[ months ago, he'd never have bet things between them would ever lead them to here, but even before she shifts forward, fingers curling at his shirt, he'd already assumed he'd somehow find her lips pressed to his. he sees it in the subtleties of a plenty obvious smile, the expression of a shared playfulness that matches in tone to the teases they'd exchanged only vocally tonight.
it's in the span of those brief seconds that he has the opportunity to turn away from it, to prioritize common sense for the sake of not falling into any laid out traps they'd arranged on their own β but he doesn't.
there isn't the freezing cold temperatures of an old showerhead above them nor the sticky encouragement of the pollen to twist and play with their minds, but there's nothing to confirm that this isn't another trick, another scheme influencing their actions. yet, when she kisses him, her breath warm with whiskey, grazing at his lips, he still only tastes her, and with everything that's built them up to here from the moment they'd met with blind eyes, that might be all the reassurance he needs.
warm fingertips curl against her neck, thick pad of a thumb pressed beneath her cheekbone, and he reacts with a soft sigh before his mouth responds in kind. he leans forward, following that simple tug that guides him to align evenly with her mouth for that gentle kiss, the caress of it hosting a slow fervor, merely basking in a sensation that's come to him once, twice, and still seems to overwhelm him yet a third time. ]
[ right up until she kisses him, the one thought she never stops having is about what a bad idea this is β and then she kisses him.
and she remembers all of it, the memory of his mouth against hers, past kisses she's tried to forget, to stifle down in her awareness so she doesn't waste her time thinking about what it feels like to do this, to have his hands trailing over her, the warmth of his skin emanating out from his touch β seriously, how he is always so warm β but it all comes flooding back to her anyway, in a rush. the way his fingers had swept soaking wet hair back from her face while she'd stood there, cold and shivering, only to tremble differently when he'd given her the heat of his lips. his arm wrapped across her middle to haul her over and atop him as they'd lain tangled together in his bed, those kisses defined by mounting passion until she'd inadvertently aggravated that still-healing wound.
they'd always encountered interruptions in those moments, something to force them to pump the brakes and rethink all of this, and a part of her is still waiting for that to happen, but it doesn't.
instead, she gets the slide of his hand, palm and lightly calloused fingers sweeping across the side of her face and she tilts into it, effectively deepening the kiss as a result; her mouth moves against his with a soft urgency, tender but not racing, because she's still not completely convinced this is real and she doesn't want to rush it if it is. ]
[ the night he'd kissed her in that shower, lips wet with cold droplets soon warmed with tenative caresses, it was easier to pass it off as a mistake. she'd shouted at him for it, caring little that she'd risk her life in the face of an unpredictable bear for that chance, and he'd apologized, knowing his fault in the gesture. and it was done.
the pollen was at fault for the exchanges in his bed, for a stream of kisses which he'd lost count of after the first several, easily memorizing her lips in the span of those minutes as if he'd already kissed her a thousand times. and if he had, she'd let him then, the curve of her body easy as she'd rolled into him, her warmth overtaking his bare skin, finding small contact with her own in places where her shirt had ridden up to expose her belly, his fingers curling for a secure hold around at her back. the first had been easier to excuse, but it was that memory, as influenced as it was, that was harder to forget, somehow still tasting her lips on his own even long after she'd left his side and he'd washed off the pollen from his skin.
talk of murphy's law has him believing the very same will happen here, but either the whiskey has done its part in easing the tenseness of his muscles thus allowing him to sink into this without resistence or he's determined to take the temporary heat of her mouth and run with it for whatever time he has it, valuing every shift and parting his own lips when she tilts into his palm.
his opposite hand seeks out her side, curving for a light grip against her shirt that encourages her to slide in closer. ]
[ she'd been able to find her excuses for the other kisses before β she'd been unexpectedly vulnerable, reeling from her own misplaced emotions about doc and kate and looking for someone to lose herself in, and the addition of a little recreational drug use had desensitized her to the concept of judgment. or the pollen, making her sneeze shortly before she'd curled herself into him in that bed, woken up to find him ready to kiss her again and again, prepared to let the moment take them even further than it had the first time.
but she doesn't have anything directing her forward now apart from the tension that's been hovering between them since that first meeting of mouths, curiosity and want coaxing her to find out now if those kisses were just a fluke, a result of influence, and this won't hold any of the same heat that makes desire unfurl low in her belly.
turns out third time might really be the charm after all.
with one knee bent beneath her she drifts forward at that tug on her shirt, the brief tightness of fabric drawing her nearer to him; she stops with one leg crooked across his thighs, just shy of actually seating herself in his lap yet definitely closer than where they started, and her hand comes up to cup the side of his face, his growing beard tickling the top of her lip when the kiss persists. she chuckles, withdraws just long enough to whisper against his mouth. ] Feels different. [ her fingers trail over the edge of his jaw, that longer facial hair surprisingly soft to the touch. ] With this.
[ he shouldn't be giving in to this as easily as he does; for a multitude of reasons, moments such as these can't be afforded with his lifestyle, the things he has to often prepare himself for. as he'd said to her tonight, he'd lost his ability to simply pause, and for all the times he's attempted it, he's been reminded that he merely isn't meant to bask in this softness, this warmth, this quiet.
though literal quiet is broken with the rise of her laugh on his lips, eyes blinking open to half shutters to peer at her, mostly catching sight of her soft grin through the light crinkles near her eyes. and he laughs too, quiet and brief in his breath but obvious in his own grin, momentarily ducking his head from the vague bashfulness of it. ]
Yeah? [ he rolls the tip of an index vertically down the well of her cheek, the skin bearing a silky smoothness contrasted to his own, peering at her with an affectionate gaze, teeth gently tugging over his own lip. ] Bad different?
[ it'd been a simple change, mostly a result of the time needed for his arm to heal, but even after he'd regain that motion in the muscle, he hadn't bothered to do anything more than a minor maintenance, shaving stray ends and letting the hair atop his head continue to grow as well into soft curls β more subtle hints of his unintentional attempts to blend in here, to settle into something more comfortable, the same way in which his arm curves around her waist when she slides in closer, letting her settle into his space, helping her secure that balance. ]
[ once her fingers alight on his jaw, she almost doesn't want to stop touching him, that impulse to caress over the unshaven portions of his face increasing the longer she maintains a contact there, nails raking lightly along his cheek, the harder angles of his features. she slides her hand back and along the nape of his neck as he ducks down, grins as he looks to her again. his finger traces the indent in her cheek, made all the more drastic when she smiles this broadly, and she shakes her head. ]
No. [ her other hand shifts to fall along his chest, fingers deliberately tucking in and under the open sides of his shirt to find the skin there, the warm firmness of muscle, briefly nudging across the chain he wears around his neck, though the ring that she already knows dangles from its lowest point is still hidden beneath the buttoned portion. ]
Not bad. [ the fingers at the back of his neck comb over the longer strands there, too, run through the thickness of it, and she wonders how much he'll let it grow before he starts thinking about a haircut.
her eyes are drawn in, again, as his teeth find purchase in his bottom lip β and she doesn't have to refrain from kissing him again so she won't, leaning in to lightly urge her mouth to his with a slow breath, a rising nudge of her body along his side, chest to his and hand slipping further beneath his shirt to roam over that smooth plane. she's seconds away from letting herself melt fully, like she did when they were in his bed, and it scares her more than she's willing to admit. ]
[ it's a soothing caress, those fluttering fingertips gliding through strands of hair, shorter ones low on his cheeks compared to the messier locks forming above his neck. it all grants that same sensation of easing him into her touch, and he finds that if she wanted to merely offer him soft caresses like this through the rest of the night, he'd have no objections to the addictive temptation of it, head tilting slight into the hand at his nape.
but her lips find him again, drawing him back out of his helpless smile to focus again on the direction of her curving mouth, the momentary pause in between doing nothing to deter that rising heat that magnetizes the kiss to continue.
and perhaps maybe the naturalness of it all is the oddest part of all, the way it doesn't actually feel odd at all. even if it's hardly the first time, it's still the first that they act on this without the guidance of excuses; frank doesn't seek an escape, doesn't even consider it when he makes that low rumbling sound against her mouth, prompted by the stealth of her palm finding that slot to stroke over his chest, her touch warm compared to the coolness of the chain that flutters there at the center. he follows with his own drifting fingers, the hand at her back, rising beneath the loose hem of her shirt, seeking the flat expanse of bare skin beneath, palm kneading vertically up a naked spine. ]
[ it might go without saying, but the longer strands under her fingertips, the growing fullness of a more defined beard on his face β it all works together to soften his harder edges, to leave her more willing to incline towards him, and maybe she'd felt that pull before when he'd been clean-shaven, shorn down nearly smooth against his scalp, but it's even stronger now that she has something more to hold onto, to lightly grip while their lips meet.
she feels the vibration in his chest when he groans, incapable of stifling that low noise even with her mouth there to cover his, and she's emboldened by it, desire spiking hot at the base of her spine when his hand trails beneath the hem of her shirt.
it's another callback to the way his touch had skimmed along her back when she'd been resting against his side, one leg thrown over the both of his, and she's halfway there now with them merely lounging back into the sofa cushions, her hands beneath his shirt and in his hair and her lips parting warmly for a kiss that offers more hunger in return. she realizes, with no shortage of surprise, that just like the previous time, she'd be content to simply linger here, exchanging lazy kisses tasting of whiskey and salt and delivering roaming caresses from palms and fingers, without having to urge it along into anything more. but the whimper she voices against him, once they're pressed together more firmly, betrays a deeper intent. ]
[ he hadn't actually considered the temptation to grow out his hair beyond those days when his arm movements were limited; she'd said something or other in the aisle of the mart about it being a "good look" and perhaps the casual comment had stayed with him long enough that by the time he could bring a razor to his chin again, he wasn't too bothered to put in the effort (not that he'll confess to her that she had any contribution to his lack of shaving).
but she proves that there is an interest to that change in style, hair longer now than it had been when their lips last met, because there previously hadn't been that light hold of fingertips making use of those strands, clutching almost in tandem with the motions of their kiss β and finding no reason to complain of it.
she might even be apart to pick up that quicker pace of his heart, where her palm lingers over his skin, covering the ink of a skull he hadn't asked for, the motif seeming to echo more than just the the mysterious deer for this town and reminding him of a dirtied vest he keeps hidden in a closet. he hasn't forgotten who he is, what he's meant for, but under the power of her lips, it's easy to forget, to imagine he can bask in this, and he'll embrace it when his mouth parts and his tongue tastes the whiskey on her lips, the pellets of salt from her favored fries, and then everything else that's merely natural about her mouth. that's the part in which he finds most addictive, especially when she whimpers and he draws him to kiss her a bit more firmly, wanting to meet the needs of those implied aches.
fingers curling at her back, massages that shift from gentle to an unintentional longing need, he presses her to his chest, losing himself more and more within the warmth they conjure on every heated press of their lips. ]
[ she probably hadn't given any thought to that comment beyond a brief observation, seeing the scruff that had already started to come in during their unplanned run-in at the mart, her with work-limpened hair and him already showing signs of that willingness to change up his routine here, to let certain habits lapse. of course, some of it had been brought on by not having access to his full range of motion, injured shoulder in the midst of healing, but now that he's fully on the mend and still keeping that look? yeah, she can't say she minds it all that much.
she is reminded of his latest wounds, though, when the touch of her fingers skims closer to that place where an emergency cauterization had seared flesh closed, sensitive to even the slightest press of bandages and she wonders how it looks now. she's curious enough to let her hand slip out from that open gap in his shirt and work open a few more buttons beneath, guiding the sides open with another roaming caress of her palm as the fabric catches on the ridges of her knuckles.
her weight is pressed more definitively against his by the time she breaks the kiss again, backpedals to slow, pursing pecks of her lips to his until she can trust herself enough to maintain more space β and then she touches him there, those twin wounds perfectly sized to the claws she'd seen emerge from between laura's knuckles, silent and seamless with only a few drops of blood left where they open up the skin. ]
Do they still hurt? [ her fingers stroke across the scars, darker than the others she's seen on his body, those times he hadn't necessarily shied away from her gaze but hadn't wanted to give her more opportunities to glimpse them β and she looks from where her hand rests on him up to his face, the shine of their kisses residing on his mouth, and she wants him all over again. ]
[ he feels the flutter of fabric against his chest as they're guided open, the slide of her hands tucking them away as they perform as a replacement of warmth across the exposed skin. but it doesn't distract him away from her mouth, not until she's the one who impose that separation. his eyes remain closed, however, right up until there's the graze of her touch over that fresh wound, and he sighs softly at the contact over that dried skin.
he finds her eyes settled on him, unable to tell if she's asking for a vocal response, or if she's peering to see if she can decipher the answer by merely watching the motion of his expression as she traces the wound.
he doesn't hiss, doesn't react beyond catching that breath. ] They all usually do. [ it's a quiet answer, implication highlighting not only those burnt claw marks but the scattered decoration of other molten skin, set there by mixes of bullets and blades, some more damaging than others. in the same way coffee had become a filler to drown away those sensations of exhaustion and tired limbs, he'd unintentionally found a replacement for physical pain in the way of deeper scars, most often in the shape of that photograph she'd once had to put back together with scotch tape. it was easy to ignore stinging aches no matter how often they came, if the nightmares were louder.
guiding his fingers to rest over hers at his shoulder, stroking gently along the peaks of her knuckles, he doesn't steer his eyes away from hers, foreheads nudging together from a slight tilt as he whispers, ] But it doesn't hurt right now.
[ what hurts more than the scars are the memories; if she actually had the ability to bear a more physical reminder of what she's sustained, maybe her skin would be as marred as his is.
but she can't scar, hasn't, not since before she became the heir, the only silver-light marks on her body reminders of an unsupervised childhood growing up on the homestead, getting into trouble. the line across her knee, where she'd ripped it open climbing on the tractor in the barn. the smaller pit at her hairline from where willa had chucked an old doll at her head. everything that hurts her now fades into nothing, and the only things she has left to show from it are her ghosts, her regrets, her list of names.
he doesn't flinch under her touch, doesn't pull away, his hand shifting to cover hers instead β and she's mindful of what any kind of pressure might do to an area that's still sensitive, fresher than the others, but her fingers do curve over the firm round of his shoulder then, as he traps them there with that slow sweeping.
and she doesn't answer him out loud β because she wouldn't know what to say even if she could β his face disappearing from her sight when her eyes flutter shut and her mouth finds his again, a certainty in that kiss now that maybe hasn't been there before, an assurance that isn't propelled forward by pollen wafting through an open window and into their senses. she kisses him as she finally shifts forward, settles herself anew on top of him with her knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his hips, until she can ease her weight down across his lap, fingers sliding into his hair to cup the back of his head. ]
[ it's an honest answer; no matter how many shifts he might try to pick up at the diner or the number of gigs he takes up in fixing home appliances, there's an emptiness that leaves room for the ache of his memories, always set to return no matter how much distance has been placed between them.
but there's been moments, smaller pockets of time, where he can set them down, not to forget, but to accept, to balance it alongside something that can give him a new weight to fill those slots, something that isn't stained with blood and gunpowder. he finds them when he's working up a makeshift recipe with laura in the kitchen, testing out just how much time between flipping the pancake batter and tossing in fruits for flavor. he finds them showing diamruid smarter angles to swing a bat to send those pitches flying further. he finds them when chloe asks him to look after the dog for a few hours, which ends up feeling more like a given favor than one for him to grant when she looks at him with soft eyes that tell him she's remembering an old friend with his face.
many times, though, he'll find them when wynonna's laugh spreads so wide she's left grinning long in the extended seconds after, when she's overly proud of a joke that's less funny in its delivery and more in her joyful reaction to it. or when she prods him hard on the ribs with a sharp elbow as they sit side by side in a movie theater while he mocks the old timey dialogue on the screen. or when she pretends to be listening when he attempts to teach her how to fix a clogged pipe so he doesn't have to come back and take it care of it so often even when they both know better.
he finds it now when she says nothing with words and instead covers his mouth with more firm kisses, and the way their lips find one another again and again so easily as they did the hours they lay in his bed make him wonder if the pollen ever really had an effect on them at all.
but he doesn't stay at her mouth, urged suddenly when she climbs upon his lap, thighs sliding together, to sink into the crook of her throat, a trail of kisses down the arch of her jawline getting him there. his breath falls heavy, hot, there on the outlines of bone at her collar, right until he's pressed more deeply against sensitive skin, seeming to find himself content in that solid new home for his lips β until his fingers curl at the hem of her shirt and guide it slow up her sides, aiming to tug it overhead. ]
[ she'd seen the change in him β gradually and over time, but still occurring, usually in spite of his attempts to counter it at every turn. and she can't take entire credit for that, she won't, isn't under any illusion that her influence is the primary source of any choice that's his to make, but even in the months they've both spent here, he's had a willingness to make his presence more prominently felt. like a job at the diner, rather than just ducking in for a quick breakfast and all those cups of coffee before leaving.
and they'd continued to bump into one another, either by choice or coincidence, those encounters doing everything to bring them to this moment here, with her chin tipped up against his mouth and his breath ghosting hot across her skin, making her thighs squeeze reflexively on either side of him, her fingers clutching harder at his scalp.
she thinks of the day she'd confronted him at his place, his eyes gently observing her from behind a bear's snout, a pair of fuzzy and rounded ears twitching at the sound of her lecturing him on why he shouldn't have kissed her at the height of chloe's party, drinks and drug zooming through her bloodstream and making her more willing to guide her mouth against his.
and she thinks about the promise they'd made each other while tangled up in his bedsheets β that maybe while they're here, they don't need to keep running, can just stop and exist here, and she wonders if this counts at all, that for however long they fall into this warm, wanting embrace it means neither of them has an out in mind. leaving is the furthest thing from her thoughts now when his kisses descend over the curve of her neck and his hands coax up the bottom of her shirt; she lifts her arms slowly, enabling him to roll it further, past her shoulders, her hair tumbling down once freed from the collar.
it's no more uncovered than how he'd seen her at the party, nearly the same amount of skin exposed, but it's different when she anticipates his mouth on her, his gaze roaming, and a more vivid color rises in her cheeks and the top of her chest as she peers to him now, suddenly nervous. ]
[ as he peels the shirt over her head, fabric tossed carelessly to the floor by the couch as his attention diverts elsewhere, he watches the fall of her hair, long locks coating her naked shoulders, smooth skin that seems to stretch even further with that removal, save for where dark straps still hold her at her center. the look that he gives her isn't one overturned by lust, even when his breaths hint at the encircling heat that spirals throughout, blood surging further below β not well concealed when she squeezes her thighs tighter against him, and any subtle roll could spell it out more clearly.
but somehow his gaze presents a softer affection, one conjured by the notice of her flushed cheeks, caught even beneath the fallen hair there, and he reaches up with both hands to tuck those strands away, palm soothing a caress where he knows the deep press of her dimples before reeling her in for a kiss.
somehow he manages to offer something more tender despite the urgency he feels to taste her even further, to guide his tongue back into her mouth; instead, it's a gentle press, almost chaste, before giving their noses a soft brushing stroke. ] Y'know, we don't have to. [ it's a soft offer, final words to give her that opportunity to reconsider where they're inevitably steering this fast moving train. that first time, he'd kissed her on his own whim, selfishly acting on his spontaneity and bearing the consequences (quite literally) when she'd scolded him afterwards. the second was under a cloud of pollen which skewed both of their certainty as to how much of those kisses had been by their own personal choice. ]
Anything you want. [ he wants to make sure that despite whatever impulses cue him forward, this time he intends to leave the choice in her hands. to take every kiss, every touch, and decide whether to run with it, or turn tail in the chance that this may leave her in regret when the faint taste of whiskey fully clears. ]
[ she'd found it all too easy to give in to her want for him before, back when the pollen had fueled her impulse to feel more of his body against hers, his skin, even if it didn't evolve beyond the simple press of mouths, the idle stroking of hands β and it had been similarly easy to convince herself, later, that all it had been building on was superficial attraction, any deeper yearning she'd felt some warped, tainted thing that was rendered meaningless in the harsh light of day.
she's predicting the return of his mouth to her, exploratory hands; she isn't planning on the slow sweep of hair back from her face, her shoulders, and the tender urging of his lips, a peck that doesn't venture deeper before his nose nudges into hers and he offers the soft assurance that this doesn't have to go any further than she wants it to. and for what feels like a small infinity, even though it probably only lasts for a few seconds, she just looks at him with a burgeoning wonder, head tilted into the slide of his palms across her jaw.
because for the longest time, she thought she'd had him pegged a certain way when they'd first met, careful words and guarded smiles, measured reactions to even her most blatant humor, to a degree where it always felt like a personal satisfaction whenever she'd provoke more than a small chuckle from him. he'd expressed his appreciation for her help in reeling him back to himself from the precipice of pure animal fury, and there'd been shades of it then, depths in his gaze, a greater softness that she wasn't prepared to handle. but she'd found her axis tilting towards him right there in his damn kitchen, the air holding something heavier and more meaningful before she'd ultimately broken free.
and sitting here now, confronted with that look again, she finally gives in, as if all it's taken is him telling her she has a choice to make her realize what she wants. no more backpedaling, no more paralyzing indecision, and she can't even undercut it with a lame joke either. her hand resumes that slow slide through his hair, soothing strokes that comfort her too, and she drifts in close enough for the tip of her nose to bump his, exhaling shakily. ]
You. [ don't ask her to explain what it's going to look like moving forward, if they're even going to have anything beyond tonight; she's not thinking that far ahead, not considering anything but the man whose arms are around her and whose mouth she returns to again, sealing her decision in that yielding kiss. ]
[ for a moment, he thinks she might actually draw herself back, as soon as the offer leaves his lips, and he remembers how undeserving he is of serenity like this, her smooth skin beneath his fingertips as she breathes softly against his mouth. but she jolts him instead, with the whisper of a single word β you β and as she closes in on him, he realizes thereβs little he wants more in the moments that follow than the soothing press of her kiss.
and itβs exactly that which he earns, tenderness as he tilts her with his palm, turning his own head for that sought out deepening. with the curl of his tongue within her mouth to meet with hers, he echoes a low rumble, his own wordless response to being wanted, even if only for however long they embrace it tonight. because for whatever reason heβd fallen into this bizarre trap, sheβd twisted him into knots from the early seconds in which heβd only heard her voice, banter exchanged with useless trivia but easing him into softening those tender cracks of his skin, a subtle effort that had its long term effects with every meeting that followed, casual conversations across the diner table that had inevitably brought them about to that first kiss as their bodies shivered wet and cold.
but everything about this is warm, heat exchanged passionately from mouth to mouth, eagerly now that any remnant of uncertainty has been vanquished for good; if sheβs sure of it, then he wonβt consider any other sense of logic that points to the flaws of this entanglement.
when he leaves her mouth again, itβs to seek out that original perch of skin heβd originally intended to taste, lips pursing softly at the center of her collar, peppering kisses that shuffle the soft hairs of his face across her chest in subtle ticklish caresses. and then his mouth parts to massage the soft flesh at the height of her breast, just above the fabric that conceals the rest of it, as his hand curves to her back, stealthily finding the clasp to undo with careful fingers. ]
[ she doesn't have time to be scared, doesn't have time to second-guess β not because of anything he's done, but because she doesn't allow it for herself, doesn't let the doubts creep in when his lips meld to hers again, firm and yet pliable. because she'd underestimated what his kiss would do to her, even if the last time had been clouded, spurred ahead into certain territory faster than they were completely prepared for. because she'd believed she would only have to settle for this in dreams that felt all too real and left her wet and aching upon waking, and now that it's become her reality, she wants it more than anything else.
the whiskey is still strong on his lips, passed between them in the tangling of tongues, the slow rhythm they find themselves in that quickens in small increments, unhurried regardless of the later hour. it's a taste she wants to get drunk on, sinking into the guidance of his hand along the side of her face, gentle and cradling, and she gives voice to a soft, breathless sound alongside the groans that pitch lower, deep in his throat.
her fingers are a temporary flurry between them, only working to thumb open the remainder of the buttons that hold his shirt closed, but she won't get as far as peeling it off his shoulders, only in parting the sides across his front before the band of elastic across her back snaps apart when the clasp gives way, the straps easing forward by gravity and a subconscious roll of her body before she flings the whole thing aside. she hasn't extricated herself from his lap yet, unable to find a good excuse to pry herself away for too long, and his mouthing over the curve of her breast, those mounds rendered softer and heavier ever since alice, stills her completely, a shiver coursing up the length of her spine to make those sensitive buds draw up taut from new exposure, from arousal, from awareness.
and she hasn't found a reason for her hand to slip out of his hair yet, using those strands for purchase now while his lips navigate all that bared territory, warm skin aching for touch, the rasp of his beard an added friction that would make her knees weak if she wasn't already straddling him. ]
[ somehow the partial effort in removing his shirt, the halves of it that merely hang at his shoulders exposing more skin, including that involuntary ink, leaves the surface of his body feeling warmer than before. credit could be given to the alcohol still lingering there in his belly, whiskey spread from his lips to his throat and beyond, but it only aids in small forms to give him the encouragement to work his fingers in discarding more of her layers, the majority of that prompted by the noises that mix with his own, words formally exchanged now for the stretch of moans within the rest of the silence.
when heβs left with nothing but the bare presentation of her breast, he parts his lips to dampen the nipple against a slippery tongue, already rendered so alert even as he encircles wet muscle around the pink skin, letting his breath further heat over the skin.
but somehow itβs the grip of her fingers that rouse him all the more, that rhythmic stroke combing through waved curls and massaging over his scalp. it draws him even further against her, so close that he wonders if itβs her heart he hears beating or his own, a persistent stamping in his own chest.
his fingertips roll across the now fully naked stretch of her spine, smoothing down vertically until they curve out to her hips, securing her weight down against him, nestled tightly within the confines of her thighs, where his own arousal spurs into a more solid form. ]
[ they reach a new precipice and she sways, caught between the slow track of his fingers rolling down the length of her spine and his mouth on her skin, lips parting for tongue to swirl against those parts of her that feel entirely primed for his attention, so much so that she gasps, clutching that much harder against where she's already found a hold in his hair, guiding him firm to her breast.
and she hasn't been able to think through the act of having to peel herself away to remove those bottom layers, cotton and lace that still hinder more of her skin from his. she can't think about much of anything when he's letting his lips lavish over those parts of her that have been hidden from everything for all this time β sight, touch, all of it.
her quietly exhaled moans are breathed across his hairline when she reflexively rocks into him, and it's his name that his efforts prompt. his name, not the one he'd given her all those months prior.
she's caught up in it enough that she isn't focused on anything else, any other sounds save the ones emanating from him, the ones she prompts, the ones he elicits, and through the layers that still remain she can perceive his own body's response, that hardness against the inside of her thigh, and the dull pulsing between her legs accelerates into something undeniable, proof of her need easily discoverable once she's further undressed. but she kisses him again (and again and again), and this time it's her moving, guiding the open sides of his shirt down and off his shoulders, baring the length of his arms for the smoothing of her palms before her mouth peels away from his to explore the broadest part of him, head ducking down for her to tease lips and tongue across that strong plane, shoulders rolling forward when she kisses along the hard ridges of his abdomen. ]
[ it does something to him to hear his own name on her lips. heβd taken on βpeteβ for as long as heβs been here, the identity known to so few that even he might be primed to forget it if he lingers in the town long enough. but somehow, heβd been urged to tell her, originally in the wake of the persuasive pollen, yet with the confidence that heβd have ended up telling her anyway.
sometimes, he wonders just how much heβll share, whether heβll go beyond the mere mention of his lost family to tell her his faults for their deaths, his mistakes from prior that had led to the endless cycle of death and destruction that came afterwards. his skull vest still sits in a box under a mess of clothes in the corner of his closet, packed away for the inevitable time heβll have to give birth to the βpunisherβ again; if he tell her those ghost stories, it wonβt be anytime soon, especially not tonight when that life doesnβt matter while heβs coated in her lips, snatching his from her breast to curl tongue and teeth together again for something hungrier, more urgent.
heβs βfrankβ tonight, and itβs with her that he gets to be himself, bare skin in more than just the slide of his shirt as itβs peeled off of his arms, that sturdy muscle wasting no time in grasping back at her sides, stroking at her hips when she rocks against him, a rasping groan at the roll that teases that trapped length.
but her lips secure across his chest with his distraction, and his head tosses back against the couch cushion, deep breaths that leave the expanse of his abdomen rolling with exhales and inhales against her mouth as she wanders, every wet caress along a scattered scale leaving him with a shiver thatβs far more pleasure than pain. ]
[ she's kept his secret, as long as he's shared it with her, unwilling to spill it to anyone even if there's a rare chance they could use it against him somehow. whatever had been manipulated over the course of that afternoon, most of their actions steered by the pollen's influence, that confession had been real and she hasn't forgotten it since, even if the circumstances surrounding its reveal hadn't been fully linked to them and their weaknesses.
but this, right now, is, and regardless of whatever else they decide to share with each other or don't, there's no taking this away, nothing they can point to as a driving force outside of their own mutual desires. she's kept her own secrets closer to the vest since that afternoon, had stopped just shy of spilling what that "accident" in her childhood had truly consisted of. and she hasn't admitted to any of her sins since then, the origins of her ghosts, the list she keeps track of in her head. maybe he'll learn those truths eventually, but for now she'll set them aside and pour herself into his hands, into his mouth instead.
it's heady, to feel his arousal teased against her; he's hard enough for her to feel him through the denim of his jeans and her sweatpants alike, tempting enough for her to coax it out further with another swirl of her hips, another firming roll.
but she's also distracted with the taste of his skin beneath her lips; momentarily emboldened, she drags her tongue along an indent between muscles, humming when that patch of him twitches beneath her and repeating the slow flicking. her hands aren't content to steady where they are, though, and she uses fingers of both to find the end of his belt, tugging it back through the buckle and open, jerking his hips up with her ready inclination to uncover more. ]
[ the streak of her tongue, tracing the lines of him, draws out an extended sigh, and she earns the unfiltered hum of a moan. the scars donβt hurt tonight, but every time her lips ghost over one, he swallows, a faint shudder showcasing the truth of those subtle sensitivities. perhaps heβll tell her the origin of each some day, one by one, but it seems almost enough to let her in this close, an entirely new brand of unguarded entry in the way her mouth moves against him.
and as she does, heβll tangle his fingers in those drapes that hang over her shoulders, encircling a tail of hair around his hand to bundle it at the back of her head as he gently holds her there, fingertips massaging the tender height of her nape.
but everything continues to intensify, and he knows sheβs aware of that low heat, crammed in his jeans; her hips move at just the right angle, as the weight of her presses down to soothe it through more of a promising tease, the gesture leaving him nipping hard at his lip, already rendered pink from the consistency of succulent kisses.
working to unbuckle his belt, she leads the process of undressing him, and itβs in following her lead that he lifts his hips, bucking them up for that insistent drag of his jeans, chucking them down across his thighs between the entrapment of hers, a slightly awkward angle that catches a brief chuckle from him before heβs refocused, too distracted by the hardly subtle erection thatβs striving for attention. ]
[ it's a sound she's only heard in fits and starts before, that louder, unchecked moan from deep in his throat that makes her reflexively press her hips that much more firmly into his, a mere echo of what she really wants to get to but still surprisingly satisfied by even the delightful friction that ensues, fabric rubbing between her thighs with the movement and making her whimper right after him.
and she hasn't been able to ignore those little touches, small strokes of his fingers over her β like the kneading against the back of her neck as he holds her hair away from her face, something tender in it apart from the unconscious act of wanting to see more of her. the truth of it is that she wants him to watch her too, watch her tongue stripe temporary, shining lines on his skin, watch her lips purse around a fainter scar. the small thrill makes her shoulders roll with another shiver long before she starts working his belt open.
and here's where she'll have to pry herself away, not simply to give him the necessary room to shuck off his jeans but to remove more of those hindering barriers from herself; she braces her hand against the cushions and then rises up to stand over him, something soft in her gaze too even while she hooks thumbs beneath the waistband of her sweats and urges them down past hips and thighs, stepping out of the puddle that forms around her ankles.
heat rises in her face as she watches him, half-dressed, hair mussed and lips swollen from their kissing, and the temptation to pinch herself is there β because she's got to be dreaming this, she has to, this is always where it stops, right around here. she'll wake up in her bed alone with an empty ache and fall back into dreamless sleep, and she'll have to see him all over this town and pretend like he doesn't mean more to her than he does. but she's waiting for a moment that isn't going to happen and she can't remain separated this long without leaning down to tease her lips over his as he divests himself of yet another layer. ]
[ the only moments he finds where he can take his eyes off of her is when they shutter close during brief intervals between lapping streaks, the consistent swipe of her tongue leaving him rendered almost helpless even as he tries to hold his gaze, to watch her mouth part to kiss those darker parts of him, scarred skin holding reminders of a world entirely separate from the one they create here β quiet company save for those wordless whispers under the soft glow of a lamp.
but he never steers his gaze when she rises to step in front of him to strip away the sweats from her legs, even as he drags his jeans down over his calves after kicking off his boots, soon following with the slow removal of his boxer briefs, a final layer that leaves him fully bare in her eyes, naked skin settled there on her sofa.
her kiss is the only distraction, thumb and index tucking beneath her chin to offer a returning press of his lips with plenty of intent, tender passion even in these smaller stolen moments in between. because every one of it matters, not knowing what this'll be by the time the sun rises, or even if tomorrow is the day they finally find a way out of this cursed town. whatever he's said about his rush in wanting to leave, he feels none of that now, insistent on taking all the time they need to familiarize with their tastes, their touches.
even when he ducks his head away from his mouth to lean in low against her belly, the press of peppered kisses circling that swirling button and tracing the line of her pelvic bone, it's with a careful and steady pace, breathing soft against her skin as his indexes hook into the side straps of her underwear, fingertips offering a soft ghosting caresses to her thighs as he guides the fabric down to the floor. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action;
it's in the span of those brief seconds that he has the opportunity to turn away from it, to prioritize common sense for the sake of not falling into any laid out traps they'd arranged on their own β but he doesn't.
there isn't the freezing cold temperatures of an old showerhead above them nor the sticky encouragement of the pollen to twist and play with their minds, but there's nothing to confirm that this isn't another trick, another scheme influencing their actions. yet, when she kisses him, her breath warm with whiskey, grazing at his lips, he still only tastes her, and with everything that's built them up to here from the moment they'd met with blind eyes, that might be all the reassurance he needs.
warm fingertips curl against her neck, thick pad of a thumb pressed beneath her cheekbone, and he reacts with a soft sigh before his mouth responds in kind. he leans forward, following that simple tug that guides him to align evenly with her mouth for that gentle kiss, the caress of it hosting a slow fervor, merely basking in a sensation that's come to him once, twice, and still seems to overwhelm him yet a third time. ]
action;
and she remembers all of it, the memory of his mouth against hers, past kisses she's tried to forget, to stifle down in her awareness so she doesn't waste her time thinking about what it feels like to do this, to have his hands trailing over her, the warmth of his skin emanating out from his touch β seriously, how he is always so warm β but it all comes flooding back to her anyway, in a rush. the way his fingers had swept soaking wet hair back from her face while she'd stood there, cold and shivering, only to tremble differently when he'd given her the heat of his lips. his arm wrapped across her middle to haul her over and atop him as they'd lain tangled together in his bed, those kisses defined by mounting passion until she'd inadvertently aggravated that still-healing wound.
they'd always encountered interruptions in those moments, something to force them to pump the brakes and rethink all of this, and a part of her is still waiting for that to happen, but it doesn't.
instead, she gets the slide of his hand, palm and lightly calloused fingers sweeping across the side of her face and she tilts into it, effectively deepening the kiss as a result; her mouth moves against his with a soft urgency, tender but not racing, because she's still not completely convinced this is real and she doesn't want to rush it if it is. ]
action;
the pollen was at fault for the exchanges in his bed, for a stream of kisses which he'd lost count of after the first several, easily memorizing her lips in the span of those minutes as if he'd already kissed her a thousand times. and if he had, she'd let him then, the curve of her body easy as she'd rolled into him, her warmth overtaking his bare skin, finding small contact with her own in places where her shirt had ridden up to expose her belly, his fingers curling for a secure hold around at her back. the first had been easier to excuse, but it was that memory, as influenced as it was, that was harder to forget, somehow still tasting her lips on his own even long after she'd left his side and he'd washed off the pollen from his skin.
talk of murphy's law has him believing the very same will happen here, but either the whiskey has done its part in easing the tenseness of his muscles thus allowing him to sink into this without resistence or he's determined to take the temporary heat of her mouth and run with it for whatever time he has it, valuing every shift and parting his own lips when she tilts into his palm.
his opposite hand seeks out her side, curving for a light grip against her shirt that encourages her to slide in closer. ]
action;
but she doesn't have anything directing her forward now apart from the tension that's been hovering between them since that first meeting of mouths, curiosity and want coaxing her to find out now if those kisses were just a fluke, a result of influence, and this won't hold any of the same heat that makes desire unfurl low in her belly.
turns out third time might really be the charm after all.
with one knee bent beneath her she drifts forward at that tug on her shirt, the brief tightness of fabric drawing her nearer to him; she stops with one leg crooked across his thighs, just shy of actually seating herself in his lap yet definitely closer than where they started, and her hand comes up to cup the side of his face, his growing beard tickling the top of her lip when the kiss persists. she chuckles, withdraws just long enough to whisper against his mouth. ] Feels different. [ her fingers trail over the edge of his jaw, that longer facial hair surprisingly soft to the touch. ] With this.
action;
though literal quiet is broken with the rise of her laugh on his lips, eyes blinking open to half shutters to peer at her, mostly catching sight of her soft grin through the light crinkles near her eyes. and he laughs too, quiet and brief in his breath but obvious in his own grin, momentarily ducking his head from the vague bashfulness of it. ]
Yeah? [ he rolls the tip of an index vertically down the well of her cheek, the skin bearing a silky smoothness contrasted to his own, peering at her with an affectionate gaze, teeth gently tugging over his own lip. ] Bad different?
[ it'd been a simple change, mostly a result of the time needed for his arm to heal, but even after he'd regain that motion in the muscle, he hadn't bothered to do anything more than a minor maintenance, shaving stray ends and letting the hair atop his head continue to grow as well into soft curls β more subtle hints of his unintentional attempts to blend in here, to settle into something more comfortable, the same way in which his arm curves around her waist when she slides in closer, letting her settle into his space, helping her secure that balance. ]
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No. [ her other hand shifts to fall along his chest, fingers deliberately tucking in and under the open sides of his shirt to find the skin there, the warm firmness of muscle, briefly nudging across the chain he wears around his neck, though the ring that she already knows dangles from its lowest point is still hidden beneath the buttoned portion. ]
Not bad. [ the fingers at the back of his neck comb over the longer strands there, too, run through the thickness of it, and she wonders how much he'll let it grow before he starts thinking about a haircut.
her eyes are drawn in, again, as his teeth find purchase in his bottom lip β and she doesn't have to refrain from kissing him again so she won't, leaning in to lightly urge her mouth to his with a slow breath, a rising nudge of her body along his side, chest to his and hand slipping further beneath his shirt to roam over that smooth plane. she's seconds away from letting herself melt fully, like she did when they were in his bed, and it scares her more than she's willing to admit. ]
action;
but her lips find him again, drawing him back out of his helpless smile to focus again on the direction of her curving mouth, the momentary pause in between doing nothing to deter that rising heat that magnetizes the kiss to continue.
and perhaps maybe the naturalness of it all is the oddest part of all, the way it doesn't actually feel odd at all. even if it's hardly the first time, it's still the first that they act on this without the guidance of excuses; frank doesn't seek an escape, doesn't even consider it when he makes that low rumbling sound against her mouth, prompted by the stealth of her palm finding that slot to stroke over his chest, her touch warm compared to the coolness of the chain that flutters there at the center. he follows with his own drifting fingers, the hand at her back, rising beneath the loose hem of her shirt, seeking the flat expanse of bare skin beneath, palm kneading vertically up a naked spine. ]
action;
she feels the vibration in his chest when he groans, incapable of stifling that low noise even with her mouth there to cover his, and she's emboldened by it, desire spiking hot at the base of her spine when his hand trails beneath the hem of her shirt.
it's another callback to the way his touch had skimmed along her back when she'd been resting against his side, one leg thrown over the both of his, and she's halfway there now with them merely lounging back into the sofa cushions, her hands beneath his shirt and in his hair and her lips parting warmly for a kiss that offers more hunger in return. she realizes, with no shortage of surprise, that just like the previous time, she'd be content to simply linger here, exchanging lazy kisses tasting of whiskey and salt and delivering roaming caresses from palms and fingers, without having to urge it along into anything more. but the whimper she voices against him, once they're pressed together more firmly, betrays a deeper intent. ]
action;
but she proves that there is an interest to that change in style, hair longer now than it had been when their lips last met, because there previously hadn't been that light hold of fingertips making use of those strands, clutching almost in tandem with the motions of their kiss β and finding no reason to complain of it.
she might even be apart to pick up that quicker pace of his heart, where her palm lingers over his skin, covering the ink of a skull he hadn't asked for, the motif seeming to echo more than just the the mysterious deer for this town and reminding him of a dirtied vest he keeps hidden in a closet. he hasn't forgotten who he is, what he's meant for, but under the power of her lips, it's easy to forget, to imagine he can bask in this, and he'll embrace it when his mouth parts and his tongue tastes the whiskey on her lips, the pellets of salt from her favored fries, and then everything else that's merely natural about her mouth. that's the part in which he finds most addictive, especially when she whimpers and he draws him to kiss her a bit more firmly, wanting to meet the needs of those implied aches.
fingers curling at her back, massages that shift from gentle to an unintentional longing need, he presses her to his chest, losing himself more and more within the warmth they conjure on every heated press of their lips. ]
action;
she is reminded of his latest wounds, though, when the touch of her fingers skims closer to that place where an emergency cauterization had seared flesh closed, sensitive to even the slightest press of bandages and she wonders how it looks now. she's curious enough to let her hand slip out from that open gap in his shirt and work open a few more buttons beneath, guiding the sides open with another roaming caress of her palm as the fabric catches on the ridges of her knuckles.
her weight is pressed more definitively against his by the time she breaks the kiss again, backpedals to slow, pursing pecks of her lips to his until she can trust herself enough to maintain more space β and then she touches him there, those twin wounds perfectly sized to the claws she'd seen emerge from between laura's knuckles, silent and seamless with only a few drops of blood left where they open up the skin. ]
Do they still hurt? [ her fingers stroke across the scars, darker than the others she's seen on his body, those times he hadn't necessarily shied away from her gaze but hadn't wanted to give her more opportunities to glimpse them β and she looks from where her hand rests on him up to his face, the shine of their kisses residing on his mouth, and she wants him all over again. ]
action;
he finds her eyes settled on him, unable to tell if she's asking for a vocal response, or if she's peering to see if she can decipher the answer by merely watching the motion of his expression as she traces the wound.
he doesn't hiss, doesn't react beyond catching that breath. ] They all usually do. [ it's a quiet answer, implication highlighting not only those burnt claw marks but the scattered decoration of other molten skin, set there by mixes of bullets and blades, some more damaging than others. in the same way coffee had become a filler to drown away those sensations of exhaustion and tired limbs, he'd unintentionally found a replacement for physical pain in the way of deeper scars, most often in the shape of that photograph she'd once had to put back together with scotch tape. it was easy to ignore stinging aches no matter how often they came, if the nightmares were louder.
guiding his fingers to rest over hers at his shoulder, stroking gently along the peaks of her knuckles, he doesn't steer his eyes away from hers, foreheads nudging together from a slight tilt as he whispers, ] But it doesn't hurt right now.
action;
but she can't scar, hasn't, not since before she became the heir, the only silver-light marks on her body reminders of an unsupervised childhood growing up on the homestead, getting into trouble. the line across her knee, where she'd ripped it open climbing on the tractor in the barn. the smaller pit at her hairline from where willa had chucked an old doll at her head. everything that hurts her now fades into nothing, and the only things she has left to show from it are her ghosts, her regrets, her list of names.
he doesn't flinch under her touch, doesn't pull away, his hand shifting to cover hers instead β and she's mindful of what any kind of pressure might do to an area that's still sensitive, fresher than the others, but her fingers do curve over the firm round of his shoulder then, as he traps them there with that slow sweeping.
and she doesn't answer him out loud β because she wouldn't know what to say even if she could β his face disappearing from her sight when her eyes flutter shut and her mouth finds his again, a certainty in that kiss now that maybe hasn't been there before, an assurance that isn't propelled forward by pollen wafting through an open window and into their senses. she kisses him as she finally shifts forward, settles herself anew on top of him with her knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his hips, until she can ease her weight down across his lap, fingers sliding into his hair to cup the back of his head. ]
action;
but there's been moments, smaller pockets of time, where he can set them down, not to forget, but to accept, to balance it alongside something that can give him a new weight to fill those slots, something that isn't stained with blood and gunpowder. he finds them when he's working up a makeshift recipe with laura in the kitchen, testing out just how much time between flipping the pancake batter and tossing in fruits for flavor. he finds them showing diamruid smarter angles to swing a bat to send those pitches flying further. he finds them when chloe asks him to look after the dog for a few hours, which ends up feeling more like a given favor than one for him to grant when she looks at him with soft eyes that tell him she's remembering an old friend with his face.
many times, though, he'll find them when wynonna's laugh spreads so wide she's left grinning long in the extended seconds after, when she's overly proud of a joke that's less funny in its delivery and more in her joyful reaction to it. or when she prods him hard on the ribs with a sharp elbow as they sit side by side in a movie theater while he mocks the old timey dialogue on the screen. or when she pretends to be listening when he attempts to teach her how to fix a clogged pipe so he doesn't have to come back and take it care of it so often even when they both know better.
he finds it now when she says nothing with words and instead covers his mouth with more firm kisses, and the way their lips find one another again and again so easily as they did the hours they lay in his bed make him wonder if the pollen ever really had an effect on them at all.
but he doesn't stay at her mouth, urged suddenly when she climbs upon his lap, thighs sliding together, to sink into the crook of her throat, a trail of kisses down the arch of her jawline getting him there. his breath falls heavy, hot, there on the outlines of bone at her collar, right until he's pressed more deeply against sensitive skin, seeming to find himself content in that solid new home for his lips β until his fingers curl at the hem of her shirt and guide it slow up her sides, aiming to tug it overhead. ]
action;
and they'd continued to bump into one another, either by choice or coincidence, those encounters doing everything to bring them to this moment here, with her chin tipped up against his mouth and his breath ghosting hot across her skin, making her thighs squeeze reflexively on either side of him, her fingers clutching harder at his scalp.
she thinks of the day she'd confronted him at his place, his eyes gently observing her from behind a bear's snout, a pair of fuzzy and rounded ears twitching at the sound of her lecturing him on why he shouldn't have kissed her at the height of chloe's party, drinks and drug zooming through her bloodstream and making her more willing to guide her mouth against his.
and she thinks about the promise they'd made each other while tangled up in his bedsheets β that maybe while they're here, they don't need to keep running, can just stop and exist here, and she wonders if this counts at all, that for however long they fall into this warm, wanting embrace it means neither of them has an out in mind. leaving is the furthest thing from her thoughts now when his kisses descend over the curve of her neck and his hands coax up the bottom of her shirt; she lifts her arms slowly, enabling him to roll it further, past her shoulders, her hair tumbling down once freed from the collar.
it's no more uncovered than how he'd seen her at the party, nearly the same amount of skin exposed, but it's different when she anticipates his mouth on her, his gaze roaming, and a more vivid color rises in her cheeks and the top of her chest as she peers to him now, suddenly nervous. ]
action; subtle nsfw probs
but somehow his gaze presents a softer affection, one conjured by the notice of her flushed cheeks, caught even beneath the fallen hair there, and he reaches up with both hands to tuck those strands away, palm soothing a caress where he knows the deep press of her dimples before reeling her in for a kiss.
somehow he manages to offer something more tender despite the urgency he feels to taste her even further, to guide his tongue back into her mouth; instead, it's a gentle press, almost chaste, before giving their noses a soft brushing stroke. ] Y'know, we don't have to. [ it's a soft offer, final words to give her that opportunity to reconsider where they're inevitably steering this fast moving train. that first time, he'd kissed her on his own whim, selfishly acting on his spontaneity and bearing the consequences (quite literally) when she'd scolded him afterwards. the second was under a cloud of pollen which skewed both of their certainty as to how much of those kisses had been by their own personal choice. ]
Anything you want. [ he wants to make sure that despite whatever impulses cue him forward, this time he intends to leave the choice in her hands. to take every kiss, every touch, and decide whether to run with it, or turn tail in the chance that this may leave her in regret when the faint taste of whiskey fully clears. ]
action; spot the nsfw
she's predicting the return of his mouth to her, exploratory hands; she isn't planning on the slow sweep of hair back from her face, her shoulders, and the tender urging of his lips, a peck that doesn't venture deeper before his nose nudges into hers and he offers the soft assurance that this doesn't have to go any further than she wants it to. and for what feels like a small infinity, even though it probably only lasts for a few seconds, she just looks at him with a burgeoning wonder, head tilted into the slide of his palms across her jaw.
because for the longest time, she thought she'd had him pegged a certain way when they'd first met, careful words and guarded smiles, measured reactions to even her most blatant humor, to a degree where it always felt like a personal satisfaction whenever she'd provoke more than a small chuckle from him. he'd expressed his appreciation for her help in reeling him back to himself from the precipice of pure animal fury, and there'd been shades of it then, depths in his gaze, a greater softness that she wasn't prepared to handle. but she'd found her axis tilting towards him right there in his damn kitchen, the air holding something heavier and more meaningful before she'd ultimately broken free.
and sitting here now, confronted with that look again, she finally gives in, as if all it's taken is him telling her she has a choice to make her realize what she wants. no more backpedaling, no more paralyzing indecision, and she can't even undercut it with a lame joke either. her hand resumes that slow slide through his hair, soothing strokes that comfort her too, and she drifts in close enough for the tip of her nose to bump his, exhaling shakily. ]
You. [ don't ask her to explain what it's going to look like moving forward, if they're even going to have anything beyond tonight; she's not thinking that far ahead, not considering anything but the man whose arms are around her and whose mouth she returns to again, sealing her decision in that yielding kiss. ]
action; definitely nsfw now
and itβs exactly that which he earns, tenderness as he tilts her with his palm, turning his own head for that sought out deepening. with the curl of his tongue within her mouth to meet with hers, he echoes a low rumble, his own wordless response to being wanted, even if only for however long they embrace it tonight. because for whatever reason heβd fallen into this bizarre trap, sheβd twisted him into knots from the early seconds in which heβd only heard her voice, banter exchanged with useless trivia but easing him into softening those tender cracks of his skin, a subtle effort that had its long term effects with every meeting that followed, casual conversations across the diner table that had inevitably brought them about to that first kiss as their bodies shivered wet and cold.
but everything about this is warm, heat exchanged passionately from mouth to mouth, eagerly now that any remnant of uncertainty has been vanquished for good; if sheβs sure of it, then he wonβt consider any other sense of logic that points to the flaws of this entanglement.
when he leaves her mouth again, itβs to seek out that original perch of skin heβd originally intended to taste, lips pursing softly at the center of her collar, peppering kisses that shuffle the soft hairs of his face across her chest in subtle ticklish caresses. and then his mouth parts to massage the soft flesh at the height of her breast, just above the fabric that conceals the rest of it, as his hand curves to her back, stealthily finding the clasp to undo with careful fingers. ]
action; bow chicka bow nsf-wow
the whiskey is still strong on his lips, passed between them in the tangling of tongues, the slow rhythm they find themselves in that quickens in small increments, unhurried regardless of the later hour. it's a taste she wants to get drunk on, sinking into the guidance of his hand along the side of her face, gentle and cradling, and she gives voice to a soft, breathless sound alongside the groans that pitch lower, deep in his throat.
her fingers are a temporary flurry between them, only working to thumb open the remainder of the buttons that hold his shirt closed, but she won't get as far as peeling it off his shoulders, only in parting the sides across his front before the band of elastic across her back snaps apart when the clasp gives way, the straps easing forward by gravity and a subconscious roll of her body before she flings the whole thing aside. she hasn't extricated herself from his lap yet, unable to find a good excuse to pry herself away for too long, and his mouthing over the curve of her breast, those mounds rendered softer and heavier ever since alice, stills her completely, a shiver coursing up the length of her spine to make those sensitive buds draw up taut from new exposure, from arousal, from awareness.
and she hasn't found a reason for her hand to slip out of his hair yet, using those strands for purchase now while his lips navigate all that bared territory, warm skin aching for touch, the rasp of his beard an added friction that would make her knees weak if she wasn't already straddling him. ]
action; nsfw
when heβs left with nothing but the bare presentation of her breast, he parts his lips to dampen the nipple against a slippery tongue, already rendered so alert even as he encircles wet muscle around the pink skin, letting his breath further heat over the skin.
but somehow itβs the grip of her fingers that rouse him all the more, that rhythmic stroke combing through waved curls and massaging over his scalp. it draws him even further against her, so close that he wonders if itβs her heart he hears beating or his own, a persistent stamping in his own chest.
his fingertips roll across the now fully naked stretch of her spine, smoothing down vertically until they curve out to her hips, securing her weight down against him, nestled tightly within the confines of her thighs, where his own arousal spurs into a more solid form. ]
action; basically just nsfw from this moment on
and she hasn't been able to think through the act of having to peel herself away to remove those bottom layers, cotton and lace that still hinder more of her skin from his. she can't think about much of anything when he's letting his lips lavish over those parts of her that have been hidden from everything for all this time β sight, touch, all of it.
her quietly exhaled moans are breathed across his hairline when she reflexively rocks into him, and it's his name that his efforts prompt. his name, not the one he'd given her all those months prior.
she's caught up in it enough that she isn't focused on anything else, any other sounds save the ones emanating from him, the ones she prompts, the ones he elicits, and through the layers that still remain she can perceive his own body's response, that hardness against the inside of her thigh, and the dull pulsing between her legs accelerates into something undeniable, proof of her need easily discoverable once she's further undressed. but she kisses him again (and again and again), and this time it's her moving, guiding the open sides of his shirt down and off his shoulders, baring the length of his arms for the smoothing of her palms before her mouth peels away from his to explore the broadest part of him, head ducking down for her to tease lips and tongue across that strong plane, shoulders rolling forward when she kisses along the hard ridges of his abdomen. ]
action; ππ
sometimes, he wonders just how much heβll share, whether heβll go beyond the mere mention of his lost family to tell her his faults for their deaths, his mistakes from prior that had led to the endless cycle of death and destruction that came afterwards. his skull vest still sits in a box under a mess of clothes in the corner of his closet, packed away for the inevitable time heβll have to give birth to the βpunisherβ again; if he tell her those ghost stories, it wonβt be anytime soon, especially not tonight when that life doesnβt matter while heβs coated in her lips, snatching his from her breast to curl tongue and teeth together again for something hungrier, more urgent.
heβs βfrankβ tonight, and itβs with her that he gets to be himself, bare skin in more than just the slide of his shirt as itβs peeled off of his arms, that sturdy muscle wasting no time in grasping back at her sides, stroking at her hips when she rocks against him, a rasping groan at the roll that teases that trapped length.
but her lips secure across his chest with his distraction, and his head tosses back against the couch cushion, deep breaths that leave the expanse of his abdomen rolling with exhales and inhales against her mouth as she wanders, every wet caress along a scattered scale leaving him with a shiver thatβs far more pleasure than pain. ]
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but this, right now, is, and regardless of whatever else they decide to share with each other or don't, there's no taking this away, nothing they can point to as a driving force outside of their own mutual desires. she's kept her own secrets closer to the vest since that afternoon, had stopped just shy of spilling what that "accident" in her childhood had truly consisted of. and she hasn't admitted to any of her sins since then, the origins of her ghosts, the list she keeps track of in her head. maybe he'll learn those truths eventually, but for now she'll set them aside and pour herself into his hands, into his mouth instead.
it's heady, to feel his arousal teased against her; he's hard enough for her to feel him through the denim of his jeans and her sweatpants alike, tempting enough for her to coax it out further with another swirl of her hips, another firming roll.
but she's also distracted with the taste of his skin beneath her lips; momentarily emboldened, she drags her tongue along an indent between muscles, humming when that patch of him twitches beneath her and repeating the slow flicking. her hands aren't content to steady where they are, though, and she uses fingers of both to find the end of his belt, tugging it back through the buckle and open, jerking his hips up with her ready inclination to uncover more. ]
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and as she does, heβll tangle his fingers in those drapes that hang over her shoulders, encircling a tail of hair around his hand to bundle it at the back of her head as he gently holds her there, fingertips massaging the tender height of her nape.
but everything continues to intensify, and he knows sheβs aware of that low heat, crammed in his jeans; her hips move at just the right angle, as the weight of her presses down to soothe it through more of a promising tease, the gesture leaving him nipping hard at his lip, already rendered pink from the consistency of succulent kisses.
working to unbuckle his belt, she leads the process of undressing him, and itβs in following her lead that he lifts his hips, bucking them up for that insistent drag of his jeans, chucking them down across his thighs between the entrapment of hers, a slightly awkward angle that catches a brief chuckle from him before heβs refocused, too distracted by the hardly subtle erection thatβs striving for attention. ]
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and she hasn't been able to ignore those little touches, small strokes of his fingers over her β like the kneading against the back of her neck as he holds her hair away from her face, something tender in it apart from the unconscious act of wanting to see more of her. the truth of it is that she wants him to watch her too, watch her tongue stripe temporary, shining lines on his skin, watch her lips purse around a fainter scar. the small thrill makes her shoulders roll with another shiver long before she starts working his belt open.
and here's where she'll have to pry herself away, not simply to give him the necessary room to shuck off his jeans but to remove more of those hindering barriers from herself; she braces her hand against the cushions and then rises up to stand over him, something soft in her gaze too even while she hooks thumbs beneath the waistband of her sweats and urges them down past hips and thighs, stepping out of the puddle that forms around her ankles.
heat rises in her face as she watches him, half-dressed, hair mussed and lips swollen from their kissing, and the temptation to pinch herself is there β because she's got to be dreaming this, she has to, this is always where it stops, right around here. she'll wake up in her bed alone with an empty ache and fall back into dreamless sleep, and she'll have to see him all over this town and pretend like he doesn't mean more to her than he does. but she's waiting for a moment that isn't going to happen and she can't remain separated this long without leaning down to tease her lips over his as he divests himself of yet another layer. ]
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but he never steers his gaze when she rises to step in front of him to strip away the sweats from her legs, even as he drags his jeans down over his calves after kicking off his boots, soon following with the slow removal of his boxer briefs, a final layer that leaves him fully bare in her eyes, naked skin settled there on her sofa.
her kiss is the only distraction, thumb and index tucking beneath her chin to offer a returning press of his lips with plenty of intent, tender passion even in these smaller stolen moments in between. because every one of it matters, not knowing what this'll be by the time the sun rises, or even if tomorrow is the day they finally find a way out of this cursed town. whatever he's said about his rush in wanting to leave, he feels none of that now, insistent on taking all the time they need to familiarize with their tastes, their touches.
even when he ducks his head away from his mouth to lean in low against her belly, the press of peppered kisses circling that swirling button and tracing the line of her pelvic bone, it's with a careful and steady pace, breathing soft against her skin as his indexes hook into the side straps of her underwear, fingertips offering a soft ghosting caresses to her thighs as he guides the fabric down to the floor. ]
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