[ it is not truly pain that seizes him, not the kind she could wrought. it is a pang in his chest borne of his own softness and weakness, one given life by her kiss and touch, one he steps into and cannot fully disregard in her arms. (one he cannot anytime, where it counts: to himself.) he doesn't want to thought he should, trembling at its force; when has he shied away from the vulnerable underbelly of what they have? (as much as he hasn't.)
it is a feeling that mixes inextricably with his lust, drives it to desperation as equally as the warmth and willingness of her body does. the slide of her hands overwhelm him; they are caresses of heat along his skin, searching and kneading everywhere. he feels her fingers like flames, in them the greedy need that so drives him, an echo of his hunger. no, he doesn't stop her haste; he revels in it. he takes and shares of it. he heralds it as best he can, nothing but breath and movement between them, the tearing of his belt loops. it takes only a moment of vampire-quick speed to step away and discard the rest of his clothes, and then he is above her again.
on her, and in her deep and rough, her skin against his a blessed, searing relief he savors. the relief of her slick and tight around him an incredible torture that catches his breath, makes his thighs tremble as he begins to rock, unabated and swept into the pleasure of friction, of her. his fingers flex around the slim wrist he has pinned above her head; his eyes as astonished as they are darkened. she is beautiful, and his thumb touches the roundness of her chin, follows it to her neck before he kisses her, moves within her with harsher, pinning strokes. ]
[ the differences between them are evident in the way they see love. he sees it as weakness but she sees it as strength. love makes you strong. it may make you vulnerable but there is a fierce, adrenal strength that comes from love. whatever form it may come in, be it a simple fascination or true and abiding or fractured and broken or something uncertain and undefinable.
she cannot put into words what she feels, she does not choose to try. she simply gives into the urge to be closer to him, in the physical sense. and he does little to dissuade her now. he moves away from her hasty, pulling hands to get naked as she is. she shifts on the sofa just a little before he's back on her in a flash, inside of her without warning. and she does not complain.
gasping, her body arches instinctively into his as he starts a merciless rhythm. he pins one hand above her head, leaving the other free to touch him, fingers curling at the hair at the back of his head. she breathes heavy against his lips, her eyes shutting to escape the intensity of his appreciating gaze, accepting his kiss as respite. she kisses him, she opens her mouth to him, yields her body to him, because not once has he not provided it with mind-blowing pleasure. ]
[ love does make you vulnerable. it does make you weak. whatever strength is in it can be twisted, manipulated, lost and undeserved. he knows this, and yet he cherishes this seed of something, this thin veneer of affection and infatuation, of connection for its simplicity.
it cannot hurt him.
and if it does, well.
(it always hurts him.)
there is a guttural moan at the back of his throat, one released at her clutching hand, at the yielding of her mouth and body to him. she shuts her eyes; she may hide, but she doesn't hide from this and can't; he knows. (he hopes she can't. he hopes that is what he hears in the racing of her heart against his own, in the pliancy and want of her kiss.) so he claims; that is what he knows, soothed and hungry at the fulfillment of it: his fingers wrapping tight around her soft thigh, lifting it open to his thrusts, to the weight of his body between her legs, his chest to hers. it is all he knows in the exquisite, blinding throes of pleasure that follow: the taste and breath of her kiss lulling him, tending to the heat in him, and making him moan, the brush of their skin and the shifting of the cushions beneath them, the lurid sound of his needy, demanding strokes taken inside of her, their joining as wet and heady as their kiss.
all the tumultuous, darting gazes, the touches and comfort she sought here; all that and her submission awakens something in him longing and possessive, always threatening and stirred beneath the surface. his grip on her wrist tightens to bruise before his fingers straighten and smooth, fumble and reach to thread with hers. it's fast and slow, hard and deep how he moves, savoring and groaning, driven entirely by impulse, by desire, now that he's indulged both. ]
[ he is not the only one who has suffered heartache. while his may be on some grander scale, she has known her fair share of rejection for something she cannot help. she never asked to be what she is, even if now she relishes in the power it gives her, even if she has embraced it.
she did not have centuries of distrust and rejection to twist her heart, the thing that beats in her chest now is only maimed, not so thoroughly broken. she has youth and inexperience on her side, she has the benefit of an optimistic light one that she will not let the darkness snuff out. she has the hope of love renewed, the possibility of finding acceptance within someone else if not herself.
her spirit is not so broken, as fragile and new as it is.
their bodies rock together in time, in that timeless rhythm, one that is both new and familiar. one that she fears she will seek to know again once they finish here ( the thought thrills her too). her body cradles his as he thrusts into her, their mouths pressing together with wet, sloppy kisses. she feeds off the sound of their skin colliding as much as she does the friction of their bodies, the push and pull of his hips. she finds the groan he lets out as appealing as the way his fingers bruise her wrist and then thread through hers.
she moans out against his lips, the sound rumbling in her chest, her back sticking to the leather beneath her as her hand leaves his neck to drag down his back, nails biting at his skin, beckoning him to move harder. to treat her a little more roughly. because unlike her other lovers, she has no need to hold back, to pretend to be anything other than unbreakable and insatiable. he doesn't want her to be demure nor does he have some sort of need to prove his masculinity, he seeks her pleasure as much as she does.]
[ of course she is not broken, because she is strong, full of light and kindness, wielding the benefits and bloodlust her species like a knife, and thriving with life all the same. he doubts even the passing of age and loss will dim her. (and if it does: he'd never forsaken darkness.)
she is much too timeless for that. too bright, too ravenous, too wanting of all the world has to offer, with the shrewdness to know what she desires and to take it when she sees fit. and beautiful; she is beautiful. she is stunning in all these things, and in that infatuation perhaps he is helplessly biased, and knows it.
he wants her. keenly and without shame.
he wants her knowing she carries uncertainty and fear for him, and her feelings, in her heart.
he wants her with little encouragement, with none.
and he feels it. on his skin, in the presence of her touch. he feels it in the score of her nails and at the slide of her gaze each time they meet. in her breath, against his; in her kiss. it's a visceral result of his longings, of his lust for her painted in the movement of their bodies. he knows what she wants, and he aches for it, is helpless for it. he feels it, that desperation, that violence in the pain she inflicts, and he gives it to her well. he fucks her, his hips pining and rolling, his cock mercilessly deep, his tongue parting her lips as he groans with promise and threat deep in his throat.
she isn't breakable, not by any lesser hands nor his, and he will prove it. to sate her yearnings like no one else. his shoulders are tense, steel above her, and so is his grip as it leaves her hand to claim a fistful of her hair, to tilt of her mouth up to his to take as he takes her. ]
[ there is no putting out the fire in caroline forbes. there should be no doubt of that. even surrounded by darkness, caroline will survive somehow. perhaps her light may fade but it will always come back, brighter than before. and none of that has anything to do with what she is doing now.
only in that her light has touched him in someway and perhaps, maybe it will make him better man. that is her hope. no matter how she feels about him, she hopes that she can somehow encourage a goodness in him, a light of his own to guide him from the darkness that he surrounds himself with, that he falls into all too easily after centuries of being dragged into it.
in turn, he can ruffle her feathers, feathers in need of ruffling. she cannot be the paragon of control and perfection always, she needs to slip into imperfection sometime without fear of judgement. perhaps that is what appeals or even more, perhaps that is what scares her about him. the way he withholds his judgements of her.
he gives her what she seeks now, fucking her into the plush leather sofa, the floor creaking some beneath the motion. he yanks at her hair and she gasps against his lips, melting into that kiss with a faltering moan. heat shoots through her, sets her on fire and on edge, pushing her suddenly towards that edge.]
[ she tastes of revelation, of relief. she is a light and a balm, one that touches him. it is something he never meant: to be affected by what he longed to touch, to be stirred by what he desired to know. (it is inevitable, for someone as steeped in centuries of hatred and darkness. predictable even; something he might scoff at if it weren't so complete, if it weren't so entirely what he longed for, that he'd see a girl with a bright smile and a brighter soul, a kind, strong heart, and fall.)
she tastes of all he is not, all he does not have. and she tastes of want, of the sharpness of her own hunger. she tastes of everything about her, down to the fierceness, the ruthlessness of her being, everything that he has admired, and adored. it is primal, how he presses her close, how his tongue massages hers, how his lips caress. he wants it all; he wants her mouth, her taste, her moans. he gasps having them all, knuckles white as he pushes her closer, addicted and insatiable. he wants the sliding, hot friction of their bodies moving ceaselessly, seamlessly against each other, coaxing and finding pleasure in equal measure. he wants the gasps of surprise, the savoring. he cannot stop, chasing each dizzying wave, pressing closer, harder, deeper, slower; whatever her body needs, whatever makes her flush and sound.
he has lost his breath, and it is the only reason he pulls his lips from hers. the only reason he presses them and his hot breath to her cheek. his thumb finds her lips, presses against the bottom of the plush, ravaged mouth. the words that touch her are broken, whispered, thick, promised, cut off only by the distraction of his pleasure, of hers. ] You know I want you, how good you feel; you feel so-
[ if she is everything he does not have, then he is the same to her. he is the risks she does not take, as fearless as she can be. he is the darkness she does not allow herself to venture towards. he is the ferocity she has deep within herself. he provides the thrill she longs to seek. he is not some dirty secret, pretend as she might, he is more than that. he is the life, unharnessed, passionate, and unbridled that she cannot ever allow herself to live.
every stroke of his hips, every hard press is a reminder of it. every motion earns him a sound, be it a moan, hum or gasp. each sound is his alone, greedy and giving. she takes from him more than she gives, unfairly perhaps. but he has been just as selfish.]
Good-- [ she finishes his frayed words, whispering the word against his thumb before she draws it between her lips, sucking gently, obscenely. her body arches and moves, it looks for completion in the friction of their sliding bodies. she moans her contentment, her warning that with just one more push, her pleasure will be his once more.]
[ her voice is heat; it is temptation and lust. it is truth, and that she knows it sends him spiraling, needy to claim it all. that one beckoning word has him groaning, has his cheeks filling with such searing blood he is sure she can feel it coursing through him. coupled with the pornographic warmth of her mouth closing around his thumb, feeling the wetness of her caressing tongue, the softness of her suckling lips, his cock throbs inside of her, for her. he loses every and any trace of control, even before hearing her moan, feeling its headying vibration.
he is possessed by pleasure, by the seeking of it, the growl in his throat released as his hips stutter before he fucks her with demanding strokes, just as selfish, just as greedy, just as giving. he doesn't hear the grinding of their desperate bodies, the harsh sounds he makes; he knows nothing past the haze he is in, and her. his fingers close around her chin; he pushes his weight onto her, pins her with an overwhelming force, each surge of his body to hers to bury his cock inside of her, to make her feel every inch.
to take every bit he must, to feel her coming and clenching. to sink deeper into the fever he is in. ]
[ she has a few tricks up her sleeve, she knows the way to play him just as much as he knows how to play her. and yet, his reaction is almost unexpected in its intensity. the way he suddenly surges forward, the way he sounds, the desperation of every thrust. she can feel the tension in his body, the way it matches hers, makes it even more apparent.
she gasps around his finger before she sucks more wildly, teeth grazing against skin as he fucks her harder. he grips her face as he moves, uses his leverage to increase the force of his body. he wants her to feel every inch and she does. dear god, she does. he fills her to the hilt with such a pace that she cannot tell where he ends and she begins, it's cliche and so very true.
he loses control and that is the final push she needs to lose her own. she practically spits out his finger as she moans, her body locking beneath his, tensing as she moans his name, coming hard.]
[ a pitched groan spills from his lips, one strangled feeling her body pressing to his, feeling the intense slide of her skin as she shakes, the endless, maddening clench of her taking his cock. even in the throes of his own pleasure, her own spurs him; it is what he wanted, after all: the end he sought. it is all he knows, every breath she takes, every whimper, the sensitivity of her under his touch. his thumb moves below her chin, he takes her throat in hand as he shudders, taking every bit of her pleasure for his own, leaning his head back to watch with dark, lidded eyes. he lingers with every stroke, feels her merciless tightness, the rubbing of their hips, dizzy with the smell of her, of sweat and sex.
it is only when their bodies slow that he feels the coolness of his exertion drying at his brow, that he claims her pink, moaning mouth for another kiss, open and wet. he hums into her, snakes his arm under her trim waist, and cradles her to him, moves to sit with a burst of quick speed, carrying her to his lap.
his hips moves up into hers, drives himself deep in the new position, coaxing her spent body with his own. his hands rub her hips, reach to palm and squeeze her arse; his teeth bite at her bottom lip. the caresses are slow, persuasive and demanding. he doesn't want to stop, and so they are not stopping ]
[ she is lost to that carnal pleasure for a long few moments, barely aware of the way he clutches at her, his hand her throat, his arm around her torso. she simply rides out the waves of pleasure, selfishly, her hips quirking a few more times before she stills beneath him, panting.
her eyes only open when she is whisked into a different position. her gaze landing squarely on his face as he grinds his hips up into hers, as she is suddenly perched in his lap. Her hands find his face as he presses back inside of her, trying to keep things going despite his body's waning efforts. She has no doubts he'll recover soon enough, he seems to have the stamina of ten men. As it is, she does not need to be persuaded, as breathless and satisfied as she is. She simply dips in to kiss him once more, after he bites at her bottom lip.]
[ he is, sated and still wanting, chin tipped up to have her kiss, to seek it out hungrily, even as she murmurs her peace. he exhales, the sound a long, impatient warning, watching the dimple of her cheeks, the soft gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. yes, his desire waxes even as it wanes; he holds her bottom with clutching fingers, rolls her hips over him, thrusts into her for the forced, guided friction.
surely she didn't think once would be enough, and his eyes are molten with the intention, the want of more. he gazes up at her, appreciates her bare and stunning and tangled with him. and for that he is insatiable, never content. his hips still for the moment and he adores, longs, consumes: the mess of her golden hair, rich yellows and browns in the fading light, the stark, dark blue of her eyes in the shadows, the flushed and happy red in her cheeks. he enjoys touching her, his fingers contouring to her curves, moving up her back. ] You're beautiful. [ he says it as a truth, as a reason, as a hunger. ]
You're impossible, [ she counters at the tail end of poorly suppressed moan, her eyes fluttering as he kneads at her backside with the impatience of man with hundreds of years less experience than he. she likes it. the honesty in everything he does, the way he does not hide his desire or make her work for it now that she has his attention.
the chase may be fun but the capture is proving to be more pleasurable.
the look in his eyes make it hard for her own gaze to linger upon them, it makes her shiver, the way he looks at her with such continued hunger. she smiles at him, her eyes lowering to his lips, her own expression a hungry one as her fingers curl at the back of his head. her body is still humming, pulsating from her climax, yet she cannot help but shift in his lap as a challenge, to see if she is beautiful enough to rouse him once again.]
[ he sees it; he feels it, how she soaks his attentions up, how she enjoys them as she always has. it is free, how she does now, despite her ducking eyes. he is the one submissive to her pleasure, to that shiver, absorbing it all with wonder, gratified and intent, in tune to the beauty of her every move. it makes him feel an answering, delicious prickle at the base of his spine, one that only lengthens at the brush of her fingers, combed through his hair.
he cherishes her smile, the way she moves to take what he can give her, to challenge what he knows she will have. he feels a weakness in his thighs, a tremor of pleasure as his breath catches inaudibly in his throat. the light in his eyes melts; his touch caresses her waist. he is still hard, seated inside of her, lingering, lazed in his pleasure. it is only at her shifting that he feels the flicker of exertion of it, the stamina he will find around the corner. his hips lift and relax, slow and gentle, to pull her errant movements into a rhythm, one which draws his eyes to where they are joined.
to the paleness of her thighs which he touches with fingertips, the plush smoothness of her stomach he feels, the rose of her nipples he brushes in a deliberate graze.
she can rouse him; she does. in more ways than one, in more ways than she seeks. his voice is low, breathy. ] You're incredible.
You have to stop doing that. [ she murmurs with a smile against his lips, breathless and sweeter than someone with his track record may deserve. although it is not the way he touches her nor is it the way he starts a slow, lazy rhythm beneath her. it is the way he dotes on her, tells her that she's incredible.
she shifts above him, pulling back now. her hand falls behind her to rest on his thigh, fingers curling a little as she grinds slowly above him, giving him full view of her body. perhaps that will distract him from saying things that make her heart skip a beat or two.
as it is, she uses her other hand to slide up her own body, touching herself as much as giving him a show.]
[ he will not stop, and moreover he doesn't believe she wants him to stop. not truly, not fully, not in the depths of her desires, he wants her so fully it blinds him, but he is not so blind to misunderstand. she finds pleasure, heat, and pause in his attentions, his doting, his adoring honesties. he knows how they stir, and he knows how keenly he feels them, how deliberate and real they are. how rawly they can injure.
his eyes lift to hers, feeling her breath, her reply, wanting to see the curve of her smile. it is sweet, sweet and mesmerizing, fluttering something in his chest. his lips part as she pulls back from him, finds her balance. he knows. lord, he knows, just how deftly she means to conquer him, and still his body shakes against hers, his cock thickening and body filling with the roaring of his pulse, watching her hand map all the skin he covets, the touches he longs to take. ones he wants to be rightfully his.
he shifts too, dizzy, his hands gripping her waist tight with a soft growl, his cock pressing deep into her to savor the torture of her movements, letting her feel the results of her show. his knees feel weak as he slowly chases her hand, detours in circles over her skin, leans forward. ] And what would you have me do more of?
[ she doesn't want to feel anything so keenly with him. perhaps that is an unfair sentiment but the things he has done in the past still haunt her thoughts. the despair he's provided those she truly cares about, to herself. he would have had her sacrificed if things had been different.
it is something her brain insists on rehashing each time she feels her heart race at his doting words, when he makes her come. which only makes the pleasure perverse in nature, the way she continually seeks him out. she struggles with it but she does not allow herself to feel regret for her decisions even if she ought to.
she conquers him, she tries. she means to change him bit by bit. perhaps that is her penance. perhaps that is how she can make it right in the end. yet he is as immovable as any mountain. volatile as any volcano. she is lost in truly trying to bring him into the light she basks in, completely. can she really give him redemption when he may not even want it?
he grips at her, worships at her alter, pressing into her even deeper as she makes her move. as she tortures him with a view of her body and grinding of her hips. his hand seeks to touch her and he asks what she wants. her eyes meet with his and she simply smirks, giving him half a shrug with a teasing indifference they both is not sincere.]
[ he did not lie before: he has very little regrets, and he would bear little surprise at the caution and reminders she recounts to herself, whether he agreed with their importance and accuracy or not. but he cannot be changed. no. not the way she seeks, not with her goodness and light, not with her heart; not because she wishes it to justify how he makes her heart speed, how she finds the vastness of time and so many possibilities in his offers.
not like that. so he tells himself; so he believes he knows, bone-deep. (what he knows, bone-deep, is he is already changed. he has always been a man who feels.) she touched him. something of her lodged in his heart, his being, his breath.
he may have been unmovable, before new orleans, before his child, but he has never been unaffected.
he is not now. he is affected by their murmurs, by the heat of her body, the intimacy and allure of her. she smiles so wickedly, tests and teases his patience so maddeningly. his lips curl in a like smile and his hand suddenly grips the underside of her chin, pulling her forward to touch the breath of his words to her lips. ] Tell me. [ it's an order, slow and uncompromising; a supplication, wanting and longing, spoken as his thumb slips down between her legs, slides over wet skin to her swollen clitoris. he rubs, attends to the sensitive nerves mercilessly, quick. ] Do you want this? Hm? My fingers? My mouth? My cock? [ he pauses, watches her. ] All of it?
[ despite how it may seem, her heart is not so easily given. he will have to earn the admission of any such feelings, even if he can hear the way her heart races, she can deny it as much as she wants. it is until she can accept her slow embrace of the darker side of herself, that he has to wait. the wait could be endless.
she knows him to be unmoveable but she also knows that he feels just as, if not more so, keenly as she does. she feels the desire radiate off of him as she doesn't give him an answer. at least nothing verbal. and of course, the tease will not stand untested. he pulls her back towards him, her hands moving to brace on his chest instinctively as her eyes meet with his as he makes his demands.
her lips curve downward just a little, petulant and childish, as if he should know what she wants. as if she doesn't want to tell him what she wants, when it should be so obvious to him by now. still, the expression is fleeting because a moment later his thumb is at the sensitive bundle of nerves, making her gasp and hum eagerly. her eyes flutter and struggle to stay with his as she swallows thickly.
his fingers coax pleasure to rush through her, the touch torturous given how sensitive she still feels. yet she's still hungry for it.] You know what I want, [ she hums softly, her gaze upon his still as she shifts closer to him.] You know what I came here for.
[ does he? does he truly know why she's here? for comfort, yes. maybe even for him. (for bonnie.) for the blindness of this, maybe even for the desires she wraps up and shields from all else who may gaze upon her. but for all he knows her, he knows he does not hold her heart. all her denial, all her rejection has created around the organ a fortress he can only wonder if he can reach; he can only feel the bliss of when she gives him a sliver of encouragement.
she has boarded up the softest corners, the most precious parts, and perhaps she will never mean for him to have them. (despite his promise, despite his wish: to be her last.) that is fine, for he does not need them to want her, and she does not need them to be here, with him.
no, she simply needs the want of it, the perversity, the desire she considers obscene. there is no difference to him; what he wants is pure. and she is here, restless and needy against him, moaning and eager against his touch, seeking and abiding by it. it is what he wanted, her body to tense and uncoil, to feel her wet his cock further. he watches her fluttering lashes, feels the bubbling of excitement from her lingering pout. the slow smile of it is in his eyes, and his grip clenches around her neck, pulls her to him as he slides down into his seat, all the better to find leverage.
he fucks her, suddenly hard, quick, and keeps her in place to watch her face as she takes him, his thumb restless against her. the slap on their skin fills the room, and so does his hummed exhale. ]
[ she finds excitement in things she didn't know she could find exciting, in the way his fingers curl around her neck, in the way he holds her into place as he fucks her, despite her being on top of him. he rocks up into her without any sort of mercy, relentless in the pursuit of pleasure, be it his or hers.
the sounds that fall from her parted lips are almost pornographic, their frequency and volume. it's a series of gasps, hums, and low moans, between excited panting breaths, her eyes fluttering as the sounds of their bodies colliding and her thundering pulse fill her ears.
ever since she turned, this is how she's preferred things. a rough fuck. tenderness is sweet and sometimes something slow is what she desires but there's an appeal to being reminded what she is now. unbreakable. and she is greedy for it. her hands grab at him, unable to hold still, roaming over his skin, just touching, pulling at his hair and shoulders. and the more he gives her what she wants without judgement, the more she feels those walls weakening.
she fights it now, one hand moving to his at her throat, fingers curling around his wrist as she presses herself into his hold and starts to move roughly above him, seeking more, rougher, faster. this needs to be just fucking, this can't be anything else. not yet.]
[ it is all for her, every relentless thrust, every caress of his thumb, pressed and rubbed expertly of over. he takes from it the satisfaction she gives him, and the rush of power and lust and servitude it evokes, the three tying inextricably together, all for her. the touch of her soft hands soothe and awaken him, the sounds she makes gorgeous, exquisite; the friction of taking her enough to weaken his knees. he could come, hearing her whimpers, feeling her so wanting and wet. feeling the fight in her to take as much as he gives. he groans as she does, their rhythm becoming one, adjusts with such overwhelming zeal to her liking.
he can do better. the words stir him in just the way she seeks, burning with a flash of heat, a slide of it down his neck, his chest, alighting over the places she's touched, marked, pulsing up through his cock as she rides it, harsh and quick, so tight and soft. there is no warning, only the rough grab of her neck and her hair, the yank as he pulls her head back, and in a second's count has her thrown face down on his bed, the sheet rumpled under the force, her legs dangling over the edge.
he doesn't wait for her to adjust, only moves her enough to bury himself deep and fucks her harder, tugging her head back by her hair to keep her still, to keep her braced, and so he can lean over to murmur: ] You tell me when it's enough.
[ it's lurid like one of those pornos that she dared to watch a long time ago, the way she's bent over his bed suddenly, the way he pulls her back against him with her hair. she never got a proper tour of his apartment, so she has no idea how far they travelled in that unexpected instant. but she barely has time to register what is happening before he's inside of her again, thrusting harder, with better leverage, her body bouncing against his.
her arms slide forward to grip the sheets beneath her, to brace herself, to keep from sliding forward as her toes curl against the floor. she gasps and moans as an answer to his demand. it's enough, this is enough, she thinks. it's more than enough. she doesn't waver in her enjoyment, she simply allows herself to get lost in the ride, in the pleasure that races through her now, coaxing heat through her veins.
her eyes close with another soft sound, as she grinds against him, rocks backward into his body's movements, trying to coax that same pleasure through him.]
[ she need not try very hard to please him: the sounds she makes, the wordless, incredible gasps as she finds her leverage and moves into his thrusts in more than enough to make him groan, to make his knees weak, his weight to lean against her. a hand braces himself on the bed; his wrist twists, pulls her head back further, keeps her at his mercy. the scruff of his beard brushes against the soft skin of her forehead, her hair; he touches his lips there, and he can just see the bounce of her pert breasts from the rocking of their bodies.
it is lurid, and beautiful: the way she bends to his hands, the way she hungers at it. he wants it, the press of her arse against his front, the movement of her hips beckoning him deeper. he growls softly, leaning to her, grinding inside of her over and over, faster and harder, the sounds he makes approving, his eyes lidded and watching the profile of her face, watching her pleasure. his hum is one of approval, his face hot, his grip weigh of head back. ]
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no subject
it is a feeling that mixes inextricably with his lust, drives it to desperation as equally as the warmth and willingness of her body does. the slide of her hands overwhelm him; they are caresses of heat along his skin, searching and kneading everywhere. he feels her fingers like flames, in them the greedy need that so drives him, an echo of his hunger. no, he doesn't stop her haste; he revels in it. he takes and shares of it. he heralds it as best he can, nothing but breath and movement between them, the tearing of his belt loops. it takes only a moment of vampire-quick speed to step away and discard the rest of his clothes, and then he is above her again.
on her, and in her deep and rough, her skin against his a blessed, searing relief he savors. the relief of her slick and tight around him an incredible torture that catches his breath, makes his thighs tremble as he begins to rock, unabated and swept into the pleasure of friction, of her. his fingers flex around the slim wrist he has pinned above her head; his eyes as astonished as they are darkened. she is beautiful, and his thumb touches the roundness of her chin, follows it to her neck before he kisses her, moves within her with harsher, pinning strokes. ]
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she cannot put into words what she feels, she does not choose to try. she simply gives into the urge to be closer to him, in the physical sense. and he does little to dissuade her now. he moves away from her hasty, pulling hands to get naked as she is. she shifts on the sofa just a little before he's back on her in a flash, inside of her without warning. and she does not complain.
gasping, her body arches instinctively into his as he starts a merciless rhythm. he pins one hand above her head, leaving the other free to touch him, fingers curling at the hair at the back of his head. she breathes heavy against his lips, her eyes shutting to escape the intensity of his appreciating gaze, accepting his kiss as respite. she kisses him, she opens her mouth to him, yields her body to him, because not once has he not provided it with mind-blowing pleasure. ]
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it cannot hurt him.
and if it does, well.
(it always hurts him.)
there is a guttural moan at the back of his throat, one released at her clutching hand, at the yielding of her mouth and body to him. she shuts her eyes; she may hide, but she doesn't hide from this and can't; he knows. (he hopes she can't. he hopes that is what he hears in the racing of her heart against his own, in the pliancy and want of her kiss.) so he claims; that is what he knows, soothed and hungry at the fulfillment of it: his fingers wrapping tight around her soft thigh, lifting it open to his thrusts, to the weight of his body between her legs, his chest to hers. it is all he knows in the exquisite, blinding throes of pleasure that follow: the taste and breath of her kiss lulling him, tending to the heat in him, and making him moan, the brush of their skin and the shifting of the cushions beneath them, the lurid sound of his needy, demanding strokes taken inside of her, their joining as wet and heady as their kiss.
all the tumultuous, darting gazes, the touches and comfort she sought here; all that and her submission awakens something in him longing and possessive, always threatening and stirred beneath the surface. his grip on her wrist tightens to bruise before his fingers straighten and smooth, fumble and reach to thread with hers. it's fast and slow, hard and deep how he moves, savoring and groaning, driven entirely by impulse, by desire, now that he's indulged both. ]
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she did not have centuries of distrust and rejection to twist her heart, the thing that beats in her chest now is only maimed, not so thoroughly broken. she has youth and inexperience on her side, she has the benefit of an optimistic light one that she will not let the darkness snuff out. she has the hope of love renewed, the possibility of finding acceptance within someone else if not herself.
her spirit is not so broken, as fragile and new as it is.
their bodies rock together in time, in that timeless rhythm, one that is both new and familiar. one that she fears she will seek to know again once they finish here ( the thought thrills her too). her body cradles his as he thrusts into her, their mouths pressing together with wet, sloppy kisses. she feeds off the sound of their skin colliding as much as she does the friction of their bodies, the push and pull of his hips. she finds the groan he lets out as appealing as the way his fingers bruise her wrist and then thread through hers.
she moans out against his lips, the sound rumbling in her chest, her back sticking to the leather beneath her as her hand leaves his neck to drag down his back, nails biting at his skin, beckoning him to move harder. to treat her a little more roughly. because unlike her other lovers, she has no need to hold back, to pretend to be anything other than unbreakable and insatiable. he doesn't want her to be demure nor does he have some sort of need to prove his masculinity, he seeks her pleasure as much as she does.]
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she is much too timeless for that. too bright, too ravenous, too wanting of all the world has to offer, with the shrewdness to know what she desires and to take it when she sees fit. and beautiful; she is beautiful. she is stunning in all these things, and in that infatuation perhaps he is helplessly biased, and knows it.
he wants her. keenly and without shame.
he wants her knowing she carries uncertainty and fear for him, and her feelings, in her heart.
he wants her with little encouragement, with none.
and he feels it. on his skin, in the presence of her touch. he feels it in the score of her nails and at the slide of her gaze each time they meet. in her breath, against his; in her kiss. it's a visceral result of his longings, of his lust for her painted in the movement of their bodies. he knows what she wants, and he aches for it, is helpless for it. he feels it, that desperation, that violence in the pain she inflicts, and he gives it to her well. he fucks her, his hips pining and rolling, his cock mercilessly deep, his tongue parting her lips as he groans with promise and threat deep in his throat.
she isn't breakable, not by any lesser hands nor his, and he will prove it. to sate her yearnings like no one else. his shoulders are tense, steel above her, and so is his grip as it leaves her hand to claim a fistful of her hair, to tilt of her mouth up to his to take as he takes her. ]
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only in that her light has touched him in someway and perhaps, maybe it will make him better man. that is her hope. no matter how she feels about him, she hopes that she can somehow encourage a goodness in him, a light of his own to guide him from the darkness that he surrounds himself with, that he falls into all too easily after centuries of being dragged into it.
in turn, he can ruffle her feathers, feathers in need of ruffling. she cannot be the paragon of control and perfection always, she needs to slip into imperfection sometime without fear of judgement. perhaps that is what appeals or even more, perhaps that is what scares her about him. the way he withholds his judgements of her.
he gives her what she seeks now, fucking her into the plush leather sofa, the floor creaking some beneath the motion. he yanks at her hair and she gasps against his lips, melting into that kiss with a faltering moan. heat shoots through her, sets her on fire and on edge, pushing her suddenly towards that edge.]
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she tastes of all he is not, all he does not have. and she tastes of want, of the sharpness of her own hunger. she tastes of everything about her, down to the fierceness, the ruthlessness of her being, everything that he has admired, and adored. it is primal, how he presses her close, how his tongue massages hers, how his lips caress. he wants it all; he wants her mouth, her taste, her moans. he gasps having them all, knuckles white as he pushes her closer, addicted and insatiable. he wants the sliding, hot friction of their bodies moving ceaselessly, seamlessly against each other, coaxing and finding pleasure in equal measure. he wants the gasps of surprise, the savoring. he cannot stop, chasing each dizzying wave, pressing closer, harder, deeper, slower; whatever her body needs, whatever makes her flush and sound.
he has lost his breath, and it is the only reason he pulls his lips from hers. the only reason he presses them and his hot breath to her cheek. his thumb finds her lips, presses against the bottom of the plush, ravaged mouth. the words that touch her are broken, whispered, thick, promised, cut off only by the distraction of his pleasure, of hers. ] You know I want you, how good you feel; you feel so-
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every stroke of his hips, every hard press is a reminder of it. every motion earns him a sound, be it a moan, hum or gasp. each sound is his alone, greedy and giving. she takes from him more than she gives, unfairly perhaps. but he has been just as selfish.]
Good-- [ she finishes his frayed words, whispering the word against his thumb before she draws it between her lips, sucking gently, obscenely. her body arches and moves, it looks for completion in the friction of their sliding bodies. she moans her contentment, her warning that with just one more push, her pleasure will be his once more.]
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he is possessed by pleasure, by the seeking of it, the growl in his throat released as his hips stutter before he fucks her with demanding strokes, just as selfish, just as greedy, just as giving. he doesn't hear the grinding of their desperate bodies, the harsh sounds he makes; he knows nothing past the haze he is in, and her. his fingers close around her chin; he pushes his weight onto her, pins her with an overwhelming force, each surge of his body to hers to bury his cock inside of her, to make her feel every inch.
to take every bit he must, to feel her coming and clenching. to sink deeper into the fever he is in. ]
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she gasps around his finger before she sucks more wildly, teeth grazing against skin as he fucks her harder. he grips her face as he moves, uses his leverage to increase the force of his body. he wants her to feel every inch and she does. dear god, she does. he fills her to the hilt with such a pace that she cannot tell where he ends and she begins, it's cliche and so very true.
he loses control and that is the final push she needs to lose her own. she practically spits out his finger as she moans, her body locking beneath his, tensing as she moans his name, coming hard.]
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it is only when their bodies slow that he feels the coolness of his exertion drying at his brow, that he claims her pink, moaning mouth for another kiss, open and wet. he hums into her, snakes his arm under her trim waist, and cradles her to him, moves to sit with a burst of quick speed, carrying her to his lap.
his hips moves up into hers, drives himself deep in the new position, coaxing her spent body with his own. his hands rub her hips, reach to palm and squeeze her arse; his teeth bite at her bottom lip. the caresses are slow, persuasive and demanding. he doesn't want to stop, and so they are not stopping ]
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her eyes only open when she is whisked into a different position. her gaze landing squarely on his face as he grinds his hips up into hers, as she is suddenly perched in his lap. Her hands find his face as he presses back inside of her, trying to keep things going despite his body's waning efforts. She has no doubts he'll recover soon enough, he seems to have the stamina of ten men. As it is, she does not need to be persuaded, as breathless and satisfied as she is. She simply dips in to kiss him once more, after he bites at her bottom lip.]
You're insatiable.
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surely she didn't think once would be enough, and his eyes are molten with the intention, the want of more. he gazes up at her, appreciates her bare and stunning and tangled with him. and for that he is insatiable, never content. his hips still for the moment and he adores, longs, consumes: the mess of her golden hair, rich yellows and browns in the fading light, the stark, dark blue of her eyes in the shadows, the flushed and happy red in her cheeks. he enjoys touching her, his fingers contouring to her curves, moving up her back. ] You're beautiful. [ he says it as a truth, as a reason, as a hunger. ]
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the chase may be fun but the capture is proving to be more pleasurable.
the look in his eyes make it hard for her own gaze to linger upon them, it makes her shiver, the way he looks at her with such continued hunger. she smiles at him, her eyes lowering to his lips, her own expression a hungry one as her fingers curl at the back of his head. her body is still humming, pulsating from her climax, yet she cannot help but shift in his lap as a challenge, to see if she is beautiful enough to rouse him once again.]
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he cherishes her smile, the way she moves to take what he can give her, to challenge what he knows she will have. he feels a weakness in his thighs, a tremor of pleasure as his breath catches inaudibly in his throat. the light in his eyes melts; his touch caresses her waist. he is still hard, seated inside of her, lingering, lazed in his pleasure. it is only at her shifting that he feels the flicker of exertion of it, the stamina he will find around the corner. his hips lift and relax, slow and gentle, to pull her errant movements into a rhythm, one which draws his eyes to where they are joined.
to the paleness of her thighs which he touches with fingertips, the plush smoothness of her stomach he feels, the rose of her nipples he brushes in a deliberate graze.
she can rouse him; she does. in more ways than one, in more ways than she seeks. his voice is low, breathy. ] You're incredible.
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she shifts above him, pulling back now. her hand falls behind her to rest on his thigh, fingers curling a little as she grinds slowly above him, giving him full view of her body. perhaps that will distract him from saying things that make her heart skip a beat or two.
as it is, she uses her other hand to slide up her own body, touching herself as much as giving him a show.]
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his eyes lift to hers, feeling her breath, her reply, wanting to see the curve of her smile. it is sweet, sweet and mesmerizing, fluttering something in his chest. his lips part as she pulls back from him, finds her balance. he knows. lord, he knows, just how deftly she means to conquer him, and still his body shakes against hers, his cock thickening and body filling with the roaring of his pulse, watching her hand map all the skin he covets, the touches he longs to take. ones he wants to be rightfully his.
he shifts too, dizzy, his hands gripping her waist tight with a soft growl, his cock pressing deep into her to savor the torture of her movements, letting her feel the results of her show. his knees feel weak as he slowly chases her hand, detours in circles over her skin, leans forward. ] And what would you have me do more of?
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it is something her brain insists on rehashing each time she feels her heart race at his doting words, when he makes her come. which only makes the pleasure perverse in nature, the way she continually seeks him out. she struggles with it but she does not allow herself to feel regret for her decisions even if she ought to.
she conquers him, she tries. she means to change him bit by bit. perhaps that is her penance. perhaps that is how she can make it right in the end. yet he is as immovable as any mountain. volatile as any volcano. she is lost in truly trying to bring him into the light she basks in, completely. can she really give him redemption when he may not even want it?
he grips at her, worships at her alter, pressing into her even deeper as she makes her move. as she tortures him with a view of her body and grinding of her hips. his hand seeks to touch her and he asks what she wants. her eyes meet with his and she simply smirks, giving him half a shrug with a teasing indifference they both is not sincere.]
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not like that. so he tells himself; so he believes he knows, bone-deep. (what he knows, bone-deep, is he is already changed. he has always been a man who feels.) she touched him. something of her lodged in his heart, his being, his breath.
he may have been unmovable, before new orleans, before his child, but he has never been unaffected.
he is not now. he is affected by their murmurs, by the heat of her body, the intimacy and allure of her. she smiles so wickedly, tests and teases his patience so maddeningly. his lips curl in a like smile and his hand suddenly grips the underside of her chin, pulling her forward to touch the breath of his words to her lips. ] Tell me. [ it's an order, slow and uncompromising; a supplication, wanting and longing, spoken as his thumb slips down between her legs, slides over wet skin to her swollen clitoris. he rubs, attends to the sensitive nerves mercilessly, quick. ] Do you want this? Hm? My fingers? My mouth? My cock? [ he pauses, watches her. ] All of it?
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she knows him to be unmoveable but she also knows that he feels just as, if not more so, keenly as she does. she feels the desire radiate off of him as she doesn't give him an answer. at least nothing verbal. and of course, the tease will not stand untested. he pulls her back towards him, her hands moving to brace on his chest instinctively as her eyes meet with his as he makes his demands.
her lips curve downward just a little, petulant and childish, as if he should know what she wants. as if she doesn't want to tell him what she wants, when it should be so obvious to him by now. still, the expression is fleeting because a moment later his thumb is at the sensitive bundle of nerves, making her gasp and hum eagerly. her eyes flutter and struggle to stay with his as she swallows thickly.
his fingers coax pleasure to rush through her, the touch torturous given how sensitive she still feels. yet she's still hungry for it.] You know what I want, [ she hums softly, her gaze upon his still as she shifts closer to him.] You know what I came here for.
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she has boarded up the softest corners, the most precious parts, and perhaps she will never mean for him to have them. (despite his promise, despite his wish: to be her last.) that is fine, for he does not need them to want her, and she does not need them to be here, with him.
no, she simply needs the want of it, the perversity, the desire she considers obscene. there is no difference to him; what he wants is pure. and she is here, restless and needy against him, moaning and eager against his touch, seeking and abiding by it. it is what he wanted, her body to tense and uncoil, to feel her wet his cock further. he watches her fluttering lashes, feels the bubbling of excitement from her lingering pout. the slow smile of it is in his eyes, and his grip clenches around her neck, pulls her to him as he slides down into his seat, all the better to find leverage.
he fucks her, suddenly hard, quick, and keeps her in place to watch her face as she takes him, his thumb restless against her. the slap on their skin fills the room, and so does his hummed exhale. ]
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the sounds that fall from her parted lips are almost pornographic, their frequency and volume. it's a series of gasps, hums, and low moans, between excited panting breaths, her eyes fluttering as the sounds of their bodies colliding and her thundering pulse fill her ears.
ever since she turned, this is how she's preferred things. a rough fuck. tenderness is sweet and sometimes something slow is what she desires but there's an appeal to being reminded what she is now. unbreakable. and she is greedy for it. her hands grab at him, unable to hold still, roaming over his skin, just touching, pulling at his hair and shoulders. and the more he gives her what she wants without judgement, the more she feels those walls weakening.
she fights it now, one hand moving to his at her throat, fingers curling around his wrist as she presses herself into his hold and starts to move roughly above him, seeking more, rougher, faster. this needs to be just fucking, this can't be anything else.
not yet.]You can... do better than that.
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he can do better. the words stir him in just the way she seeks, burning with a flash of heat, a slide of it down his neck, his chest, alighting over the places she's touched, marked, pulsing up through his cock as she rides it, harsh and quick, so tight and soft. there is no warning, only the rough grab of her neck and her hair, the yank as he pulls her head back, and in a second's count has her thrown face down on his bed, the sheet rumpled under the force, her legs dangling over the edge.
he doesn't wait for her to adjust, only moves her enough to bury himself deep and fucks her harder, tugging her head back by her hair to keep her still, to keep her braced, and so he can lean over to murmur: ] You tell me when it's enough.
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her arms slide forward to grip the sheets beneath her, to brace herself, to keep from sliding forward as her toes curl against the floor. she gasps and moans as an answer to his demand. it's enough, this is enough, she thinks. it's more than enough. she doesn't waver in her enjoyment, she simply allows herself to get lost in the ride, in the pleasure that races through her now, coaxing heat through her veins.
her eyes close with another soft sound, as she grinds against him, rocks backward into his body's movements, trying to coax that same pleasure through him.]
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it is lurid, and beautiful: the way she bends to his hands, the way she hungers at it. he wants it, the press of her arse against his front, the movement of her hips beckoning him deeper. he growls softly, leaning to her, grinding inside of her over and over, faster and harder, the sounds he makes approving, his eyes lidded and watching the profile of her face, watching her pleasure. his hum is one of approval, his face hot, his grip weigh of head back. ]
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