First of all, this isn't a continuation of my OS series. These are just random drabbles I wrote for the AT, which I do, a lot and I'm posting two of them here because I want to dig my own grave.
Second of all, this is kind of steamy so read at your own risk. ALSO it's dedicated to Sanya. I'm glad you liked it.
Third of all, I absolutely hate it. But I'm still posting it. Kill me now.
I think I'm done moaning.
The other drabble can be read here: https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/5103705?pn=97
It's basically an AU RBXP Post divorce track. Something I'm kind of dying for. But will probably never get in the show.
Also if I write a proper ficlet on Bajaj x Nivideta, how many of you will be game?
Every year, six hundred people drive past the iron gates of Bajaj mansion and the silent, sleeping halls come to life. Whispers vibrate. Hungry, sharp cackles sweep the rooms. Shuffling and marching and languidly sparring footsteps squeak and amble through the doors. The music is soft and classic. Richard Strauss lends his note to the night. Then Wagner. And Der Mahler. The crowd cheers, delighted gasps sounding the rooms; a sea of eyes, greens and blues and browns, all sparkling with approval.
Sharp rioting colors ensnare your gaze. The rich, velvet red of satin gowns, the liquid golden sheen of gilded statues and ornate cornices, the electric blue of cabochon sapphires and the deep smolder of emerald greens. The air smells of them. Of rich, expensive colognes. Of Cuban Cigars and excellent bourbon and wine and cognac. Of Jasmines and vetiver and cedar and exotic flowers made in little Paris shops and distilled in custom $5000 bottles.
It is a court of opulence. Men in charcoal and blue suits stand beneath gargantuan crystal chandeliers, streams of smoke billowing from their cigars, as they lightly spar. The night is about grandeur. About imagery. About celebrating Kolkat’s elites.
And yet the man hosting the feast is nowhere to be seen. Prerna runs a quick survey of the room, feeling numb as the night draws on. Anurag is smiling along the wisecracks Senator Mishra is throwing at him. Her sister refused to attend. And her only other companion, Nivideta Basu is discussing the latest economic trends and the government’s micro policies with a candidate running for ministry.
She’s surrounded. Swirling in the midst of people.
And she’s lost. Sinking into the arms of a dark abyss.
She tries to find him. Shooting quick, sharp glances in every direction she can. Following every glimpse of color that reminds her of him. Soaking in every morsel, every word that mentions him somehow.
But he’s a ghost in his own house, evading everyone. Prerna excuses herself from the crowd and climbs the stairs, passing through the halls she knows as well as the back of her hand, and heading for the room no one else would dare enter, the master bedroom.
She turns the lock and steps in, letting a strong wave of nostalgia pool around her. The room is still the same. Just as sparse and meticulous as it was when she’d left. The rustled gold curtains sit in perfect harmony against the white-licked expanse. The plush blue recliner sits near the cherry and oak book rack like it always did. There’s a whistler painting to her left and a giant tv screen dominates the other wall.
Prerna heads for the adjoining drawing room but a low sound stops her short.
A timid creak on the other side of the room.
Cautiously, she heads for the restroom, and turns the knob, careful of not making any sound.
The door clicks and she is pinned to the spot with a gun in her direction.
“What the f—what the hell are you doing here?” Rishab drops the gun on the countertop, and faces the mirror, his palm pressed against his bare shoulder.
Prerna turns chalk white, rushing to his side, “you’ve been shot?”
Rishab smiles, “wouldn’t you like that?”
“No,” Prerna examines the wound.
“It’s a stab wound. Amateur work. The tendons and muscles are fine. The blade didn’t get through.”
“You’re bleeding,” she stares at the blood-soaked cloth pressed to his shoulder.
“I didn’t say it was a plastic knife. Now, get out and let me clean.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Who did this?”
Rishab sighs, and throws the cloth in the wash basin, reaching for the faucet, “I didn’t see him. I did notice his height though. He was tall.”
Prerna turns a sharp glance toward him, “it’s not Anurag.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Let me help you,” she eyes the deep slash and reaches for the first aid box.
“Get out Miss Sharma. I can bloody well help myself.”
“You need to close the wound. We need to go to the hospital,” she says.
“Just get me the sutures.”
Prerna grabs the box from the cabinet, catches his wrist and drags him to the tub.
“Miss Sharma you—”
“Shutup,” she glares at him, and pushes him down, hovering above him and taking a good look at the cut.
Realizing it’s not as deep as she originally predicted, she closes her eyes in relief.
“I’m going to clean this. And you’ll sit there.”
Rishab just watches her, both amused and straight-faced.
She throws a leg over his, to stand right above the wound, and begins cleaning, dousing the stab with saline solution.
“I’m sorry, it’s going to hurt.”
“It’s fine. Just get it done with.”
“Why would someone want to hurt you?”
“I can come up with a list of reasons.”
“You need to report this. Double your security. We can’t take any risks. You can’t be alone anymore.”
“Why Miss Sharma? Are you concerned for me?”
Prerna halts, tilting her face and staring down at him, “what if I am?”
She watches as a grey lock pulls out of its cinch and presses against his forehead. Her fingers rise on their own, pushing away the single wisp of hair and wiping the sweat off his forehead. Rishab catches her wrist, pushing her hand away.
“Why don't you go back to playing nurse? The view from this angle is spectacular.”
It takes a minute for her to understand his meaning, and when she does, she pulls away, blushing furiously.
He raises a brow and grabs the sutures from her hand, “I’ll do it myself, thank you.”
Prerna stifles a curse. Of course, he has to be stubborn about the stupidest of things.
“I’m trying to help.”
“You’re not helping. So why don’t you leave?”
“Give that to me.” She wrestles for the suture and he pulls her close, forcing her to grab onto his hair and fall across his lap.
“If you don’t leave, Miss Sharma, I’m going to start hurting in an entirely different place and I doubt you’ll be a sport about that.”
Prerna blinks, completely taken aback by his remark. Her cheeks color and her head swims with shock and…something more, “you’re deliberately being crude. To push me away.”
He pulls the sutures, and starts closing the wound. His black eyes pinned to the mirror, “why don’t you call my bluff then?”
“I—I am going to wait outside.”
“Coward,” he says softly but Prerna escapes, trying to control her rising heartbeat. He was lying. Ruffling her feathers. He’d divorced her. Never liked her. There was no way he meant…
She flees for the safety of the adjoining room. Only to still with shock
The painting staring back is a rendition of her. Her hands are clasped beneath her chin, her body is wrapped in a regal, red saree and her smile is blinding in its intensity.
She looks…royal. Powerful. Seductive.
She looks. Memory sharpens and she remember what she looks like.
She looks exactly the way she did a day before he filed for divorce. It was the last time they were together under this roof as man and wife. It was the day she’d given him space in her heart.
Her eyes prickle and blur and her nose stings until a whiplash of sensations scorch her skin, and she staggers, trying to regain her balance.
“Enthralling, isn’t it?”
Prerna whips around and slams into him, her hands finding purchase around his bare waist and her eyes clashing with his. His arms come around her. His heat engulfs her and the twinkle of awareness spreads so intensely, she feels every hair rise on her body.
“you—when did you,” she whispers, standing mutely under his dark regard.
He watches her quietly, “did I draw that? Yes. Quite the artisan, wouldn’t you say? The details came out better than I imagined.”
“You drew me…why?” She stares at him, trapped in a trance, wrapped around him.
Rishab doesn’t say a word. He lets her go and reaches for his shirt on the stand.
Prerna opens her mouth to say something then shakes her head, “I better leave.”
Rishab just mocks her, “will you? Go ahead then.”
She scuttles for door only to pull back and glare at him.
He drops his shirt on the bed and advances on her, a dark smile gracing his lips, “come on, Prerna. Tell me off. You know you want to.”
She stands her ground, folding her arms, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re enraged,” swift footsteps clap ahead until he’s standing against her, “you feel scalded. Branded. Like I’ve taken a piece of you and caged it forever.”
Prerna fists her hands so tightly, her fingers hurt, “you think you have me figured out? You know nothing about me!”
Rishab slides his eyes down her in an appraisal so scorching, her skin sets on fire.
“I know your eyes are a pale, smoky green,” his gaze traps her, glittering with an emotion she doesn’t’ want to name, “your birthday is July sixteenth, your birth year is 1995, you sleep on the left side, can’t get enough of old Bollywood movies, your favorite flavor is cookie and chips,” his gaze drops down, his voice lowering to a soft purr, “you wear a B cup, your underwear’s plain white cotton, there’s a pale scar behind your right ear, and when you blush, the red covers every inch of your skin…just like it has now.”
Her chest heaves, her quick, sharp breaths impregnate the silence around them. She tries to move away but his hands rise, stamping across the door, caging her in. His heat engulfs her and his scent, deep sandalwood and a hint of cloves, goes to her head, short-circuiting her senses.
Prerna wets her lips, blinking against the spread of sensations, clamping against the need ricocheting through her muscles, “why would you paint me and…and keep that painting in your room? You don’t even like me.”
She watches him, dreading the answer, dying for the answer. Knowing it will rock her world, change everything, change her. But wanting it all the same.
Rishab draws closer until his breaths are fanning her skin and his nose is pressed against her cheek. He presses his mouth to her ear, and his sure, silken whisper melts in her skin, “you know the answer to that question Miss Sharma. You’re just not ready to admit to it.”
Prerna shakes her head, firmly in denial, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t want to know anymore. We’re friends. And I need to go downstairs because Anurag—”
“Yes, your devoted boyfriend. Does he know where you are right now?”
Prerna glares at him, “I don’t have to report every single minute to him, you know. He trusts me. And, anyway, why don’t you concentrate on the new additions in your life? I heard you’re spending quite a lot of time with your new chief of Marketing. What was her name? Natasha Kapoor. Of course. All this time while I’ve been waiting for you to show your face, you’ve been busy with an entirely different project.”
“Don’t be. Natasha is harmless. She’s not inside my head. She’s not the girl I want.”
Prerna stills, her eyes dropping to the soft smile shaping his lips, “who do you want?”
“You don’t want to know Miss Sharma.”
Prerna just wets her lips, “who do you want Mr. Bajaj?”
A soft, heavy silence fills the void between them until she can't take it. Until the thought invades her head and fills her lungs. Until it becomes impossible to not voice the words sitting on her tongue and stinging her soul.
“I want to spread you open until the folds around your dress pool to your feet, and the satin press of your skin sits in an open invitation for me. I want to strip you down, lay you bare, and do things you’ve never imagined. I want your skin on me and your hands and your smiles. I want your secrets and your lithe, writhing body, seeking pleasure beneath mine. I want everything. All of it. And I’m a very territorial man, Prerna. I wouldn’t share you. Not even with memories of another man.”
Prerna feels her weight give beneath her and she sinks until his arms come around her, buffeting her between the door and him. Her senses reel and his words ring inside her ear until she’s shivering and shaking like a wet leaf thrown into the upheaval of a storm.
His mouth trails against her cheek and brushes against her mouth before he moves back and takes her in. She desperately locks her gaze with his, trying to find the humor, the light-hearted jest that would turn everything back to normal. That would take their relationship back to what it was.
Friends. Parents. Companions.
But his eyes are serious and cold. The way they always are. As if the declaration makes no difference to him. As if there’s nothing to lose.
“I’m engaged,” she whispers.
And he lets his hand cup her face, his finger brushing over her red-stung mouth, “you are.”
“Anurag and I—”
“aren’t going to last,” he deadpans and Prerna stills, her eyes going wide.
“You’re. You’re threatening me? After the last—”
“I didn’t say I will sabotage your wedding, Miss Sharma. Go ahead, marry the man with all the pomp and gold you’ve imagined for yourself. Indulge your fancies. I can wait.”
Prerna sees red, “I would never leave Anurag for…for you. I respect your feelings but—”
“you’ll break it off, Prerna.”
“I give your little sham a year, Miss Sharma. And that’s me being entirely too generous.”
“You’re so sure of yourself.”
His gaze drops to her mouth, “You will be, too. We’ll play a little game. You and I. All you have to do is stop thinking about me. Simple as that.”
Her fingers knot, her voice growing weary, “that’s…that’s far too easy.”
He smiles, “we’ll have to wait and see, Miss Sharma. For now, I’ll leave you with a parting gift. And I promise I won't make a move on you until...”
Rishab tilts her head and puts his mouth on her.
The moment his lips touch hers, her knees buckle, threatening total gravitational collapse. He molds her against himself, and his mouth slants over hers, the pressure causing her lips to open under his.
Prerna lifts her shaking hands and grabs onto his shoulders for support. His tongue tangles with hers and pure liquid fire shoots through her. Her mouth trembles under his, her body almost shaking under the wave of desire. A low moan escapes her lips and his control splinters. He drives her back. The teasing pressure changes and the kiss turns wilder, hotter. Their tongues collide, their breaths coalesce. Everything else pulverizes but the raging need pulsing through her body, the strong tide of pleasure coursing through her skin.
A long time passes before their mouths disintegrate and her head falls back. His lips slide over the slope of her throat and nibble. Her stomach pitches and her body grows taut. Tingles spread everywhere. His mouth singes her skin. His hand in her hair tightens and he pulls her back for another kiss. This one hard and fast. He invades her mouth with purpose and kisses her until she is nothing but a trembling ball of desire, ready to explode. Until she’s reduced to a purely physical level. Until she wants him to release her from this agonizing emptiness.
The kiss breaks, their mouths starving for air. And she feels his lips over the curve of her ear and the dark menace in his tone registers through her lust-fogged brain, “the next time I find you in this room, I’ll finish what I started. Get out now, you don’t want your fiancé looking for you.”
He pulls back, picks his shirt off the bed, and slams inside the washroom. Leaving her alone, miserable, trembling, and ready to explode.
Welcome to my cage, little lover
Attempt to rearrange with you, baby
Still don't know your name, Miss Honey
Let's go up in flames, pretty lady
Firstly, thank you so much for this❤️❤️
Holy. Freaking. Sh*t.
Let me start from the beginning:
Amazing description of the luxurious surroundings of the Mansion, I could literally picture every word, every view, texture of the fabrics and could smell the smoke of the cigars. 100/100
But all she seeks is his face. In 600 faces, she wants to see his❤️
Loved, loved, loved the banter between them, although they are not a couple anymore but the give-and-take talk was all and much more 😂
His suggestive statements lol! Stunning view. Gonna hurt in new places. Why don't you call my bluff. Goodness!!!!! All that talk about her lingerie omgggggggg.
She runs, and sees herself. As a queen. His queen👑 and he painted her himself, like he imagines her.
He knows her and Anurag won't last and he's ready to wait but...not right now.
Now jumping to the ahem-ahem part😏
It was FIRE. AAG. AGNI. GARAM!!!!!
Each and every word, every action, every touch, every brush, I could feel it. In my toes. Rishabh's frustration. Prerna's need. Their desire, love, lust.
Man I wish he would have finished what he started because Prerna was not going to stop him anytime soon, until she got what she needed!
I'm so happy. I'm so, so happy!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ This was sheer perfection darling, the wait was worth it😘😍
PS. This was definitely not 18+ but 16+ 😌 18+ (Matlab iska next part) bhi de do na ab please please please please please please please please please please please please 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
Paaji tussi great ho BTW
PS. Bajaj x Nivedita? :(Edited by SanyaEterna - 2 months ago
My reaction while reading it
"I want everything. All of it. And I’m a very territorial man, Prerna. I wouldn’t share you. Not even with memories of another man.”
Loved this. It summarizes his love, lust and desire for her.
You are an amazing writer Amigos
It was SUPER HOT!!!
PS: RB-Nivi 😐😏
Reserved for Blues
Okay, This was hot.*whistles*
I just love the way you write, it always takes me into another world. I also love your perception of RB. Unapologetic, unabashed and unashamed.
He is a lion waiting for his mate and the gambler he is, he has already set the odds. Confident and Ruthless.
Man I wish I could write 18 + like you.
Well I want more.
Love, BluesEdited by Eternized_Blues - 2 months ago
My own breath got caught in my throat while reading it. That's how good it is.
Why, I mean why can we not have this on screen? Someone invent a device to morph my thoughts to visuals and I will pay for that device.
I think I will survive on these only since show will give me Babaji ka thullu in the name of Bajaj-Prerna.
Bajaj says I am territorial man. And I say I am a hungry woman for this sort of writing & stories.
Topic started by .amigos.
Last replied by .amigos.