[ there's very few who've gotten to peel back the layers, even counting those not currently within these city's walls. spending as much time as he has with her has given her more opportunities to peek beneath them, every encounter, every conversation, leaving him more and more willing to let her see. ]
Hard to burn it while you're keeping it wet.
[ it begins to shift away from that initial playfulness, leaning further into the weight of his promises, where he wouldn't mind waking up to the tight press of her thighs on his cheeks sooner than later. ]
[ at least it's a two-way street in exposing their susceptibilities; she wouldn't feel nearly as comfortable being this honest if he hadn't guaranteed some form of reciprocation over these last two months. but she's continually impressed at their ability to easily straddle the line between teasing and openness, the former even more likely to lead into the latter as day runs into night. ]
Dripping, actually.
[ in case there was any doubt about his ability to rile her up, too. she's not even mad about it, especially when she knows she's equally capable of turning the tables, but if she senses the start of a faint pulsing between her thighs, she doesn't move to satisfy it. ]
Don't say another word. [ that lightness lingers again in his voice, but it isn't all playful; the low whisper of her voice through the receiver, practically biting into the core of a subtle yearning, a simmering want at his center. ]
Keep talking like that and I'm just gonna want to see you tonight.
[ he doesn't think of the words before they're out, doesn't even have the energy to regret them once they are, gentle honestly camping on his tongue while the barriers are down.
if there are any secrets left, it's how the sexual implications aren't the only persuasion for wanting her there. ]
[ itβs low β not a warning, not a threat, but something still serious that rolls over her even through the small speakers of her device, and she canβt say she minds she sternness of it too, even though he can hardly expect her to follow any order he issues unless she feels like it.
right now? she really freaking feels like it. ]
You say that like itβs not an option.
[ should she be worried about how quickly she offers herself up, not just for the physical intimacy but for the potential of simple closeness? how much he satisfies just by being near her, even if they arenβt tangled up in a pair of bedsheets? maybe, but her thoughts are too fuzzy to lend themselves to deeper considerations. ]
[ it shouldn't be, he almost says but doesn't. he hasn't ignored just how much time he's dedicated in his days to her, how occasional visits for an hour or two in the night to the bar had extended to walks trailing to her apartment, lingering there for lasting hours until they've had enough of one another (uncommon); if there isn't the physical, there's exchanged messages sprouting teasing jokes that coat their longing for what they should already have enough or these late phone calls, comforted by the mere whisper of one another's voice.
it shouldn't be an option at all β ]
You want to? [ he asks because he can't conjure up the energy to make a more rational decision, fueled more by selfish desires in his tired state. ]
[ she should have more self-control than this. she shouldnβt be this reliant on someone, especially not someone here. she should be listening to that small part of her that warns her away from giving in to impulse just because her walls are down and sheβs missing the warmth of him beside her, the rumble of his voice from low in his chest. she should, shouldnβt, should. and yet.
sheβs never been good at that whole everything in moderation deal. this isnβt any different. maybe sheβll learn the repercussions of becoming too attached when they rear their ugly heads but this second, right now, she wants. ]
Yeah. [ she clears her throat softly, speaks up a little louder. ] Yes.
[ he can't quite explain that twist in his chest when she offers that affirmative answer, how it springs on relief, as if he'd been digging for the excuse, the cue from her end to make him rise onto his feet to seek her out.
they should be plenty satisfied; for all that they see each other, for all the time they spend talking, it should be more than enough.
it isn't. ]
I'll be there. [ he mutters, with a greater conciseness in his words as if he'd been properly jolted awake by her yes. there's slight shuffling from his side, indicating his movement as he rises from his comfort and goes to put on his boots. ] Keep talking. Keep β tell me a story. [ he doesn't elaborate on the why of it, whether it's something to distract her, to keep herself awake, or if it's his own want, to keep her voice at his ears. ]
[ she isn't anticipating being left to twist in the wind, but enough of a pause happens between her agreeing and his promise that she starts to wonder if she's been too direct in communicating her longing, and the quiet relief that floods her emotions in the wake of his words prompts her to relax further against the pillows β although she does prop herself up more so she won't run the risk of drifting off while he's on his way. ]
Mmm, okay. [ she's thinking out loud, making a few wordless sounds while her device picks up on the noises from his end, obvious movement prompting another smile. ] Did I ever tell you about what I was doing right before I ended up here? Who came rolling into town out of nowhere for us to deal with?
[ or why she'd been decked out in her party best before they'd given her that paper gown instead. that dress is still hanging in the back of her closet, dirty and ripped and completely unsalvageable after her unexpected mountain trek, but she's not going to tell him that part of the story. what came before that is the more entertaining part. ]
[ By this hour, Rosie's out for the night, used to sometimes spending the night on her own if Frank is away, so she only stirs slightly, despite a little lift of her ears to indicate she's sensed him leaving. Besides, he's already convinced Bill to leave his door open a crack if he doesn't have any company over, in case the young pup is in need for some warmth.
Dragging on his jacket, he leaves to begin the trail along a newer pathway, his route slightly different now that he's moved to a different apartment, but he knows the direction well all the same, his feet instinctively moving through the streets. ]
No, you haven't. [ There's been very few stories they've shared of their life outside of this city, aside from her casual description of her family's curse, along with some subtle mentions of friends on either of their ends; the shared memories from the cocoa were a whole different package altogether. ] By "deal with", I'm assuming you had some asses to kick.
Mucho asses. Although they were a little stronger than your average bear. [ a beat, and then she clarifies: ] They weren't bears, either. What they were... were vampires. A group of '80s Eurotrash, all crowded into one tour bus with a super classy stripper pole, rolled up in a cloud of sexy pink fog to try and take over Purgatory.
[ and so she launches into the story, about otto and petra and all the other bloodsuckers who had shown up with designs on watching everything go to shit after bulshar's rising β only they hadn't counted on the heir, or the fact that she'd have friends, and while it makes her chest ache a little to talk about everyone, about waves and haught and doc and dolls and jer-bear, or (god forbid) even nedley, it's one of her more recent memories that far surpasses another in terms of how willing she is to relive it. ]
And then I woke up in a coffin, in a dress. Not really the look I would've chosen for myself, and still kinda begs the disturbing question of who assisted with the wardrobe change, but like the number of licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, the world may never know. Oh, and did I mention there were fingerless gloves?
[ she pauses, then, to try and figure out how far along he is, how much farther he has to go until he's standing on the other side of her front door. ]
Shit, Earp, vampires? [ It wouldn't be the first he's heard about the strange occurrences of her home world; his own has its own inventory of supernatural bologna β aliens invading New York and the like, mostly things he's never had to deal with face to face on account of being overseas at the time most things ventured into the bizarre. But Wynonna's stories hold the sort of presence he can believe, because if there's anything he's learned about her (and really, there's plenty that he has), it's that she has a knack for attracting the odd.
He listens to the tale closely, occasional laughs sprouting whenever she slips in a joke or detail that's far too ridiculous for him to take seriously, his own feet carrying him across the Down and through the elevator that lifts him up onto her side. From there, it's just a quick train ride to the corner of her apartments, which is where he finds himself by the time she's talking coffins. ]
Fingerless gloves? On your dainty little fingers? Say it isn't so. [ She can notably trace the sarcastic hitch in his tone there, but she might also be bound to catch the faint ring of the elevator bell of her building as he shuffles inside, hitting the familiar 40 on the buttons. ]
[ wynonna's graduated to sitting up in the middle of recounting this story, the device carefully propped on one knee β because it's easier for her to gesticulate while she's explaining, occasionally adding small sound effects for emphasis. she's not the best earp when it comes to spinning a story (that would be waverly), but she can be pretty entertaining when she tries. hell, she once had a whole room of revenants hanging on her every word at willows, but that could've also been because she'd gotten up on the stage to shake her money-maker first.
the familiar sound of the elevator has her slowly untangling her legs out from underneath herself, sliding to the edge of the bed and then off. she hasn't bothered to change out of what she's wearing or add any other layers because she's not planning on going anywhere, bare feet padding down the hallway towards the living room. ]
Mesh fingerless gloves. [ comes the dramatic response, following by a brief clucking of her tongue. ] And someone had the nerve to crimp my goddamn hair. I ask you, why mess with perfection?
[ if she's timed it right, she'll be rounding the corner to the front door while he's in the hallway, her free hand idly tousling the waves in question with her fingers. any momentary self-consciousness about greeting him in the oversized, slouchy sweatshirt that barely skims the top of her uncovered thighs will disappear the second she opens the door, switching her device off and tucking it under one arm to greet him with a warm smile. ] You want to hear the rest of it?
With that reaction, I'm assuming this is the part where the ass kicking ensues? [ He leans his back against the elevator's wall, hand tucked in his pocket as he waits the same routine set of seconds for it to lift him through the building to her floor. When he steps out, he's prepared for the short walk in the hall that takes him to her door; seeing her already waiting there makes him briefly pause in his stride, gaze instantly falling upon the entirety of her appearance.
He turns away briefly, because while he's not exactly the bashful type, there is a slight fluster all the same at the bare exposure of her long legs, at the way her sweatshirt hangs loosely over her body, leaving him with the internal debate of whether it leans more towards adorable or sexy.
All the same, when he's glancing back at her, he was the upward curve of a smirk, resuming his last remaining venture to her apartment to lean his arm against the frame when he gets there, his own body tucked close to hers as he peers down at her with affection in his eyes. ] Depends. Permission to come in?
Oh, I have to tell you the part where I jumped through a window. [ because every vamp fight needs a badass entrance, obviously, but maybe she'll leave him on that cliffhanger with a promise to follow-up on part two at a later opportunity. she gets the feeling that she might have to save the rest for later, now that he's currently striding down the hallway towards her.
she hadn't counted on flustering him, but it sort of works as unanticipated payback for that one innuendo he'd made earlier, so she'll take it. it's nothing more or less than she usually wears when she's here alone, late, but it does feel like peeling back another part of the onion, letting him in on something that few get the chance to see personally.
he inclines himself towards her and she moves in kind, swaying forward until she's notched her hip against the side of the doorframe, her empty hand curving fingers into the front of his jacket. ] Granted.
[ He's plenty interested in the remaining details of her story, an open ear always offered to learn the twists and complications of the things her world offers in comparison to his own (exclusive to her, really, since he wouldn't normally encourage much storytelling from anyone else if he can help it). But it's the look of her peering at him with those sly eyes, the drift of her fingertips on his jacket, that remind me why he'd traveled all the way here in the first place.
His hand rests upon hers, guiding her palm to rest flat between the open flap of his jacket and against his shirt, nestled right at his heart. The remaining fingers seek out a sweatshirt-covered hip, carefully curving around for a gentle hold as he begins to shuffle inside at a lethargic pace, guiding her with him.
Leaning in, he runs the tip of a dented nose across the soft flesh of her cheek, a nuzzle left in its wake until he bumps into the bridge of hers, the contact forcing a soft smile. ] Hi.
[ She can't let him in without revealing that one tiny detail, because she can also count on one hand the number of windows she's actually managed to jump through rather than being thrown through (different story) and she's never one to shy away from telling the kind of bedtime story that puts herself in the best and most kickass light.
But if she'd harbored any lingering doubts about whether they'd maintain the energy of their conversation in person, they're sufficiently squashed when he steers her hand beneath the open sides of his jacket to the solid warmth within, her smile broadening while they take tiny, scuffing steps in tandem across the threshold and inside. ]
Hi. [ Her response is instantly gentler, face already tipping upward to meet the brush of his nose, the slightly ticklish result prompting a brief scrunching of hers. Fingertips press more firmly over the place where his heart pulses strong beneath while she lets the shape of her mouth drift definitively to his, a light press that soon dissolves into a more heated kiss as she curves her body even closer, fitting herself to him. ]
[ He nudges the door shut behind them with a swift adjustment of his foot and some pressure of his elbow, not inclined to separate himself from the position he's already grown fond of in the seconds they've regained some physical contact. The audible strategy could only benefited them for so long; as soon as her lips graze his, he's already sinking into her kiss, letting his heightened craving from their conversations be known.
Fingers drift up against her chin, tilting it to angle further against his mouth, firm but languid in its kiss before a thumb drifts in between, cutting them apart for that brief opportunity to run across the smooth horizontal line of her lip.
He sighs then, breath heavy with something lingering on contentment, the journey that had brought him all the way from his renovated rundown apartment in the Down through the trials required to reach the Up now decisively worth it if it meant even just the fraction of this kiss. Not that he stops there, encouraging the wide parting of her lips with his thumb to bring his back against them, this time with a tongue that rolls past, deepening it further. ]
[ It helps that he's still thinking about things like doors and not inadvertently giving her one neighbor a show β although, knowing Diana, she probably wouldn't voice any complaints about it β because the second her mouth finds his Wynonna damn near melts, nothing even remotely subtle about her finding places to slot against him, those spots where they seem to be able to fit together without even needing to think too hard about it.
Her eyes start to flutter open when his thumb slips between to trace the swell of her lip, the caress still carrying a small chill in from the outside, and her breath hitches ever so slightly; he's close enough to be able to pick up on that subtle indication that he's already got her reeled in, almost painfully conscious of everything he's doing.
It hits her then, as his mouth returns to hers; he kisses her like she's worth it, like every touch of her lips, every time he tastes her, is something that deserves coming back to over and over again β and she can count on one hand the number of people who have ever kissed her that way, too. She exhales the softest of sighs into the slide of his tongue against hers and slips her hand out of his jacket to wrap her arms around his neck instead, drawing herself up and in, the hem of the sweatshirt creeping ever higher with the movement and provoking a small, reflexive shiver. ]
[ The glide of her hands swerving around his neck drag him in closer and it encourages the further slide of his mouth, a soft low hum from his throat that audibly channels the stirring hunger of their kiss. Lingering fingertips stroke against her cheek, a gentle caress before they depart, finding refuge where her sweatshirt begins to lift, exposing the warm bare skin at the small of her back.
His palm spreads, kneading at the base of her spine before fingernails curl inward with a light scrape horizontally across the smooth skin, aiming for the opposite hip. There, he clutches, a steady hold that takes advantage of her support at his neck because he primarily relies on the strength of a bicep to lift her, free hand slipping beneath a knee.
He doesn't cease his kisses even as he transports her across the apartment to her bedroom, the familiar line towards it recognizable enough for him to achieve without the full focus of his attention. There's something to be said of that, how he knows the workings of this space with his eyes closed, that he knows the distances between her furniture from every breathtaking kiss they've stolen against them. But he doesn't think of it now, and he doesn't think of it at all, and it's only when his knees knock against the mattress that he'll lower her at its edge, freeing his hands then only to drag his jacket off of his shoulders while boots get kicked from his feet. ]
[ She jerks, once, lightly, as his hand comes into contact with her bare skin, still not completely warmed given this city's unforgiving temperatures, a tiny gasp slipping out only to be swallowed up by his mouth, the slick tangle of tongues. But she's leaning into him rather than away as he eases a hand under her knee and hoists her up, her body sensing the trajectory before it happens, the muscles in her thighs tensing just enough to give her a boost of momentum to where she can assume a perch in his arms.
It's quiet, save the footfall of heavy boots, the occasional whimper his kisses elicit from her, hair slipping forward to gently brush the curve of his jaw before she tucks it back behind her ear, not wanting to hinder his movements in any way β but he has no problem navigating, setting her down in the bedroom so she can plant her bare feet into plush carpet and assign her hands to the task of removing some of his layers.
Her fingers assume a grip in the hem of his shirt, rolling it up gradually; she's careful, mindful of any bruises that are taking their sweet time with healing, but any revealed to still be persisting find themselves the newest target of her lips and the slow, soft kisses she presses to them while her hands settle on his waist, holding him steady under their deliberate application, as if that's all that's required for them to finally fade. ]
[ The jacket rolls from his shoulders and Wynonna's hands are already carrying on to the next piece of fabric, the careful slide of his shirt crumbling up his abdomen for him to aid with lifted arms. His sigh comes when her lips make up for the loss coverage upon his chest, peppering them soft in gentle grazes against the sensitive marks still lingering in shades of yellow and purple.
It sparks a shiver, the slide of her mouth, drifting where there's still a tinge of pain, where the bruising has yet to fully heal. Only there's no resistance, no draw back from the touches when they're the opposite of unbearable.
His fingers curl through the messy locks of her hair, tucking it all back in a bunch to a single shoulder to leave a section of her neck exposed where the stealthy brush of a thumb can linger. It runs vertically where the skin stretches tight, drawing back and forth in rhythm with his shallow breaths, the vivid pulses of his heart undisguised if her mouth happens to stall there, lurching behind a dark mark from where a bullet had almost pierced through that very skin. ]
[ The push of her lips is light enough not to fully awaken any residual pain in those nerve endings, those places on his skin that are more sensitive to even the gentlest amount of pressure, though she can't help but notice the shudder that courses across the surface of him with the contact, drops in a still pond rippling outward, and a smile briefly tenses the pursing of her mouth. It's heady, the knowledge that she affects him as intensely as he does her.
She navigates elsewhere, to less tender expanses, her hands lightly cupping along his sides while her mouth forges its own trail across his chest; on pure impulse, she teases her lips across a nipple and then circles it with the tip of her tongue, gaze shifting upward to track the expression that results.
She'd map the whole of him solely with her mouth if he let her, leave no part of his body untouched by her hands, her kisses; she'd trace the ridges in his abdomen with her tongue, gently sink her teeth into those deep pelvic lines, nip at his inner thighs while he fists a grip in her hair and breathes her name, tease him just enough so that when she finally wrapped her lips around his cock he'd groan from the sheer relief of it, of the wet heat of her mouth soothing that swollen, desperate length. ]
[ He licks at his lips, a swift thing before he's nipping over it with restless teeth, a bite that muffles the soft rise of his moan. There's little to tell what earns more of the credit for that sound, be it the tease of a circular lick, mischievous tongue rotating his nipple, or the catch of her gaze, that heat in her eyes that offer him so much more.
And he'd accept it, every brush of her mouth on him, the way she maneuvers it to her advantage, knowing the tricks that evoke the urgent sounds from his throat. But he remains unsettled, his own hunger growling in his core, and he gives her hair a tug, drawing her back to angle her lips upwards for him to snatch with his own.
The kiss remains messy, almost uncoordinated as his tongue rolls against hers, scolding it in turn for its teases. Breath heavy, he murmurs while barely parting from her, ] I want my mouth on you. [ He swallows, nose nudging nose, before he adds, ] I want mine on you. Yours on me. [ A compromise. ]
[ She won't mask her delight in hearing whatever she prompts from him, whether it's inarticulate or little more than a soft exhalation, even the sound of her own name β she'll absorb it all, learning what she has to do to provoke one noise over another, though she doesn't get the chance to remain where she is for very long before he's snagging fingers in her hair, the resulting tug making her scalp prickle before his mouth skews over hers.
It's exactly the right kind of messy, sloppy, a gossamer-wet thread connecting her lower lip to his until it breaks with the first utterance of his desire, of what he wants from her. She can't help but think back to the words he'd sent her not too long ago, about wanting to eat her out until she's trembling from it, and fuck, she knows sheβll be slick when he tastes her there, already open and ripe and ready for it now, that scrap of lace between her thighs mere moments away from being soaked straight through. ]
Please. God. [ She remembers the want she'd expressed too, about what she'd do once she gets her mouth on him, and unconsciously licks her lips, arching back just far enough to strip off her sweatshirt. ] Get your pants off.
[ His lips twitch into a smirk at the affirmation, praising it with another swift kiss before she's already drawing back to strip away remaining layers, the heavy fabric of her sweatshirt easily lifted in her haste, the familiar shape of her curves only briefly admired before he guides his attention to undoing his jeans.
When the denim slides down his legs, the remaining piece soon follows, ridding himself of his boxer briefs while he's ridding himself of what's left, exposing the weight of his cock at half mass, the pooling arousal of it still actively building with every kiss, every promise of more.
He climbs upon the bed, knees shifting across the mattress until he's behind her, leaning forward for his lips to drape again her neck, still aiming for that continuous physical connection even if it's only fleeting each time. Because he doesn't cease movement, reaching for her hand and tugging to lead her further onto the bed as he shuffles backwards himself, lust and affection swirling in his eyes. ] C'mere, you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Hard to burn it while you're keeping it wet.
[ it begins to shift away from that initial playfulness, leaning further into the weight of his promises, where he wouldn't mind waking up to the tight press of her thighs on his cheeks sooner than later. ]
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Dripping, actually.
[ in case there was any doubt about his ability to rile her up, too. she's not even mad about it, especially when she knows she's equally capable of turning the tables, but if she senses the start of a faint pulsing between her thighs, she doesn't move to satisfy it. ]
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Keep talking like that and I'm just gonna want to see you tonight.
[ he doesn't think of the words before they're out, doesn't even have the energy to regret them once they are, gentle honestly camping on his tongue while the barriers are down.
if there are any secrets left, it's how the sexual implications aren't the only persuasion for wanting her there. ]
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right now? she really freaking feels like it. ]
You say that like itβs not an option.
[ should she be worried about how quickly she offers herself up, not just for the physical intimacy but for the potential of simple closeness? how much he satisfies just by being near her, even if they arenβt tangled up in a pair of bedsheets? maybe, but her thoughts are too fuzzy to lend themselves to deeper considerations. ]
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it shouldn't be an option at all β ]
You want to? [ he asks because he can't conjure up the energy to make a more rational decision, fueled more by selfish desires in his tired state. ]
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sheβs never been good at that whole everything in moderation deal. this isnβt any different. maybe sheβll learn the repercussions of becoming too attached when they rear their ugly heads but this second, right now, she wants. ]
Yeah. [ she clears her throat softly, speaks up a little louder. ] Yes.
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they should be plenty satisfied; for all that they see each other, for all the time they spend talking, it should be more than enough.
it isn't. ]
I'll be there. [ he mutters, with a greater conciseness in his words as if he'd been properly jolted awake by her yes. there's slight shuffling from his side, indicating his movement as he rises from his comfort and goes to put on his boots. ] Keep talking. Keep β tell me a story. [ he doesn't elaborate on the why of it, whether it's something to distract her, to keep herself awake, or if it's his own want, to keep her voice at his ears. ]
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Mmm, okay. [ she's thinking out loud, making a few wordless sounds while her device picks up on the noises from his end, obvious movement prompting another smile. ] Did I ever tell you about what I was doing right before I ended up here? Who came rolling into town out of nowhere for us to deal with?
[ or why she'd been decked out in her party best before they'd given her that paper gown instead. that dress is still hanging in the back of her closet, dirty and ripped and completely unsalvageable after her unexpected mountain trek, but she's not going to tell him that part of the story. what came before that is the more entertaining part. ]
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Dragging on his jacket, he leaves to begin the trail along a newer pathway, his route slightly different now that he's moved to a different apartment, but he knows the direction well all the same, his feet instinctively moving through the streets. ]
No, you haven't. [ There's been very few stories they've shared of their life outside of this city, aside from her casual description of her family's curse, along with some subtle mentions of friends on either of their ends; the shared memories from the cocoa were a whole different package altogether. ] By "deal with", I'm assuming you had some asses to kick.
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[ and so she launches into the story, about otto and petra and all the other bloodsuckers who had shown up with designs on watching everything go to shit after bulshar's rising β only they hadn't counted on the heir, or the fact that she'd have friends, and while it makes her chest ache a little to talk about everyone, about waves and haught and doc and dolls and jer-bear, or (god forbid) even nedley, it's one of her more recent memories that far surpasses another in terms of how willing she is to relive it. ]
And then I woke up in a coffin, in a dress. Not really the look I would've chosen for myself, and still kinda begs the disturbing question of who assisted with the wardrobe change, but like the number of licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, the world may never know. Oh, and did I mention there were fingerless gloves?
[ she pauses, then, to try and figure out how far along he is, how much farther he has to go until he's standing on the other side of her front door. ]
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He listens to the tale closely, occasional laughs sprouting whenever she slips in a joke or detail that's far too ridiculous for him to take seriously, his own feet carrying him across the Down and through the elevator that lifts him up onto her side. From there, it's just a quick train ride to the corner of her apartments, which is where he finds himself by the time she's talking coffins. ]
Fingerless gloves? On your dainty little fingers? Say it isn't so. [ She can notably trace the sarcastic hitch in his tone there, but she might also be bound to catch the faint ring of the elevator bell of her building as he shuffles inside, hitting the familiar 40 on the buttons. ]
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the familiar sound of the elevator has her slowly untangling her legs out from underneath herself, sliding to the edge of the bed and then off. she hasn't bothered to change out of what she's wearing or add any other layers because she's not planning on going anywhere, bare feet padding down the hallway towards the living room. ]
Mesh fingerless gloves. [ comes the dramatic response, following by a brief clucking of her tongue. ] And someone had the nerve to crimp my goddamn hair. I ask you, why mess with perfection?
[ if she's timed it right, she'll be rounding the corner to the front door while he's in the hallway, her free hand idly tousling the waves in question with her fingers. any momentary self-consciousness about greeting him in the oversized, slouchy sweatshirt that barely skims the top of her uncovered thighs will disappear the second she opens the door, switching her device off and tucking it under one arm to greet him with a warm smile. ] You want to hear the rest of it?
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He turns away briefly, because while he's not exactly the bashful type, there is a slight fluster all the same at the bare exposure of her long legs, at the way her sweatshirt hangs loosely over her body, leaving him with the internal debate of whether it leans more towards adorable or sexy.
All the same, when he's glancing back at her, he was the upward curve of a smirk, resuming his last remaining venture to her apartment to lean his arm against the frame when he gets there, his own body tucked close to hers as he peers down at her with affection in his eyes. ] Depends. Permission to come in?
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she hadn't counted on flustering him, but it sort of works as unanticipated payback for that one innuendo he'd made earlier, so she'll take it. it's nothing more or less than she usually wears when she's here alone, late, but it does feel like peeling back another part of the onion, letting him in on something that few get the chance to see personally.
he inclines himself towards her and she moves in kind, swaying forward until she's notched her hip against the side of the doorframe, her empty hand curving fingers into the front of his jacket. ] Granted.
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His hand rests upon hers, guiding her palm to rest flat between the open flap of his jacket and against his shirt, nestled right at his heart. The remaining fingers seek out a sweatshirt-covered hip, carefully curving around for a gentle hold as he begins to shuffle inside at a lethargic pace, guiding her with him.
Leaning in, he runs the tip of a dented nose across the soft flesh of her cheek, a nuzzle left in its wake until he bumps into the bridge of hers, the contact forcing a soft smile. ] Hi.
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But if she'd harbored any lingering doubts about whether they'd maintain the energy of their conversation in person, they're sufficiently squashed when he steers her hand beneath the open sides of his jacket to the solid warmth within, her smile broadening while they take tiny, scuffing steps in tandem across the threshold and inside. ]
Hi. [ Her response is instantly gentler, face already tipping upward to meet the brush of his nose, the slightly ticklish result prompting a brief scrunching of hers. Fingertips press more firmly over the place where his heart pulses strong beneath while she lets the shape of her mouth drift definitively to his, a light press that soon dissolves into a more heated kiss as she curves her body even closer, fitting herself to him. ]
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Fingers drift up against her chin, tilting it to angle further against his mouth, firm but languid in its kiss before a thumb drifts in between, cutting them apart for that brief opportunity to run across the smooth horizontal line of her lip.
He sighs then, breath heavy with something lingering on contentment, the journey that had brought him all the way from his renovated rundown apartment in the Down through the trials required to reach the Up now decisively worth it if it meant even just the fraction of this kiss. Not that he stops there, encouraging the wide parting of her lips with his thumb to bring his back against them, this time with a tongue that rolls past, deepening it further. ]
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Her eyes start to flutter open when his thumb slips between to trace the swell of her lip, the caress still carrying a small chill in from the outside, and her breath hitches ever so slightly; he's close enough to be able to pick up on that subtle indication that he's already got her reeled in, almost painfully conscious of everything he's doing.
It hits her then, as his mouth returns to hers; he kisses her like she's worth it, like every touch of her lips, every time he tastes her, is something that deserves coming back to over and over again β and she can count on one hand the number of people who have ever kissed her that way, too. She exhales the softest of sighs into the slide of his tongue against hers and slips her hand out of his jacket to wrap her arms around his neck instead, drawing herself up and in, the hem of the sweatshirt creeping ever higher with the movement and provoking a small, reflexive shiver. ]
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His palm spreads, kneading at the base of her spine before fingernails curl inward with a light scrape horizontally across the smooth skin, aiming for the opposite hip. There, he clutches, a steady hold that takes advantage of her support at his neck because he primarily relies on the strength of a bicep to lift her, free hand slipping beneath a knee.
He doesn't cease his kisses even as he transports her across the apartment to her bedroom, the familiar line towards it recognizable enough for him to achieve without the full focus of his attention. There's something to be said of that, how he knows the workings of this space with his eyes closed, that he knows the distances between her furniture from every breathtaking kiss they've stolen against them. But he doesn't think of it now, and he doesn't think of it at all, and it's only when his knees knock against the mattress that he'll lower her at its edge, freeing his hands then only to drag his jacket off of his shoulders while boots get kicked from his feet. ]
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It's quiet, save the footfall of heavy boots, the occasional whimper his kisses elicit from her, hair slipping forward to gently brush the curve of his jaw before she tucks it back behind her ear, not wanting to hinder his movements in any way β but he has no problem navigating, setting her down in the bedroom so she can plant her bare feet into plush carpet and assign her hands to the task of removing some of his layers.
Her fingers assume a grip in the hem of his shirt, rolling it up gradually; she's careful, mindful of any bruises that are taking their sweet time with healing, but any revealed to still be persisting find themselves the newest target of her lips and the slow, soft kisses she presses to them while her hands settle on his waist, holding him steady under their deliberate application, as if that's all that's required for them to finally fade. ]
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It sparks a shiver, the slide of her mouth, drifting where there's still a tinge of pain, where the bruising has yet to fully heal. Only there's no resistance, no draw back from the touches when they're the opposite of unbearable.
His fingers curl through the messy locks of her hair, tucking it all back in a bunch to a single shoulder to leave a section of her neck exposed where the stealthy brush of a thumb can linger. It runs vertically where the skin stretches tight, drawing back and forth in rhythm with his shallow breaths, the vivid pulses of his heart undisguised if her mouth happens to stall there, lurching behind a dark mark from where a bullet had almost pierced through that very skin. ]
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She navigates elsewhere, to less tender expanses, her hands lightly cupping along his sides while her mouth forges its own trail across his chest; on pure impulse, she teases her lips across a nipple and then circles it with the tip of her tongue, gaze shifting upward to track the expression that results.
She'd map the whole of him solely with her mouth if he let her, leave no part of his body untouched by her hands, her kisses; she'd trace the ridges in his abdomen with her tongue, gently sink her teeth into those deep pelvic lines, nip at his inner thighs while he fists a grip in her hair and breathes her name, tease him just enough so that when she finally wrapped her lips around his cock he'd groan from the sheer relief of it, of the wet heat of her mouth soothing that swollen, desperate length. ]
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And he'd accept it, every brush of her mouth on him, the way she maneuvers it to her advantage, knowing the tricks that evoke the urgent sounds from his throat. But he remains unsettled, his own hunger growling in his core, and he gives her hair a tug, drawing her back to angle her lips upwards for him to snatch with his own.
The kiss remains messy, almost uncoordinated as his tongue rolls against hers, scolding it in turn for its teases. Breath heavy, he murmurs while barely parting from her, ] I want my mouth on you. [ He swallows, nose nudging nose, before he adds, ] I want mine on you. Yours on me. [ A compromise. ]
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It's exactly the right kind of messy, sloppy, a gossamer-wet thread connecting her lower lip to his until it breaks with the first utterance of his desire, of what he wants from her. She can't help but think back to the words he'd sent her not too long ago, about wanting to eat her out until she's trembling from it, and fuck, she knows sheβll be slick when he tastes her there, already open and ripe and ready for it now, that scrap of lace between her thighs mere moments away from being soaked straight through. ]
Please. God. [ She remembers the want she'd expressed too, about what she'd do once she gets her mouth on him, and unconsciously licks her lips, arching back just far enough to strip off her sweatshirt. ] Get your pants off.
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When the denim slides down his legs, the remaining piece soon follows, ridding himself of his boxer briefs while he's ridding himself of what's left, exposing the weight of his cock at half mass, the pooling arousal of it still actively building with every kiss, every promise of more.
He climbs upon the bed, knees shifting across the mattress until he's behind her, leaning forward for his lips to drape again her neck, still aiming for that continuous physical connection even if it's only fleeting each time. Because he doesn't cease movement, reaching for her hand and tugging to lead her further onto the bed as he shuffles backwards himself, lust and affection swirling in his eyes. ] C'mere, you.
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