his stupid joke, even as she is desperately trying to fight it back because he can't possibly know that she is okay with any of this. He is not off the hook. And if he keeps talking this nonsense about giving this other bitch a chance she is going to throw up. Seriously.

She isn't even sure what to say, she is torn between saying something stupid, doing something stupid, or punching him. Or like a combination of those three things, something like that, she doesn't have to go with one or the other and limit herself. Her tongue moves out over her lips as she reaches down to touch his chin and lift his head up from her knees because she isn't that flexible - at least not for this purpose. It's not a violent touch or an extreme one, but when she has him where she wants him she leans in and kisses his mouth.

A little clumsy at first but it will get better once she gets used to the shape of his mouth, she has kissed boys before.

Not drinking her own urine or living on top of a mountain yet. Hopefully she's not a Bear Grylls fan, or else she'll start getting ideas. Shudder.

He doesn't realize what she's doing at first. When she licks her lips, he think she's just preparing herself to unleash a long string of emotion at him. That, he would know how to deal with, and could easily abide. Then she lifts his head up, and he thinks she's just going to get up and move downstairs, maybe give him the silent treatment. That, he could deal with, too, that would be fine.

But, oh, no.

She has to go and do something like this.

Even once her mouth is against his, groping clumsily over his lips, he still doesn't really realize what's going on for a few seconds. At first he just expects it to be a quick, girlish little smooch, but it just keeps going. The instinctual portion of his brain turns 'attractive girl kissing you' to 'you should kiss her back', and for a second before he catches himself, he does. His lips part and he breathes out against her, and then--then the alarm bells go off, because this isn't just some attractive girl, this is his daughter. But the alarm bells have the exact opposite effect that they would in any normal human being; he pulls away, yes, but it's with the look of a conflicted animal, like a wolf staring at a big steak sitting right in the middle of a rusty bear trap. Especially when he considers his own experiences with just this situation.

Like father, like daughter, indeed. The temptation overwhelms him, pounds in his skull, and he's seen her as a peripherally sexual being for awhile but now it's in his face, and now, of all times, Christ, goddamn, she's beautiful, and the very idea is horrific, and that in itself makes it intensely attractive.

One hand upon her shoulder, the other gently pats her cheek; he opens his mouth, then closes it again, staring thoughtfully down at the palm of her hand before looking back up into those hypnotic eyes that have always captured him. It's hard to find the words, because he doesn't have any idea what stance to take. He knows the responsible stance, but someone once tried to take the responsible stance with him, and it didn't work out well for her. The only way he can learn lessons is through the negative examples of others. But, still, there has to be a way to approach this.

"I'm not your boyfriend, Salome. You shouldn't--kiss me like that. It's ill-advised." He purses his lips, his expression firm as his low tone, and it's hard to keep himself from looking interested, to resist the desire to give her another, far better kiss, to teach her about it rather than let her be defiled further by the bumbling efforts of filthy teenaged boys. Still, he stuffs it away. Responsible, responsible. A cursory effort, anyway. "Why don't you tell me where that came from, hm?"

She has no idea what she was expecting his reaction to be. She knows what she was hoping his reaction would be, and for a split second she had that. His mouth against hers, pressing back, kissing back and it thrilled her. A thrill that started from the top of her head and traveled straight down the line of her back in an arc of electricity down between her legs. So wrong, so very, very wrong. She shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have made that move on him because it's just not right.

But to her it feels so very, very, right.

There are worse things in the world and this, this isn't even very bad. A few kisses and - well - what then. A show of what he has, that he doesn't need anything more, that she loves him. That she really loves him and what a better way to express that to him then in this way? He understands physical. He gives her little gifts all the time to show how much he cares for her and now, in this moment, a gift, from her to him, something reserved special for him.

And now this, this parental advisory warning. But he wants it. How could he not? That look in his eyes, the few seconds that he actually responded to her. Maybe it was her kiss that was off, she can certainly get better, learning from him she most certainly would.

"I want you," she breathes out those words and blushes so, so hotly, like her skin is on fire. Her hand on his jaw, she leans in to kiss him once again, firmer, more knowledgeable.

So, so very wrong, but she is so very desperate for him.

Fuck. Fuckfuck. Shit.

He's tried. He really has. For sixteen years--or ten, at least, after he got past the first six years of horror at the idea of being a young twenty-something with a child--he's really made an effort to be a good father. After all, he never had one, not a real one; so being a good father to his precious little girl felt like a 'fuck you' to his own. It hasn't been always easy. As darling as she's always been, and as much as she's always managed to stir something protective in him, he's had muted thoughts--not to be cruel to her or anything, but maybe just to put a pillow over her face. Something easy, harmless, that would let him have freedom.

But he resisted, because as silly as it sounds, he enjoys being a father. And Salome, of course, is very dear to him, for many reasons. Maybe partly because she keeps him on his toes.

The idea of something like this happening has crossed his mind in the abstract, but he never considered what he would do. It was always just an absent 'what-if' floating past in the dead of night, like what if she ran off with a boyfriend or what if she gets hooked on crack. Nothing he actually expected. But now that it's here, he can't deny how much he wants it, from way down in the back of his gut to the nerves in his skin. His brain snaps into high-gear when it comes to rationalization.

She's young, so young, and beautiful, and his. When she tells him she wants him, the adrenaline shoots through him. Yeah, young, but sixteen's not so young, and there's no harm in it, and she's so sweet, so darling. Look at the way she blushes! It's the highest compliment possible. He'd be doing her a favor, educating her, maybe keeping her out of trouble at the hands of boys her age.

And, frankly, the whole idea is almost as thrilling as the idea of his own mother. Now this is a feeling he can understand.

Oh, God, he could gobble her up. Particularly when she kisses him again; this time, he leans into it, into her, one hand finding the nape of her neck. Everything in him gives in and he takes control, his kisses hungry and confident, his lips firm as they press against the ones that send little sparks through him. The whole thing feels unreal, and so magnificent; his breath slithers out to ghost against hers, and his tongue finds its way to tease against her lips.

Tilting his forehead against hers, Richard drills holes through her eyes with his gaze, his fingers stroking the soft skin down the nape of her neck. "You don't want me, Salome." His nose brushes over hers, the heat rushing beneath his skin unbearably. "Out of all the boys in the world, why your daddy? He's a bad man, you know. Bad, bad, you don't want to be with a bad man, baby. A bad man is tempted to encourage you in a situation like this." His lips graze hers. "I'm going to say it again: this is a bad idea, little girl."

But that doesn't mean he's about to say 'no', because all his favorite ideas are bad ones.

His hand at the nape of her neck. When she is in trouble his hand usually goes there, nothing painful, but firm, keeping a grip on her, controlling her in a way that is impossible to escape from. She feels his hand on her and she gasps out into the kiss that they are sharing. The second kiss, the second kiss, better then the first, with more of his mouth, with him kissing back, truly kissing back. He tastes like how she expected him to taste, like cigarettes and the generic flavor of kiss when it's not tainted by food or by toothpaste.

And she just kisses, her hands on her knees, gripping the fabric of her skirt, too nervous, too uncertain to find a way to move her hands and her mouth all at the same time. There is a panic, a shock at this, kissing, she instigated it but when in the thick of things her whole body just seems to freeze and she is left perched on the edge of the bed, leaning into him and gasping when he finally breaks the kiss.

Why is he stopping? There should be no stopping.

He doesn't want to, she can tell, the way that he looks at her, the caress of his fingers. He is practically vibrating with it, or perhaps that's her. There is no higher thinking at this point, just want, and all the things he whispers and all the things she knows isn't going to stop her from moving toward him. Her fingers finally moving to his shirt as she slips from the bed and toward his lap.

"I love you," a kiss on his mouth once again. "Isn't this what people do when they love someone?" Her lips on his throat, her fingers pushing and grabbing to pull his shirt from the waistband of his pants.

"C'mon, bad man," against his throat, tongue tasting and teeth nipping at the skin there. "Encourage me in this situation."

Oh, God. Why did her mother name her Salome? This is all Susan's fault. Everything is Susan's fault. He's just a victim. How could he be anything but? After he's tried so hard to be good, all these years, and then like a cosmic joke all of that is wiped away because his daughter is untucking his shirt, and speaking and nipping against his throat enough to make him exhale.

One hand lowering, Richard squeezes her knee, and the other slides from the back of her neck and traces the line of her spine. It lingers at the hem of her shirt, creeping just barely beneath the fabric and against that flesh, Jesus that flesh, so soft and new.

"You don't love me like this," he says while his hand slides up her shirt to rest flat against the small of her back. The one at her knee lifts to catch her wrists, the toothy grin spreading across his face impossible for him to fight off. "How much have you fooled around with boyfriends? Have you even had sex, young lady." He arches a brow, his expression smarmy, humorously lecherous while his fingers curl against the flesh of her back. "You should be fooling around with stupid boys in movie theaters and I should be buying shotguns to hunt them down."

His skull buzzes with sensory overload that echoes itself in his fingertips. The powder-soft scent of her hair, the warmth of her flesh, the sound of her voice and her breath. His tongue darts out to wet his lips while he struggles to formulate words. "If we go on, if we play like this, you and I, we will be having a serious discussion later. Is that clear?"

She can feel her cheeks grow impossibly hot at his questions. How much has she fooled around? Has she even had sex? Is that the prerequisite for sleeping with him? It's so hard to get her brain working to form words and sentences at this moment. All she feels is hot and wanting and all he keeps doing is talking. A breath in and she keeps her lips against his throat so she doesn't have to make eye contact. "I do love you like this, I've been waiting for you . . ." and her voice trails off and she finds everything else stuck in her throat that she needs to swallow around.

"I want you to be my first," which sounds so weird and quiet coming from her mouth. And she feels embarrassed as if she just confessed some horrible sin to him or let him see how dirty she actually is. It's not untrue, her fantasies have revolved around him for as long as she could remember, boys her age don't appeal much to her, they are fine for a few gropes and kisses in the back of a theater, for hand holding, but that's pretty much about it. Does he want her to go out to those people? Her brows come together for a moment and she pulls back from his throat so she can look up at him.

"Do you want me to go out and find a boy instead of you?" Because she probably could and she could probably just bring that boy home instead of doing it in a movie or in the back seat of some car. She is also not sure what kind of conversation they could have after this, unless it's the one where he tells her that he loves her and not that other woman, and now they can be together forever.

That's what happens when you have sex, right?

Oh, sweet Jesus, she actually thinks she loves him. Her little heart is going to break. And her first time? Oh, God. He's fucked, so completely screwed, this isn't going to end well at all.

But son of a bitch, a little fact like that isn't about to stop him.

Besides, what a compliment. He grins, thumb stroking back and forth against the soft plane of her flesh. "No, baby, I don't want you to go out and find some little creep. I'm glad you came to me, instead. Daddy's going to take good care of you, and we can have a nice time, much nicer than you'd have with anybody your age." His lips brush across her lower lip while he kisses down her jaw, nuzzles up against the throat he's admired objectively as one would a piece of art but never thought of appreciating like this.

Tongue darting out to taste her, Richard exhales a sigh of appreciation against her flesh. "Nobody can ever know about this, princess. I know you know, but I have to say it." His hands rove over her stomach, over her skirt, teasing against the downy-soft skin of legs he draws up to coax across his lap. He lifts his head to kiss her mouth, tongue slithering out to probe experimentally into hers, Christ, this is his little girl, his flesh and blood, and it renders her consumingly attractive, sends a blaze up in his chest for her.

"Daddy gets rough sometimes." His hand strokes along the soft line of her thigh, never getting very far before it makes its way back to her knee. The other hand finds its way up her side, beneath her shirt, feeling with awe the smooth curve of her waist. "But he'll be careful. Wouldn't want to damage you, now would I." Grinning, Richard tilts his head to murmur into her ear. "Likewise, you can't be upset and feel badly later, all right? There's nothing wrong with you and I having a nice time together, and there's no reason to feel badly. You know I adore you." His lips brush the lobe of her ear and he kisses down her jaw, her throat, down toward the neckline of her top. "So just trust me, and just relax."

She is drawn in, like a moth to the flame. The heat of him, the strength and reassurance that he gives her, how gentle he is with his touches of her skin. His hands move all over her and all she can do is lean into it, skin tingling and craving the pass of his skin against hers. It makes her feel drunk, drowsy almost, like he has put her into a trance. His words are like smoke and she inhales and inhales enough to make her feel high and loose, outside of her head but still connected to the skin so that she can feel everything.

Nuzzles, light touches, kisses, her hands start working on his shirt, the buttons, the flecks of paint from his art. He wants her, he doesn't want her to be with anyone else and she sighs soft and long under her breath while her fingers finally start to peel the fabric of his shirt away. She straddles his lap, her mouth against his once again, mouth soft, open, oh so easy under the press of his tongue and the grip of his hands. "It will be our little secret, no one needs to know except us." Secrets, so very tempting, alluring, dangerous, forbidden, it makes her skin feel like there is electricity running through it, down her spine and into her stomach.

She isn't thinking about anything about later, about how she will feel, how she will react, all she is thinking about is now. How his lips feel, how the palm of her hand feels against the tight of the muscles on his back and slides. this is what consumes her thoughts and breath. "I trust you," and she does, completely and utterly, because why would she not? He is her father and he is supposed to take care of her and not lead her to harm or danger, he never would.

Another soft, long sigh, as her mouth searches for his once again.

A violent shudder overcomes him, it's as if she's reached into his skull and stolen his brain. He feels stupid--is stupid for letting this happen--but he can't help it. She wakes him up, mind and body, his being only half-aware of the fact that she's unbuttoning his shirt. His shoulders roll back to help her get it off, and he tosses it into the middle of the floor before tugging her top up over her head. Richard leans back, eyes tracing over every inch of her form, from the swell of young breasts within her bra to the smooth plane of her taut stomach.

His mouth waters. God, this is the body he taught to walk and swim and play, the little girl he's adored, who weaseled her way into his heart when he wasn't paying attention, and she almost seems like something else, now--or, rather, still the same, but now he realizes there's been something else inside of her after all this time.

Arms locking around her back, Richard kisses down the line of her clavicle, fire-hot presses of his lips to her flesh that are practically bruising as they make their way down the curve of those breasts. One hand easily overcomes the clasp of the bra and he tugs it aside, his mouth barely pausing in its descent. The scent of her skin is overwhelming, familiar, and this is all hideous and wrong but that just makes this so much better, he wants to sink his teeth deep into her flesh, maybe if it happens again, if she wants to make it into a regular thing, he will, and oh, fuck, but what about Delilah, they're going to have to tiptoe around her, and Susan, shit, but it only adds to the furious thrill of the transgression so it doesn't even give him pause.

"You are so beautiful." He sighs heavily, his lips sweeping over her, tongue darting out to taste her. "Oh, God, Salome. How long have you wanted this?" The flat of his tongue brushes out against a nipple, a jolt of pleasure overcoming him while his lips curve around it to suckle for a few seconds. When he lifts his head, it's with that wolfish grin of his, perhaps more predatory than any smile he's ever cast upon his daughter before, and he lets his nose brush up against hers while he speaks in a hot murmur. "Do you ever think about daddy when you touch yourself? This must have been on your mind awhile. Oh, Salome."

Richard chuckles, taking her face in his hands to press a hard, devouring kiss to her mouth, hungry as it is riddled with deep, confused affection. "You shouldn't do this to me, wicked girl. You're too much."

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