bakerstreet | Smut and Pics

[Link images. Haven't seen CW, but idc about spoilers. Crosscanon and castmates welcome. No minors (21+)]

[OOC: He has a thing for redheads, you see.]

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[Bars were great things with multiple purposes. They could be used to get lost in when you needed to slip a tail. They always had something to drink. And if one was in the mood, one could go in and find someone fun to play with. Tonight, she'd gone in with a short skirt and the intention of finding someone to play with; someone that could keep up with her and do more than just bounce on a bed for a bit. She wanted stamina and strength, and her eye caught someone with dark hair and blue eyes who seemed just about right.

Now, to get his attention. She watched him for just a little while longer, leaning over to the bartender and whispering something in his ear. A few minutes later a drink was set in front of her target, the bartender relaying her words.]

A long, hard screw against the wall. Compliments of the lady.

[Paired with a nod of his head to where Natasha watched the dark haired man with an arched brow.]

[Bars were also excellent places to gather information on other people who frequented them, if a person was willing to be patient and knew how to nurse just one or two drinks all night while filtering out the noise. At least, they could be on some nights. For Dick, this was not one of those nights, and after three hours he'd gotten nothing.

He'd been just about to pay his check when the drink arrived. Dick smirked, but sighed inside. It was the fourth drink sent his way that night. He had a polite declination ready to go until he saw the woman who'd sent it.

Whoa. What was it with him and redheads?

He got up, taking the drink and slid onto the stool beside her.]

Thank you. I notice it's a pretty specific drink.

Consider it a suggestion.

[She was sipping her own vodka martini, setting the glass down afterward and giving him an open smile.]

Or an invitation. I suppose that depends on your mood.

And if my mood is extremely interested in hearing more?

[It's stupid. It's so, so stupid for him to be doing this, but Dick's got at least a reasonably good feeling that the gorgeous redhead hitting on him isn't a psychopath. And he's mostly right when he gets that feeling.]

Then I might have to offer to have this conversation in a more private location. It's not for the faint of heart, after all.

[She moves to cross her leg over her knee, brushing her foot against his thigh as she does.]

[The small touch is somehow enough to give Dick a little shiver, but at this point he's not too surprised. The woman radiates a sexual energy and being him, he's picking up on it hard.]

I hope I'm up to it. [He stands and throws a few bills on the bar counter.] I'm Dick.

[She can't help the way her lips twitch up into a smile at that. She's been hanging around Barton and Stark too often.]

A Dick who's up for it? You practically walked right into that one.

Wow, no one's ever made a joke about my name like that before.

[He smirks as he says it. Sometime around 14 it stopped being annoying and now he doesn't go by "Richard" or anything else on principle.]

Still haven't gotten that name.

Natalia.

[It was the name she always gave when she went out. Made it harder for the random clingy ones to try to track her down afterwards.

She slipped out of her stool, standing in front of him and looking up from under her lashes.]

Shall we go see just how up for it you are?

Nice to meet you.

[There's a voice in Dick's head. That voice is screaming no no no no NO NO NO.]

Absolutely.

There's a decent hotel not far from here, unless you've got somewhere else in mind?

[Hotels kept it ambiguous. There was no need for one person to lay territorial claim over it. They would both be leaving whenever they felt. Made it clear from the start that it was a casual instance.]

Sounds perfect.

[Because all he's got is a hotel room of his own, under his real name. And maybe she's not the type to go checking into that, but maybe she is.]

Do you have a ride? Because otherwise it's my bike.

What a stroke of luck. I happen to like bikes.

[With a last grin, she turns to head for the exit, expecting him to follow not far behind.]

[Dick does just that, following close until they get outside, when he takes the lead and brings her to his motorcycle, handing her the helmet. He swings a leg over the bike and settles in.] Ready when you are.

[She gives it a dubious look, moving in to throw a leg over the bike behind him, her dress hitching up high on her thighs as she does. She holds the helmet in one hand, her other sliding around his side until she can get a grip on him.]

Let's blaze.

[There really is no substitute for the feel of a girl's arm around you when riding, Dick thinks to himself, gunning the engine to life. The bike peels out into the street, and he skillfully slides into traffic.]

[Her grip is firm, but not like she was clutching at him in fear of falling off. Nat was pretty comfortable on a bike, and he might notice that if he took any turns; her body moved the way it should for an experienced rider.]

[Oh, he notices. Given who raised and trained him, Dick tries very hard to notice everything. Not only is the woman more than comfortable riding a motorcycle, she anticipates his more dangerous maneuvers as though she rode under the same... stressful... conditions he sometimes did. Interesting.

The trip to the hotel takes just minutes.]

[When they pull up, she takes a moment to just enjoy the feel of the rumbling motor between her legs and his body against her chest before she relaxes her grip and moves to get off. She tosses him the helmet with a wink.]

I'll go check us in.

[Dick nods, sets the helmet on the back of the bike and slips the valet a few large bills to keep his motorcycle right near the door. When he walks into the lobby, he stands and waits for her to finish up at the front desk, bouncing just a little on the balls of his feet. Dick's not nervous, he's just lousy at standing still.]

[They're signed in quickly enough under Nat's alias, the keycard being slid over to her with a discreet nod from the clerk. She takes it and gestures towards the elevators.]

Tenth floor. Need anything from room service?

[He punches the up button and leans against the wall between the elevator doors. Dick shakes his head.]

Not that I can think of. Unless you're thinking we need water. Or Gatorade.

I'm sure the mini fridge has that. So, anything I should know beforehand? Safe words? Preferences...?

[Dick pauses. Casual hookups are one thing, but this woman is interviewing him for something really interesting.]

Exactly what am I getting myself into here...?

[She held a hand up, both defensively and to show she wasn't a threat.]

Hey, I'm just making sure all the rules are on the table. Hard nos are a good thing to figure out first.

Okay, okay.

[Dick starts ticking things off on his fingers.]

No bodily fluids other than the usual. No blades or any permanent marking. No bathroom stuff. And I'm not really subby if that's what you're hoping for.

( cw-compliant, canon and cross-canon welcome. some prefs in journal )

[OOC: Interested?]

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( they fall into bed after the mission; there have been too many close calls, wanda's powers stopping a bullet just inches off clint's shoulder, clint shooting a soldier about to sneak up on wanda or calling out warnings to her. it is what they do as avengers, and it is a burden wanda will gladly bear if it means that she can atone for the mistakes she has made in sokovia.

she just isn't willing to lose clint to make up for her sins, not when she has already lost pietro. and so she pulls him on top of her now, desperate to feel his weight over her, the reminder that he is here and alive and solid. she can't stop herself from touching him, carding her hands through his hair and then running them over the muscle in his back, pulling up his shirt and kissing him all the while.

they're alive. he's here, and they're together. aside from that, little matters to her right now. )

[ He's always been close to the rest of the Avengers, their relationships meaning far more than a few companions in a team that merely fights for their country and planet. Somewhere along the way, they'd all become friends that cared for each other to the core; though he and Natasha had been that way far longer. With Wanda, it's different though. Close calls become even closer, and every injury, every hit, becomes all the more amplifying with the worry that follows. There's a deeper ache when he considers the possibility of losing her.

With what they do, it makes every thought, every word, every action all the more precious. When he kisses her now, it's like kissing her for the first and last time despite it really being the hundredth of the many he still plans to give her.

He helps her in taking his shirt off, tossing it aside before he's against her once more. One arm rested on the mattress by her head, the other takes advantage to touch her where she's able. Curved around her jaw to angle her chin up towards him, deepening the caress of their mouths. Trailing to her neck, stroking the exposed skin at the height of her chest. Sliding down her side until his palm presses firmly over her hip. Every gesture matters.

He reaches down between them to grab the hem of her dress, tugging it upwards. ] Well, this has to go.

( he takes off his shirt and tosses it aside, and wanda runs her hands over all the skin he's just revealed, tracing muscle and bone and realising how fragile and strong he is both at once. she revels in the feeling of his skin under her fingertips and of the feeling of his weight above her, his palm pressing over her hip, wrapping her legs around him to keep him close, to draw him even closer. if it means that the crotch of his jeans rubs against her damp panties, if friction sparks along her spine, all the better. but she is willing to put space between their bodies for a moment if it means giving him the opportunity to pull her dress up and off her, if it means getting to press her bare skin against his afterwards, to feel the warmth and strength of him everywhere. )

And your trousers. ( she comments with the cloth of her dress somewhere between her collarbone and her hairline, and then it is tossed aside as well, and she can reach between them to fumble for the button of his jeans, letting her hands linger on the skin just above it. )

[ The bruises are more today than they were yesterday but the scattered spots of pain from earlier feel more ease now. He doesn't even think of them, of the circles of purple and pink where he'd taken several beatings in their fight, not when he has Wanda in his arms distracting his thoughts into a place he'd much rather be.

Once she undoes his button, he arches his hips back to try and tuck his pants down his legs without breaking himself too far from her. The feat proves more difficult than thought, of course, swerving his hips left and right and just wriggle the thing off.

He can't help his laughter, his weight dropping on her a little as he pauses for his chuckles, pressing his face into her neck. ] Should have gotten naked before we laid down. I'm too old for this. [ Not that old, but he's warmed himself into those jokes. ]

( she laughs, at his comment and because of his wiggling, the way it is just undignified enough to make her break into giggles. it's a good thing, she thinks, to be able to laugh during moments like this, to laugh during sex — not every time, but sometimes.

there had been little laughter in her life, trying to survive on the streets of sokovia. that is different now, but it isn't the relative wealth of being an avenger that is solely responsible. it is clint's warmth, his humour, everything about him. )

If you want, I could make you a tea and let you nap, old man?

( they are not spies. wanda is not so sure what they are, but they are certainly not spies. perhaps they are closer to soldiers now, but the only label she really thinks appropriate is avengers. they are avengers now, and so they fight, and they go on press tours when it becomes necessary for the avengers' public image, and on one memorable occasion they go to a masked ball thrown by one of tony stark's rich friends — or acquaintances, wanda knows that is more accurate to say — and they spend the entire evening dancing only with one another.

no one knows it is them, and dancing with him so publicly, feeling his hands too slow on her back for propriety or to be platonic, not a brotherly touch at all, without anyone minding it, being able to place her head on his shoulder and to press her body close to his while they move on the dance floor, it has heat shimmering in her stomach all evening.

pietro is not a patient man. wanda knows this better than most, she thinks, and it surprises her that he dances with her for as long as he does before leading her upstairs, before kicking shut the door behind them and locking it, all too fast for wanda's eyes to really follow even though her mind is always aware of where he is and what he is doing.

he pushes aside their masks, and then they are kissing, and she can feel how hard he is where he presses against her. it makes her moan into the kiss as much as his hands over her breasts do, and she moans again, the sound a little closer to a laugh when he pushes her against the wall of the room and her dress up. )

[ There's a time frame in which he's torn, where he can't decide whether he wants to gaze upon Wanda standing flawlessly in her dress or whether he want to tear it right off of her. He settles on the former for longer than he expects, odd in the way that they can stand so close publicly without judged glances. Not that it ever mattered to him, but they'd kept their appearances around others anyway.

But she's close and she's warm when they dance. Her face is hidden behind the mask but he can see the line of her breasts from his tall height, and he can feel every curve closely with the tightness of her dress. She's dazzling, and he realizes he's been restricted on being so close to her in public because it's impossible not to want to touch her otherwise.

Eventually, he gives in. Fast speed results in a fast erection, and when doors are locked and everything's private once more, he's already dragging her in against it, keeping her well snug between himself and the wall. ]

This dress. It's nice. [ He says it with a smug smile, and he could tear it off her as he planned, but he lets it settle at her hips, high enough for him to easily dip his hand between her legs, fingers firmly pressing against fabric. ]

( wanda does not care too much about the opinions of others so long as pietro is by her side and she can do good with the avengers, but it is still a welcome change to be able to be close to him without anyone raising an eyebrow. it does not surprise her that pietro decides to make use of the opportunity as well, and a little thrill of pleasure runs through her at his words, and at the feeling of him hard against her. it will never cease exciting her, she thinks, how much he wants her. she can feel the physical evidence of it, and she can feel it in his mind. )

I'm glad you like it. ( she says, as if she hasn't chosen it with him in mind, as if she hadn't known that he would like the way it pushes her breasts together, the way it clings to her waist and hips. her voice is still even when she speaks, but then his hand dips between her legs, and wanda gasps, the thrill of pleasure turning into a surge of heat at the pressure.

she rolls her hips back against his in retaliation and in search for more friction both. )

[ Of course he'd noticed every detail of that dress and how it had shaped her, how every curve somehow became all the more amplified by a few pieces of tighter fabric. It was certainly different from the more casual dresses she often wore, and despite having seen her naked body plenty times before, the tucking of her breasts and the pressed cleavage could still somehow ignite him into wanting her all the more.

He aches in his trousers, rock solid and visible where the bulge forms, but he has no reason to hide it or draw attention away from it.

Though he's plenty distracted anyway. Two fingers press into the divot of the fabric, feeling the way the cotton molds against her bottom lips. He strokes down the center of them, finding that to be the proper location once he feels the dampness of her arousal. It's there that he presses more firmly, rubbing with more urgency as he offers his palm for her to ride in relief. ]

And I'm glad you like this. [ Indicating the moans she spouts from his touches. Lips clamp against lips and he can taste is tongue tongue tongue, her palette sweet but the breath against his ear harsh and wanting. ]

( he is achingly hard, and wanda rocks against him and against his palm, caught between friction against her clit and the pressure of her body against his cock that makes pleasure spark along his spine, that she can feel almost as strongly as her own. it's a feedback loop that has her gasping helplessly, but he swallows her moans with his kiss, and wanda gives herself over to her brother gladly, caught between him and the wall, kissing him back with all the urgency she now feels.

some of it is his urgency, not her own, but there are times wanda does not seek to draw the distinction between them clearly. they are two halves of a whole. )

Please, Pietro. ( the words slip out in between kisses. )

[ His groan is a low rumble, vibrating from the base of his throat to her mouth where he swallows the breathy moans of his name. He survives on the mere echo of his name being said from her tongue, even more so when it comes with that high-pitched pleasured slur. As twins, half of his life already belongs to her. But as lovers, he gives away the rest of himself, everything in the world only mattering because Wanda exists within it.

It doesn't matter that no one else would understand this unquestionable longing to spend every second of his days kissing his sister. That he could function on the mere need to fuck her with nothing but love and love until their bodies fall limp. Every sensation is shared between them, amplifying the pleasure, and that's more than enough.

Letting go of her mouth and replacing her kisses with harsh breaths, he draws back to focus his hands on her underwear. His speed comes through here, a flash of blue light the only visual between fabric at her waist to falling down at her feet, leaving her completely bare now between her legs.

When his speed returns to normal, he's crouched down, fingers gripping at her naked thighs, thumbs dug into the flesh to encourage them to part and give him room. With that, he leaves a long, slow and lasting lick, his tongue swiping her wet heat from as low as he could reach, wrapping up along the length of her folds to the height of her sex. The wet muscle of his mouth lingers there, swirling around her clit before his lips press around it for a savoring suck. ]

( wanda does not question it. how could she, when she feels the same way, when sharing herself with him is as necessary as breathing. the world may not understand it, but there are many things the world does not understand about them, and so long as she has pietro, the rest of the world does not matter so much to wanda.

he uses his speed to get rid of her underwear, and wanda huffs out a laugh that should have been a rebuke, because he cannot keep destroying her clothes, but really, it is only breathless because he wants her so badly and she wants him just as much — and then he is on his knees, tongue lapping at her. wanda's legs shake when she spreads them, making room for him, welcoming him as she always will. when his lips wrap around her clit and he sucks, she has to lift a hand to her mouth to muffle her scream, the other curling in his hair. )

[ He can taste her everywhere on his tongue, the longing arousal for him. His own i just as strong, a hand reaching down to messily undo his pants, tugging down on it fast to free his cock, long and stiff and relieved when it breaks free.

He strokes at himself as he licks at her, his mouth following the muffled noises from above, knowing that she's fighting herself to be loud. It's all the more thrilling to know that there's so many downstairs that could hear them, even more just down the hall that stand further within earshot. He wonders if the rest of the Avengers are scattered around somewhere, knowing that somewhere in this place, Pietro Maximoff is eating out his sister.

His tongue vibrates with his speed, letting it stroke fast at her clit as he sucks around it, letting her feel all the pleasure she deserves. Just feeling her on his mouth, he bucks his own hips against nothing, his fist tending at his own ache for the moment. ]

( he strokes himself, and his tongue vibrates, faster and faster, and wanda is caught between the two pleasures, her mind wide open to him and feeding some of her own back to him as well, and it doesn't take long at all for it to be overwhelming. pietro knows just how to touch her, where to touch her to drive her over the edge, and she bites at her palm to keep quiet when she comes, shaking with it and soaking his chin.

her breath is a ragged affair, her muscles are trembling and clenching and still — it is not enough, because she can still sense his urgency, because satisfaction is only enough when they both feel it, and so she drags her hand away from her mouth to speak, to encourage her brother. )

Pietro. Come up here. Please, come, I need — ( and she is pulling at his shoulders, at the jacket of the suit that he is wearing. he looks so good, so well put together, and it only adds to the excitement of seeing his hard cock bob in the air, leaking precome. )

[ He feels it when she comes. It's a physical push when her body jolts frantically against his mouth, holding her tightly against the wall when she shakes subconsciously from the pleasure. But then it feels it within too because she shares it with him and suddenly her orgasm belongs to him too, the sparks of ecstasy almost clear behind his eye lids as he moans against her sex.

He could easily get his own now too, knowing that a few more strokes would probably do the trick. But she's grabbing at his shoulder and the offer is better, so much better.

Standing, he kisses her, her taste all over his tongue, as he bends his knees enough to grab at her hips and hoist her up. Pressing her tightly into the wall to keep her propped high, he groans, shifting himself carefully as to not drop her, all the while, positioning his cock properly at her entrance.

He pushes in with little care, instantly moving into a desperate rhythm, grinding her into the wall behind her, as his palms press tightly between her ass and thighs to hold her. She's soaking from her own pleasure and he's been more than ready to take her in. ]

Kink list, but feel free to try things that aren't on there as well!

Basic Info.

[Link images]

one two optional

[Eli knew there were certain rules that were meant to be implied in locker rooms, mostly to protect everyone's dignity and to uphold ancient bro-codes... he just didn't always have the capacity to follow them. It'd been a quick danger room session and he hated them, mostly because it was easy to convince a human of something but not always so easy to convince a machine.

He'd showered up quickly though and it wasn't until he was at his locker getting slowly dressed that he let his eyes wander, call it ADHD or just a lack of self discipline but he was definitely giving significant glances around himself, trying to at least be subtle about it as he aimlessly rifled through the contents of his own locker, chewing on his bottom lip.]

The session had been rough, Bobby could admit that. Unfortunately, this time it felt like he was covering Elijah more than usual. Not only did he have to watch his own ass, but also that of his charge. It didn't help that Bobby knew there'd be another one tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, all adding on at least thirty minutes somewhere along the timeline. It could be thirty minutes of standing around, or time spent calming a crowd, or them trying to stop from getting decimated.

Still, Bobby knew that Eli grew on praise. As the other seemed to slip out the door, Bobby dried himself off from the shower and finally approached. Either illusion or real, the briefs looked nice on Eli's rear. His hand reached out, offering a good-natured smack that only lingered a couple seconds too long. "Hey, Eli," Bobby said, his voice light, tender. "I know you gave it your all out there. I appreciate it."

He jumps slightly when there's a hand on his ass, especially when it doesn't quite have the sudden appearance and disappearance of an actual smack. He was tactile enough that lingering touches were noticeable to him, mostly because he thrived on them. He yelps though because it was surprising but he throws his head over his shoulder to glance quickly at who it was, recognizing Bobby instantly. "Your hands are cold." His voice only comes out slightly breathy from surprise, at least the briefs were actually real or he'd be dealing with more than just a little sting. "And its no problem, I try sometimes! Surprising, I know."

Realizing that the briefs were real, Bobby's index finger hooked into the right leg hole, blunt nail ticking against the skin as he raised an eyebrow in surprise. "So some of your clothes are real," he joked, removing his finger. Bobby's hands moved to rifle through his hair, the towel slipping down his left hip, going unnoticed.

"Sorry," he admitted, though Bobby didn't really mean it. "I took a steaming hot shower, promise." God, why did Elijah have to look so good? "I know you try. You try all the time. But we'll come up against robots, so you have to learn to not let them get in here." Bobby took a step closer and tapped Elijah on his forehead. "If you can't stop them, then focus on getting the people out."

The loose knot of his towel finally undid itself with the shift of his hip as the sound of the exit closing by the last teammate echoing in the sudden stillness.

"Dude of course my underwear is real! Who doesn't wear underwear its totally important." He was babbling slightly but that was pretty normal for him, even after he'd used up all that energy in the danger room he was still full of nervous energy by the time he got out of the shower.

"They're still pretty cold, I have to say. Good thing I've got briefs on dude or we'd be dealing with goosebumps all over my ass." He grins even as Bobby takes a step closer, his eyes casually glancing across the smooth planes of Bobby's muscles and biting his lip, tilting his head before looking back up to Bobby's eyes just as he taps him on the forehead. "I guess, I always just freak out a little when my powers aren't working on stuff, you know?"

When the knot unties itself Eli feels the towel dropping, brushing against this own legs and feet with its dissent, they were standing pretty close and Bobby was just suddenly completely naked in front of them, heat flares in Eli's face. "O-oh..." He finds himself staring and that, well, it was a little creepy of him, he should probably break eye contact with Bobby's dick or even give the other boy a little dignity with an illusion.

"Just thought maybe your powers were so amped, you couldn't help but play dress up, even when you're dressing down." Bobby liked the jittery way that Elijah was talking - it meant Bobby had caught him off-guard. That wasn't an easy task to do, so there was some pride in that.

His eyebrows lifted again and Bobby's smile grew. "Goosebumps there, huh? I could think of worse things to see." He watched Eli's eyes map the hills and dips of his body, catching the instant that lip was bit. "Well, you'll come up against robots out there, like I said, so you have to keep your body...hard." Bobby's hand came up, a loose fist brushing against Elijah's right pec. "We can work on your body together, if you want."

Still looking at Eli's face, Bobby derives a good amount of pleasure from it. He's never seem a blush bloom before. "See? Guys with my powers don't suffer from shrinkage." The slightly shift of his hip and Bobby's dick swung, just a tiny bit, like a shy wave.

"Believe me I never fake the underwear. Plus sometimes I like to go commando so unless someone just pantsed me it isn't exactly worth my while." He grins though, bobbing slightly with nervous energy. He ran a hand through his hair before suddenly realising he was looking slightly neurotic and letting the hand fall down to his side.

When Bobby mentions the idea of seeing gooseflesh on his ass though his cheeks pinken once more and he feels the heat, briefly thinking about throwing an illusion up so that they weren't visibly blushed. He coughs slightly, drumming up his confidence before speaking again. "You'd wanna see my bare ass?" It wasn't exactly openly flirting because the moment these things became real he didn't quite know which direction to take it. He lets out a peal of nervous laughter at keeping his body hard. "I do... keep it hard I mean. I mean I'm not big like you but I try my best." And he returns the fist bump to Bobby's pec, his hand lingering for just a second as he stares at his knuckles pressed against the older mutant's flesh.

He shakes his head slightly. "No, you really don't..." He finally tears his eyes away from Bobby's dick thanks to the movement jogging his brain back into gear and has a perplexed expression on his face. "Is it cold too?"

Smiling, Bobby shook his head, the rest of his body staying still this time. "It's normal temperature, I guess. Hard to compare it to anything since I only have the one." Bobby's hand came up and he placed it on Elijah's shoulder. It was the thrill of combat that got him going, but he didn't want to make him uncomfortable. His arm slid back, leaving Bobby's forearm on Eli's shoulder.

His hand, though, couldn't be idle. Fingers twisted at the dark locks at the back of Eli's neck, rolling some strands tight, then turning the other way, over and over. "Elijah, if I'm making you uncomfortable, we can stop." But Bobby didn't want to stop, but he would, if asked. He wasn't a predator - there were plenty of those around the school as it was.

Leaning slightly forward, Bobby did place his lips gently on Eli's, letting him get a feel for them.

[Ethan had come round under the suggestion that he needed company if he was going to study. Aiden was out with Lydia and the rest of the younger members of the pack under the proviso of some kind of group date and Ethan hadn't been in the mind to join them. Of course it hadn't taken more than a few ingratiatingly whiny texts before he'd earned himself an invitation to the Alpha's loft.

It even looked like he'd come to actually study, he'd brought books, paper, everything he might've needed with him for a wholesome afternoon of preparing for the SATs.

Except he had no intention of actually doing that. He shuffled the papers before placing them all on the coffee table and turning to Derek with a cocky smirk where the older man sat on the sofa, moving to sit down next to him, impossibly close, fingers stroking along the denim clad thigh of the alpha.]

Edited 2016-05-29 20:16 (UTC)

[If Derek didn't have any illusions that Ethan actually wanted to come over to the loft, he didn't show it to Ethan when the other man arrived. He acted like he would, grouchy face and harsh voice as he invites Ethan in.

And admittedly, he does wonder, for a second, if Ethan's intentions actually are to study when he sees everything Ethan brought up, but it was fleeting. Even before Ethan sits next to him, he's already sure of what's to come, and accordingly, doesn't do anything when Ethan's hand is on his thigh, just speaking with a light, amused, voice.] That's part of the SATs, now?

[Ethan just shrugs at him, looking more interested in studying Derek than he did the books in front of him.] Hell I don't know, biology? [He grins though, sidling closer again and throwing one of his legs over Derek's, enjoying the feeling of warmth under his thigh.]

[He just chuckles, shaking his head before grabbing Ethan by the waist and pulling him to his lap.] You're a terrible liar.

[He hadn't expected Derek to pull him into his lap but now that he was there he was pleasantly surprised, leaning back against the other man with a contented sigh, rubbing his cheek against Derek's in a surprisingly tender gesture.] I'm a great liar.

[He is surprised by the tenderness of the gesture, but he returns it readily enough by kissing down Ethan's neck down to the hem of his shirt's neck.] Liar.

[Enough tenderness for Ethan, he leans in and nips his teeth along the edge of Derek's jaw.] Really? How do you know I'm not really good at lying. I could've told you a hundred lies by now.

[He chuckles at both the quip and the sudden nipping along his jaw.] You're not, though. [His hands then go to the hem of Ethan's pants, moving to go under the other man's shirt.]

[He laughs then, grinding his hips down against Derek.] Okay so maybe I'm a bad liar... but someone's into it anyway, right?

[He chuckles before putting his face to the crook of Ethan's neck and taking a long whiff.] It's charming. [His hands keep moving up the other man's body until they reach the nipples, which he starts gently tugging at.]

[He grins when he feels Derek's face in the crook of his neck, letting the other man scent him as his stubble scratches Ethan's throat.] Charming? Nice. [He bares down on Derek again with another dance-like roll of his hips, moaning sharply when Derek's hands are at his nipples.]

[He just chuckles at the quip, pulling Ethan close for a kiss before moving to take Ethan's shirt off, throwing it unceremoniously to the side, before taking his own shirt off to do the same. His hands came back to Ethan's waist, as he rolls his hips against Ethan's.]

[Now this was definitely better than studying, he finds himself distracted the way he always did whenever Derek Hale's top was suddenly off, running his hands along the other man's abs, feeling the coarse hair beneath his fingertips.] Have I said how I find you really fucking sexy?

[He chuckles at that.] Yes, you have. So how about you show me, for a while?

[He smirks at that.] A while... are you sure you can handle a while?

[He smirks.] Well, now that you've gone and challenge me, we have to go and see.

[He rolls his hips again.] A challenge? I like those. [His hands drift down to Derek's abs again, fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans.] These need to come off.

[He smirks as his hands go down to the waistband of his jeans, opening and unzipping them before lifting his hips to pull them out. He does keep his boxers on, though, trusting that Ethan will still know what to do with those.]

[The moment Derek's jeans are off Ethan helps pull them completely away, throwing them across the room before settling himself onto Derek's lap again, his own jeans forgotten so the two of them were just clad in boxers. Ethan's own boxers were already sporting a dark wet spot on the front of them, his arousal for the whole situation painfully clear even as he settles himself neatly against Derek's body again, rubbing up against him with a sharp intake of breath.]

[Derek just smirks as he notices the dark spot on Ethan's boxers, but once the other werewolf is on him and rubbing up on him, he chuckles at that instead.] Trying to make sure you get your smell on me?

[Not that he's really one to talk, as he buries his face on the crook of Ethan's neck and takes a big whiff before he starts rubbing right back up against Ethan.]

Something like that, yeah... you've got a problem? [Because he was still pretty content to grind himself against Derek, feeling his own clothed yet hard cock rub firmly against Derek's, the other man clearly enjoying it just as much as Ethan himself was.]

[Derek just chuckles before putting his hands down Ethan boxers to grab his ass and pulling the other man closer to him as he grinds up. While he does this, he kisses Ethan's neck.] Only if you have a problem with me doing the same.

[Ethan just chuckles before leaning in to nip at Derek's jaw.] Maybe. I mean I was trying to keep you a dirty little secret. [Although the noise he makes as Derek grinds up against him while pulling forcefully on his ass was anything but secretive.]

[He lets out a low growl of a chuckle.] You don't sound very secretive.

That's because we're alone. Out there? The name Derek Hale doesn't leave my lips.

[He leans forward to kiss Ethan before rubbing up against the other man again.] What a shame.

Why... you want me out there running around telling everyone what we're doing at night? Didn't know you were so territorial. [Okay he knew how territorial werewolves could be, that much was for sure, even if he was just encouraging that by grinding up against him again.]

Liar. [And there's a glint in his eyes as he grins, showing that yes, he does feel that territorial towards Ethan.]

[Hope you don't mind another Derek.]

1 2 3 4

((ooc; always down for a Derek with any of my twoof characters!))

[Ethan didn't know what the hell he was doing at Hale's loft this close to the full moon because it held both too many memories and too many reasons to turn around and get the hell out of that door. One of the reasons why he should leave was actually standing in front of him, Derek Hale himself, the alpha that wasn't actually much of an alpha but Ethan wasn't about to express an opinion that would get his throat torn out.

Instead he stood there with the world's cockiest expression, slowly starting to strip layers of clothing despite Derek's bewildered face.] So listen... I've got some things I wanna get my mind off. [He was still stripping, kicking his way out of his shoes now that he was topless, he stopped only when his hand was on the waistband of his jeans, toying with them.] So in the interests in getting them out of my head? You're going to fuck me. [Demanding little omega, wasn't he?]

[At first, Derek thought Ethan was stripping because his brother was due to appear through the doorway for the two of them to become Voltron-Wolf (he still didn't understand that pop culture reference, but the name had apparently stuck).

But no. He couldn't smell or hear Aiden anywhere nearby - and then what Ethan had said caught up with him, and his brain stuttered for a moment.]

What? Why would you even ask that?

[Not that, he supposed, Ethan was asking.]

[He just grins slightly, more of a smirk than anything, his fingers still playing with his waistband right up until the point he actually pops the button and pulls the fly down, exposing the little tuft of hair above his dick.]

Well because asking is apparently the polite thing to do? [Wow Derek didn't you understand those social cues he wasn't about to walk in here and start fingering himself until you joined in or anything.]

And because you're the only one here with the experience and strength to actually fuck like you mean it, like I want it. [He tugs the jeans a little lower, tilting his head to the side.] And I'm hoping your dick is big enough that I'll be having some serious thoughts about walking for the rest of the night.

[Derek can't stop his eyes from wandering, trailing down Ethan's chest until he reaches that tuft of hair. He should tell Ethan to go find someone else, or just to get out of his loft, but --

-- It's almost the full moon. Self control isn't exactly any of the wolves' speciality this close to a full moon.]

Tell anyone about this and I'll rip your throat out.

[He is, however, taking his shoes off, so that's probably a yes.]

[Ethan openly grins then, looking very satisfied with the world as a whole all of a sudden. He knew a yes when he saw one but he was waiting for Derek to catch up before completely removing his clothes.]

Really? I was kinda hoping on making a video, posting it to facebook? [Because even though he was about to get laid he couldn't help but throw a few sly digs out there.] And anyway, I want your hands wrapped around my throat in a totally different, non-clawed way.

[Derek huffs a little, in what might be the start of a laugh, and pulls his t-shirt off, dropping it on the floor.]

Did you even bring a camera?

[He closes the distance between them with a few short strides, settling one hand on Ethan's throat, just lightly, fingers tracing his Adam's apple.]

[He looks privately pleased with that huffing noise not dissimilar to a laugh because, well, Derek didn't seem like the kind of man who laughed often. He rolls his eyes at the comment though.]

Its called a cell phone dude, who doesn't carry a cell phone with them these days. [When there's a hand around his throat and his smile tightens slightly as if contemplating that Derek could tear out his throat.]

[Derek settles his other hand on Ethan's hip, rubbing his thumb over the waistband of his boxers, tilting his head to one side. He ducks his head a little, murmuring into Ethan's ear.]

How rough do you want this to be?

[Ethan came to him, after all, and Derek likes to think he's a considerate enough partner to at least ask beforehand.]

[He most certainly doesn't shiver at the sensation of Derek's breath ghosting over the shell of his ear.]

I was thinking an eight or nine out of ten, unless you're scared of letting loose? [He's doing really well at these unerring cocky vibes.]

[Derek rather enjoys that reaction, so when he next speaks, his mouth is close enough to Ethan's ear for his lips to brush over it. His hand on Ethan's throat tightens a little, as well, just enough to be noticeable.]

I don't know if you can handle eight or nine.

[He doesn't shiver for a second time and is suddenly worried about losing those cocky vibes so the moment Derek issues him a challenge? He's there with bells on, pressing himself firmly up against the other man with a grunt.]

I can handle a lot more than you might think.

[Derek inhales sharply when he feels Ethan pressing up against him, and a moment later he's slammed Ethan up against the nearest wall of the loft by his throat.

He bends a little, biting down on the nape of Ethan's neck and sucking, working up a pretty vivid lovebite there.]

[The sudden feeling of a hard cold wall against his back had his eyes widen slightly, if only because he was pretty sure he'd ordered pleasure with his side of pain and right now he wasn't too sure if Derek was actually going to fuck him or just fight him.

Until there are teeth and lips at the base of his throat and he can't help the small growl that reverberates through his throat.] I don't remember saying you could mark me.

[Derek growls a little, pushing forward to press against Ethan, the hand on his throat sliding up to run through his hair.]

Can I mark you?

[Asking is really just a formality now, since he's already done it and all.]

[Ethan lets out a noise that was half helpless sigh, half chuckle even as he uses his position of being bolstered against the wall to wrap his legs around Derek's abdomen.] No point stopping a good thing when its only just started.

[Derek obligingly curls a hand under Ethan's ass to make sure he's supported, and grins a little, pressing a kiss to the mark he's already given Ethan.]

Good.

[He starts his way up Ethan's neck, leaving a trail of vivid red marks, and you can bet that he's paying attention to Ethan's reactions, to see exactly which spots get the best response.]

[He should probably be worried at this stage, not because he was going to fuck Derek and, naturally, leave the place smelling of Derek but he had to hope that an alpha's hickeys weren't the same as an alpha's claw's or he'd have a hell of a lot of explaining to do when they didn't heal within minutes.]

Uh-huh, good. [Except he's lost some of that cockiness because damn Derek was good at kissing, especially kissing necks. Every time there's the nip of teeth the younger werewolf let's out a grunt or almost a moan of pleasure, his legs pressing violently around Derek's midsection, pulling him in closer still.]

[Derek eventually reaches Ethan's jaw, and tilts his head around, catching Ethan's lips in a long, hard kiss.

That hand in Ethan's hair moves downwards for a moment to cup Ethan's cheek, almost tenderly.]

[He hadn't expected an actual mouth-to-mouth kiss... mostly on account of the fact that he'd come here making certain demands and well, a lot of guys didn't kiss if they were just looking to get their rocks off. He still enjoyed it either way and threw himself into the kiss with a lot of gusto, tongue exploring Derek's mouth for the first time like it was something new and particularly exciting. When there's a hand on his cheek though, tender rather than rough, he can't help but laugh a little, the noise mostly an exhalation of breath from his nose.]

[Derek hardly cares if Ethan laughs, even if he's not sure if it's from amusement or surprise. Still, that hand slips lower, trailing over Ethan's jaw, down his neck, to his shoulder.

Derek breaks the kiss eventually, even if he only draws back far enough that their lips are only just barely separated.]

[When Derek moves as if he were going to step backwards Ethan squeezes his legs around the other man's midriff again, powerful muscles holding him in place even as his tongue glances out over the now plump lower lip of Derek's, not so intent on breaking the contact.]

[Derek lets out a soft grunt, pushing his hips against Ethan's, grinding against the younger man - and immediately kisses him again, harder, forcing his tongue past Ethan's lips.]

[Ethan lets out a growl of his own, reverberating in his throat even as he uses the leverage he had around the other man's waist to rut slightly against him, letting Derek's tongue probe incessantly into his mouth, sucking slightly on it and tasting the other wolf.]

[That seems to be enough to make Derek push off the wall, holding Ethan up and close, carrying him towards the loft's bed.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to push Ethan down onto the sheets, and is on him a moment later, straddling his hips and kissing him hungrily.]

[He laughs when Derek breaks the kiss, a breathier sound than he might've liked.] And there I was thinking an eight would've been fucking against the exposed brick work.

Don't worry. I can be just as rough on a bed.

[As if to prove the point, he lowers his face and closes his teeth over Ethan's Adam's apple, sucking on it. Of all the marks he's left on Ethan so far, that one is easily going to be the biggest and most livid.]

[He groans slightly, throwing his head back even though he shouldn't. He definitely shouldn't be showing Hale this degree of submission but he couldn't help himself. The moment those teeth were over his Adam's apple he makes a whine of a noise, back arching off the mattress as he grinds up against Derek.]

[Derek has to admit, he likes Ethan being this submissive, and as Ethan grinds up against him, he pushes down, rutting against him. Once he's left that mark, he takes a moment to kiss it, scraping his teeth over it.]

[Ethan let's out another whimpering moan as Derek's tongue and teeth chase the painful mark the other man had left on his Adam's apple even as he ruts up against the other man again, hooking his calves around Derek's and pressing up against him despite the layer of jeans that still separated them.]

[Derek chuckles against the mark for a second, then runs his hands down Ethan's sides until he gets to the waistband of his jeans. A quick tug drags them a few more inches down Ethan's hips.]

[He levers his body up even as Derek tugs on his jeans, wriggling slightly to help with the momentum until they're neatly pressing against the backs of his thighs. He grunts slightly before pressing up against Derek once more, even more content now that there was only the flimsy layer of his boxers stopping him from pressing his dick against the other man.]

[Derek lets out a soft grunt, pushing his hips against Ethan's, hands trailing up to brush over his thighs. He angles his head a little, pressing a kiss to Ethan's jaw, then another, nipping at him a little.]

[He growls again at the teeth at his jaw, but part of him was still begging for more secretly. It was wrong to submit this openly but he was getting off on it, the front of his boxers already darkening with his precome as he rutted against Derek, pushing himself against the planes of muscle on the other man's abdomen. When he speaks his voice is heavy, throatier than it should've been.] Derek- I... clothes, off, now. Please? [Did he actually just say please he was going to die of shame.]

Since you asked so nicely.

[To get both of their clothes off, Derek has to pull away and stand, bending down to tug Ethan's jeans off, then his boxers. He pauses for a moment once those boxers are on the floor, dipping his head to trail his tongue up the underside of Ethan's cock before pulling away again.

Then he unbuttons his own jeans and pushes them down, followed by his boxers. If Ethan was hoping for 'big enough to make most guys have serious second thoughts,' then he's definitely not going to be disappointed.]

[He should probably be taking some degree of offence to the level of attitude he was getting off Derek, but he couldn't bring himself to. The moon had driven him wild, Derek was driving him wild in a surprising way and every breath that Ethan took had the constant undertones of arousal that set heat curling in the center of his belly. When Derek's warm tongue licks a wet stripe along the underside of Ethan's cock he gasps, bucking his hips in an attempt to get more before the sensation is suddenly gone and he's frowning.] Are you serious one lick you're-

[It was then that he notices Hale taking off his own clothes, watching his dick spring free with a hungry expression in his eyes alongside a pang of worry because, well, that was exactly the kind of cock he should've anticipated from Derek Hale and it was going to be one hell of a ride.]

[Okay, that was a fun reaction.

Which is why Derek leans down again, enough to lick up along Ethan's cock again, slower this time, trailing his tongue around the tip for a moment.

Once he's straightened up, he's back to being rough again, flipping Ethan onto his front and tugging him up onto his hands and knees, angling him to face a nearby mirror. He still wants to see Ethan's face after all, and he also wants Ethan to see Ethan's face.

He settles behind him, kneeling, bending to press a kiss between his shoulderblades.]

Edited 2016-06-02 01:57 (UTC)

[He should've known that Derek would replicate that move the moment he got a reaction out of it, which is why Ethan tries his best to stifle the moan that escapes his lips the second time Hale licks an agonizingly slow stripe along his shaft. He still can't help his hips from raising off the mattress though, eager for something more, his cock straining for more attention than a simple lick.

When he's suddenly being flipped his breath leaves him in a huff of air, Derek manhandling him expertly into the position he wanted, which is when Ethan sees the mirror because of course Derek would have some kind of fucking porn mirror set up in his room so that he could watch the two of them. Ethan leans down on one elbow, giving him the leverage to flip Derek the bird in the mirror, because he may be acting like a good little sub but that didn't mean he had to lose his attitude in the process.]

[Derek stifles a bit of a grin, and makes a small show of spitting on his hand, slicking up his fingers. Or specifically, his middle finger, which he then holds up to flip Ethan the bird right back in the mirror.

He then takes that finger and very slowly and deliberately slides it into Ethan, pushing until the rest of his hand is brushing up against Ethan's ass.]

[Watching Derek vulgarly slick his middle finger in the mirror... well it made the mirror actually have an interesting use, Ethan found himself enthralled watching it.

His breath hitches only slightly as Derek's finger presses into his entrance, barely giving him time to adjust to it before he's sliding fully into the younger werewolf's hole, his hand suddenly flush against Ethan's ash cheeks which leaves him squirming, trying to get comfortable against the intrusion.]

[Derek gives him a moment to adjust. Well, he sort of does, anyway, as the only movement of his finger is to press his fingertip up against Ethan's prostate, stroking a slow circle.]

[Ethan lets out a sharp gasp which tapers off into a moan when Derek's finger glances his prostate, prickles of pleasure shocking their way through his lower body. He hadn't expected Derek to know what he was doing so expertly.]

[That sound makes Derek shiver, and he takes a moment to draw his finger back, and push it in slowly again.

His free hand runs through Ethan's hair for a moment, as he draws his finger back, then slides it and his index finger both into Ethan, sliding them against the other man's prostate.]

[The slow exit and re-entrance of Derek's finger has Ethan's lower body practically shuddering.] I wanted rough, Hale. Stop f-fucking teasing me. [Which would've been effective if he hadn't stumbled over his words, if he hadn't then moaned sharply, shoving his head into the pillow below him as Derek works in a second finger.]

[Derek leaned down, trailing his lips over Ethan's ear, murmuring as he worked his fingers in and out.]

If you want it so badly, you can beg for it.

Really? Beg? [Because wow that was certainly a step. He had to weigh up the options quickly, fighting between his own urge not to seem submissive and the simultaneous urge of having Derek's dick in his ass. The latter wins out and he sighs.] Okay fine... please fuck me Derek, fuck me hard, fuck me like you haven't fucked before. [At first it sounded sarcastic... right up until the point he genuinely sounded like he was pleading.]

That'll do.

[Derek sounds a little amused. He draws his hand out, spits on it, and quickly slicks himself up, then settles behind Ethan properly, gripping his hips.

He pushes in, slowly at first, then harder, until he's deep inside Ethan. He takes a breath, giving Ethan a second to adjust, then starts bucking his hips, drawing back only to drive back in again, in hard, powerful strokes.]

[He lets out an exasperated breath when Derek says that it would do, as if his performance was just adequate enough for him to get Derek inside him. When he first felt Derek slowly entering him he lets out a grunt of pain.

It doesn't take long though for him to start to feel the rising pleasure as Derek slowly but surely thrusts his hips into Ethan, the groans subdue becoming moans of pleasure instead as he rolls his own hips in time with Derek's, shoving himself backwards onto the other werewolf's cock.]

[Derek groans a little, hands tightening on Ethan's hips, and he gives his hips a quick roll before he starts picking up the pace, each thrust coming faster, harder than the last, angled to scrape against sensitive nerves.]

[He was already feeling the pleasure when Derek had first started rhythmically thrusting into him but then when the other man picks up the pace, getting faster, harder with each thrust he was practically crying with it. Derek was well and truly pounding him into the mattress and Ethan had long since given up on keeping up the act of a boy in control of himself, his hands fisted in the sheets below him as he stares into the mirror, watching the show of Derek's pounding, the way the other man's face screwed up with each thrust. It was almost too much, each time Derek's cock slammed into his prostate, sending fire along his nerve endings and leaving words coming out of the younger werewolf's mouth in a garbled mess.]

[Derek kept his gaze on Ethan's face in the mirror, only occasionally looking away to glance down at the other man, fingers digging into the boy's hips hard enough to bruise as he pounded into him harder, the bed creaking beneath them.]

[He lets out another strangled moan at the pressure on his hips, at how Derek was using his body for leverage to continue to pound brutally into him, each time he felt Derek suddenly reach his limit it brought out yet another choked moan, the feeling of Derek's hard body smacking into his hind quarters sending shockwave after shockwave through his system. He could practically feel his cock leaking with precome and angles himself so that he can curl a fist around it and give it a rough jerk, knowing that he was already impossibly close to orgasm, hoping Derek would let him keep his hand there.]

[Derek lets out a rough groan, leaning over Ethan a little, biting his lip. His hand reaches around, fingers playing over Ethan's fist, but he doesn't try to move it away.]

Let me?

[It's very much a request, and his voice is surprisingly gentle, even as he bucks his hips again, driving into Ethan.]

[He likes feeling the weight of Derek leaning over him, the warmth of the other man splaying over his lower back. When Derek's fingers are over his own hand he lets out a little moan.] Please. [Because Derek hale jerking him off while fucking him in the ass was the kind of thing you just couldn't pass up. He relinquished the control of his own dick, using his now free hand to bolster himself again against the mattress.]

[Derek curls his hand around Ethan's cock, starting to jerk it, gently and slowly at first, then gradually harder, in time with his thrusts.]

[When Derek builds up a degree of synchronicity between his thrusting and eager jerking of Ethan's cock the younger werewolf could hardly stand it, muffling his moans forcefully in the pillow beneath his face, resisting the urge to just sink his teeth into it even as he rolls his hips backwards towards Derek, eager to get as much of Hale's dick as he could in the most efficient way possible, feeling fire curling in his belly at the repeated assault of his prostate.]

[Derek reaches up with his free hand, curling it into Ethan's hair and dragging his head up, wanting to hear his moans unmuffled.]

[He lets Derek pull his head back, letting out a gasp as he feels fingers tightly weaving their way into his hair, the tandem sensation of his head being pulled back as Derek once more thrusts deeply into him leads to an unmuffled cry escaping Ethan's lips, a noise that made it clear how close to the edge he was getting.]

[Derek lets out a long groan, biting his lip, head tilting forward a little as he keeps his gaze on Ethan's face, driving into Ethan in time with the pumps of the boy's cock.]

[Ethan isn't even making any reservations about the level of noise he's making now, it was a wonder he wasn't actually howling. Instead there are sharp moans and short growls punctuated by Derek's name and the word please. The heat that was curling in his stomach wasn't so much curling now as racing suddenly outwards, filling him to the brim as he felt his muscles start to tense up, toes curling beneath him.] I'm gonna- [His words are choked off as if he can't actively get the sentence out, trying to slump forward despite Derek's hand wound in his hair.]

[Derek can't keep himself from getting louder, gasping Ethan's name, letting out long, ragged groans as he works Ethan's cock, jerking his hips hard.]

Fuck, Ethan.

[He's close to the edge himself, unsure how long he can hang on for.]

[Hearing his name coming out of Derek's lips is what pushes him over the edge, the desperation behind it, the passion. It was a nice change for the fact he was pretty sure Hale had never said his name before now. With one last strangled cry Ethan is coming, feeling it spilling out of him, his body tensing up completely as he lets out a noise not unlike a howl, coming with a lot more force than he'd been used to recently. After all, fucking a human wasn't quite the same as a werewolf.]

[Derek leans down and around and kisses Ethan hard, stifling his own cry against the boy's lips as he comes, hard, his hips jerking a few more times before both his hands and hips slow to a stop.

Panting, Derek slowly untangles his hand from Ethan's hair, stroking it lightly, and pulls back, settling his hands on Ethan's hips and pulling out.]

((ooc: argh I am so sorry! I must have lost this tag notif at some stage, I was actually thinking today it'd been a while since I got a tag and only noticed when I was replying to the thread above that this was actually my turn please forgive me!))

[The moment he feels Derek's lips chasing his mouth hungrily he knows things are coming to an end, rolling his hips despite the shaking of his thighs even as Derek comes suddenly and powerfully within him, feeling the sudden heat even as he tightens instinctively around Derek, letting out a strangled groan at the last couple of erratic thrusts before Derek slows to a stop.

When Derek pulls back and out, Ethan almost feels empty from it, as if the presence of Derek's dick had changed him irrevocably for that moment. He laughs slightly, a breathy chuckle as he strokes a wrist over his forehead, wiping the sweat from his eyes.] Okay, definitely met my expectations. [His voice is raw but he sounds much more civil than he ever had.]

[There was no denying that Scott McCall was attractive, even to Tyler who didn't exactly wear his homoerotic subtext on his sleeve but it was undeniable. And there was one thing that Tyler found hotter than anything else and that was someone lifting weights. He'd been watching Scott from across the room of the gym until he saw the younger werewolf, definitely werewolf there was no denying that fact, leaving the gym proper and heading to the lockers.

It was the day of the full moon and that still lead to certain impulses so he couldn't exactly be blamed when he suddenly crowded up against the practical-stranger, pushing him into the steel wall of lockers with a growl reverberating in his throat, eyes shining slightly amber.] I want you. [Which should be enough for Scott to want him too, Tyler considered himself pretty irresistible after all.]

[Somehow, this full moon day felt different. It wasn't as if he couldn't control himself or was especially moody, but there was something in the air that made him feel jittery. Something he couldn't quite identify. And somehow, the gym made it all the worse. It was like the air was charged, somehow.

After finally calling his work out quits, he decides to just head to the shower room to cool off and go home, but then...

Tyler's slamming him against the lockers, growling, and a very werewolf growl too, as if the eyes shining didn't make it obvious. And the declaration somehow just charges him more. With a growl of his own, he grabs Tyler's collar, eyes flashing amber as well.] What did you say? [Because that was something that was worth confirming. There's interest in him, though, if Tyler's looking for it.]

[He'd already pressed himself flush against Scott, knowing fine well that the metal of the lockers would now be digging into his back. He didn't know where the other boy ranked in the greater scheme of things but it didn't matter to him in that moment.] You heard exactly what I said. [The smell of the locker room around him and the wolf below him were, when mixed together, pretty damn arousing. He didn't spend all those years as captain of the football team without picking up certain habits.]

[As soon as Tyler presses against him, Scott's breath hitches. Even he has to admit that between the all the scents of the locker room, Tyler's own arousal and the sheer heat between the two of them... Well, it's having an effect on Scott.

After just another moment of hesitation, he casts quick looks at their sides, before looking back at Tyler dead on to reply.] Right here, then?

Right here. [He barely gave Scott a chance to reconsider, despite the fact that they were perfect strangers. He just knew he wanted the other boy, knew he was a werewolf, knew this would be mutually beneficial to the two of them. He didn't even go for a mouth kiss, instead burying his face in Scott's neck, breathing deeply at first and smelling the salt tang of sweat off him and underneath that something musky and animal, the wolf and Scott's own scents mingling. He can hardly stop himself before he presses his tongue to the other boy's neck, licking along his pulse point as he presses himself more firmly up against the other boy, his dick already hard in his shorts.]

[Scott lets out a whimper as Tyler presses up against him, feeling the other boy's tongue on his neck and the erection against his own hardening cock. It only takes him a moment to recover from his shivering enough to gets his on Tyler's back, one travelling to Tyler's hair to pull him back, exposing enough to lick its length, from collarbone to Adam's apple, at which point he lets his teeth graze the skin.]

[He should've known this would be a battle for dominance and the idea just made everything hotter for him, that Scott wasn't going to simply submit as he forced Tyler to expose his throat. He let's out a low moan, the sound reverberating low in his throat as he ruts against the other boy again, a little more forcefully this time.]

[The moan from Tyler makes Scott grind his hips against the other man, his free hand going down to Tyler's waist to pull him as close as possible. He wants to feel the other werewolf's heat, properly smell him. He sinks his teeth a little more into Tyler's throat, not biting, but making more contact now.]

[He lets out his own rough growl, rutting against Scott, the loose shorts not really restraining his hard cock from pressing completely into the other boy, moving harder when he feels the teeth at his throat, another low growl forcing its way out of his throat at the presence of teeth. He tucks his fingers into the waistband of Scott's shorts, right at the curve of his ass, blunt nails digging into the other boy's skin.]

[He gasps at the nails digging into him, moving his teeth away from Tyler's throat. Instead, he uses his hand still on Tyler's hair to pull the other man to a kiss, while lowering Tyler's shorts his other hand.]

[Tyler was pretty far gone already, aroused by the mere fact he had Scott shoved up against the lockers and could rut into him to his hearts content, he didn't even care that someone could walk through the door at any moment. He feels Scott loosening his shorts, feeling the fabric pool around his ankles as he dicks his fingers more firmly into the flesh of Scott's ass before lifting him slightly, waiting for the other boy's legs to wrap around his waist so he could press his dick desperately into the curve of Scott's ass, using their position to keep the other boy held up right even as he passionately seeks Scott's taste with his tongue.]

[Scott yelps as Tyler lifts him, but his legs wrap around around Tyler's waist almost instantly, less so out of an instinct to not be dropped, and more as just yet another way to feel Tyler against him. And suddenly, the shorts he still has on feel like too much, too restrictive. He's too hard, in too much anticipation of feeling Tyler's dick on him to keep them on. Eventually, he simply uses his werewolf strength to pull them off him, ripping them clean off.]

[He likes the sound of that yelp, wondering if he could possibly recreate it. He grins eagerly when Scott manhandles his own shorts off, hooking his thumbs into his own shorts and boxers, letting them drop to pool around his ankles, having leaned away only slightly before putting himself directly into Scott's personal space once more, his dick hard and throbbing and pressed right against the cusp of Scott's ass, loving the warmth of the other boy's body pressed against him now naked, sandwiching Scott's dick between their bodies as he moves to attack Scott's neck with his teeth and tongue again, intent on leaving a mark.]

[The first sound off Scott's mouth was a very pleased moan as Tyler gets his shorts and boxers, allowing to really feel that dick against himself. Tyler going for his neck with teeth and tongue, however, makes his growl, grinding his dick against Tyler's body, claws coming out and tearing and scratching at Tyler's shirt and back.m When he finally speaks, his voice comes out as a low grunt.] Fucking...

[Tyler lets out his breath in a hiss when he feels claws digging into his back and the accompanying sting that lets him know they'd be bleeding. That was a good sign, both that Scott was gone on the moment and that he had free reign to do what he wanted. His teeth elongate slightly where he's kissing Scott's neck, his fangs popping out as he presses them into Scott's smooth, delicious skin, leaving a ring of punctures from the canines that he licks over with his tongue. Scott was well and truly marked now, marked as his for at least the night, the thought of it made his dick throb dangerously, pushing himself once more against the swell of Scott's asscheeks, wanting to bury himself there.]

[Scott lets out a chocked gasp as he feels Tyler's teeth digging into the flesh of his neck, followed by a whimper when the other werewolf licks over the wounds. A small part of him screams that this had just taken a turn that could be trouble, or at least lead to questions he won't want to answer, but it's drowned out by the sheer desire he's feeling right now, driving to egg Tyler on to escalating their situation.] Fuck me... Fuck me now...!

[The high keening of Scott's desperation really does help to egg him on, leaving him further aroused, pushing at him to do more, to claim Scott as his own in a hell of a lot more carnal way. He finally moves with Scott away from the lockers and lays him out on a bench before dropping to his knees, putting his hands on the backs of Scott's legs and pushing them backwards, exposing the other boy's tight hole before unceremoniously ducking his head towards it, a warm tongue licking a long drawn out stripe along Scott's asshole, ending at his taint. It made the situation worse, really, tasting salt sweat from the gym and Scott's own taste, pushing him even further.]

[When he feels Tyler's tongue on his ass and taint, he lets out a loud moan, arching his back at the sudden and unusual pleasure he feels. As Tyler continues, one of Scott's hands grips the bench he's laying on, while the other one goes to his now painfully hard dick, stroking it to get some edge off it. It was so much, too much for him to not want more and more from Tyler.] Please... Oh god, please...

[The sound of that moan sent a shudder through Tyler's own body right down to his cock and he repeats the motion, dragging his tongue languidly along the other boy's asshole, a little more pressure behind it this time. Scott tasted amazing and smelled just as good too, making this whole thing that bit more arousing for him. When he sees Scott's hand on his dick however he smirks before reaching up to pull the hand away, holding it against the bench. He doesn't bother to respond vocally, instead he laps another wet stripe along Scott's flesh, a soft hum coming from the back of his throat.]

Fuck... You fucking asshole. [Those are the first words out of Scott's mouth when Tyler pins his hand against the bench. It looks like Tyler is intent on making Scott suffer and beg some more, and he both hates it and loves it. The next lap of Tyler makes Scott's body shudder while he lets out more moans that get needier and needier.]

This isn't exactly the time to be insulting me, dude. You're kinda in a vulnerable position. [He practically says the words against Scott's asshole before licking against it again, burying his face between the globes of Scott's ass, grabbing his legs so that he could pull the boy along the bench to thoroughly bury himself in there, groaning as he sucks on the puckered flesh.]

[Any reply Scott has is drowned out my his moan as Tyler sucks on his asshole, making him grip the bench with such strength he rips a chunk of it clean off, making a loud noise that echoes throughout the empty locker room.]

[He stops licking and sucking as Scott destroys the bench, pausing to laugh against the other boy's ass cheek, resting his face for a second.] Damn dude, someone's enjoying themselves, huh?

[He groans again, despite feeling some relief at the short break, his need beign as strong as ever aside.] It's your fault.

[He grins against Scott's cheek, laughing again.] You bet your ass it is... [And without a moment's notice he was back, this time probing Scott's ass with his tongue, trying to work out the tightness of it with the overzealous muscle.]

[And Scott's back to moaning, although this time, he tries to be a bit more active in the whole affair, putting one leg on Tyler's back and pushing the other werewolf closer to him, a non-verbal demand for more, deeper ministrations.]

[Tyler continues to probe into Scott's hole, his tongue working its way against the other boy's entrance. He leans back slightly onto to spit messily at Scott's hole before working his way instantly back towards it, his tongue and lips working tirelessly against it before pausing to lick slowly along the flesh again, teasing Scott mercilessly despite the fact they were doing this in a locker room.]

[Who even remembered they were in a locker room anymore? Certainly not Scott, who's just moaning and squirming wantonly as Tyler keeps teasing him more and more.] Stop teasing and fuck me already! [Probably more demanding than he's any position to be, given the situation and their position, but there's enough of a growl in his voice to show that he means it, at least. He wants Tyler to get to the main event already.]

You called that teasing? Damn dude... I could do this for hours. [Except he gives one last lick of Scott's hole which was pretty thoroughly lubricated with saliva now and ever so slightly stretched thanks to it, it would be nowhere near as well prepared as he would've been had Tyler fingered him, but the kid told him to fuck and that's exactly what Tyler was going to do. He stands quickly, grabbing Scott's legs as he goes and bracing them over his shoulders before lining himself up and painstakingly pressing the head of his cock against Scott's tight hole, sucking in a breath as he does so.]

[In hindsight, once it's actually happening, Scott will probably wish he had let Tyler go on a little longer prepping him, hard as the waiting would've been. As is though, he's instead too focused on his need and arousal to really think properly. By the time Tyler grabs his legs, he's breathing heavily in anticipation, and his breath hitches up to a stop when he feels the head of Tyler's dick pressing up against him, letting it all out in a whimper of both relief and some pain as he feels it push through and enter him.]

[He grins slightly at that whimper, still continuing to slowly slide into Scott's hole, blinking the whiteness away from his eyes as the heat envelops him.] How are you so fucking tight... [It doesn't stop him though, he continues pushing into Scott until he can feel the boy's ass cheeks against the tops of his thighs before stopping, letting out a shuddering breath.]

[He bites his lip, surprisingly controlled with it for how wanton he's been so far, as he feels Tyler fill him more and more.] I don't do this often, you know. [Read at all, really, but shhh, Tyler doesn't need to know. Instead he lets out a gasp when he feels Tyler's thighs against his ass, realizing that this means the other man is fully inside him. After some more breaths, he stars shifting his hips around, trying to get more used to the sensation, which fortunately for him isn't all unpleasant.]

That's totally the kinda thing y'say while you've got a dick in your ass, man. I'd use your name but uh, guess we didn't get that far. [He stills himself while he talks before pumping rather suddenly into Scott again and then working up a rhythm of pulling out right up until he could see the head of his own cock before slamming brutally back into Scott in an act of dominance that should be expected this close to the full moon, making a noise between a grunt and a growl at the tight heat surrounding his cock.]

[He lets out several gasps as Tyler starts pumping into him, flashes of pain coursing through mixed with pleasure.] Introductions later... Fuck! [At the sudden more brutal slam he lets out a louder noise, more pain mixed with pleasure. He realizes it's a display of dominance by Tyler, and he's ready to submit to the other man.] Fuck... Again. Do that again.

See anything you like?: x x x x x x

[Jeremy didn't exactly know who the stranger was he'd met in a bar. Hell Jeremy didn't even know what he was doing in the bar to begin with. His cross country vampire-hunting trip had been going surprisingly well so far but the habits of Mystic Falls were hard to break and armed with a fake ID he'd entered the place in the interest of drowning his sorrows.

He liked dive bars the best if only because there was always the chance for excitement and no-one expected much from him, none of them had to know that he was a hunter, that he had a more-than-ample skillset for killing vampires that worked just as well for fighting assholes that wanted to stir shit up.

Fighting wasn't what happened tonight, drinking did, sure, but fighting was pushes aside in favour of a tall, dark and handsome stranger. Maybe Jeremy had a type, except this guy looked a hell of a lot nicer than the kinds of guys he might've been interested in back home. He turns to him with a grin, propping himself up by the elbow on the bar.] So... you were gonna show me your car? [He wasn't actually interested in the car, but it was a nice segue to getting the hell out of the bar.]

The bar just happened to be a stopping point. A breather. Sam knew that he needed to keep moving - there things that needed killing on down the road, but after working solo for a couple months...Sam just felt like he needed some human interaction. He needed to be Sam for a minute, not one of his alter egos that go him in to the Coroner's Office or helped him side-step into a grieving family's home. The beer had been getting warm in his hand when he noticed the other guy who didn't really fit into the scene show up.

There was something about him, something that Sam felt he knew already. But he didn't know the other, and after inviting him onto the stool beside him with a pregnant look and a good-natured smirk, Sam still didn't know how his. All the better, maybe.

"Right, yeah." Sam finished his beer and slid the bottle toward the bartender. He stood up from his stool and clamped a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "Ready?" The Impala had a roomy back seat - hopefully that's where the tour would start.

He grins widely, cockiness pushing his own inexperience aside. It wasn't that he was a virgin or anything he just didn't do this too often. Either way, he tended to enjoy it when he did. When Sam stands up Jeremy is taken aback for a minute, remembering how tall he was, curious if that height meant that he had a greater stature in more places than just one.

The warm and strong hand on his shoulder makes him smile, grinning up at Sam through his lashes. "Born ready." It was such a damn cliché but that was the kind of thing Jeremy was running with, he'd let Sam lead him to the door, take him to his car, find out what the older man wanted to do with him when they got there.

The guy seemed eager, which was a good thing. Sam took it in stride, leading the other toward the door, his comment getting a hearty, warm laugh from Sam's throat. This could be good. Really, good, actually, and he didn't want to screw it up. As a hunter, chances like this were slim to him and worse than not scoring at the bar, was scoring at the bar then not being able to stomp home plate once out of there.

The night carried a chill but Sam barely felt it. His fingers slid down to the man's back, keeping between his strong shoulders. He wondered if he worked out. "I'm Keith," Sam lied, the name one he'd used often enough to not slip. It would be easier to recall the dark-haired young man if there was a name tied to it. "I'm that black Impala over there, back of the lot."

Jeremy keeps his jacket slung over one arm, warm from the drinks he'd illegally gotten his hands on and comfortably so. He was walking with a bit of a swagger, grinning up at Sam while the other man strokes a hand along his back. "Keith? You don't look like a Keith." He was off to a great start, insulting the stranger's name. "I'm Jeremy."

He looks over at the car and grins. "That's a nice car, man. Kinda reminds me of a guy I know back home's car." Because it did remind him of Damon's black car, which was also a beauty, but Jeremy didn't think that Damon would ever have wanted to get him in the back seat.

Sam laughed at that, nodding his head. "Most know me by my middle name. Sam," he said, figuring it was still generic enough that Jeremy wouldn't come looking for him later in life.

"Yeah? Well, mine's one of a kind," Sam admitted. It might have come out as a brag, but he couldn't think of anyone that had a Devil's Trap on the top of the trunk like his did. The door creaked opened, muscle car metal-on-metal, and Sam pushed up the driver's seat. He turned around and leaned in, stealing a kiss from Jeremy's lips, testing the waters. Even that little contact sent a spike into his spine. He needed more of that.

"Okay, Sam... I can work with Sam. Keith just isn't exactly the name you wanna be shouting out in a moment of joy, no offence." He grins, little did Sam know Jeremy had absolutely no plan on trying to find him again after tonight, there was no amount of sex that could be that good, good enough to deter him from the lifestyle he'd chosen.

"Oh yeah? So its super special?" He grins at that, guys and their cars, that was a special kind of relationship that he never quite got into. Matt and Stefan were like that, Damon too to an extent. Jeremy hadn't exactly subscribed to any of it though. Cars in his life had a habit of getting into accidents, there was no point getting attached to them. Jeremy returns the kiss both readily and hungrily, reaching for something he didn't know he'd needed tonight, his lips opening almost instantly upon contacts with Sam's.

"Glad to know my name fits in your mouth so well. Can't make that same promise about anything else," Sam joked, surprised by the joke himself. It was a very Dean thing of him to say. Still, he was going with it.

About to comment again, but Jeremy's mouth opened so easily that Sam couldn't wait. His tongue slipped inside, head cocking to the side as fingers slid through the guy's dark hair to hold his head in place. Their tongues were thick and warm and suddenly colliding against one another. Sam's hip jutted forward, pressing against Jeremy until he could find the resources to break the kiss.

"After you," Sam said, a hand sliding down Jeremy's back and then onto to rear. Squeezing and pushing him forward gently into the back seat.

Jeremy can't help but laugh at that before dragging his eyes rather obviously to Sam's crotch. "Oh yeah? Well I've been told a lot over the years that I've got a big mouth." But it did bring that worrying thought back about Sam's height being a direct correlation with the size of his cock and what he'd actually do when faced with that kind of monster.

The kiss was nice though, different to a lot of the kisses Jeremy had had before. Of course, with girls, it'd been a hell of a lot different; he'd been expected to lead where in this instance Sam was very much in charge and Jeremy couldn't help but be aroused by both the feeling of Sam's warm wet tongue in his mouth and the feeling of the man's solid body pressing up against him.

He was easily cajoled into the back seat of the car, scooting along until he felt the door panel against his back, gazing expectantly at Sam in return.

The Impala wasn't the ideal situation, Sam knew, but it wasn't like he could take Jeremy back to his hotel. He didn't know if he was a local or a drifter like him. Luckily, the Impala's back seat was bigger than other two-door vehicles, because it was metal version of a cock.

A quick glance around and Sam knew they were alone. With Jeremy's back against the seat, that only left Sam with one option. He threw his jacket across the front seat and as he stooped in to follow, his shirt slipped over his head and fell in the well behind the passenger seat. His foot neatly caught the door hand, pulling the door mostly shut. His mouth found Jeremy's neck before he bumped his head - a good thing. A small sound left Sam's mouth as the salt from his skin glanced across the hunter's tongue.

Jeremy felt crowded in the backseat of the Impala, more so when Sam gets in with him, feeling like he was practically being cocooned by the older man's body, it was comfortable though, making the whole thing a hell of a lot more intimate, more inviting.

He probably should've foresaw some elements of the exchange though, Sam was lucky in that he was able to get his shirt off before they got into the car, Jeremy taking his clothes off was going to involve an awful lot of limbs flying akimbo around the back seat... and their trousers didn't even bear thinking about. The worry left his mind though when Sam's warm mouth was against his neck, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin there and encouraging a mutant moan out of the young hunter as he reached for Sam, intent on pulling him closer.

The clothes weren't the issue, not a pressing one. Not to Sam. He was enjoying the way their bodies were already warming the interior of the car. While not pressed for time, Sam knew that backseat intimacy wasn't made for foreplay. The tip of his nose ticked under the lobe of Jeremy's ear, inhaling while sucking the skin further into his mouth.

Fingers were felt and Sam complied, moving closer, letting go, taking Jeremy's lips with his own. His own hands were itching to be included, the left holding onto the passenger seat's headrest to keep him slightly up, the right finding the hem of Jeremy's shirt and slipping under and up. His prints slid over strong muscle, blunt nails nicked at hard nipples.

[Niall had gone willingly, which changed everything. He'd told Irial he would be there, tonight and both of them knew what it entailed. He knew things had been feast or famine with the Dark King's court and well, Niall had some urges of his own that he wanted to work through and they were in a perfect position to help each other's needs.

The Gancanagh moved quickly and quietly to the designated hotel Irial was currently occupying, ignoring the stares and the jibes as he walked through first the streets and then the halls, making his way to the penthouse with his shoulders steeled against them. He knew why he was there, they assuredly would know why he was there; he just couldn't bring himself to care.

He shoulders his way into Irial's room, ignoring a leching Ly Derg who passed him at the door before he was suddenly in Irial's suite, closing the door behind him and calling out.] Irial? I'm here... do your worst. [He probably shouldn't make it all sound so threatening but he'd never been good at that, it was one of the issues with being a powerful solitary fae in a world of kings and queens.]

[Irial hadn't been expecting Niall to actually come and give him anything resembling a go ahead. And yet, here was the other fae, shouldering the way into his suite and calling out to him. He can smell the anticipation, nerves and even some residual anger within Niall, and it's all he can do to not just inhale and consume them in an instant.

No, he'd bide his time and wait it out for the bigger rousing of emotions. Although he had a feeling both Niall and the Court would be surprised at how things would go, if Irial got what he wanted.

After only a moment, he comes to greet Niall, giving the Gancanagh some space for now.] I admit, I did not expect you to come.

[Niall doesn't smile, because it didn't seem to be the time for it. He does however look interested in how things might develop, more in the possibilities than anything.] You are? I thought you'd made yourself incredibly clear on how you wanted things to proceed. Not used to your plans working, hm?

[Irial maintains his impassive and serene as he walks over to Niall, not quite letting the distantly amused facade slip through except for a brief smile as his fingers trail over Niall's arm.] I am quite used to my plans working. Just not when it comes to you, my dear Gancanagh.

[He laughs at that, quite loudly too and in genuine amusement, not just forced emotion for the sake of a king.] I should feel proud that you find me so unpredictable, it must be a change from having a loyal subject.

[His fingers keep trailing over Niall, finally reaching the Faerie's neck, where they slow down as they move up to Niall's cheek.] Predictable does not mean loyal, you'll find. [And it's impossible not to think of Bananach as he says this.

But this isn't about anyone else but the two of them, so he pushes the thought of Discord aside. His hand finally cups Niall's cheek, thumb brushing just over Niall's scar while his other hand goes to Niall's waist.]

[He laughs at that.] I suppose I can understand that much, even if I've never found myself drawn to a court. Yours, of course, is one of the most interesting. All that liberation in one nice faction.

[He stirs slightly at the finger brushing over his scar, with how new it still was, a frown forming on his features.] Would you have your Hound come and give me another if tonight doesn't go how you want it to?

[Irial just lets out a small sigh at the question, not hurt or even saddened by it. It's a legitimate question, all things considered.

He doesn't speak at first, simply leaning forward to plans a soft kiss on Niall's lips, barely more than a brush of lips.] No. This would be something you would do, or not, of your own free will.

[He smiles slightly, its not a real grin but more of a gentle thing as Irial presses hips against Niall's.] Ah so I'm being given unrestrained free will? You do know how to make a man comfortable, Irial.

[His hands don't leave Niall's face as he keeps kissing the other man, going from the cheeks to jawline.] You had your doubts I could?

Of course I did. [He's still grinning even as Irial's mouth moves its way along his jaw, which absolutely does not change the cadence of his voice because there's no way in hell he'd get breathy.] I sometimes fear I know you too well and not well enough at all at the same time.

[Irial lets out a small breath of laughter at the breathlessness in Niall's voice before going back to kiss the other Faerie'slips, deeper this time.] Then let's change that, shall we?

So instead of fucking you want to sit down, get to know each other. [He smiles, leaning close enough that their noses were practically touching, amused at the very idea.]

[He chuckles at the suggestion.] I was thinking more along the lines of doing both.

And which one is more pressingly urgent for you, your highness?

[He doesn't reply with words, instead pulling the other faery for another kiss, one that's deep, passionate in its slow movements, the hand not gripping Niall's collar going to Niall's waist, pulling his body closer to Irial's.]

[Niall breathes into the kiss, accepting Irial almost a little too eagerly, especially when he wasn't sure if he'd wanted to be here to begin with. While Irial pulled him closer Niall couldn't help but submit, melting into the other man's body, the two of them fitting together in a way that felt decidedly right.]

[This, more than other things, is what he's been missing the most since Niall left them. The way the two just fit so well together when their bodies were pressed to each other, how the other faerie smells and feels from this up close.

How he hopes Niall can truly forgive him and return home. But for now, he simply pulls back from the kiss enough to speak again before directing Niall to where he wants the other faerie: his bed.] Come, beloved. Time might not be of the essence, but we shouldn't waste it.

Beloved? [He raises a cool eyebrow at that, stepping momentarily away from Irial.] I'm not your beloved, Irial. I barely know you... and what I do know isn't precisely engendering a long life full of love. [He's frowning, wondering if maybe he'd gotten far too in over his head by coming here tonight. The request had been simple enough at first but the Dark King might be expecting something he wasn't prepared to give. Instead he steels himself and shrugs.] But as you wish... let's get this over with.

[Irial pauses at that, looking at Niall with new interest, one that's not necessarily sexual.] So you don't... [He shakes his head before he says it, and stops himself. Probably not the time for it, not with so many other faeries around, and odds are the revelation of either the Dark Court's needs or his own feelings wouldn't make a difference. Not while it's still so raw for Niall.] My apologies, you're right.

[He's surprised when the interest changes away from sexual, if only because of the fact he'd expected the Dark King to continue regardless of what Niall said to him, he hadn't expected the other man to actually do what he wanted.] So I don't what... love you? [He frowns, stopping himself from laughing outright.] Did you expect so much so soon... after what you had your Hound do to me? [He laughs.] I didn't come here for love, Irial.

[At Niall's reply, he laughs himself, half wondering if Niall really couldn't see that Irial wasn't thinking of that slip, or love.] No, Gancanagh. I didn't mean you not loving me. [Although it does hurt a bit, even if he has no regrets.] I thought you'd realized something in your time in the Dark Court. It seems I really was wrong.

From my time in the Dark Court I learned that you're happy to employ anything you want on behalf of your Court... at the expense of others. [He smiles a dark smile, the scar at the side of his face pulling taught.] I did learn however, that sometimes when its a matter of need, you should take whatever you can.

[He smiles, and pressed another brief kiss to Niall's lips.] Then you're closer to the full truth than any other outsider has been. [It makes him wonder if he should just tell Niall the full truth, wonder how that would affect their relationship... But idle fantasies don't help anyone, and he can't just go around revealing his Court's most well kept secret to any outsider.]

[He just laughs at that.] I can only imagine... and there are truths there that I should never know. Now, let's not tarnish this with conversation, we're both here for our reasons, I suggest we make good on them. [And he launches into a kiss, acting more fervently than he had before, trying to negate the serious conversation topic with nothing more than his lips and tongue.]

[And he chuckles into the kiss, eagerly accepting Niall's terms. He kisses back fervently, once again directing Niall to the bed proper, walking backwards through the room as needed.]

( castmates preferred but ota 21+ )

[kinks and preferences]

[1 2 3 4 5 6 7, open to more suggestions!]

( If you want him in his Krampus form, just let me know. )

[Other MCU character preferred, but feel free to ask if you have an idea. Especially looking to top in a small dom big sub scenario.]

( no mcu, but could be an interesting pair nonetheless? alcoholism, carrying guilt like the bible. uwu )

[Sure! I'm almost up-to-date with spn (a few episodes into season 10) so I can work with crossing over the universes.]

( no worries! i'm a few behind within season ten, by now i'd definitely say you're familiar with him, haha. dean isn't used to allowing others in control, especially given he uses sex as an outlet most of the time, so this'll be interesting. )

i, ii, iii, iv

[The door to Alias Investigations slammed behind Jessica, the door shaking slightly on its hinges from the force. The wall was next for abuse as she dug her hands into Dean's collar, shoving his back up against it harshly. Super strength had its uses.]

Let me get this straight. [She began, her grip not letting up.]

You brought me into your little hunt- [leaning in, her lips hovered barely an inch away from Dean's] -and then lost track of the target because you didn't pick up the phone when your brother called.

Am I missing something here? Or are you letting your family drama get in the way of work again?

[Her fingers began undoing the buttons of the hunter's shirt as she spoke, breaking a few off instead when she couldn't be bothered to fully open it properly. Yeah, Jessica was mad. She was mad that they lost a really promising lead.

Dean needed to get his head on a bit straighter and focus. She needed an outlet for her frustration. The fact that they already fucked regularly was just a small detail, of course.]

[ callous palms grip to whatever bit of fabric they can manage with her own digits making effortless work of his shirt, sharpened exhale gusting past bitten-red lips as his weight is shoved to the wall. throat bobs with a roughened swallow, tasting solely of her – even a tinge of a metallic bite from pearled teeth of hers – doing little to resist yet another button down she's managed to leave in shreds.

he isn't one to be chided without any quip in return, regardless of how ruthlessly determined she is to let it be known he'd made a mistake. low growl emits along his tongue, upper lip curling slightly in defiance, however the battle to remain snide with her was quickly being quieted by the arousal beginning to strain within his slacks. ]

The phone was on silent, Jess––- [ carelessly he pulls the thin cotton of her tank top up and over her head, clutching at her hip thereafter to alter their positions, pinning her to the wall what he knew would be briefly – ] Like y'suggested I do so we didn't lose our own damn lead.

[ hips rut fleshly against her own, flustered blush taking to his cheeks. ]

[Civil War compliant, open to cross-canon, assumed CR, and pretty kink friendly.]

M/F [1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6]

Kink [1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6]

[They're complicated people. They always have been. Their lives have been complicated, so of course they reflect that, in shadowed eyes and bloody hands. There are some things that are simple. Touch, contact, metal fingers against her racing pulse, the way he makes her skin feel -- these things are simple. But they don't talk about these things. That part is, well... complicated. At least for Natasha, when it's hard to face how he affects her.

Tonight isn't talking, either. But it's something else entirely, something different. There's a collar in his hands when she steps into the bedroom, and there's a weight to his grey eyes on her body and a still silence. The door clicks heavy as it swings closed behind her and she stands there for a moment, letting it stretch, watching him watching her. He's attractive in a ruthless sort of way, like a blade, something that crawls under her skin and burns. She doesn't speak, doesn't ask, but instead she strips for him.

It's easier.

She starts with the guns and the holsters and the knives, and they both know this is the greater vulnerability than when she pulls off the kevlar microfiber bodysuit. Her body is a weapon, sex is a weapon, except he makes it into something different. Natasha's barefoot and naked to her skin, stripped down to the fall of her red hair and full red lips as she moves in to stand in front of him.

She's not powerless. She can snap a man's neck with half a thought, and even bared and affected, she never exudes weakness. Everything she gives up is a gift, not something lost.]

James.

[His name a low, harsh whisper on her mouth, and her breath shakes just a little on the exhale. Her blue eyes flicking down to how he holds the collar in his hands. Trust. She gives it to him every time, no matter the gunshot scars, the mark he left on her pale skin those years ago.]

[By now, he can scarcely remember exactly how it began. The details are lost in a red haze of desperate clutching after a mission gone sideways-- the objective achieved but the collateral damage significant. There was the silent acknowledgement that there might not be another human being who understands them but them. There was the coupling and the heat and the satisfying of something he couldn't name.

But this is beyond just satisfaction. This is where they have gone in the pursuit of making themselves feel... well, simply feel.

The collar he holds in his hands is an offer. A promise. It's security and comfort and understanding and care. His body stirs as he watches Natasha strip, revealing more than just her beautiful body to him as she does. He knows that she's revealing herself.

Fingers dancing on the collar, he closes the gap between them, the sound of his name creating a heated surge through him. He holds the collar out, low at his waist level. ]

Kneel.

[Kneel.

That demand hangs on the air and it runs a shiver up along her spine as she looks at him, a flutter of her eyelashes. It had started almost by accident, almost helpless, colliding together as everything crumbled, just needing something to hold onto. He feels safe when nothing else does. That ability to curl up against his side, her body spent and just fall asleep to the rise and fall of his chest. She trusts him. Not that he wont hurt her-- they're both weapons with sharp edges, nicked fingers are inevitable for both of them-- but she trusts in that security of his hands on her skin and his words against her ears.

And that's why she kneels for him. Looking up into his grey eyes as she smoothly, with all the grace of a ballet dancer, sinks silently to her knees. She watches him, watches the collar in his hands. She's revealed and exposed, giving him who she is beneath the secrets and the violence, holding onto him and letting herself believe that there's something beneath what they made her. At least for him, if no one else.

Her fingertips touch softly against the floor and she watches him as her red hair falls around her shoulders, bright as flames. There's a sort of trust, invitation in how she smiles at him. Because she knows that the collar isn't about the things she fears, because he's the one holding it. It's not about slavery or reducing what she is. It's about belonging, that security and caring.

It's a symbol, instead of words. They're complicated people, but James finds a way to make it simple. She tilts her head, just a little. Her pulse coming fast as heat twists inside of her. Just because something is simple doesn't mean it doesn't make her feel alive.]

[Hurt is definitely unavoidable. They're not people who do things in half measures or slow and steady. Not when that first night together brought them back to headquarters with long red scratches running in parallel lines down his back and a bruise on the inside of Natasha's thigh the exact size and shape of his metal hand. But they both know how to deal with that kind of hurt.

He almost gasps when she falls-- no, descends-- to her knees. It's a movement that robs her of no strength at all. Instead, she's giving him the most generous, most trusting gift she has in the world with her submission, and while the weight of his responsibility to her is great, it's one he welcomes.

When she smiles, it eases the tension that he hadn't realized was so tight, and he returns the expression. James doesn't smile much or often, but the woman kneeling before him knows the ways.

He slips the collar around that elegant neck and closes it, but stops short of locking it.]

While you wear this... you are mine. Agreed?

[They're not soft, and she doesn't need him to be gentle. She can take it, they both can. All those scratches and bruises, the way that they push too hard, too fast, and it just makes her forget to come up for air. It's hot and visceral and it ignites something inside of her, has since that first time they fell together. There's a beauty in the roughness.

He smiles at her as she settles onto her knees, and it makes her lips curve into something a little wicked, a flutter of her eyelashes as she looks up at him. There's a weight to the moment, something almost electric. She likes how it brightens his face, touches his grey eyes when he smiles. How rare they are just making it that much more valuable when he smiles for her like this.

His strong fingers bringing that collar to her throat, drawing it around her neck and she shivers at the feeling of it. Her pulse a flutter in her throat and her eyes draw almost closed as she just lets herself feel the way that the material presses against her skin. Then those green eyes look up at him, and she leans softly into his hands.

That question hangs in the air for a moment, because words are always the hard part for her. But, at the same time they matter. He asks and that fact alone catches her breath in her throat.]

Yes, like this I'm yours.

[Her voice is soft and one hand lifts up, dragging fingertips affectionately against the metal of his hand, briefly circling around his wrist. The gesture a little possessive, but not in the same sort of way. She didn't want his submissions, she just wanted him against her.]

[The lock snaps closed and as small as the click really is, it seems to echo throughout the room. It seals the unspoken contract between them now, this exchange that puts not just her power into his hands, but her trust, which is far more important to them both.

Once the collar is fixed, he steps back away from her to the other side of the bedroom, sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed. He raises a hand and crooks his finger at her.]

Come here. Crawl to me.

[He takes a deep breath. She's had him take the lead before, but this is so much more.]

[There are a lot of people that she's given her power to, but no one that she's trusted. Not like she trusted James, and never like this. A collar around her neck with that click of the lock sealing that softly worded agreement. That she was his, belonged to him in this moment.

With the collar sealed around her neck, he steps back, and she watches him through her eyelashes as he moves to sit on the bench at the end of the bed. She doesn't follow him except with her eyes, gives him her obedience, her trust that it matters as much to him as it does to her.

So she stays there on her knees and waits until he hooks his finger at her, until he gives her that first real command in this space between them. It's almost electric, the way that it sparks on her skin, makes her shiver as it slides up her spine.

This is different. More somehow, and she moves like there's a line connecting that collar to his curled finger, moving on her hands and knees as she crawls across the distance between them. It catches her breath, sparks heat inside of her that curls low in her stomach as she kneels at his feet.

Her green eyes are all trust and hot heat.]

[He knows what it means for her, waiting quiet and still for his first instruction instead of pouncing on him. It already impresses him and reminds him of the great trust she's put in him, which he will not disappoint.

At the same time, he can feel his pulse quickening as he watches her crawl-- the sinuous movement of her body, the roll and sway of her hips as she crosses the plush carpet to him.

Closing his fingers around her collar, he tugs her closer.]

Good girl.

[He says it with as much heat as approval, letting it sink in for a moment before he closes the gap and crushes his mouth against Natasha's.]

[Natasha is not patient, not when she doesn't have to be, not when it comes to him. But the heat of the tension on the air almost makes up for it. The collar around her throat, the promise that it symbolizes changes the rhythm of how things usually feel.

There's that hot heat that spikes inside of her as his fingers curl in the collar, pulling her closer as his words fall with approval and desire that makes her shudder. Her pale skin was flushed softly pink, her green eyes heated and slightly dilated and she's starting to get caught up in this, in the feel of his fingers and the sound of his voice.

She's never given this to anyone else. There's just something about that praise, the way it hangs on the air for a moment before he kisses her. Whatever restraint she might have had vanishes and Natasha is kissing him back, hard and hungry with a low murmur that hums against his mouth.]

[He can feel her growing arousal through Natasha's kiss. What's more, he can feel where it's coming from, what's making that fire grow inside of her. When his mouth claims hers even more, it's a response that he understands, that he's ready to give her everything she wants and needs from him tonight.

He tugs on her bottom lip with his teeth while he reaches down. His hands cup her bare breasts, alternating between gripping them firmly and stroking them gently.

It's the path he's determined for himself tonight. Push a little, see if she likes it. Push a little more. He knows they're both physically able to take quite a bit, but this is more than just physical.]

[He kisses her harder and she murmurs, presses into the pressure, a low gasp on her mouth as his teeth find the flesh of her bottom lip. She likes it a little sharp, a little rough, likes the way tht they push when they come together like this. But it's never been like this, that collar around her throat that makes her ache in ways she doesn't quite understand.

A gift she would only ever give to James.

His hands slide down her body, rough fingertips and strength she can feel as he grips against her breasts and then strokes against her skin. Her eyelashes flutter as her eyes slip almost closed, her body arching, leaning into that pleasure of his hands on her skin.

Her nipples hard against his touch, and her body shivers, that catch to her breath as her hands skim up, tugging against the hem of his shirt in silent request. But there's a difference to it, subtle, that way that with the way she looks at him it's more of a question, and less of a demand, less of now in the way that they usually come together in these moments.

She just wants more of him.]

[Hot. Hungry. Sharp. If it weren't those things, it can't be them. Their histories are littered with the things they've done and the things done to them and so it's only their nature to gravitate away from soft and easy.

Feeling Natasha press into his touch excites him even more. Positive confirmation for everything he wants from her. Both hands, flesh and metal alike, love to be on her skin.

When she pulls at his shirt, he pauses, but recognizes it for a plea and not a demand. He sits back and raises his arms slightly.]

Undress me.

[They're both people made of knives and rifle casings. What soft moments there are feel like something stolen, and the hard heat is easier, the rough way they come together. Their broken edges fit together, and that means something, means everything. He's a ghost story and she's a legend and their hands both drip with the blood on their fingers. And oh, oh how he makes her burn.

She shivers a little as he sits back, lifting his arms, and he turns her request into a demand on his lips. And oh, she's certainly not going to protest. Her hands catching under the hem of his shirt, and letting her hands skim up his torso as she pulls the fabric up as she slips up to her feet. The fabric revealing skin and the definition of muscle as she tugs it off over his head but leaves the fabric tangled around his arms with a playful smile and a lift of an eyebrow. As if she could resist testing the rules, seeing just how much obedience he wanted, how much she was willing to give.

She leans in, nuzzles against his chest with a lick of her tongue and a nip of teeth that scrapes down as she sinks back to her knees. Her fingers brushing against his thighs as it's her teeth that tugs at the front of his pants, popping the button with a toss of her head.

Who can blame her for enjoying the effect she has on him?]

[Who else would understand them, two broken toys, trying to piece themselves together? Toys with thousands of miles and acres of bodies in their pasts? Who else would have them, but one another? Once they first collided like this, he stopped wondering about those questions. There was Natasha, and that was more than enough.

He snorts a little as she leaves the task of removing his shirt unfinished. Pulling the garment the rest of the way off, he looks down at the redhead, a fire in his eyes that has his skin warming just as much as the touch of her tongue against his chest.

Waiting until she starts to undo his pants, he moves quickly, looping the fabric of his shirt around the back of her neck. He brings his hands together under her chin and pulls her up a few inches.]

When I give you an instruction, I expect you to obey it fully. Do it again, and there will be discipline.

[There's a look on his face that all but begs her to earn some punishment, knowing that there will be enjoyment on both sides. He releases Natasha and throws the shirt aside, standing up.]

Finish.

[She's not the sort of woman that waits on a hope and a dream and a nightmare for fifty years. But no one else has ever been able to fit against her the way that he does, that understands all of it. The one person in the world that she believes will still be there when it finally happens and someone adds up more than her nicely curated version of her history, and most of the people she cares about can't look her in the eyes.

She can trust in the collar around her throat because she can trust in him. It makes this safe, welcome. Giving into his hands, letting him have control, even if she still nips at his fingers.

She gasps, her eyes widening, a flutter of her eyelashes as he moves and the cool fabric of his shirt presses against the back of her neck. His hands pressing under her chin, lifting, and one of her hands goes to his wrist, but she doesn't squeeze like she wants him to stop. Natasha just holds on like he's an anchor as he lifts her up a few inches off of her knees, that reprimand hanging in the air.

It's in his eyes, that way that he wants an excuse. His eyes and her smile, that desire to press against the rules and see what happens, knowing they'll both enjoy it. There's a look in her eyes that almost promises she's going to break the rules, but selfishly she wants him naked first.

So for the moment, she obeys. She looks up at him as he stands above her, finishing undoing his pants, tugging them down his legs. She hooks fingers into his underwear and pulls them down his hips with a smile, watching him, drinking in the sight of him. He has a metal arm and there are scars on his skin, but he's gorgeous and he's hers.

Her hands pull his clothes down to his ankles with a smile, a low murmur in the back of her throat as she leans in and licks against his cock with the tip of her tongue and a wicked smile.]

[If she didn't test the rules, push against limits, then she wouldn't be the woman he wants, wouldn't be the woman who could give him what he needs. Without her stubborn fighting spirit beneath it, then her submission would be meaningless. And that would do neither of them any good. So he knows it's about 50/50 if she decides to defy him a little, and it's clear they're both fine with either outcome.

But she chooses obedience for the moment, skillfully stripping him bare. Bucky steps out of his clothes and kicks them aside, leaving the collar around Natasha's throat the only difference between them, but what a difference it was.

She gets a groan from him for that kittenish lick at his cock.]

I see. Well, if you're that eager, Natasha, then by all means proceed. Hands behind your back, though, until I say otherwise.

[She smiles slyly, a shiver at the way that he groans. She loves making him react, dragging sounds from his lips and trembles from his body, the way his hands sometimes clutch too tight. She doesn't bother trying for innocent when he accuses her of being eager. But then he gives her that provision, and as she looks up at him through her eyelashes, they both know exactly what rule it is she's going to break.

She almost wonders if he's doing it on purpose: drawing lines and waiting for her to push past them. He knows she can't help pushing against limits, so she wouldn't really be surprised.]

Since you asked nicely... like this?

[There's that tease on her lips, that smile as she kneels in front of him, sitting up on her legs, her wrists crossed and pressed against the small of her back. The way the curve of her breasts rises and falls with every breath she takes, and for a moment, she almost looks the part. Submissive, obedient, red hair and pale skin and softly parted lips.

And then her mouth is around the head of his cock, and he can't see her smile, but it's in her eyes as she looks up at him. He wasn't wrong when he called her eager, and she murmurs softly as she sucks softly around the girth of him, red lips slowly sliding down the length of his flesh. She likes the feel of it, the taste of him on her tongue, taking him apart with just the press of her mouth.

It's a distraction as her hands come away, and she's pushing him as much as she is at the rules as she starts to bob her head over him. Sucking firmly as his cock presses deeper and deeper into her mouth, that heat to her face, that desire that dilates her pupils and leaves her trembling on her knees. For as much as she enjoys his reactions, it's at least half because he's always just as much under her skin.

There's that slick friction, the way that her mouth glides over him as her hands settle at her sides. It's not quite obvious, not just yet, and she tries to keep him focused on the sensations and not whether her hands are still behind her back. There's the kneejerk flicker in the back of her mind, but she ignores it almost casually. Growing up as she had, there was that ingrained warning about breaking the rules, getting caught.

Maybe it was part of why she pushes. Because she needs him to show her what punishment looks like. She trusts him, but there's still a security in knowing.]

[He is absolutely doing it on purpose. Not even in this setting does he want Natasha to even feign having had that indomitable will of her broken and pushed down. He wants that spirit, that feisty nature to assert itself from time to time, because that is her and he never wants her to be anything other than herself.

Bucky also wants it because it gives him opportunity and excuse to discipline her for acting out, as that excites and arouses him beyond even her natural allure.

So despite the exquisite technique she applies to his cock with her mouth, despite the waves of pleasure her wet, slick sucking sends racing through his body and despite the unspeakably sexy sight of Natasha on her knees before him, mouthing his cock, it's her infraction that makes that length twitch against her tongue.]

Naughty girl.

[Her jerks himself free of her mouth, reaching down to grasp her wrists. Bucky pulls her arms up, letting them twist just enough to smart but not to injure her, until he is gripping both wrists in the unbreakable grasp of his metal hand just behind Natasha's head.

The tip of his cock presses against those full lips.] Open. [A roll of his hips pushes his length into her mouth. His hold traps her hands and head in place while he rocks back and forth, fucking her mouth.]

[Honestly, if James had wanted her to be something else, expected her to be perfectly submissive, to not push back, she probably wouldn't be wearing his collar in the first place. He accepted her as she was, and that was important. Which isn't the same as not punishing her for her transgressions, but just knowing that punishing her doesn't mean he wants her to change.

He catches her, of course. Because even if she was trying to distract him, she wasn't really trying to hide her disobedience. If he hadn't caught her then, the odds were that she would have ended up with her hands on his thighs and hips until he did. Here, with him, the point of disobedience wasn't actually to get away with it. It's for the way that he calls her naughty girl and pulls from her mouth, leaving her gasping.]

I got distracted..

[That excuse offered as a breathless murmur, but it's not even an apology, and there's an almost-smile on her mouth as he grabs her wrists. It quickly turns into a faint catch of her breath as he's rough with her, the angle pulling uncomfortably as her arms twist until he has them pinned in his metal hand. His touch is cool against her heated skin, and there's that faint, almost reflexive jerk against how he restrains her, but he doesn't let go. James keeping her hands pinned just behind her head, pressed against her red hair.

The head of her cock urges against her lips, insistent, almost demanding, and she lets him sink into her mouth with that rock of his hips. His hand holding her in place, keeping her steady as he starts to move, thrusting into her mouth and she moans softly into the feel of it. She's always liked it a little rougher, likes when he holds her too tight, and his fingers leave bruises that don't linger nearly long enough. She only looks delicate, she doesn't break.

Eyelashes flutter over her green eyes and she murmurs, looking up at him as he fucks her mouth. That heat skating over her skin, curling inside of her as it sings through her veins. Arousal that hums in her body like an impossible ache, that slick rhythm as he thrusts into her mouth, holding her in place, giving and taking.

She wants to hold onto him, catch her fingers against skin and scrape nails against his ribs, but the way he keeps her hands pinned is a small, subtle torture. His metal fingers holding her steady as he sets the rhythm, filling her mouth as she moans into his flesh. She likes the feel of him, the feel as he sinks between her lips.]

[He expects that little bit of fight from Natahsa. Hell, he welcomes it, because it gives him more to do with her, more of the things they're both wanting by taking things to this level, into this realm. It makes him have to hold a little tighter, restrain her harder.

When she fights, he gets to fight back, and both of them thrive on it, feed on it. When Natasha struggles a little against his grip, it makes his cock harder.

And then, he's fucking her mouth. Those full, pouting lips are stretched tight around his girth and her eyes, those wide and infinitely deep green eyes, are locked on his as he strokes his length back and forth in her mouth.]

I was going to let you play with yourself. Oh, well.

[He smirks with that little tease at the same time he pulls her head a touch closer until the tip of his length begins to tap the top of her throat with each thrust.]

[She's always enjoyed pushing at him, at the lines, fighting a little because it makes him hold on tighter. It makes him touch her a little rougher, and she's always enjoyed the feeling of it, even before he put a collar around her neck. Now, it just makes those lines clearer, makes that dynamic easier to understand: break the rules and get punished.

She can't help how she whimpers at those words, almost like a threat because he knows what he does to her. That low whine because with his cock between her lips there's no words for protests. Her hands jerk against the grip of his metal fingers, like she might try to forcibly get her hands free and touch herself, but she doesn't, even if the urge is there.

The collar earns him some measure of indulgence, after all, because he asked and she gave.

She's burning, aching with the desire, that need for him as he pulls her a little closer, his cock thrusting into her mouth so he's just starting to hit against her throat. Eyelashes fluttering over her green eyes and she has to close them for a moment, because the feeling is almost overwhelming. She wants him. He does this to her, turns her on, makes her melt, come apart for him.

That rhythm, the pace of his cock fucking into her mouth, and she likes the feeling. Her lips wrapped around the thickness of him, her tongue licking against him all she can manage with how his hand keeps her from moving. She can't lean in, has to let him set the pace and the depth of his thrusts and there's something alluring about that, too.]

[That's the world they live in, thrive in. Adrenaline and violence, fists and bullets and struggle. This began for him because he discovered that Natasha spoke that language, and unlike anyone else who could possibly understand a killer like himself, she can be trusted. And so he does trust her.

Now she's trusting him, and he accepts it gratefully.

The sound of her protest, of dismay at being told she could have touched her aching sex if she had been obedient makes him growl. Not that he would have her totally submissive, of course, but this is the game. He fucks her mouth solidly, pushing deep with every thrust, his eyes never leaving hers, though just past her face he can see her hips squirming with unresolved arousal.

Soon enough, he's as hard as steel. He draws his cock free of Natasha's mouth, then pulls her to her feet. The difference in their height allows him to keep a solid grip on her hands despite the change in position.]

That was very good, Natasha. Maybe I should touch you a little as a reward, hm?

[His free hand slides down her stomach until his fingers rest against her slit.]

[If he didn't have her so on edge, so drunk on the feel of him, she might have grinned, something wicked and torturous at the way that he growls. But James is the one person that hits some chord inside of her, makes her body sing with just the way that he puts his hands on her, the way that his metal fingers hold her arms pinned, keep her from moving as he shoves into her mouth.

She aches with the heat of it, the way that it feels, slick and hard, that friction of how his cock drags against her tongue. How he thrusts deep into her throat and her pupils are dilated, unable to look away from him as she takes everything that he gives her. Something about the feel of the collar and the way that he look at her and it makes her feel that much more.

She's gasping when he pulls from her mouth, her lips slick and flushed, that tremble in her body. He pulls her to her feet, his fingers keeping her hands pinned even as she still tests his grip. This isn't about outright fighting him, trying to force her way free, but if he gives her a chance, that's different.

And then despite his earlier threat about how she'd lost the right to touch herself, he's talking of touching her as a reward, and she murmurs, almost plaintive.]

James--

[She doesn't say please, she isn't good at asking, not even like this, but her hips jerk against his touch. That way that his fingers drag down until they press against her, and she's wet and hot under his fingertips. She wants him to touch her, that way that her body is like a livewire with all that lust and she needs his hands on her because he's still keeping hers pinned.]

[Whose hand it is between Natasha's legs makes all the difference. He had prevented her from pleasuring herself, which is not the same thing as him being the one playing with her, being the one in control of the situation.

He smiles at the plea in the way she says his name. While she might never really beg him for anything no matter how badly she needs it, he knows her well enough to understand that whine was the same thing.]

Feels like you enjoyed my taking your mouth like that.

[At last, his fingers move, slowly stroking back and forth along her slit, the movement easy thanks to her wetness.]

Yes.

[She admits it easily, evenly. She has no shame about what she likes, about how he touches her, how she reacts to it. Instead, she smiles slightly, though it's stained with desire as she looks up at him.

She was trained to use her body as a weapon, but it also made it rather accepting of her own interests. There were things that felt good, and that was good enough. She had no time for other peoples' standards.

Although, she has never looked him in the eyes and said it outloud before, either.]

I like it when you're-- rough with me.

[She also liked leaving bruises on his skin so it was hardly one-sided. But her voice catches and she shakes, a low moan as his fingers start to move, stroking along her slit as her eyes close. His fingers easily trailing over sensitive flesh, making her body tremble as pleasure spiked inside of her.

He knew how to play her body, but of course he did.]

[He leans in even closer, until his voice is a hot rasp against Natasha's ear.]

I know. But I wanted to hear you say it.

[An admittance for her, and for him in turn. He liked being rough with her, liked being able to ride the edge with her, to leave marks and be marked, to ache like mad the next day and search his body for bruises and scratches and bite marks and know Natasha would be doing the same thing. They both lived on that edge, and sharing it made knowing that more bearable.

His long strokes give way to shorter ones, parting and separating the folds of her sex, to completely lay her open to his touch.]

Shall I be rough with you some more before we're done? Should you be spanked, or tied up? Or both?

[His strokes began to alternate with circular motions, coaxing her clit into the open.]

[She murmurs softly at the feeling of his breath against her ear, a slow flutter of her eyelashes at the way the heat plays against her skin. The words are almost a tease, but it makes her smile, that way he admits he just wanted to hear it.

She loves how they fit together; rough, always pushing at that edge, leaving marks that linger, but never long enough. Sometimes she touches herself with fingers slotted into scars or bruises, ghosting touches over the marks he's left on her skin. Most of them don't stay, not with how her body heals, except that scar on her abdomen.

His fingers keep moving, long strokes shifting to shorter ones, his fingers parting her folds, and she moans softly. There's a shake in her shoulders at the feel of it, the way that he touches her, how he mixes in circular motions to have her slit open and exposed against his fingertips. A soft gasp as she leans into him, hands still tugging against his grip because she wants to hold onto something, and there's something vulnerable about being held up like this, with his metal fingers holding her arms pinned.]

Yes. [She huffs half a laugh, because really, as if he has to ask if she wants it rough. But who can blame him for wanting to hear the words?] Are you going to punish me, James? Tie me down and spank me?

[There's something sensual to her tone, a sense of heat, a flicker of desire as she helplessly presses into his fingers that slide against her wet slit. She wants him, wants his body against hers, skin on skin and the feel of him filling her and taking her apart. She's letting him set the pace, but it doesn't mean she's not aching.]

[Marks on their skin, marks on their souls. Natasha has a scar she can hide, and he has one that can't be missed, but as far as he's concerned, they're nothing compared to the way they've been marked on the inside. Perhaps that's why they like to leave their imprints on each other. Marks they've chosen, and welcomed.

The way she's pulling and struggling against his grip, she'll have bruises on her wrists by morning, and the thought makes him warm.]

All of those things. I think I'll bind you to the bed and then turn that perfect ass of yours bright red.

[He curls two of the fingers between her thighs, slipping them inside her entrance.]

But first, you're going to come for me.

[There's blood on their fingers and marks on their souls, the scars from where they've been taken apart and reassembled, inside out. But like this, they choose and accept the marks, the cuts and scrapes and bruises. She likes his hands on her, the marks he leaves, whether it's on her hips or her throat or any other inch of skin.

It's part of why she likes the weight of the collar around her throat, perhaps. Not a mark, exactly, not something that aches on her skin, but it's something he gave her and she accepted. Her submission to him, such as it is, is a choice. Something freely given because he's earned that trust.

She smiles softly as he talks about binding her to the bed and spanking her until her ass is bright red. It makes her pulse race, a thrill that curls inside of her at the idea of it, the feel of his fingers on her skin, leaving a different kind of mark. Pale skin turned red, and sometimes bruises linger after the red fades, and she thinks of him every time she sits down and has to struggle not to squirm.

She moans, hot and heavy, her head falling back and her body shaking as he pushes two of his fingers inside of her. She's slick and wet around his fingers and she whimpers, but nods at his words. As if there was any doubt, anyone that knew her body as well as he did, that knew how to take her apart, hit all those sweet spots inside of her.]

James--

[She doesn't really ask, usually, but sometimes it's there in the hum of her voice.]

[Everything is about choice for them. After too long being forged and molded and used by others, there is nothing more precious to Natasha or to himself than their ability to choose their own fates. It makes her choice to give control over to him that much more significant and precious to him.

His fingers pump in and out of her, Natasha's arousal dripping down onto them and past his hand to her thighs. Her body is warm against his skin and growing warmer as he pleasures her and pushes her to the edge.]

I said, come for me, Natasha.

[While his fingers continue to slide inside her sheath, his thumb presses and circles around her clit, doubling the stimulation. Although she's well aware of how well he knows her body, he still wants to show her what he can do.]

[His fingers push inside of her, in and out, a fast rhythm that has her moaning, her shoulders curling as her body jerked helplessly against how he held her. He was pushing her up to the edge fast, her wetness dripping against his hand and against her thighs, like proof of just what he does to her, how much he gets to her.

She gasps, breathes in whimpered understanding as he echoes that demand, and she knows she wont last long. She's not fighting it, not this time, though sometimes she does. Makes him prove just how well he knows her body, tearing down her restraint like paper walls. His thumb starts teasing against her clit and she groans, crying out sharp and aching.

It doesn't take long until she's coming apart, until she's shaking and crying out as her muscles spasm and her body tenses, soft moans and wordless cries of his name on her full lips as he tips her over into her orgasm, leaving her body quivering tight around his fingers.]

[He likes when she challenges him, when Natasha puts all the techniques she was taught to resist things like interrogations and torture to work against his efforts to make her come. He likes the devilish glint in her green eyes when she all but dares him to beat her. It's the kind of constant struggle they both thrive on.

But in the moment, her surrender to the pumping fingers in her sheath satisfies him just as much. This orgasm is just a prelude to everything else, a statement of fact that he has control over her tonight, that the collar around her throat means something real.

When Natasha comes, his grip on her doesn't just restrain, it supports her body as she goes almost boneless under the power of her climax. He watches with hungry eyes as she shakes apart, clutching tight around his fingers. When the tremors start to quiet, he releases her hands and catches her before she can fall, carrying her to the bed.]

[When she comes for him, his hands support her, giving her something to lean into as her body quivers and she can't even stand straight. She can feel the weight of his eyes on her, the heat and the hunger as her body clutches at his fingers as the aftershocks run through her, leaving her gasping, trying to catch her breath as she leans into him. She can trust him to hold her up, to be solid when she needs him to be, so that she can let herself just come apart like this.

He lets go of her hands and she gasps as the sudden shift of her weight almost has her falling, with her knees still weak, but he catches her, arms wrapping around her and she leans into him. There's something about this, about being able to give herself over to his hands, to let herself come apart and trust him to catch her. It gives a weight to the collar around her throat, the way he takes her apart, and his hands there to catch her. Trust, the way it makes it a little easier to bend into his hands.]

James...

[Low murmur of his name as she looks up at him, a flutter of her eyelashes and a crooked curl of her lips as he carries her to the bed and she melts into it.]

[The sound of his name on her lips sparks a small explosion inside of him. It's plea and promise and contentment and need all wrapped up in one syllable and it makes him ache for her almost painfully.

Once he sets her on the bed, he gently guides Natasha to roll over onto her stomach. He kneels beside the bed and starts scattering kisses over her back and shoulders. He moves down to her waist, then skips to her legs. When he's finally done there, he covers the shapely curve of her ass with kisses and a few soft, possessive bites.]

I think I'd like to see this nice and bright pink. Maybe even red. What do you say?

[His hand caresses one cheek, sliding over the soft skin.]

[He sets her on the bed and she relaxes into his hands, lets him urge her over onto her stomach with a low murmur on her mouth. Her breath catches and there's a soft inhale, a flutter of her eyelashes at the press of his lips against her back and shoulders. His lips a whisper against her skin, dusting her with soft affections and she sighs quietly, the heat of his mouth on her body as he moves from the curve of her shoulders down the arch of her back. Then he skips down to her legs, and the press of his mouth and the drag of the stubble of his jaw is almost ticklish against the back of her calves.

He kisses up against the curve of her rear, and she gasps as he bites softly against flesh, but it still makes her tense a little. There's something about how he looks at her, the way that he touches her... The way his fingers caress against the skin as he speaks, that question that hangs in the air and she smiles, a little wicked, not that he can see it, though it colors her voice, too.]

Mm, I can take it.

[That hum to her words almost seem to imply she might just like it. Not that it's a new revelation, but it's one of the things she doesn't bother trying to hide with him.]

[Touching her is one of his most favorite things in the world. It's a mixture of appreciation and worship and possessiveness and hunger in every kiss from his lips and stroke of his fingers. And the fact that Natasha doesn't shrink at the least from the touch of his metal fingers across her flesh only deepens his enjoyment of the act.

He leans in to whisper in her hear.]

Oh, I know you can, Natasha. But I like knowing you want to.

[Without warning, he brings a hand down swiftly onto one cheek of that lovely ass, his handprint there turning bright pink immediately. He straightens and begins raining down more slaps to her rear, varying the angles and strength, keeping her in constant anticipation.]

[She likes the feeling of having him touch her, the way that his fingers skim across her flesh, whether it's skin or metal, just having his hands on her makes her shiver. She likes touching him too, exploring the muscle under skin, the lines where metal bonds to flesh. She likes the difference in his two hands, thinks there's a sort of hard beauty in both.

She murmurs as his voice comes warm and low against the curve of her ear, and she smiles at the admittance. There's a quip on her tongue, something sharp and playful, meant to spur him on, but he doesn't give her the chance.

Instead, his hand strikes one of the cheeks of her ass suddenly, and she gasps, her breath catching in her throat as her body jerks with the impact. She can feel where he struck her, feel the way that the impact tingles along the skin. But he doesn't stop there, and his hand comes down again, the sound ringing loud in the room as low murmurs and soft sounds linger on her lips. He varies the angle, the power behind it, some of them just enough to feel, some of them jarring her whole body. She can never quite predict where the next one comes from and it keeps her on edge, her body shaking as he spanks her.

Her pale skin turning a deep, bright pink, the print of his hand no longer clearly defined but coloring everywhere he touches. She likes the feel of it, it's hard and intense and it makes her skin burn, everywhere he spanks her becoming almost over sensitive so that she burns with the feeling when his hand drops again.]

[Not that he would ever admit it to anyone except perhaps Natasha-- who wouldn't ask, as she wouldn't need to-- but as he spanks her, he takes a kind of perverse pleasure in knowing that he's bending the training and indoctrination he'd been given in interrogation and torture to this unintended and far better purpose. He knows how to impart the exact amount of speed and strength, how to keep the pain superficial, how to prevent bruising, and he only uses his right hand.

After thirty strokes, he stops to admire his work, his breathing shallow and heated. Her shapely ass is a canvas turned hot pink with pale, ragged, vaguely finger-shaped edges. His cock aches at the sight of it.

At last, he brings down his left hand, this time with the most gently touch of his palm and fingers against the heated flesh, knowing the metal will be almost shockingly cool against it. He strokes her cheeks tenderly, the soothing another kind of torture until his fingers dip between her thighs.] Let me see how much you enjoyed that...

[He's good at this, in part because he knows how to hurt people. Having been through very similar training, she's aware how knowing how to break people also means you know how not to. He's aware of exactly where the edges are, what will make the pain more than just that pleasant sting, leave bruises that linger. And maybe more than that, he knows her. He'd been her teacher once, he knew what she was capable of, knew her lines, how far he could push to keep her here. That way that it builds, drives heat through her body, trembling with every stroke of his hand.

After twenty, every impact is punctuated by a rough noise from her throat, sometimes it's his name, sometimes it's just rough sound, that ache and the desire that he draws in her. Her skin burns, over-sensitive and raw to the touch, but he knows how to modulate the force and keeps her where it aches but never hurts, not really. For all that she'd said she could take it, he doesn't make her, doesn't count on her pain tolerance. Sometimes she likes being pushed a little too far, but with the newness of the collar around her throat, there's a reassurance in how perfectly he keeps from pushing that line.

Then his left hand comes down and she cries out with his name on her tongue, loud and sharp at the sudden shift. The way his hand is all hard metal, cool and with how hot her skin burns at the touch the contrast shakes her to her core. His fingers stroke gently over the skin, and she whimpers softly, her body trembling where she's laid out for him. When his hand slides down between her thighs, her back arches, body pressing against his touch, and her breath catches in her throat, a low moan at the feeling of it.

She's hot and aching for him, her thighs slick and she can't help how her hips jerk against the touch like a soft plea. He always knows how to take her apart, have her shaking and burning for him like a candle in the dark.] I need you.

[There will probably be a day-- really, it's nearly a certainty given the way they're both responding to this new dynamic between them, embracing it wholeheartedly and diving in with both feet-- where he'll really take her to her limit. A day when he'll have a bag full of implements and he won't stop at just turning her ass red, but bruised and screaming. But not tonight. Tonight all he wants is to see what she'll allow him to make her do.

The strength of Natasha's response to his left hand surprises him, and he files it away for reference later. At the moment, he continues the torturous relief of its coolness on her skin for a while before pressing his fingers to her sex.]

So wet... you really liked that, didn't you?

[And the fact that his cock is jutting dark and hard as stone from his hips gives full indication that he did, too. He's aching as well, aching to bury himself in her right now, but this is a journey for them both. Will the Black Widow beg? Even a little?]

Need me to what?

[The cool contrast of metal fingers on the burning heat of her red ass makes her shake and groan softly, trying to catch her breath. His fingers touch against her and she shivers with a low murmur. She can feel how slick she is against his fingertips, her body hot and wet and aching. She nods at the question, still a little bit breathless from the feel of having him spank her like this.

And she knows that he likes it, too, that she's not the only one left aching from the feel of it. It makes the way that he all but taunts her with that second question just that much more grating. He could, probably, get her to beg. Make it something that she'd give him, too, but it wont ever be easy, because that's not the sort of woman she is.

Instead, she tilts her head to the side, looks at him with a sharp curl of her lips, something wicked dancing in her eyes.]

I need you to fuck me, James.

[But there's nothing soft or pleading in the words. It's defiant, demanding, now almost an implication on the air as she squirms against his fingers. An invitation for him to punish her, because she can't help testing to see where the lines are, even as she burns for him with every breath.]

[Circling, testing, probing. Gathering information and analyzing. It's second nature to them both. Spies. But now they've turned their attentions on each other, and for much different reasons than they've ever applied these instincts before.

She's given quite a lot already, almost more than he ever expected, but there's a voice inside of him, a dark direction that insists she could be made to give more and accept it, perhaps even enjoy it. But he couldn't for a moment expect it, not yet. This would be a far greater push to her limits than any physical punishment.]

You can do better than that.

[His tone is teasing, challenging. He moves over to straddle her legs, letting the stiff length of his cock rest against her still glowing red ass cheeks, making it clear that he's only inches from giving her what she wants and he is not.]

Ask Ask nicely.

[It's a different sensation, using those skills on each other. Gathering information and reactions not to abuse, not to harm, but to bring pleasure, figure out these things they want that aren't so often talked about.

They're both good at reading each other, though sometimes she thinks that James sees her more clearly than she sees him. But maybe that's just to be expected -- he did help make her, mold her, hone her edges, after all.

She never expected it would leave them here, though. With him pushing her like this, that knowledge hanging between them that there's part of her that wants to give, and that he wants her to. The ticking seconds are agony enough, just that ache of wanting him.

And then he makes it worse, of course. His body straddling her, his hard cock pressing against the burning heat of her ass, pressed between her cheeks and she chokes at the feeling of him. His cock hot against her oversensitive skin and it trails off in a whimper. Oh, she tries to hold out, but she's crumbling, arching against him and it's on the tip of her tongue.]

--No.

[She doesn't mean it. Just a vain attempt that he might give up before she breaks, might not push that step further to take her over that edge. Because out of everything, this is the hard part: letting herself be that vulnerable. Please, soft enough to ask him for what she burns for.]

[Actually, there's a part of him that's proud of the defiance. It's part of the Black Widow that he helped to craft and forge into the formidable weapon that he knows so well. But at the same time, he knows this moment, this night isn't for the Black Widow, it's for Natasha, and he knows that girl well. Knows what she needs and how to make her admit as much to herself.]

No? Tsk, tsk.

[One hand lashes out, his fist gathering most of her hair together so that he can pull back hard, arching her body like a bow. His free hand begins to spank her ass again, but this time, the impacts are hard enough to shake her and almost the bed itself.]

You. Can.Do. Better. Than. That.

[It's hard for her, to stop being the Widow, stop being the spy and the killer with so much blood on her hands. It takes him to pull her down, make her into something else. So that she's just Natalia, just the girl, the one that was all rough edges the first time they met. That needs his body against her own more than she needs to be unbreakable.

She gasps as his fist reaches out, his fingers curling around her hair and pulling back hard enough that she almost whimpers. He arches her body back, drawn taut as he starts to spank her again. Except this time it's harder, and he's jarring her body, almost making the entirety of the bed shake. Those words come rough and staccato, punctuate by the slap of his hand against her ass.]

Ple- please. Please, James- I need to be yours. I want you to come inside me.

[Her voice a plea, an aching desperation as she arches, leaning into his hand on her ass even as the sting of it cuts through her. She's trembling, shaking, wide-eyed as he spanks her. That collar around her neck somehow feels almost as hot as her ass does, like there's a weight to it.]

[Bucky pulls on her hair again, bringing her ear closer to his mouth so that he can breathe hotly on it for a moment before speaking.]

That's. My. Girl.

[He hasn't broken her. They're not that kind of dynamic where he has to do something that dramatic, even with the resistance that's so much a part of her nature. But he has pushed her and spun her and taken her to the edge until she does what would usually be unthinkable for Natasha Romanoff.

She surrenders to him.

He relaxes his arm, but doesn't let go of Natasha's hair just yet. With his other hand, he angles his cock downwards until the head pushes just at the entrance of her pussy. Rolling his hips, he pushes himself inside of her with a loud groan. In this position, even as wet as he's gotten her, Natasha is almost painfully tight around his cock.]

[Natasha moans at the feeling of his breath against her ear, the way his fingers in her hair pull her back toward him. So when he speaks, those words coming in sharp staccato pacing, and it makes her shiver and shake with that hot, heated sort of approval that he breathes against her ear.

But he's right -- this isn't breaking. He doesn't need her to break, and she doesn't need to be so unmovable that breaking is the only way to get here. What it is perhaps means even more: it's giving. Letting him push her to the edge and allowing herself to fall. To surrender and be his Natalia, instead of Black Widow, be the girl he'd shaped so many years ago.

She whimpers, a low murmur of pleasure as he angles his cock so the head presses against her dripping wet slit. Then he rolls his hips, sinking inside of her, and she can't help that cry of unrestrained pleasure. The way he has her body, the angle as he sinks into her makes it so she is intensely aware of the girth of him, can feel every inch, feel him stretching her pussy open for him. James has never had an issue when it comes to size, and this makes it even more intense, every push inside of her making her shake, his name on her lips, loud and needy.]

Oh, James--

[It's in this moment where sometimes, the dynamic between the Dominant and the submissive breaks down-- he's done the research. He certainly wasn't going to put a collar around the throat of someone like Natasha without at least having an idea of what he was doing. And he understands why.

Once his cock is buried inside her and she's gripping him like a red hot velvet vise, it's difficult for him to concentrate on anything but that feeling and the urge to keep thrusting his cock into her for as long as he can. She's always undone him, unmade him in this moment, tearing down the Winter Soldier, and he has always treasured her ability to do that.]

Does it feel good, Natalia? Does it feel good to have me fucking you again?

[His words are hissed out, the slick heat of her pussy driving him mad. It would be so easy to abandon the game and collapse back to satisfying their physical needs, but tonight is about more than that, so he holds on to his control.]

[Natasha can hardly think straight as heat burns through her body. That slick friction as his cock sinks into her pussy, and she cries out softly at the feeling. His body against her, his hands on her skin and that collar at her throat, and it's all she can do to shake against him. Her hips jerking faintly, trying to press back against him, take more of him.]

Y-yes.

[She's breathless and her voice catches as she speaks, trailing off into a moan as her eyes close, but she nods in silent answer. She doesn't have the words for it, can't tell him how good it feels, how much she needs this, needs him, the way that he makes her feel like this. Her body slick and helplessly wet with her need as she's stretched around the girth of his cock.

She's always taken him apart, and he's taken her apart in answer, but tonight something feels different. The way he's buried inside of her, and she's the one coming apart with just the feel of it. Half unsure if she'd know her name if he wasn't breathing it on the air between them.]

So good-- Need you.

As much as I need you. As I have always needed you.

[The words are as much a confirmation as they are a promise. Now that time and fate have put them back on the same path once more, there is no power on earth that Bucky can think of that will pry him away. They were joined long ago, and that it's taken this long to come back to one another is only a technicality now.

His body is so flat now that he's nearly laying completely atop Natasha, his rear rolling rhythmically as he grinds his hips down against her body, his cock pushing inside as deep as it can from this angle, which he soon realizes is not enough, judging by the way the heat and pressure inside of him are rising.

He knows what to do to Natasha next, but there's one thing undone.]

Come for me again. Come for me, and I'll show you something new.

[She murmurs, low and with an almost-whimper at his words, because she needs those words. They've been apart for so long and she's ached for him, missed him, and having him back just proved how much she needed him.

His body is almost entirely on top of her, that weight as he grinds his hips down against her. His cock pushing into her, that friction, that way that he moves against her. Every movement of his body against hers makes her moan and groan, shaking as she arches into his body, into the feel of him inside of her.]

Oh, James...

[His name is like a whimper on her tongue. And there's that command, that demand, and when he has her like this, it's hard to resist. It doesn't take long, that way he grinds his hips against her, the way that his cock fills her is overwhelming. And there's that edge, too. That tone to his voice, and while she doesn't come on command, it does push her closer.

Closer until there's that muffled cry, until there's the way that her pussy clutches and flexes around the girth of him as she comes apart.]

[The feel of Natasha's orgasming around him is as exquisite as the kind of torture he puts himself through, holding back his own climax which definitely threatens when her body clenches and shudders around his cock. She's writhing and arching beneath his body, and he rides her through the entire thing.

Bucky can feel her gushing around his girth, hot and ready for even more. He waits, making small movements of his hips as she slowly came down from her high.] Good girl, that's my good girl. Very well done, my dear.

[Once he's satisfied with her recovery, Bucky reluctantly pulls himself free of her. He turns Natasha onto her back, and he returns to the bag. Finding what he wants, he gets to work, moving with the kind of intense efficiency he shows in every mission, although tonight's task has much greater rewards.

When he's finished, Natasha is bound to the bed, hands and feet pulled towards each corner, spread open completely at his mercy. If Natasha's going to get to let go, she needed him to restrain her to make it possible.]

[He does this to her, draws her out and makes her crumble, break for him, her body cresting and coming apart as his voice demands it. Not just because he asks, but it's part of it. Something in the words, in how from beat to beat they move from request to demand and back again. And she gives, gives into him, into the feel of him.

He calls her good girl, and it claws under her skin, feels like a whispered memory of when they were young, and he was training her, voice at her ear- good girl. Words that make her flex around him as she comes down from it, eyelashes fluttering.

She's spent and a little hazy, trying to catch her breath and she gasps when he starts to pull free of her body. Hands turning her over so that she's lying on her back, and then he moves. All efficiency, and she looks up at him, gaze widening for a moment, but she doesn't protest. Because she agreed, and part of her wants to know what happens, what it feels like if she gives him this. The permission, the collar.

He ties her down, limbs at each corner of the bed, strong enough to hold her. Smart boy. Because they both know that she'll struggle if he really wants to push her until she lets go. There'll be the point where she can't help put jerk against her restraints, find out if he really means to hold her. She thinks that he does, and so she grins, smiles up at him with a lift of an eyebrow. Her skin still flushed from her orgasm, but it's hard to stop wanting, given how much time they've lost.]

So, show me.

[He doesn't use the words lightly or by accident. Not too many memories really remain from the years he'd spent as the Winter Soldier, but the most solid, the most indelible ones were almost all centered on young Natalia Alianova, and how she'd gone from trainee to lover to the woman who managed to make him a man again, even if only for a while.

Bucky sees the curiosity and surprise mixing in her expression as he restrains her. There's no way for even her nimble fingers to loosen the cuffs, and the straps and bed are strong enough to have held him for a while. He'd made sure of it.]

Of course.

[Another trip to the bag, returning with a flogger consisting of a thick sturdy handle from which hung dozens of strands of rope. He twirled the implement in one hand, much like he would brandish a knife, making sure it was well within Natasha's eyeline.

And then it began to strike her. Bucky's wrist flicked or his arm moved, all randomly, depending on whether her wanted a light tap or a sharp sting. He spared almost no part of the flesh he could reach except for deliberately avoiding her sex completely. The flogger flew again and again.]

[She remembers all of it. Her older memories had been a little fuzzy when she'd first broken free of the conditioning, but now she's mostly intact, more or less, in the years since. Or at least, any lingering holes aren't ones she's really aware of.

She's let herself be restrained before, on any number of missions where it was easier to obtain her objective by getting herself captured. But this was different. Not just because Bucky knows her, knows to make the restraints so that she can't get out of them easily. But it's something about the tenor of the moment, something on the air, the way that he looks at her.

She's watching him, Bucky consuming her senses, entirely focused on him. And she watches as he pulls a flogger from the bag, the way that he holds it in her line of sight, making sure that she sees what he has in his hands. There's a catch of her breath even before the first strike, just that awareness of it.

When he hits her, it comes louder and sharper. She's been trained to be all but immune to torture, physical or chemical, she could pull back. But she doesn't, because this isn't torture, and Bucky might push her to let go, but he's not trying to shatter who she is. It's a difference that matters, and they both know it. So she stays here, focused on him, on the moment, on every time it strikes her skin. She squirms, cries out, the flogger turning her pale flesh a deep pink and she writhes on the bed, yanking hard enough at her restraints it puts welts into her wrists.

Put there's a low ebb of pleasure with the pain, too, especially when he covers the firm globes of her breasts in those stinging strikes.]

James--!

[His name on her mouth as he keeps flicking the flogger against her skin. Her body burns, and he's already made her orgasm twice, but she's aching for him all over again. Her pussy dripping both from her orgasm and her sheer want for him as she arches up into the impacts.]

[Torture is about overwhelming a person with so much pain and despair that they can no longer resist, and are willing to do anything to make the pain go away. This is about overwhelming Natasha, as well, but with the kind of sensations-- both painful and pleasurable-- that will fill up her senses until she has to let go of tensions and inhibitions and break through the walls around herself.

If he guides her correctly through this, he can set her free. That's why he is varying his strikes, trying to set every single nerve ending on fire, turning her porcelain skin to flushed pink and even red in some spots.

When she calls out his name, he can hear all the things in the word that he's been longing to hear: need, thanks, lust, pain, release. But he knows he's just building her up as high as he can so that when he delivers the last few blows, they will have the greatest effect. Once he sees her chest heaving, her eyes wide, he knows it's time.

The flogger finally comes down between her legs.]

( open to pretty much any character/canon/crossover you can cook up and assumed cr. prefs and kinks are here. if you want to pick pictures from my secret stash, take a peek here and here. )

Edited 2016-05-29 14:17 (UTC)

Your stash is coming up 404 for me, but I can offer these?

[ Please link images! ]

Edited 2016-05-29 14:19 (UTC)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Edited 2016-05-29 23:38 (UTC)

One of these days, perhaps, Cullen will think to lock the doors - all three of them - to his tower when he's buried in a proverbial pile of paperwork.

Well, maybe, but that day is not today, and so it's with a vague sort of frown that he looks up at the sound of one of those doors opening. Expecting one of his lieutenants, or a messenger from Leliana or Josephine -

It's not.

Surprise, it's that Dalish mage the Inquisitor picked up at some point — a bookish thing who likes to drone on about the history of every race and whatever other random tidbits of information she thinks might be useful to their cause. And the one that has been making a habit of visiting Cullen in the early evening since they started this thing they have.

Lioriley half-knocks as she pushes the door open, pretending to have some semblance of manners even now, "Cullen? I am not interrupting, am I?" Does it matter? because she's coming in anyway; her bare feet hitting the cool stone of the floor with a faint shiver. How she got up the ramparts and through three sets of doors wearing those thin robes and an obvious lack of pants sure is a mystery I don't have time to solve right now. but Iron Bull doesn't wear shirts half the time so honestly who even cares.

This is the Inquisition. There are all sorts running about - the guards probably didn't even bat an eyelash at the sight of her.

Cullen's face relaxes a bit, and his lips turn up in a half-smile as he sets aside the report he was poring over. "If you were, you wouldn't care," he points out, almost fondly.

Lior keeps him from going mad with the paperwork, so it's all right. "Is there something you needed?"

"That is not true!" comes her almost childish rebuttal, her cheeks puffing slightly as she leans back into the door to make sure that it is closed properly. And locked with an audible click, "If I were truly interrupting you, I would have waited until you were finished with your work. The Inquisitor would not be pleased if I did otherwise." probably. Maybe.

To his question, she simply nods and steps over to him, a hand pressed to his chest, "A few moments of your time, if you are willing to give them."

That lock is definitely audible. And Lior looks a bit like a cat stalking her prey. Not that Cullen is scared - rather the opposite, actually, especially as he actually takes a good look at her, and what she's wearing - and rather more to the point, what she's not wearing.

He clears his throat, and leans back in his chair a little to give her more room to move.

"What, only a few moments?" he jokes, eyebrows going up.

Perfect. The elf is quick to shift into position — half sitting on the edge of the desk right in front of Cullen. The robes she wears are a pathetic excuse for clothing: reaching only to her knees and cut so the skin just above her breasts is bared. Who gave her that? Surely she didn't own it before today.

"Ah — Perhaps a little longer. Do you have time to spare?" A genuine question, like she's really concerned about pulling him from his work for too long. She leans forward, resting both hands on his thighs now as her long, white hair falls over her shoulder.

He knows she means the question, too. It's one of the reasons why he likes her so much - that she wouldn't really want to interrupt him if he was doing something important. He knows if he had to send her away, she would understand.

But he doesn't have to, not tonight. Thank the Maker. Whatever it is she's wearing - it's doing its job, being thoroughly distracting.

"I do," he assures her, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face affectionately. Letting one finger trace the sensitive shell of her ear. "What did you have in mind?"

She smiles softly then, her eyes fluttering shut for those few seconds his fingers trace her ear. Sensitive is an understatement; with how she seemingly melts at such a simple touch.

But she has to focus — she came here to do something and by the gods she is going to do it. When she opens her eyes again, it's to lock them with Cullen's, "A few things that I have been wanting to try." She says vaguely, though her hand elaborates for her as it traces the outside of Cullen's thigh, then moves to grip gently between his legs — pointedly, even.

"I realized not long ago, that I have never had the chance to taste you properly yet."

A few things? Cullen raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn't protest, certainly not at her touch. She is skilled at making him hard, she'll accomplish that in very little time.

"I see," he says, letting his hand run down her side, to bunch up the fabric of the robe, or nightdress, or whatever it is. It's nearly sheer, and thus he can practically see that she's wearing nothing underneath.

And she's right about that - the few times they've made love, he's tasted her, but she hasn't reciprocated. He's never asked for it - he knows some human men enjoy - using Dalish women in such ways, but that's not what he does.

"You don't have to," he points out - just to make sure she knows.

"But I want to. I have wanted to for some time now." But one thing always lead to another — he usually came long before she had the chance, and she was often too deep in the throes of passion to even think to mention it. But now... now she had him right where she wanted him, in the perfect position to taste him; as well as a few other things if they could manage.

The elf leans in to kiss him once on the lips, the palm of her hand grinding against his crotch as she feels the familiar press of his cock against it. The sorry excuse for a robe rides up on her dark skin, confirming that there is literally nothing underneath to cover her. It's a good thing no one else took notice of that, she thinks.

"You do so much for me." Another press of her palm before her hand slides upward, unbuckling the belt around his hips, "Let me return the favor."

Edited 2016-05-30 04:27 (UTC)

"Well..." He hums, tugging her close to kiss her again - Maker, but he loves kissing her. "It's not like I can deny you anything you ask for," he points out eventually.

Certainly not if his growing erection has anything to say about it. But he's going to continue touching her in return - tugging aside the sheer fabric so he can run his hand over her belly, around her hip, to her arse. Just because he can.

She laughs, breath warm against his lips as she kisses him one last time before descending to his neck. An audible clack of metal hitting the ground signifies her victory over the belt that had halted the progress of her fingers earlier. A few more tugs and she can have his pants open enough to reach in and curl her hand around his dick.

And while this is supposed to be her time to pay attention to him, she doesn't seem opposed to him touching her. Her hips wiggle, back arched as she leans into his touch and silently encourages him to continue.

Cullen makes a small noise in the back of his throat at the touch of her hand - she always does this to him, always has him wanting to keen and beg for more.

As her mouth moves down, his hands move up - up her back, and then around, tugging down the fabric to expose her small breasts, so he can tweak and pinch her nipples.

The fabric easily falls from her shoulders, bunching at the crook of her elbows as he pushes it away. A low moan vibrates against his neck as she kisses his skin; leaving a wet trail in her wake. The upper half of his uniform will have to remain for now; for the lower half has already been dealt with and that is where she's headed.

One last kiss and then she shifts down, (reluctantly) away from his hands and down between his legs. There she kneels — knees hitting the hard stone, but she could honestly care less about her own comfort right now. Her hand pulls his cock free from the confines of his trousers, fingers rubbing up and down the length of it. She looks up to him, almost expectantly, awaiting some kind of verbal cue to continue.

The position is a bit unfortunate, perhaps - he likes touching her, likes making her body respond to him. But - he assumes that he'll be able to do it again soon, and so he contents himself with tangling his fingers in her hair, almost massaging her scalp gently as she frees his cock.

"Please," he murmurs, the cool air on his hot skin making him almost shiver.

That will suffice. She smiles up at him again before she shifts her attention downward again, head tilted to the side and her tongue extended from her lips so she can press the flat of it to the base of his shaft. From there, she starts her slow ascent upward to the head; making sure she licks every inch of him before she reaches the top.

She licks him like she might a sweet - as though she relishes the taste of him, and Maker's balls, but that alone gets a quiet groan from his lips. He's always thought of this particular act as one that would be rather humiliating, or at the very least unpleasant, for the woman. But Lior displays none of it. And really, that's what he finds arousing - her enthusiasm, her pleasure.

Humiliating? Hardly. She loves it. Lioriley repeats the motion a few more times, willing more noises out of the commander before she comes to a stop at the head of his cock. Her lips — warm and wet as they are now — envelope only a little bit, suckling with her tongue lapping at the underside of the head. A hum vibrates against him, her eyes flickering upward to watch him; to see if he is watching her.

He is, in fact, watching her - at least right now, though he's resisting the urge to let his eyes fall shut at the feeling. But the sight of her like this, with her lips wet and so near his cock - it's obscene, and glorious.

His hand slides to cup the back of her head, not forcing her or directing her, just cupping there, fingers pressing gently into the back of her neck.

It's even more obscene when one considers the fact that there are people likely walking all around them, just outside the doors of his office. She can hear the soft thump of booted feet in the distance — so close but never nearing this door in particular. An added thrill to the excitement she feels just by being with him.

She takes the press of his hand as encouragement to venture forth, and so she dips her head down and opens her mouth wide to take him in. Her hand follows the motion, pumping just as Lioriley's head starts to bob.

Add to that the fact that none of them would believe such a scene was actually taking place in this office - most in the Inquisition would never expect such things of the Commander, to have a woman sucking his cock, right at his desk.

He groans again - it's not just the sight, now, but also the wet heat of her mouth engulfing him. It's all he can do not to thrust his hips into her mouth, but even his impeccable control has a tendency to fray in her presence.

Usually they have the decency to wander up to his sorry excuse for a bedroom, where stifling the noisy elf is far easier and less likely to raise suspicions. Normally it's her own hands that hide the sounds — maybe Cullen's, if he's so bold — or her face pressed into a pillow. Now it's his cock, wedged so nicely between her lips that makes sure no one hears them.

She dips down a little further, the head of his cock meeting the back of her throat and she feels that telltale sign of her gag reflex kicking in. Noting it is time to retreat, she pulls back, licks around the head and then dives right back in. Up and down, up and down, low muffled moans rumbling from her chest. He might even hear and attempt to say his name, if he listens carefully.

It's his sounds he needs to muffle now, biting his lip hard to keep himself from moaning too loud. At least, at this time of the evening, there are only a couple of night patrols out and about, not the whole of the Inquisition.

He's never seen anything so beautiful, so erotic, as Lior with her mouth around him. He can't look away at this point, though he knows he'll approach his completion sooner the longer he watches. Still, he watches, his breath catching in his chest, his fingers gathering up her hair, tangling in it, perhaps even giving it the gentlest of tugs.

Eventually, though, he has to speak. "My dear, I can't - if you don't want this to be over yet, you'll need to stop soon."

The initial tug upon her hair doesn't stop her, and seems to encourage her more as she continues to rhythmically bob her head. Every once in a while she stops, ducks down to lick along the length of his shaft, and starts all over again once she reaches the top.

But then he speaks, and her pace seems to slow — as if silently debating what to do next. She doesn't want him to come just yet, but she also doesn't want to stop what she's doing now; like she's slowly becoming addicted to the taste of him on her tongue. Alas, she has to make a choice, and she can always go back down on him some other time, right? Right.

So she finally relents, giving one last lick to the head of his cock before she pulls back with a loud pop of her lips — puffy and tinted blue from how fervently she had been sucking a moment before. She looks up to him again, "Can I have you inside me, then?" Does she need to ask? Probably not.

No, she never needs to ask. Certainly not now, when he's hard and throbbing and the way she looks at him and licks her lips makes him want to do things he would never actually contemplate doing - not unless she specifically asked him to.

Like bending her roughly over his desk, taking her from behind, biting her skin hard enough to bruise it.

"Yes," he says, his voice rough as he reaches for her. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

Upstairs. She glances to the ladder leading up to the loft, her brows furrowing slightly. She shakes her head when she turns back to look at him.

"Can you not take me here?" Right here, either in his chair or on his desk. Hell, even on the floor or up against a wall, she doesn't really care. The elf lifts herself just enough, hands pressed to his thighs, that when she leans over his cock presses between her tiny breasts. "I do not think I can wait."

That gets a groan from him. Her closeness, her warmth, her words. That doing what she just did, has made her so eager for him she doesn't even want to wait the few minutes it would take them to climb the ladder and make their way to his bed.

Cullen reaches for her, fingers brushing over her nipple, and down.

"Wherever you like," he assures her, urging her up. If she's eager, he's nearly desperate, desperate for the tight heat of her around him.

It doesn't take much to have her rising to her feet, rubbing against him once more before she stands fully. She leans in to kiss him once on the lips, and it looks as if she's going to just slide into his lap and straddle him — but at the last second she decides to turn so her back is facing him. It's only then that she eases herself back and into his lap, bunching up the fabric of her robe so she can properly settle herself; pussy pressed against his cock.

She probably could have taken his pants off the rest of the way while she was down there, but to hell with it. She wants him now and it sounds like he's just as desperate, "Wherever you want me, Cullen. I am yours." So if he feels the need to move her, she won't object. She's also fine with this.

"Temptress," Cullen says with a faint chuckle, brushing her hair to the side so he can press a kiss to the back of her neck. But she said wherever you want me. So he grips her hips, standing to nudge her forward.

He reaches around her and sweeps the piles of papers off his desk, then kisses her neck again, slowly. "Take this off, then, hm?" he murmurs, tugging at the sheer fabric. "And then bend over."

"Is that what you think?" She says, half-pouting as she tilts her head to look at him over her shoulder. The kiss to her neck is nice, has her humming softly in approval and she almost thinks to ask him to do that again — but then they're moving, and her mind wanders elsewhere.

Specifically, it wanders to the words that come out of Cullen's mouth. Of all she might have expected, that was not on the list. She's not opposed, though, with how eagerly she moves to tug the sorry excuse for a robe off and let it drop to the floor at her feet. In one fluid motion she steps away from it, kicks it out of her way and bends her upper half over the cleared desk, "Like this?"

She does it without even a word of protest. Up until this point, he's always treated her like she's special, precious. Which she is. He's gentle, he takes her to bed to make love to her slowly.

So this is... new. Different.

"Yes," he says, his voice quiet and rough. "If you're all right?" Is this okay? He doesn't want her to be uncomfortable. He wants her to feel special and cherished and perfect. He also wants to give her as much pleasure as it's in him to give.

Cullen will learn now — if he hasn't already — that despite Lioriley's size, she is a lot tougher than she looks. She also trusts him with her life, knows that he would never hurt her no matter what ridiculous thing they may do in bed (or in this case, on the desk).

"More than all right." She wiggles her hips pointedly, and if he cared to take notice, she was already incredibly wet from what little they had done so far. She presses her cheek to the cool wood, her eyes shifting to the side to try and see him from this angle. If this is what he wants, and if this is what pleases him, but she has no doubt that she will enjoy it just as much.

"You are... remarkable," he manages to point out, running a hand down her back and over her rear end. And then he pulls away to strip out of the rest of his clothing. He knows she doesn't want to wait, and neither does he, but he also wants to feel her skin against his, nothing between them.

He stays just a bit out of her sight, so she can't quite see what he's doing or where he is. And also, he wants to look at her.

"Would you... spread your legs more?" he suggests quietly as he works at the buttons of his shirt.

"You flatter me." she chuckles, spine arching when she feels the touch of his fingers against her back. Once again her gaze shifts upward — but this time she cannot see him entirely. The elf practically whines, shifting like she's going to move. What is he doing? She can hear fabric shifting, buttons popping. Maybe if she just lifts her head up a little —

Ah, but another command is given and she has to oblige. Her body shifts and her legs spread a little wider. Another whine.

Maker, he should feel bad, for exposing her like this. Like wanton. But the little sounds she's making, the way she looks, flushed and spread for him, it's unbelievably arousing.

He tosses aside the last of his clothes, and before she can turn her head to look, he's pressing against her bottom, using his hand to guide his cock to her entrance.

"Maker's breath, you're so wet," he groans into her ear, teasing her folds with the head of his cock.

"Oh—!" A sharp gasp, surprised by the sudden weight upon her back and the familiar feeling of his cock pressing between her legs. The elf instinctively rubs back against him, one hand raised so she can press her palm against his cheek.

"You do such — such incredible things to me." She murmurs, toes curling, "Please, Cullen."

He's always gentle, careful. Takes his time, to savor her, and make sure he doesn't cause her pain. He's not really any bigger than average for a human, he doesn't think, but she is an elf, and thus rather smaller than average by human standards.

So, he's always gentle, always careful, but right here and now, he finds himself not wanting to be. He's got her bent over his desk, and when she says please like that, he growls. Growls.

And then he rocks his hips into her, sheathing himself fully in one swift motion, the force of it jerking her against the desk. "Ah," he manages, against her shoulder, a sound of pure bliss to be buried inside.

The sound he makes is almost primal, and it sends another shiver down her spine. Not one of fear — no, never of fear — but of anticipation for what is to come. And what comes is incredible.

She's so used to the soft, gentle, and slow lovemaking that she honestly doesn't expect him to slam into her so hard. And though there's a soft grunt of pain as her body rocks forward against the edge of the desk, and his cock buries itself in her to the hilt, there's a very distinct sound of pleasure that echoes off the walls of the small office. Her fingers curl against the top of the desk, the other still pressed to his cheek as she rolls herself back against him.

His breath is ragged, and he's barely even moved. But he's going to. Oh, is he going to. Just as soon as -

"All right?" he manages, smoothing a hand down her side, around to her belly. "Do you like this?" He has to make sure. What he wants is her pleasure.

"Mhm." She manages, unable to form words for those first few seconds. The way her body trembles should be evidence enough of her enjoyment, but once she manages to compose herself enough, she verbally confirms it: "I love it." needy, wanting, she rocks back against him again despite knowing she can't push him in any further at this point.

He has to ask. He would never forgive himself if he ever did something to cause her discomfort.

But her words are an affirmation, and he moans helplessly into her hair. And then he starts to move. He pulls out nearly all the way, until only the head of his cock is in her - and then rocks back in to the hilt with a grunt. If he could, he would remind her that she has only to ask, if there's something she wants - he's told her before but he likes reminding her. But there's no way he can find words right now, so he leaves it, and focuses on the downright obscene sounds their bodies make as his hips slam against hers again. And again.

As of this moment she wants for nothing. The feeling of Cullen repeatedly pressing into her is enough to content her, and even if she did want something more she herself cannot fathom the words for all she tries. They come out instead in sharp gasps, loud moans that she is certain people could hear if they drew close enough to the office doors.

She lets her chest rest against the desk again, her hand moving to press her knuckles against her mouth to try and stifle herself. The other shifts back, blindly fumbling for one of Cullen's hands and hoping to take it in her own as they continue to move in tandem. Skin slaps skin, and the desk jerks back and forth each time her body knocks into it.

Perhaps later, he would be embarrassed by the noise she's making - by the noise they are making. But right now, in this moment? He wants her to moan. He wants her to scream her pleasure for all to hear.

Later, he might feel disconcerted at the memory of this feeling.

He growls, and bites down at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, even as his hand slides lower on her belly - now covered with hers. It's so erotic, guiding her hand to where his cock is sliding in and out of her.

He bites her neck and she bites her own knuckles, threatens to draw blood with the force of it. Instinctively her hand retracts, and Cullen will easily get his wish to hear her cry out in pleasure. This time it's not just a wordless moan, but the utterance of a single word — a name, actually: "Cullen!" She cries, back arched sharply, muscles taut around his cock.

She feels him moving her hand down, but she's so dazed from the feeling of him slamming into her — often times hitting that sweet spot — that she doesn't really register what is happening until she feels his cock sliding against her fingers. She splays her fingers against herself, just relishing in the feeling of his cock as it slides in and out, covered in both of their fluids. Then, she bends one finger and presses it to her clit, rubbing furiously.

Oh, he likes that. His name, on her lips, as though it's all she can think to say. And now, she's touching herself, and he likes that even more.

"Yes," he encourages, his voice low and rough, wanting to drive her higher and higher, all the way to her peak. "Come for me."

She whines as if in protest — surely she could not come on command, just like that. But with his vigorous thrusts, her trembling fingers on that sensitive ball of nerves, and just the way he sounds, she very well might be able to manage it.

A few more seconds pass and she feels it, her body dipping over the edge as a wave of pleasure rushes over her. Her tiny frame trembles almost violently as she comes, nails digging into his desk and she will surely feel bad about it later, when she realizes the marks she may be leaving. Now, though? She doesn't care. She's too lost in the sensations, tightening around him again and moaning even louder than before.

There is nothing as good as the feeling of Lioriley coming around his cock. The way her inner walls tighten like a vice, wave after wave of it, is intoxicating, and he never wants it to end.

He keeps moving, his thrusts becoming erratic as she trembles beneath him. When he comes, his eyes fall shut as he buries himself as deep in her as he can, little sparks of light behind his eyelids as he moans her name. His body trembles with the force of it.

All the more sensitive after her own climax, the feeling of Cullen's following soon after is utterly euphoric. She moans again, almost weakly, fingers still gripping at the surface of the table desperately. By now she's bent all the way forward, her cheek pressed to the now warmed wood of the desk.

Her hips roll languidly, riding out his orgasm with him until they both come to a stop. It's only then that she finally speaks, "That was incredible."

Once he's spent, it's all he can do not to simply crush her against the desk, as boneless as he feels in the wake of his pleasure. He keeps bracing himself on one hand, using the other to brush her hair off her neck.

"Amazing," he agrees after a few moments to catch his breath. "You are amazing."

She raises her hand, returning it to its previous position against his cheek. With the other, she makes a vague attempt to lift herself up, leaning back against him just enough to tilt her head and kiss the corner of his mouth.

"I could say the same of you, my love." And she would, all the time if she had the chance.

He kisses her temple, in turn, before finally pulling away from her with reluctance. "I can't say I've ever, uh. Done that before," he admits with a bit of sheepishness, now that the overwhelming lust and passion have worn off a bit.

Now that she's no longer pinned between Cullen and the desk, the elf turns to face him, arms moving to wrap around his neck loosely. They're both covered in sweat but who the hell even cares.

It takes her a moment to even realize what he's saying, her head tilted curiously, "You have never...?" A beat, "Oh! I — Well... I am flattered to be the first." She hopes she's the last, too. Her cheeks darken, tinted red with embarrassment. Getting pounded out while bent over the Commander's desk sure wasn't embarrassing, but apparently knowing that she was the only one to do so sure was.

Cullen chuckles faintly, pulling her closer. No, he doesn't mind the sweat at all. Or the other things their lovemaking produced, for that matter. He kisses her lips sweetly.

"In bed and gentle is generally how I try to do it, but..." He looks a bit sheepish. Because not in bed and not gentle turned out to be very nice, too.

"I like it when you are rough." She says quickly — almost too quickly. She ducks her head down, burying her face against his shoulder, "Do not get me wrong, I enjoy your gentility as well, but I also like it when you are so... so..." the next word is whispered: "Possessive."

"I liked it, too," he admits. Oh, he would never treat her with anything less than the utmost respect, but that wasn't disrespect. Not when they both enjoyed it so thoroughly.

"Is that something like what you came here for?" he asks, smiling faintly. Obviously, she wanted to suck his cock - but he's pretty sure she mentioned wanting to do a few things.

"Good." Even better that he enjoyed it, honestly. Next time she might purposefully ask for him to do that again — well, maybe not that specifically, but something akin to it.

She lifts her head up to look at him again, nodding, "Of sorts. I had not expected to be bent over your desk, but I had hoped you would take me from behind, at least for a little while..."

"Ah, well." Cullen rubs the back of his neck, then smiles sheepishly. "You know all you ever have to do is ask. Though, we should probably go up to bed now."

"I will be sure to do so, next time." By then maybe she'll have thought of other things to try.

His suggestion is met with only mild apprehension. They probably should, considering how late it was now, and they would be wise to get up early to clean up the mess they made before anyone came in, "Of course." She relents, releasing her grip around his neck to instead reach for his hand and tug him toward the stairs.

He stops her from pulling away, though - just long enough to pull her into a kiss. Slow, sweet and thorough. "I want you to stay with me tonight," he murmurs with a smile.

She stops, parts her lips to ask what is wrong, and is promptly silenced by the kiss. Naturally, she returns it with just as much passion — her eyes shut until they part.

"Ah — O-Of course, you do not need to ask." Flustered, though maker knows why, she nods, her expression bright, "Though I fear I may have trouble waking in the morning, if I am in bed with you."

There's a very real possibility that they might not be up early enough to avoid the morning messengers. Which could cause rumors to spread, gossip about their relationship.

Cullen doesn't care.

"I probably will too," he admits with a smile. "But it'll also be a good night's sleep."

Let's be real: Iron Bull and the Chargers were awake and they totally heard Lioriley screaming from the tower. Rumors will spread regardless of who does or does not find them in the morning. And she honestly doesn't care either.

"Agreed." She chuckles, raising his hand to her lips so she can kiss the knuckles and then once again guide him toward the ladder.

Okay, probably. But at least Iron Bull is a decent person. The teasing from that quarter will be friendly.

"I love you," he points out as she's climbing the ladder. And then he realizes how that can be construed, as he looks up at her. "I'm not just saying that because of the view."

Friendly and congratulatory, no doubt.

She stops midway up the ladder, glancing back down to him, "Are you certain it is not?" She laughs, shaking her head as she continues on her way. It's once he's joined her in the loft proper that she properly returns his affectionate comment, "I love you, too."

Oh yes. Cullen is fully expecting a hearty slap on the back, any day now.

"Come here," he murmurs with a smile, tugging her right onto the bed with him. "It was only partially the view."

He doesn't have to tell her twice. Lioriley easily lets herself be scooped into his arms and, subsequently, into his bed. She's quick to clamber atop him, kissing his jaw gently, "I know. Though I am glad you enjoy the view regardless."

Cullen smiles, tracing a finger down her neck, to her shoulder. "Mm. It's very nice."

[Link images please. All canons accepted, but I've a particular interest in fellow obscure video-game muses.]

Edited 2016-05-29 14:19 (UTC)

[ Please link images! ]

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