The smoke drifted lazily up into the stale, sex soaked air from the cigarette he held in his fingers. The earlier hunger was gone from his dark eyes, replaced instead with a cold, detached ambivalence.
His gaze swept over the prone form in his bed, taking her in in the dim light of his quarters. Now that the alcohol had worn off and he had rested he was memorizing the flaws he had neglected to notice in the dimly lit bar. Scars here and there, stretch marks, blemishes. All those things that marked her as human. Things so small and seemingly insignificant that the Institute would never have known to duplicate them if she were a Synth.
She began to stir, stretching languidly beneath the sheet and looking around the room curiously. Blue eyes fell on the bearded Elder as he put his cigarette out slowly in the ashtray. Her lips twisted up into a tired smile that faded quickly when she saw the severe look in his eyes.
The blonde girl moved, sleep slowing her down as she sat up, modesty that had not been present last night causing her to catch the falling sheet and drape it over her, but not before he could see the deep red and purple bruises he decorated her flawed skin with. She seemed confused and nervous beneath his gaze, perhaps not realizing why this didn’t feel right. A brief moment before she smiled, trying to find her footing and regain some control in the situation. “Good morning.”
Maxson frowned a bit, crossing his arms in front of him. “Morning,” he acknowledged gruffly, enjoying the way the young woman squirmed. He leaned casually against the metal wall behind him, body language exuding dominance and pride. All confidence she had the evening before faded rapidly at the sight of the Elder looming over her and she seemed at a loss for words. “Back to your duties Scribe,” he supplied, no fondness in his words.
A slight widening of the Scribes eyes betrayed her surprise. She stood swiftly, and nodded, her actions seeming conflicted as she gathered her clothes up and slid into them, wincing as they slid over the bruises he had left the night before. Despite the humiliating nature of the situation she tried to smile at him a bit as she moved towards the door, making one more sweep of the room with her eyes to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
Her eyes landed on the Elder once more, searching his face and lingering on his lips briefly. He bristled in response. “Listen-“ she began, some of the flirty confidence she displayed earlier returning to her voice. “I had fun last night, do you want to maybe… do it again sometime?”
Maxson’s frown deepened, annoyance flashing across his face. “Do not mistake an invitation into my bed as an invitation into my life. Your greatest attribute is your convenience,” he growled coldly, dismissing her and closing the door to drive the point home further.
The Scribe recoiled as if he had hit her, shock and hurt in her eyes followed swiftly by shame. Tears started to form in her eyes and she blinked them back as she turned, moving swiftly down the hallway and back towards the main area of the Prydwin, hurrying to put some distance between her and the Elder..
Maxson stared at the bed, eyes drifting to the blood and sweat stained sheets, a feral smile forming as he remembered the activities the night before. That Scribe has been particularly fun to ruin and had loved how rough he was with her. Maybe he would want to do it again after all. Particularly if she could demonstrate discretion in his presence in the future. It certainly gave him something to think about.