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It's Always Three in the Morning	By : ophidianpoet Category: Web Comics > Homestuck Views: 949 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Homestuck, no money is made off this fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-It's Always Three in the Morning
- 1
The clock on the wall, one of hundreds in the mansion, read 3:00. Three in the morning, her favorite time of day. Snowy smiled as she swept into the room, her violin waiting for her in its case. She delicately lifted the curves of the curiously-shaped instrument from the deep black velvet on which it lay, setting the bow to the strings and sending strains of melody reeling through the mansion. The song was one of victory, mocking and satisfied with itself. And Snowy was feeling indeed victorious as she gazed upon her prize. Spades Slick’s severed arm sat, the wound neatly bandaged, on a low couch of green satin. Putting her instrument away, she sat next to the limb, entwining her fingers with his. She pulled the arm into her lap, torn suit fabric and dead flesh a stark contrast against the sparkling green of her dress. “How nice of you to show up and entertain me, Spades.” She purred, picking up the arm and laying the hand against her face. She thought back to a few hours ago, when that sneering little bastard broke into her mansion and she’d wrenched the limb from his body..

Earlier~

“What are you trying to accomplish, Spades?” She had asked, her gun in hand and her whip at her side.

“I sure as fuck ain’t here to see you, bitch.” he’d snapped back, placing a hand on the vault door’s code scanner. She noticed the little bastard was still clutching her cigarette holder.

“You know, you have something of mine, dear.” she cooed, folding her arms.

He whirled around with a snarl, holding the slim, black cigarette holder over his head. “Yeah? Well you can come and get it you reprehensible witch!” Snowy smiled darkly. Yes.

Snowy lashed her whip around his wrist with a snap, pulling it tight. She then brought her pistol arm forward, firing a perfectly-aimed shot into the man’s shoulder and pulling…the gangster gave a beautiful howl of pain, and she trotted over, stepping on his ruined shoulder with one of her deep-green heeled boots, reaching down and taking hold of his arm with her hands and stabbing into the torn flesh and ligament with her cigarette holder. Spades whimpered, “You fucking bitch…before passing out for a minute. It didn’t take much work after that to remove the limb completely, and she took his arm, with a wink, as it was trailing blood after her. She patted his face until he woke up again; there was no way she’d let him sleep through this. Spades couldn’t move. Pain, and terror, had taken hold of most of his body. Snowy smiled sweetly, picking up his cellphone and dialing a fellow gang member of his, setting the phone down in Slick’s one remaining hand. She didn’t want to have him die on her, not when there was so much more pleasure to be drawn out of him.

———————————————————————————————————————-

Snowy held the arm tenderly, as if it was part of someone she actually loved. She drew the fingers down her cheek until his thumb touched her lower lip. Oh, how she hated the man. Spades Slick was tiny, repulsive… but he did keep fighting back, which is what kept her interested. A caged tiger would soon grow boring if all it did was lie placidly on the floor. And she knew, she knew, he hated her just as much. She could see it in the way his lips curled into a snarl anytime she spoke to him, and the way his eyes narrowed just a bit, burning with anger and disgust, when she came into his sight. “What a despicable little man you are.” She said softly, green-painted lips brushing against the pads of Slick’s fingers. She did not wish for his presence, but she loved playing with him. He was a toy that would dance at her command. Dance, or when it suited her whims, whimper or beg. “Mm, I wonder what you’d look like on the end of my leash, Spades?” she mused, slipping his hand around the curve of her breasts, pressing her fingers over his. To her slight dismay, the flesh was starting to grow cool. “That means we don’t have as much time together as I would have liked…oh, well.” She said to Slick’s arm. “Well, at least let me do this much, you reprehensible creature.” She cooed, sucking each of the pale fingers in turn and breathing warmly on the hand. Snowy guided the limb down her body until the palm rested against her thigh, and, with a sigh, slid the fabric of her dress up her legs. It made her smile to think that this hand was being so much more gentle with her than the real Slick would ever be. She eased her black-and-green lace panties aside with a finger, and guided the first two fingers of Slick’s hand inside her.

“Mmm, oh, my.” Snowy moaned softly, tipping her head back. She threw one arm across her stomach, bracing the severed limb, and with her other hand she levered Slick’s hand, thrusting into herself. “Hahahaha, ohh, if only you knew how good this felt, Slick.” Snowy murmured to the empty room, laughing with delight. The queen laid back languidly upon the satin cushions, fucking herself harder with the dead limb. She imagined the look on Spades’ face if he saw her doing this. He’d never expect it of her, that much was certain. Snowman could just see the horrified grimace on his face, and how it would turn to a scowl of disgust and….hatred. She continued with this pleasant fantasy, and her mouth fell open in a silent gasp as she imagined beckoning Slick over and grabbing him by his repulsive, greasy hair and grinding his face into the ground. Her hips jerked involuntarily, and she felt herself getting close to finishing. She prudently slipped a hand over her mouth to muffle any cry; it wouldn’t do to have the rest of the Felt see her like this. Snowman squeezed her eyes shut as she came, with Slick’s fingers deep inside her. She lay there for a moment, composing herself, then removed the dead hand and hung up her dress, going to bed in her lace underthings. After a moment, she rose, carried the arm back with her, and peacefully fell asleep clasping the rigid, cold hand.
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It's Always Three in the Morning