AN: So, I'm experimenting with some different types of writing. I've been taking writing workshops here and there. I'm not quite sure what style really fits me and I may switch back and forth until I find a comfortable fit. I also switch point of views and timelines quite often.

P.S. - Possibilist is most definitely an inspiration to me. You should all check out his/her (never really made it known) fanfics. They're quite impressive! I'm making it my New Years Resolution to write more Author Notes (AN).

Chapter Two

She could never stay mad at me.

Not even when I have my hands wrapped around both her arms, squeezing and shaking; blood vessels beneath tan skin bursting until they spill out under the tissue. I see her arm marred royal blue when she sprawls out against me in the morning.

I admire my work, gliding my fingertips against her skin, watching clumped mascara flake down her cheeks when her eyes snap open. She doesn't move an inch, she knows better. She knows it hurts, I know it hurts but fuck it. She had to learn to somehow. There was something I'd heard about associating a thought with pain. If she thinks about leaving, she'll associate it with pain. I know it's a dick move but I don't care. I know I scare her, make her wonder if I'd ever hurt Elsa. I don't care though.

"Get a shower... you'll feel better." Pressing a kiss to her hair, untangling her legs from mine and rolling off the large bed. My eyes meet tiny hands, gripping the bars of a crib and kicking tiny little limbs; unaware of the morally bankrupt scumbag watching her. Barely a minute passes before I hear the shower head run and see tiny little hands rubbing at tiny little eyes.

A whimper falls from this little creature, my little creature.

On my hands and knees, I shamelessly crawl to that crib and watch as she sticks her hand through the space between the bars. A cool spark lands on my cheek, small fingertips splayed against my skin. She stares at me with wonder, pacifier wiggling back ad forth as she suckles on it. For a moment, I hate myself for thinking I wouldn't want her, for trying to rid myself of her. She erupts into giggles, pacifier falling from her mouth, when I pretend to bite towards her small digits, drawing her band back into the crib. I never use the word cute, and I won't use it this time. Perfect is the word that comes to mind.

I stand and pick her up easily, resting her in the center of my chest. She's a tiny little. Not a tiny little thing. A tiny little is what she is. Her eyes and toes, everything.

Elsa looked more like her mother than she does me. A few wisps of platinum blond hair, soft as silk skin, lashes long enough to tickle the apple of her cheeks.

Her eyes though and her smile. That's me. The way her nose wrinkles and her mouth curves when she giggles is from daddy. From me. She's a blend. Perfectly combined from two incompatible people to create a common interest, a bind almost.

It reminds me of Natalie. She's always been tiny. But, in a much different way than this tiny little in my arms. Her hands fist the wrinkled cotton I'm wearing, desperately trying to stick it in her mouth. Right when she realizes she'll have to lean down to accomplish this task, I hear feet smacking against the marble floor. I set Tiny Little back down in her crib and turn around in time to catch a glimpse of Natalie's smile. It's soft, barely there but it is there.

She can never stay mad at me.

"You're supposed to be getting a shower." I say, running a hand through my greasy, gelled hair.

"You were supposed to let her fall back asleep." She says, playing a little game with you. Mimicking me. The smile is there still and I trace it over with my thumb, noticing the much lighter coloring of the bruises now that she's been up and moving.

"Shower still running?" I ask.

"mmph" Barely muttering it out as he smashes his lips against mine, tongue and teeth sliding against each other.

I hate him sometimes. But I love him more than than sometimes. Last night wasn't the first time he's pulled a dick move like that. He knows better than grab me, knows better than to ever grab me in front of Elsa. Ever. But, we fit together.

I bet Serena never had any bruises on her arms from nights with him.

I bet Blair never made him make the noises I have.

I bet he never made love to them on the bathroom counter or fucked them on Egyptian cotton sheets.

I bet he'll never admit I'm the only one he'll always come back to.

A gasp falls from my lips as her hips begin to wiggle against mine. She never lasted long when we jumped each other like this. Creases on her forehead become increasingly evident, her toes curl against the back of my thigh. She's waiting for me, waiting to fall over the edge together. I smirk, gripping the back of her neck and expose the expanse of her throat. I nibble and lick and suck and begin a flurry of jackhammered thrusts.

One, two sharp tugs on my hair and I can feel wet and warm, soft. So soft. She's never loud during sex but makes these little noises, whimpers you might call them. And she lets them pop out of her mouth during those intense moments and I swear I'd stay inside of her forever if she'd make those noises every few minutes, maybe seconds. She begins to chuckle softly, laying her palm against my face as I grin. We kiss, lips pressing together and our grins melting into each others.

I'll never admit but she's the best lay I've had... ever.

I'll never admit that this whole 'relationship thing' might be fucked up on seven new levels but, it works for us.