The Boy Movie Brahms Heelshire x reader FanFic

Inside Brahms - Part 41

I was angry after I left Y/N in the library.  Angry because I couldn't share what I knew; angry she thinks me fool enough to be deceived.  Nobody's ever deceived me.   I can smell lies like a blowfly smells death.   Nothing comes between me and my Y/N.  Nobody.

This rage inside?   I keep it in a cage.   Tonight I'll open the doors a little.  Let my wrath spread its wings - for I found the truth.   Papers in Melinda's luggage.   Notes and scribbles.  About me.  About the Heelshires.  My parents. Our lineage.  This house.  Our finances.  Her name isn't Heelshire.  Her name  is  so much more mundane; as befitting a scam merchant.   And she hustles.  Has always done so.  Made a career from it.  But not anymore.

I'll play her game.  Wait for her move.   It  won't take long.   She never accounted for me.  Thought Y/N was here alone; vulnerable, easy prey.  Like her other victims.  The ones in her diary.  The diary she keeps in her luggage.  All the people she fooled; names, dates, times, places, amounts.  Drawing them in, gaining their trust, robbing them blind,  spitting them out.   All there in black and white.   I could have told her no locks will ever keep me out.  Every room in this house has an entrance, and I know them all.   It took me moments to unmask her.  

I'm waiting in the Blue Room.  Sitting in the dark.  Waiting for her to come.  I made sure she heard me pass her room.  She'll come.  She must.  How else can she disarm me, take me on side?   She believes beauty is a weapon; her armour.  She assumes to know me.  She thinks I'll want her, that she'll be my weakness; that sex is something to enslave a man.  Not this one.  Never this one.

She's outside; hesitant, trepidatious, like a starving fox sniffing at food in a trap.  I hear the whisper of her bare feet on the carpet; and there's a faint whiff of perfume.  She's pushing the door open now, stepping inside.  Through the thin knee length kimono, I see the outline of her body silhouetted against the landing light.  She's naked beneath it just as she's planned.  She'll murmur my name any moment now.  Soft, enticing, full of little girl longing.   I'm wearing the mask.  I know it excites her.   I excite her.   She wants to fuck.

"Tom?"

I nearly laugh aloud at that.   If she knew who I really was, what then?   She's done the research, probably insinuated her way into the confidences of half the males in the village.   Too bad she's not been more thorough.

I sit immobile.  I know the white porcelain looks stark against the black of my clothes and the room around me.   I sense her eyes raking my body, and she's thinking that this seduction won't feel much like work.   She's seeing the glitter of my eyes, observing the rise and fall of my chest, glancing at my thighs,  muscular, clad in black denim, confidently parted.  This body speaks to her.  Come to me, it says.  I'm open to you.   I'm yours.  Do your worst.

So, she comes.

"What are  you doing in here?" she asks softly.  "You gave me quite a scare."  I watch as she walks to the bedside table then switches on the lamp.   The illumination is a dull amber that barely lights the room.    "Why are you sitting in the dark, Tom?"

I say nothing with my mouth, and everything with my eyes.   She kneels before me, smiling.  I scan her face; searching for a something that's never been there.  The psychopath in me glories in this lack of redemption.    It's easy to loathe her.   She'll never be anything but a leech and a parasite.  

Her long, taloned fingers reach for my knees, sliding up to the groin.  She exhales in a  sexually practised way.  Contrived and controlled.  She's been here before, so many times.  "Tom, what are you doing to me?"

I don't answer.  There is no answer.   I pinion her with my eyes with a look so intense that  the small catch in her breath seems genuine for once.   She leans forwards until the kimono gapes, and her breasts brush against my thighs.  I wonder briefly if I should feel desire.   Am I unnatural to be immured to what she's offering?   But nothing stirs.  I tilt my head as I ponder this.