Synopsis: Submitted to weeks of isolation and brutality at the hands of the Conclave, Max is finally forced to play her one last card, to win the freedom of her would-be rescuers. As both sides struggle to outplay each other and gain control, double-crossing abounds. Max and White must form a grudging truce if either hope to make it out alive, but will their desire for control destroy them both?

Rated for suggestions of sex and violence.

Please note: As of May 2013 I've converted this fic from present tense, to past tense.

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CONTROL

by Sorrow

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"Give it up 452. You know you're no stronger than me."

Within the damp concrete cell half-plunged in darkness, transgenic and familiar eyed each other cautiously, each waiting for the other to make the next move. White circled Max like a shark considering its next meal, keeping the transgenic moving on the spot and taking small steps to keep him in sight.

Days had slid into weeks since her capture, and having spent countless hours searching this filthy cell for any weakness she could breech, Max knew there were none. There was only one way out of this place, and it was through Ames White. She understood that now.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she drew a deep breath filled with the stink of earth and mildew. It didn't matter what happened in here, she reminded herself, just as long as freedom could be obtained.

By any means necessary.

Eyes snapped open, dark with resolve. White had stopped moving and paused to consider her. Did he wonder what she was thinking? Or had he stopped to question his own actions and prerogatives?

Not bothering to ask, Max lunged forward, intending to drive the familiar to the ground. Instead her body ricocheted backwards as he delivered his counterstrike, his laughter cold as she brought a hand to her stinging face, tentatively feeling her jaw to reassure herself that it was still attached as it should be. It was.

Recovering fast, she darted forward to hook the familiar with an uppercut, dodging his next move, and delivering a spinning kick to the back of his head before springing away once more.

The kick failed to effect Ames White, and he lunged forward, catching the transgenic by the wrist as his fist slammed her again, smile cruel, as blood seeped from her mouth. To his surprise, the pain served to strengthen her this time, and snarling, she pulled away from his grasp and swung a fist into his jaw with enough force to send his head rocking backwards.

"You know, if the lonely nights are gettin' to you, perhaps you should've thought of that before murdering your wife?"

Growling at her quip, White stepped away and shoved the transgenic across the room as he kicked her feet out from beneath her. Caught off guard, her head smacked the smooth concrete with a sharp thud and she lay stunned. Fighting down a grimace of pain, Max rolled aside and regained her footing.

Stepping forward, White's lips turned up in a cruel smile and he chuckled at her efforts. "You're pathetic."

Once again, his foot lashed out, this time connecting solidly with Max's ribs, causing a sharp cry to escape her throat. Words deserted her as pain tore through her already-injured side. The Conclave did not favour well their captives, and having endured countless days without food and with very little water, the familiar's strength was wearing her down quicker than she cared to admit.

"Weak."

It was a single word, but it struck her sharp nonetheless. Taking a deep breath - one that caught half-way in her throat - Max threw her weight into the familiar and sent them both flying to the floor. White's recovery was instant and he rolled the transgenic onto her back, taking the advantage of surprise as he grabbed her arms and pinned her with his weight. "Weak and slow. But what can one expect from a cheap imitation? Guess you had to burn out sometime."

Max's instructions had been clear. She knew what to do. Bait him. Trap him. And thus free herself. But still revulsion gripped her as she pushed against him with a burst of energy, flipping him to his back until she straddled his hips, her fingers around his throat. Unperturbed, White laughed and grabbed her hips, using the change in position to his advantage as he held her in place and pulled her closer.

It's a power trip for him, Max realised, to think he has me under his control - even when he's the one flat on his back with my weight against his windpipe. Seething, she struggled to pull herself away, one hand pressed against his chest for leverage as she rammed a knee into his groin.

"See who's weak now." She muttered through gritted teeth, gloating at the wince which briefly crossed White's face. "Guess pain isn't always a phantom of the mind, huh?"

Then, swallowing down the disgust she felt for this man, she changed her tactic and slid one thigh up between his legs, like a slow stroke of apology.

"What the hell do you think you're doing 452?" The familiar's eyes flashed dangerously as she leant in to take his earlobe in her mouth, daring him to defy her as she skimmed her lips along his jaw. He pushed her aside but she shoved back against him with renewed force, needling him to respond, needing to coax her enemy to desire her; so she could win her freedom.

White jerked his head as her teeth grazed his lips. Pulling back, she caught the look of naked surprise in her enemy's eyes, then she leant in and captured his mouth with her own, the taste of his blood tipping the scales of self-loathing, as she flicked her tongue over his lips, nudging him to respond.

His lack of response - the fact that he hadn't flung her away or snapped her neck yet - was enough. Enough for her to push further against him; bite his lower lip and coax him to react as she shifted her body. White grabbed her wrists and forced her back.

"What game are you playing, 452?"

His tone was dangerous, but she could see something different in his eyes. Lust. She forced herself to hold his gaze, just as she forced desire into her voice, silky smooth as she whispered, "I'm in heat. It's my DNA. You don't think I've tried fighting this? I just - can't - fight it anymore."

Stunned, he lay impassive as she nuzzled her lips against his jawline, coaxing him to react as she shifted her body against him, the friction causing him to take a quick intake of breath despite himself. He knew he should shove her away, drive this filthy vermin away from him and beat her to a bloodied pulp, but his mind raced to recollect the Manticore files outlining a particular flaw in transgenic design. Heat. Once or twice a year, transgenic females entered a reproductive cycle like that of a cat.

As the journey of 452's lips roused his body to respond, White reasoned to himself that by allowing her to continue, the shame she'd feel once the heat cycle had passed would be another weapon he could use against her. For his own sadistic amusement, if nothing else.

Actions validated, he pulled her roughly to him, adjusting their position so he could tug away her clothing, his mouth hungrily tracing the hollow of her collarbone before moving over her breasts; eyes closed as if by doing so he could pretend he wasn't betraying his own kind – betraying his own self.

As his tongue darted over her skin, causing her body to shiver traitorously beneath his touch, Max licked her lips and tasted guilt and horror upon her tongue. She had him now. It was done. This was enough. Surely, this was enough. But he flipped her to her back, smothering her with his weight and with his urgency, and as she grasped him, pulling him closer to her, she realised she wanted this. Fucked up as it was, she wanted him. Wanted to lose herself in this moment in a way she'd never allowed herself before. And in that moment, she understood it was too late now. For both of them.

By any means necessary. The words had become her mantra. Not to talk herself into undoing his belt and tugging his pants down, but to justify her own incorrigible part in this game.

The sex was hard and violent, and she had clawed her way through every moment of it – literally and figuratively – her body craving the physical contact, her mind compartmentalising it, to stop itself from shattering. Then when the shudders of the familiar's body had drawn to a halt, and the raw animalistic hunger had turned to sour bile in the pit of Max's stomach, she felt White stir inside her once again, his body already aroused and in want of a round two. But her back was slick with sweat and blood, and the various scratches and bruises inflicted upon her began to throb and sting; replacing the euphoria that had helped her to forget who they both were. Filling her with unfathomable shame and self-consciousness. The pain didn't wash the guilt away. Instead it left her feeling dirty to her soul, and irreversibly damaged.

Evidently the realisation was mutual, and White pulled away, his face a mask of disdain as he stepped around her to snatch up his clothes.

"This changes nothing between us." The steel-cold detachment was ever-present in his voice, but as his eyes flicked over the bite marks that adorned her naked body, he swallowed hard, knowing by the way his traitorous body responded to the sight of her, that he was lying through his teeth. He dressed quickly, making sure to avoid her eyes until he'd regained his iron-will composure.

"Don't need to tell me twice." Max's hands trembled as she tugged on her jeans and gingerly pulled the lycra top over her raw and aching back. She wouldn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. She'd committed this act to get out of here and that was precisely what it was - an act. She refused to acknowledge any dark part of her that had got off on it. The only true enjoyment she'd get from any of this was seeing the look on his face when he realised he was the one who'd been played.

Shaking his head, White grabbed the transgenic and pulled her to him, unmindful of her injuries. His lips brushed over hers, almost possessively, and he growled, "I'll be back, 452."

Max shivered at the hint in his voice, but she knew his unspoken promises would never amount to anything - if all deals were kept, she wouldn't be here to experience a 'next time'. Still, she met his eyes and leant in, summoning false confidence as she skimmed her lips against his earlobe and whispered, "Bring a friend next time."

Smiling darkly to himself, White locked the cell behind him and sauntered down the deserted corridor, twirling the keys in his fingers. Never before had he let himself loose so completely. Never before had he a partner so capable of consuming every last violent thrust, and wanting more.

He shook his head to clear his mind. It can't happen again, the rational part of his brain urged.

But already, a part of his body was looking forward to the next opportunity when it could.