14. Riddick: "Cutting Loose"

Nobody messed with Riddick as he shouldered his way through the crowd. Not even the roughest of locals would have dared. He looked like walking Death, a force of rage that could plunder whole worlds in an instant.

It was all aimed at himself, of course, although none of them could have known it.

_You stupid fuck!_ he fumed as he walked. He followed it up with dozens of even worse obscenities he'd learned on as many worlds. If he'd actually known his genealogy he would have added that into the mix.

He'd come so close, _so fucking close,_ to doing something damaging to Jack. What the _hell_ was the matter with him?

She'd been so upset by the article. It had surprised him because he'd been a little touched to realize that others in her life _had_ known what a treasure she was. But their time apart had apparently been an emotional wasteland for her. None of the esteem others held her in had ever been revealed to her and their posthumous tributes had filled her with offended anguish.

All he'd wanted to do was make the pain stop. It had brought him dangerously close, however, to violating his careful resolutions because the only thing he could think about, suddenly, was kissing her. He'd wanted to bury his face in her hair and lose himself in the scent of her. He'd wanted to fuse their bodies into one. The depth of his feeling had been almost frightening.

He'd retreated into one of their old joshing games, but that had backfired. Their innocent rough-housing had taken on a distinctly new flavor for him. Once again he'd found himself teetering on the brink, wanting to crush her lips and body against his until they were fused. His attempt at yet another retreat had been a _royal_ fuckup, literally causing her pain.

_Oh yeah, you idiot, just tickle her on her super-sensitive *belly,* why don't you? How *else* can you screw things up?_

Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that. If he'd really lost control, he might have ended up ripping her gown clean off of her and fucking her senseless. It had been a closer thing than he liked to admit.

He had to get himself under control, _fast._ If he didn't he was going to end up damaging or destroying the most precious thing in his life.

First thing he'd have to do is get laid, he decided abruptly. He hadn't been with a woman since several days before Jack's arrival at Seti Station. The frenzy of final preparations for her return had consumed his attention. That had been back when he'd still envisioned her returning as his sorta kid sister, not precisely sexless but certainly not so stimulating. The impact of her return had been a dead-on kick in the libido.

He'd never expected it; he certainly hadn't planned for it. Now the animal within was getting dangerously close to breaking out of its cage. He'd better let it stretch its legs for a while, or Jack would end up being the one it ultimately mauled.

He was _not_ going to let that happen.

Suddenly he knew exactly where he needed to go. But he was going to have to change out of his "Colin Tarsin" guise first. He headed for the ship.

The brothel was dimly-lit, as always, making it possible for him to remove his goggles. He did so, then scanned the room for Barbour. The rotund man was discussing something with another client, so Riddick took a seat at the bar, nodding to Tonia. She set a glass of his regular poison in front of him without a word. He sipped it slowly, waiting for Barbour to approach him.

"Good evening, Mr. Fry," the obsequious little man finally said at his side. "It's been too long since your last visit. Shall I tell 'Carolyn' to prepare for you?"

"Absolutely," he grunted, not bothering to look up.

"The usual arrangements?"

"Yeah." He took another sip of his drink. There was no need for this routine. They knew what he wanted.

"Very well. Give us five minutes and she'll be ready." The man bowed nervously and hurried off to get the ball rolling. Riddick stretched his drink out in his usual manner. He took his last sip five minutes later, then stood and collected the room key that had been placed before him. He headed upstairs without another word.

She was waiting for him, her back to him as always. Tight blue pants low on her hips, the small, sweat-stained blue top. Her short, dirty-blonde hair was tousled and damp on her neck. Perfect. He crossed the room to her side and put his hands on her waist, sliding one around to rest on the bare skin of her stomach.

"Carolyn," he whispered. "I've been meaning to catch up with you alone..."

She sighed and moved back against him as he rubbed his face in her hair. "You scare me, Riddick," she whispered, the way she always did. "That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

She didn't believe it was his name. Hers wasn't really Carolyn, so why should he really be Riddick? Just another night of role-playing for her. But for him, these nights... they were as close to solace as he found. He slid his hand into the front of her pants and heard her small gasp. His mouth fastened hard on her throat.

He was back in the skiff, holding her against him, feeling her try to hide her fear and try even harder to hide her desire. She'd wanted him and despised herself for it. Now he'd take her, make her his, possess her utterly...

He lifted her up and carried her to the bed, listening to her breathless protests. "No, please, don't... Don't, Riddick..."

It had confused him, at first, that he wanted to hear her protest, but he'd long since stopped questioning it. Maybe it was his inner belief that the real Carolyn would never have acquiesced to his ministrations. Maybe he was just a sick, sick man. But he wanted to hear her beg him, to feel her struggle before she gave in.

He pinned her beneath him, his legs holding hers still while one hand wrapped around both of her wrists the way it had with Jack's only an hour ago--

_Don't think about that._

His other hand caressed her face and throat. She drew breath to protest again and he lightly, warningly touched his fingers to her lips. When she made a small noise anyway he covered her mouth with his and kissed her deep and hard.

It had cost him a lot of money and negotiation to get her to let him do that. For the price of his kisses he could have bought the services of a dozen women for the entire night, but it was important enough to him that he paid the extra without complaint. The real Carolyn had been kissable. She'd kissed him, just once, on their way back to the cave where Imam and Jack were waiting.

He'd spotted the cave entrance just as she was giving up hope of ever finding it. When he pointed it out to her, she'd turned and flung her arms around him, kissing him on the mouth for a moment before they hurried over to liberate their friends. His lips had tingled for the rest of their journey. After she died, they felt like they had been scalded.

Now he pressed his body hard against her surrogate, giving in to the fantasy that _she_ was the one beneath him. This was the journey that they were supposed to have taken together. Now, once again, they would.

He released her at last, long enough to pull her top off of her body before he lowered his mouth to her breasts and began to ravenously plunder them. She cried out, her hands coming to rest gently on the back of his head and neck. Her legs slid out from beneath him as he shifted his weight and wrapped around his waist.

He was even rougher than usual -- it had been too long and circumstances had left him _far_ too hungry for this. After several minutes he pulled back, unwrapping her legs from around him. He pulled off the remainder of her clothing and followed up with his own. Usually he spent a _lot_ more time on the preliminaries. Not tonight.

He was inside her almost before she realized what he was doing and her cry of astonishment was real. He covered her mouth with his again, thrusting into her over and over. He had his eyes closed tightly and his mind focused on Carolyn, his memory of her face, her voice, the taste of her lips. He groaned when another face abruptly superimposed itself over hers. Jack.

_No. Go away, Jack, you can't be part of this..._

It took all of his will to banish her visage, and he was unable to summon Carolyn's back in its place. He dared not open his eyes, though. He never had at this stage of the game before and the last thing he wanted to do was see the look of professional detachment that was probably on the face of the woman beneath him.

It was a hard, agonized ride to his release, and it was only achieved when he relented and let Jack's face appear to him once more.

_Dammit!_ the last sane part of him thought as his orgasm took him. _This can't be fucking happening..._

He rolled off of "Carolyn" immediately afterwards and began to dress. Usually he spent the whole night, taking her several times, but he already knew that he'd found all the peace he was actually going to get from her tonight.

It had worked, more or less; the animal was back in its cage. But he already knew that its hunger for Jack had _increased,_ not decreased. He left the brothel without a word after he settled his bill.

_Great,_ he thought sourly, heading back to his ship. _I've been cured of my obsession with a dead woman, finally. But what'sgonna cure my *new* obsession?_

He showered immediately upon arrival. He would _not_ go to his breakfast with Jack bearing even the slightest traces of another woman's scent. He had in the past, but the very concept of doing so was offensive to him now.

The night was still technically young, but he felt exhausted. He climbed into his bed, expecting to drop almost immediately into slumber, but it didn't come. Finally he got back up and paced the ship restlessly. He went down into the dojo and spent an hour trying to bring himself to a state of physical exhaustion, but the restless energy remained.

What the hell did he have to _do?_ he wondered, fearing the answer.

He headed back up to his room, only to stop in confusion as his hand reached for the knob of _Jack's_ door instead. He spent several moments trying to resist the pull before he gave in and went inside.

In the scant week she'd lived in it, she'd already managed to impress her personality indelibly upon it. The room was filled with her scent, her presence. Almost hating himself, Riddick climbed into her bed, enveloping himself in the _eau de Jack_ of the room, wrapping her sheets around him as if they were her delicate body.

_Dancing on razor-blades here,_ he thought to himself, as he dropped into deep, satisfying slumber.