The premise of the meme is simple. Two characters, lovers, have been separated for a time. How long is up to you, as is the reason for the separation. Was it unwilling - an imprisonment, a required journey - or because of a choice one of the characters made? The reason may, of course, color the reunion, and somebody may be pretty miffed, with good reason. Still, the theme is the same: intimacy after being apart.
This meme is mostly geared towards being a smut meme, but nobody will judge you for just doing so heavy fluff.
[It figures that now he'd remember how to be a gentleman. She feels the giddy smile from earlier soften into something tender as she watches him, letting him take his time to cherish the almost reverent way he touches her. Goosebumps skitter down her arms with each inch of bared skin, her breath feeling heavy in her lungs. She's missed this more than she could possibly find words for.
Her hands cradle his head as he drops down, fingers combing back through his hair encouragingly, every inch of the zipper as it slides against her spine twisting the knot of anticipation and desire in her stomach tighter and tighter. Ironically, he's doing a far better job of undressing her than she's done herself.
At least until he stops and she'd unexpectedly hit with the reminder that she'd been dodging his prodding about her own injuries. Dammit. Her brows knit as she looks down at him, a silent plea in her eyes.]
[He's frowning at it, but tries to soften his expression when he looks back up at her. 76 doesn't move from his spot, settling one hand on her hip and brushing over the bruise with the other. He doesn't apply enough pressure for it to hurt (he hopes), but he knows the very act of touching it might be unpleasant.
Hearing that edge in her voice, however, he doesn't withdraw entirely, resting his cheek against her bare stomach in a sort of embrace, fingers ghosting over the elastic band of her bra.]
How bad?
[Not that it's going to stop him, of course, but if she's broken ribs, too, he's going to want to be mindful of that.]
[The small sound she makes isn't pained, more so a wordless protest that he's fretting about the spot at all. Here he was kneeling at her feet with his stitches and his broken bones and he's worried about the bump she's taken by comparison. It's terribly sweet of him, of course, and the way he leans in against her stomach sends butterflies shooting through her nerves, but he doesn't need to worry about it. She hopes she sounds convincing enough.]
Just the bruising, nothing serious. I promise to tell you if it hurts.
[It's only half of a little white lie. She can handle the discomfort that comes naturally just by moving and breathing, the growing warmth of arousal curling through her veins is already enough to dull most of it, but she doesn't want him to worry too much either. If there's real pain, she'll tell him; he just needs to trust in that.
Fingertips press against the back of his head and down his neck, massaging into muscles that feel like they've been tense for too long, doing her best to put him at ease.]
[The answer seems to outwardly satisfy him, even if he doesn't quite buy it. 76 will keep silent about it for now, trusting that she'll make good on this promise and let him know if he does something that actually hurts. He's trying to fight down the pain in his own broken rib, but in combination with the numbing patch she applied, it becomes easier and easier to ignore the more he focuses on her, instead.]
Holding you to that.
[He's tall enough that being on his knees isn't uncomfortable, and it puts him just at the right level to part his lips against her stomach (was she ticklish there, too? He guesses he'll find out), hands sliding around her hips to where he'd left off with the bodysuit.
With the zipper undone, all that's left is to pull it around the curve of her backside and help her step out of it one leg at a time, doing it with the same careful reverence as before.]
[She'd much rather he hold her to other things, which is an incredibly tacky retort that thankfully never makes it out. The open mouthed kiss he presses to her stomach effectively silences anything she might have said, replacing words with a quick gasp and an audible exhale, lean muscles tightening under his lips. She's not ticklish there, no, but oh she feels it, a burst of heat that radiates out from the wet spot he leaves on her skin.
He returns to the rest of the suit and she watches him from under her lashes, distinctly aware of the jump in her pulse that comes with the brush of strong hands over her backside and down her legs, her breath sticking in her throat more than once. She balances herself against his shoulders with each leg of the suit he peels off, more goosebumps following in his wake, until she finds herself stripped before him in only her underwear. There's a moment of disappointment that she's not wearing something more alluring, but considering that she hadn't exactly planned on this when she'd left for the day, she figures that she should just be grateful they match, utilitarian as they are.
She lifts her arms to pull her bra off, struggling out of the constricting fabric and tossing it aside with no small amount of relief. Her ribs protest the movement and the weight of her unbound breasts, but it's an ache that's easily ignored for a more pleasant one. Her hands return to him, combing back through his hair restlessly, a flush across her face starting to creep down over her chest. It's been too long since she last bared herself for him and she'd nearly forgotten how it made her feel, everything narrowing down to just the two of them and the small space they occupied.]
[It occurs to him that perhaps this is a bit unfair, stripping her down while all of his clothes are still on. Untying the laces of his boots and pulling them off loses them some momentum, but to his credit, he tries to be quick about it, not staying away from her too long. He manages his shirt quickly after, though it's not without a wince that he tries to hide.
When he stands up again, her bra is off and the heat between their bare skin is almost overwhelming. He exhales audibly at the touch, wanting to take all the air out from in between them. She might be worrying about the practical nature of her undergarments, but he thinks he missed seeing her like this--being this close to her with so little between them, literally and figuratively--more than anything.
It twists that thing in his chest again, to remember how he never quite got it right the first time, to think about how he willingly gave up his chance for it when he made the decision to stay dead, and now to realize that through sheer happenstance, he might be able to try again, even if it's the last time. All the more reason to make it count.
Arm returning to small of her back, he guides her towards the couch until he sees the backs of her calves bump up against it. Unless she resists, he'll start to ease her down, lips searching for hers.]
[He's never been able to hide those little ticks from her before and it would take far more years yet for her to miss them now. So she's quite aware of that wince, although she bites down on the instinctive reaction to chide him on being too hasty, opting simply to purse her lips in admonishment. Jack Morrison, don't you dare pull your stitches. If she has to stop this and do them all over again...
But she doesn't and any thoughts other than how close he suddenly is and how warm he feels are immediately tossed aside as he stands up and she remembers what it's like to be so surrounded in just the sheer presence of him; how easily it takes her breath away. His arm goes around her and she moves as he directs her without question, mouth parting to his. Her hands are greedier, dragging down the back of his neck and across his shoulders, pressing her fingertips into firm muscle, feeling the faint ridges of scars old and new under her palms.
She'd been putting it off, perhaps unconsciously knowing that it would be easier for her, that once they got this far it wouldn't be so easy to keep ignoring the gravity of what they were getting themselves into. It is unfair that she'd passed that burden off onto him until now. She lets him start to lower her down, but only so she can keep kissing him for as long as she can, her hands eventually dropping to his chest to offer just enough resistance that he doesn't keep going. She drags her lips away from his to his collar, tongue curling into the hollow between the bones, continuing down the center line of his body as she sits back on the couch.
Her hands are already working at the fly of his pants when she finds a spot low on his abdomen to graze her teeth over, just above his hip. She nuzzles against his stomach and glances up, eyes dark and eager, tugging down the zipper and easily slipping her hand inside to palm him through the thin fabric of his briefs.]
Edited (typo. also mercy was a guy there for a minute whoops.) 2016-07-09 05:28 (UTC)
[He reminds himself to be careful--because yes, the last thing he wants is to accidentally re-open his stitches and bring this to a halt, so he tries not to move too quickly. Taking it slow will be good for both of them, he thinks, even if everything else about this is not healthy in the least.
It's been so long since he's been this close to another human being that he can't help but sigh a little at all of her touches, fingers kneading his neck and shoulders, mouth and tongue at his collarbone. She'll find him significantly more scarred than she perhaps remembers. Though he's always had his fair share of them, the explosion at HQ had added to his collection, burns and various other lacerations creating raised patterns across his shoulders, down his arms. He barely thinks of them on the day-to-day, but having her run hands all over has him aware of them again, another testament to how much things have changed.
But it's easy to push that aside in favor of joining her on the couch, easing himself above her as she lays back. He tries to keep his mouth on her, hands wandering to cup her breasts, but she's moving under him too quickly and soon enough she's pressed her palms up to his chest to stop him from going further.
It's almost painful, the way she keeps him from reciprocating, until she gets inside his pants. He's already hard just from being this close to her after so long, and the thin fabric separating him from her exploring hand is instantly unbearable, his breath hitching audibly.]
[She never got a chance to tend to the painful litany written across his skin, the time for that stolen when he'd dragged himself off and disappeared. There's no getting it back, then or now, and she can't help but feel guilty that she won't have the chance to make up for it. She'd cover each line in all the affection she was never able to give if she could, but there's not enough time. There was never enough time for what they had.
Slender fingers hook into the top of his briefs and tug down, catching his pants in the same movement to work him free of the confinement. He's hot and thick in her hand and she can feel the heat between her own legs coiling tightly at the memory of how he'd felt inside her, the breathless nights they'd carved out for themselves between missions and obligations. She's missed that- the singular need he had been so adept at stoking within her, and she seizes upon it now, a quick, open mouthed kiss pressed back against his stomach, then another, lower, her hand around him stroking up his shaft to make way for her lips.
She kisses the base of his cock, muffling her needy little moan against his skin before she moves up, switching places with her hand again so she can take the head of him into her mouth. It's been far too long to think she can manage anything proper, but she wants to try. Whether he'll let her is another matter, but for now she allows herself a slow, shallow bob of her head, one hand gently pumping what she can't reach; the other drifts between her own legs, the ache too insistent to ignore completely without some sort of answer, even if it's just fingertips dragged against the barrier of her panties.]
[He tries to adjust his position, make things easier, and ends up with one knee up on the couch, effectively hovering over her like he doesn't know where else to place himself. He wants to stop her, pull her back up and ask what they're even trying to do. How this is supposed to help anything.
It's not supposed to help anything, he reminds himself. It's two desperate people who maybe loved each other once trying to find that again in the worst possible circumstance. He's trying to allow himself this, at the very least.
But the only thing he can think as she moves down his abdomen is that he doesn't deserve her at all. There's still a part of him that wants her to be angry--wants her to really let him have it, and it seems so unfair that she's doing this for him when he should be the one taking care of her (even if sex-as-apology is probably the worst thing he could do). Despite all of that, she's moving lower and lower until her hand is on his cock, mouth joining it not long after.
Perhaps a testament to how long it's been since he's allowed himself this close to another person, he can't stifle the sharp inhale as she closes her lips around him, sudden warmth and wetness almost overwhelming.]
Angela.
[He lets her continue, and though it's possible he might be implying a stop with the way he speaks her name, it lacks a certain degree of conviction, like he knows that anything he could say won't be enough.]
just when things start to get sexy, they gotta make it horrible again ;-;
[She tries, she really does; she squeezes her eyes shut and tries with everything she has in her to convince herself that if she just keeps going, the illusion of something long gone might not be so bad. But she can hear the reality in the way he says her name and the absence of his hands on her. She wants to beg him not to do this to her, but she knows she's being unfair again.
And still she struggles her way along, refusing to let go of what are, by this point, nothing more than delusions. Silly, stubborn little girl.
She takes as much of him as she can into her mouth, her tongue lapping at the underside of his shaft with each forward slide of her lips. She wants to say that she remembers the taste of him from before, but she can't. Her free hand rises to clench tight around the loosened fabric of his pants, as if holding on could somehow make it better, but it doesn't.
It's really only a few moments of a barely held together illusion before she's pulling back and not sinking back down again, her lips dragged off his cock and she's pressing her forehead against his bare hip.]
I'm sorry.
[Her voice sounds little better than a hiccup and she's not even sure if she's trying to apologize for everything or just herself. At least there's no tears, just a gnawing mix of grief and desire in the pit of her stomach.]
[He can't bring himself to stop her, but apparently the meaning behind the way he says her name is enough. She's off him not long after, and the sight of her looking so apologetic is enough to twist him up inside all over again.
76 wants this. He knows he does. He just has to get past himself, first.]
It's not--
[Which is easier said than done. He's all caught up in the things he's done to focus on what's important right now. This might be unfair, but he knows he can't ignore this chance with her right now. That's important to him, too.]
This isn't your fault.
[It's his, but voicing that will probably just make them both feel worse. 76 sinks down on to the couch, trying to pull her up to meet him, brushing that bang out of her face again and taking her in.]
[She shakes her head against him when he tries to take the blame, but she can't bring herself to actually argue with him about it. She should have known better; neither of them are blameless for how it had turned out- for the wounds making it difficult for them now. But she had expected too much perhaps.
There's no resistance this time when he pulls her close again, her hand cupping his when it brushes past her face. It's not going to solve anything, is what she wants to tell him, and she can feel it on the tip of her tongue. Maybe it shows in the sad way she looks back at him, but she's not sure.]
You don't have to.
[It's an out, if he wants it, offered quietly. There's a part of her that hopes he doesn't take it, the same part that drinks in the warmth of his skin and rests fingertips against his chest, worrying unconsciously at an old bullet wound half covered under newer scars. He's never been beholden to her and never will be, regardless of her desires... but if he's willing, she's not saying no.]
[He says that definitively, with conviction. Maybe he just has to go slower than he thought he did. 76 rests his forehead on her shoulder, hand slipping from her cheek down her collarbone, around the curve of her breasts and down to her him. He shifts in a clear bid to try and get closer.]
I don't know when I'll see you again.
[Or if he'll see her again at all. Admitting that out loud lifts some kind of weight off him, even though it's difficult to say. Better than dodging the subject, he thinks. Maybe outright voicing it, finally, that will let him do this. All it takes is the slightest shift of his head to press his open mouth to the side of her neck.]
[It breaks her heart to hear him say it, but he isn't wrong and it's what had driven her to start this in the first place, even if she hadn't had the courage to actually put it into words. Stay, she'd asked him. And he had.
She lifts a hand and cards her fingers through the hair, her legs parting around his waist when he presses closer, a wordless little noise dying in the back of her throat. He leaves a trail of goosebumps down her side behind his hand and she can't help the subtle arch of her back into the feeling, drawn as ever to his touch. She doesn't think she'll ever stop gravitating towards him in one way or another; even in death she hadn't been able to break free.
Then the warmth of his mouth is on her neck and she draws in a breath, her fingers twitching against the back of his head. It still tickles, but this time she's not trying to pull away, rather, tipping her head back to give him room and letting the little sparks that skitter over her nerves find their way down to the core of her.]
Jack- [His name slips out on an exhale. Whatever he needs, whatever she can give him, for the here and now, she's willing to offer.]
[His hand splays on the small of her back and he pulls her in, mouth traveling up her neck to her jawline, and then to capture her lips again. She's ticklish there, he remembers now, echoes of so many different encounters coming back to him all at once. They can't recapture them, but maybe they shouldn't be trying to. This can be something different, and perhaps that's how he can make this work.
It's still sort of uncomfortable--hearing that name after trying so hard (and increasingly unsuccessfully) to bury it, but he thinks that coming from her it's okay. What else is she supposed to call him? Certainly not the numbers on the back of his jacket, even if that's how he mostly thinks of himself.
But he's getting carried away in his own thoughts again, when someone much more important is right here in front of him. This time, he tries to be a little slower, both for his sake and hers. His hands are exploratory but he seems to grow comfortable quickly, touch firmer as he raises palms to her breasts, running thumbs over her nipples. His mouth finds hers again, and this time he's insistent.]
[It's been years since she's said his name in any context other than to speak of the man who was supposed to be dead, and longer still since it's carried the inflection it does now, like a breathless surrender. It's dangerous in that context perhaps- a link to something that doesn't belong in the present. But he hasn't asked her not to use it and she doesn't have the heart to make the decision on her own.
Instead, she lets the way he holds her sweep away the insecurities and the doubts. She clutches herself to him, her own hands feeling far too small for the broad expanse of his shoulders under them when he so easily surrounds her. She relishes the slow drag of calloused palms across her skin, the way his touch finds purchase along with his confidence, the sensation shivering through her body.
When he reaches her breasts, she lets his mouth catch her soft, keening whimper, toes curling into the fabric of his pants at his calves. She fills his large hands perfectly--hardly a personal bias, she swears--and the scrape of his thumbs over hard, sensitive nipples is a sharp, heady sensation. Her own hands stroke down between his shoulders, following the strong line of his spine as far as she can before dragging back up and sinking into cropped white hair, her lips parting, slanting against his and matching his pressure.]
[It gets easier. He resolves not to think too hard about it, surrendering to muscle memory, letting the specific feelings of having her in his arms and under his hands come back to him slowly. He's more confident with every touch, like he's retracing his steps. Maybe old habits really do die hard.
He deepens the kiss, starting to probe with his tongue, hot and open-mouthed, like he's remembering how all of this goes. She fills his hands so easily, and soon gentle brushing of his thumbs across her pert nipples becomes gentle rolling between his fingers. It's perhaps unexpected, but he's sure she'll let him know if he does something she doesn't like.
And he's pretty sure he remembers she likes this. He doesn't stay there long anyway, dragging his mouth down her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he goes. He frees up a hand by putting his tongue against her breast instead, and lets the free hand that he now has wander down her waist and hips and finally slide around her leg, fingers brushing curling around the inside of her thigh.]
[Unexpected only in that it's difficult to know what he remembers or doesn't, but in this case his memory serves him well and she squirms under him, more little noises of encouragement left on his tongue as she presses herself into his hands. Each careful pinch of his fingers comes with an answering ache between her legs, eager for some sort of friction that she's not quite able to find.
He breaks away from her mouth and leaves her breath feeling thick in her lungs, head tipped back to bare her throat to his lips. Her moan when the wet heat of his tongue finds her breast is unrepentant and she curls her fingers into his hair to keep him there if she can. The attention he pays to her breasts has her nerves humming pleasantly and she's all too willing to move her leg for his hand when she feels his fingers against her thigh, hips angling invitingly.]
Keep going. [She whispers it, as if afraid that speaking will somehow shatter the fragile space they find themselves in, turning her head to look down at him from under heavy lashes.] Please...
[Her encouragement is what he needs--helps him force down his own doubt and guilt and remind himself that he's only human and is allowed this. At the very least, he can do it for her. He can't possibly stop now, not with the way she's asking. The quiet pleading whisper of her voice and the way she looks at him spurs him on.
She's already spreading her legs but his hand helps her push them open, sliding down her thigh to her knee and then up again, hooking under the elastic rim of her panties. His thumb traces the raised line of her hipbone and it's soon joined by the other as he lifts himself up onto his knees a bit in order to better center himself.
When his mouth finally leaves her breasts, it's to keep moving lower, tongue tracing wet lines all the way down. He rests his cheek against her stomach momentarily as he finally breaches the front of her panties, pulling them down so that he can dip inside, exploratory, dragging a finger up the length of her opening in a not-so-subtle bid to see how wet she might be.]
[The pressure of his hand pushing against the inside of her thigh, moving her leg where he wants it, sends her pulse skipping, catching around distant memories when desires were more clearly defined; when they knew what they wanted without reservation. He takes her hips in both hands and she can feel that sense of fragility curling in her stomach, hot and anxious under his touch.
Dark eyes watch him move down her body, lips parted around each breath that she tries to measure out with little success. Concentrating on anything other than him- his hands and mouth and body, warm, strong, and still so uncertain- seems an impossible feat. She tries to keep her hands on him, even as he threatens to move out of her reach, combing her fingers through his hair, cradling the gentle weight of his head against her stomach- where he can no doubt feel the way lean muscles tighten under his cheek with the first touch between her legs.
He'll find her wet enough that his finger slides between the lips of her sex with little difficulty and she gasps around a wordless, needy little noise. It's been so long... her own fingers in the darker, more desperate nights when the loneliness and grief have been too much to bear, are pale substitutes.]
Keep going... [She says it again, although there's a new breathlessness to her voice, knowing she doesn't need to tell him but wanting to regardless; as if giving him the direction is somehow important to all of this.]
[There's a part of him that worries she'll stop him if this gets too one-sided, like he stopped her not too long ago, out of his own guilt. He can only hope that she won't respond like he did--he'll make it so she doesn't want him to stop. Out of practice as he is, he's confident enough in that.
He keeps moving lower, elbow bent up behind him as he uses his fingers to probe between her legs, lips brushing down past her navel and tongue pulling a wet line against her skin as he goes. His attempt to work her panties down her thighs at the same time is a little clumsy, but now he's at the point where he just wants them out of the way. The breathy way she tells him to keep going is hard not to oblige.
So he does, of course, settling between her thighs, pushing them apart and letting warm breath hover right over her sex. He wants to make her wait for it, but he's impatient himself, and he's pressing his face into her with little fanfare.
[He's not the only one who wants the last offending bit of clothing out of the way and she helps as best she can. It's not exactly graceful, but she manages to scrape up the last of her focus that he's doing such a thorough job of scattering with the way his mouth keeps working its way down and his fingers, rubbing against her, so close--
She lifts a leg and manages to tug her foot out from the panties with his help, flicking them off and away with the other just before both of his hands are at the inside of her thighs, making space for himself, her own breath catching somewhere in her chest. It would be cruel to make her wait. She's been waiting for six years--
His mouth is on her in a rush of heat and pressure, no teasing, no half certain little touches to drive her mad, just the blissful feeling of his attention narrowed down and focused. It drags a unrepentant moan out of her, his name tangled up in it somewhere as her head drops back against the couch cushions. It's been so long; it likely won't matter how out of practice he is, she doubts it's going to take much, but she'll savor every moment he gives her.]
[As soon as his mouth touches her, he exhales audibly, like he's just as surprised by how it feels. It's a muffled sort of sound that trails off into a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as his eyelids slide closed and he pulls himself into her. He doesn't move for a moment--just breathes, taking in the smell and taste of her and letting himself remember something that he thought he'd lost.
It's only a moment, though, and soon he's kissing her slowly and deeply, fingers digging into her backside as he presses forward, putting his neck and shoulders into it.
76 doesn't even bother to stifle the more-than-satisfied noise in the back of his throat as he starts to work his tongue in and around her folds. Hands shift to her hips, thumbs brushing the inside of her thighs as if unconsciously trying to spread them further without actually applying the necessary force to do so. He focuses his efforts elsewhere, instead.
He wont drag things out unnecessarily, at least, working a line up the length of her and pressing the flat of his tongue against her clit, closing his mouth over it, giving her a reassuring squeeze with his hand.
[The noise he makes against her is enough to convince her well enough that this is what he wants, some of the tension easing from her in that moment that lingers, the both of them sinking back into how it feels. There's a memory, faded with age--scruffy blond hair sticking out from under the hem of the skirt hiked up around her thighs--that gets a smile out of her, just enough to put her off guard when he pushes against her, no small amount of strength in those shoulders of his, and the feeling rolls up her spine like a cresting wave.
It forces the breath out of her in a short gasp, her own shoulders pressing into the cushions to better angle her hips, give him what he's looking for, her stomach tying itself in knots. God he feels good- the hot, wet press of his tongue pushing between the lips of her sex and the way he grips her backside to hold her there, as if she had any intent at all to stop him- she's nearly forgotten how it feels to be wanted like this. There's no force needed to convince her legs further apart then; she spreads them on her own, draping one over the edge of the couch, the other over his shoulder when her knee hits the backrest.
His mouth bears down on her clit and she whines desperately, pawing at his head while her other hand seeks out his at her hip to tangle their fingers together. She tries not to squirm too much, biting down on the urge to rub herself against his tongue. She wants to find that release, to come apart at the seams and spend herself against his lips, but there's still a part of her that wants it on his command, even after all this time.]
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bakerstreet2016-06-16 03:59 pm
s'all good. 'MURICA!
Her hands cradle his head as he drops down, fingers combing back through his hair encouragingly, every inch of the zipper as it slides against her spine twisting the knot of anticipation and desire in her stomach tighter and tighter. Ironically, he's doing a far better job of undressing her than she's done herself.
At least until he stops and she'd unexpectedly hit with the reminder that she'd been dodging his prodding about her own injuries. Dammit. Her brows knit as she looks down at him, a silent plea in her eyes.]
Jack, don't. It's fine.
[Please just keep going.]
no subject
Hearing that edge in her voice, however, he doesn't withdraw entirely, resting his cheek against her bare stomach in a sort of embrace, fingers ghosting over the elastic band of her bra.]
How bad?
[Not that it's going to stop him, of course, but if she's broken ribs, too, he's going to want to be mindful of that.]
no subject
Just the bruising, nothing serious. I promise to tell you if it hurts.
[It's only half of a little white lie. She can handle the discomfort that comes naturally just by moving and breathing, the growing warmth of arousal curling through her veins is already enough to dull most of it, but she doesn't want him to worry too much either. If there's real pain, she'll tell him; he just needs to trust in that.
Fingertips press against the back of his head and down his neck, massaging into muscles that feel like they've been tense for too long, doing her best to put him at ease.]
no subject
Holding you to that.
[He's tall enough that being on his knees isn't uncomfortable, and it puts him just at the right level to part his lips against her stomach (was she ticklish there, too? He guesses he'll find out), hands sliding around her hips to where he'd left off with the bodysuit.
With the zipper undone, all that's left is to pull it around the curve of her backside and help her step out of it one leg at a time, doing it with the same careful reverence as before.]
no subject
He returns to the rest of the suit and she watches him from under her lashes, distinctly aware of the jump in her pulse that comes with the brush of strong hands over her backside and down her legs, her breath sticking in her throat more than once. She balances herself against his shoulders with each leg of the suit he peels off, more goosebumps following in his wake, until she finds herself stripped before him in only her underwear. There's a moment of disappointment that she's not wearing something more alluring, but considering that she hadn't exactly planned on this when she'd left for the day, she figures that she should just be grateful they match, utilitarian as they are.
She lifts her arms to pull her bra off, struggling out of the constricting fabric and tossing it aside with no small amount of relief. Her ribs protest the movement and the weight of her unbound breasts, but it's an ache that's easily ignored for a more pleasant one. Her hands return to him, combing back through his hair restlessly, a flush across her face starting to creep down over her chest. It's been too long since she last bared herself for him and she'd nearly forgotten how it made her feel, everything narrowing down to just the two of them and the small space they occupied.]
no subject
When he stands up again, her bra is off and the heat between their bare skin is almost overwhelming. He exhales audibly at the touch, wanting to take all the air out from in between them. She might be worrying about the practical nature of her undergarments, but he thinks he missed seeing her like this--being this close to her with so little between them, literally and figuratively--more than anything.
It twists that thing in his chest again, to remember how he never quite got it right the first time, to think about how he willingly gave up his chance for it when he made the decision to stay dead, and now to realize that through sheer happenstance, he might be able to try again, even if it's the last time. All the more reason to make it count.
Arm returning to small of her back, he guides her towards the couch until he sees the backs of her calves bump up against it. Unless she resists, he'll start to ease her down, lips searching for hers.]
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But she doesn't and any thoughts other than how close he suddenly is and how warm he feels are immediately tossed aside as he stands up and she remembers what it's like to be so surrounded in just the sheer presence of him; how easily it takes her breath away. His arm goes around her and she moves as he directs her without question, mouth parting to his. Her hands are greedier, dragging down the back of his neck and across his shoulders, pressing her fingertips into firm muscle, feeling the faint ridges of scars old and new under her palms.
She'd been putting it off, perhaps unconsciously knowing that it would be easier for her, that once they got this far it wouldn't be so easy to keep ignoring the gravity of what they were getting themselves into. It is unfair that she'd passed that burden off onto him until now. She lets him start to lower her down, but only so she can keep kissing him for as long as she can, her hands eventually dropping to his chest to offer just enough resistance that he doesn't keep going. She drags her lips away from his to his collar, tongue curling into the hollow between the bones, continuing down the center line of his body as she sits back on the couch.
Her hands are already working at the fly of his pants when she finds a spot low on his abdomen to graze her teeth over, just above his hip. She nuzzles against his stomach and glances up, eyes dark and eager, tugging down the zipper and easily slipping her hand inside to palm him through the thin fabric of his briefs.]
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It's been so long since he's been this close to another human being that he can't help but sigh a little at all of her touches, fingers kneading his neck and shoulders, mouth and tongue at his collarbone. She'll find him significantly more scarred than she perhaps remembers. Though he's always had his fair share of them, the explosion at HQ had added to his collection, burns and various other lacerations creating raised patterns across his shoulders, down his arms. He barely thinks of them on the day-to-day, but having her run hands all over has him aware of them again, another testament to how much things have changed.
But it's easy to push that aside in favor of joining her on the couch, easing himself above her as she lays back. He tries to keep his mouth on her, hands wandering to cup her breasts, but she's moving under him too quickly and soon enough she's pressed her palms up to his chest to stop him from going further.
It's almost painful, the way she keeps him from reciprocating, until she gets inside his pants. He's already hard just from being this close to her after so long, and the thin fabric separating him from her exploring hand is instantly unbearable, his breath hitching audibly.]
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Slender fingers hook into the top of his briefs and tug down, catching his pants in the same movement to work him free of the confinement. He's hot and thick in her hand and she can feel the heat between her own legs coiling tightly at the memory of how he'd felt inside her, the breathless nights they'd carved out for themselves between missions and obligations. She's missed that- the singular need he had been so adept at stoking within her, and she seizes upon it now, a quick, open mouthed kiss pressed back against his stomach, then another, lower, her hand around him stroking up his shaft to make way for her lips.
She kisses the base of his cock, muffling her needy little moan against his skin before she moves up, switching places with her hand again so she can take the head of him into her mouth. It's been far too long to think she can manage anything proper, but she wants to try. Whether he'll let her is another matter, but for now she allows herself a slow, shallow bob of her head, one hand gently pumping what she can't reach; the other drifts between her own legs, the ache too insistent to ignore completely without some sort of answer, even if it's just fingertips dragged against the barrier of her panties.]
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It's not supposed to help anything, he reminds himself. It's two desperate people who maybe loved each other once trying to find that again in the worst possible circumstance. He's trying to allow himself this, at the very least.
But the only thing he can think as she moves down his abdomen is that he doesn't deserve her at all. There's still a part of him that wants her to be angry--wants her to really let him have it, and it seems so unfair that she's doing this for him when he should be the one taking care of her (even if sex-as-apology is probably the worst thing he could do). Despite all of that, she's moving lower and lower until her hand is on his cock, mouth joining it not long after.
Perhaps a testament to how long it's been since he's allowed himself this close to another person, he can't stifle the sharp inhale as she closes her lips around him, sudden warmth and wetness almost overwhelming.]
Angela.
[He lets her continue, and though it's possible he might be implying a stop with the way he speaks her name, it lacks a certain degree of conviction, like he knows that anything he could say won't be enough.]
just when things start to get sexy, they gotta make it horrible again ;-;
And still she struggles her way along, refusing to let go of what are, by this point, nothing more than delusions. Silly, stubborn little girl.
She takes as much of him as she can into her mouth, her tongue lapping at the underside of his shaft with each forward slide of her lips. She wants to say that she remembers the taste of him from before, but she can't. Her free hand rises to clench tight around the loosened fabric of his pants, as if holding on could somehow make it better, but it doesn't.
It's really only a few moments of a barely held together illusion before she's pulling back and not sinking back down again, her lips dragged off his cock and she's pressing her forehead against his bare hip.]
I'm sorry.
[Her voice sounds little better than a hiccup and she's not even sure if she's trying to apologize for everything or just herself. At least there's no tears, just a gnawing mix of grief and desire in the pit of her stomach.]
they are trying very hard
76 wants this. He knows he does. He just has to get past himself, first.]
It's not--
[Which is easier said than done. He's all caught up in the things he's done to focus on what's important right now. This might be unfair, but he knows he can't ignore this chance with her right now. That's important to him, too.]
This isn't your fault.
[It's his, but voicing that will probably just make them both feel worse. 76 sinks down on to the couch, trying to pull her up to meet him, brushing that bang out of her face again and taking her in.]
Let me try.
:'(
There's no resistance this time when he pulls her close again, her hand cupping his when it brushes past her face. It's not going to solve anything, is what she wants to tell him, and she can feel it on the tip of her tongue. Maybe it shows in the sad way she looks back at him, but she's not sure.]
You don't have to.
[It's an out, if he wants it, offered quietly. There's a part of her that hopes he doesn't take it, the same part that drinks in the warmth of his skin and rests fingertips against his chest, worrying unconsciously at an old bullet wound half covered under newer scars. He's never been beholden to her and never will be, regardless of her desires... but if he's willing, she's not saying no.]
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[He says that definitively, with conviction. Maybe he just has to go slower than he thought he did. 76 rests his forehead on her shoulder, hand slipping from her cheek down her collarbone, around the curve of her breasts and down to her him. He shifts in a clear bid to try and get closer.]
I don't know when I'll see you again.
[Or if he'll see her again at all. Admitting that out loud lifts some kind of weight off him, even though it's difficult to say. Better than dodging the subject, he thinks. Maybe outright voicing it, finally, that will let him do this. All it takes is the slightest shift of his head to press his open mouth to the side of her neck.]
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She lifts a hand and cards her fingers through the hair, her legs parting around his waist when he presses closer, a wordless little noise dying in the back of her throat. He leaves a trail of goosebumps down her side behind his hand and she can't help the subtle arch of her back into the feeling, drawn as ever to his touch. She doesn't think she'll ever stop gravitating towards him in one way or another; even in death she hadn't been able to break free.
Then the warmth of his mouth is on her neck and she draws in a breath, her fingers twitching against the back of his head. It still tickles, but this time she's not trying to pull away, rather, tipping her head back to give him room and letting the little sparks that skitter over her nerves find their way down to the core of her.]
Jack- [His name slips out on an exhale. Whatever he needs, whatever she can give him, for the here and now, she's willing to offer.]
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It's still sort of uncomfortable--hearing that name after trying so hard (and increasingly unsuccessfully) to bury it, but he thinks that coming from her it's okay. What else is she supposed to call him? Certainly not the numbers on the back of his jacket, even if that's how he mostly thinks of himself.
But he's getting carried away in his own thoughts again, when someone much more important is right here in front of him. This time, he tries to be a little slower, both for his sake and hers. His hands are exploratory but he seems to grow comfortable quickly, touch firmer as he raises palms to her breasts, running thumbs over her nipples. His mouth finds hers again, and this time he's insistent.]
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Instead, she lets the way he holds her sweep away the insecurities and the doubts. She clutches herself to him, her own hands feeling far too small for the broad expanse of his shoulders under them when he so easily surrounds her. She relishes the slow drag of calloused palms across her skin, the way his touch finds purchase along with his confidence, the sensation shivering through her body.
When he reaches her breasts, she lets his mouth catch her soft, keening whimper, toes curling into the fabric of his pants at his calves. She fills his large hands perfectly--hardly a personal bias, she swears--and the scrape of his thumbs over hard, sensitive nipples is a sharp, heady sensation. Her own hands stroke down between his shoulders, following the strong line of his spine as far as she can before dragging back up and sinking into cropped white hair, her lips parting, slanting against his and matching his pressure.]
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He deepens the kiss, starting to probe with his tongue, hot and open-mouthed, like he's remembering how all of this goes. She fills his hands so easily, and soon gentle brushing of his thumbs across her pert nipples becomes gentle rolling between his fingers. It's perhaps unexpected, but he's sure she'll let him know if he does something she doesn't like.
And he's pretty sure he remembers she likes this. He doesn't stay there long anyway, dragging his mouth down her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he goes. He frees up a hand by putting his tongue against her breast instead, and lets the free hand that he now has wander down her waist and hips and finally slide around her leg, fingers brushing curling around the inside of her thigh.]
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He breaks away from her mouth and leaves her breath feeling thick in her lungs, head tipped back to bare her throat to his lips. Her moan when the wet heat of his tongue finds her breast is unrepentant and she curls her fingers into his hair to keep him there if she can. The attention he pays to her breasts has her nerves humming pleasantly and she's all too willing to move her leg for his hand when she feels his fingers against her thigh, hips angling invitingly.]
Keep going. [She whispers it, as if afraid that speaking will somehow shatter the fragile space they find themselves in, turning her head to look down at him from under heavy lashes.] Please...
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She's already spreading her legs but his hand helps her push them open, sliding down her thigh to her knee and then up again, hooking under the elastic rim of her panties. His thumb traces the raised line of her hipbone and it's soon joined by the other as he lifts himself up onto his knees a bit in order to better center himself.
When his mouth finally leaves her breasts, it's to keep moving lower, tongue tracing wet lines all the way down. He rests his cheek against her stomach momentarily as he finally breaches the front of her panties, pulling them down so that he can dip inside, exploratory, dragging a finger up the length of her opening in a not-so-subtle bid to see how wet she might be.]
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Dark eyes watch him move down her body, lips parted around each breath that she tries to measure out with little success. Concentrating on anything other than him- his hands and mouth and body, warm, strong, and still so uncertain- seems an impossible feat. She tries to keep her hands on him, even as he threatens to move out of her reach, combing her fingers through his hair, cradling the gentle weight of his head against her stomach- where he can no doubt feel the way lean muscles tighten under his cheek with the first touch between her legs.
He'll find her wet enough that his finger slides between the lips of her sex with little difficulty and she gasps around a wordless, needy little noise. It's been so long... her own fingers in the darker, more desperate nights when the loneliness and grief have been too much to bear, are pale substitutes.]
Keep going... [She says it again, although there's a new breathlessness to her voice, knowing she doesn't need to tell him but wanting to regardless; as if giving him the direction is somehow important to all of this.]
one day...work will let up...
He keeps moving lower, elbow bent up behind him as he uses his fingers to probe between her legs, lips brushing down past her navel and tongue pulling a wet line against her skin as he goes. His attempt to work her panties down her thighs at the same time is a little clumsy, but now he's at the point where he just wants them out of the way. The breathy way she tells him to keep going is hard not to oblige.
So he does, of course, settling between her thighs, pushing them apart and letting warm breath hover right over her sex. He wants to make her wait for it, but he's impatient himself, and he's pressing his face into her with little fanfare.
I feel ya ;-; *offers condolences*
She lifts a leg and manages to tug her foot out from the panties with his help, flicking them off and away with the other just before both of his hands are at the inside of her thighs, making space for himself, her own breath catching somewhere in her chest. It would be cruel to make her wait. She's been waiting for six years--
His mouth is on her in a rush of heat and pressure, no teasing, no half certain little touches to drive her mad, just the blissful feeling of his attention narrowed down and focused. It drags a unrepentant moan out of her, his name tangled up in it somewhere as her head drops back against the couch cushions. It's been so long; it likely won't matter how out of practice he is, she doubts it's going to take much, but she'll savor every moment he gives her.]
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It's only a moment, though, and soon he's kissing her slowly and deeply, fingers digging into her backside as he presses forward, putting his neck and shoulders into it.
76 doesn't even bother to stifle the more-than-satisfied noise in the back of his throat as he starts to work his tongue in and around her folds. Hands shift to her hips, thumbs brushing the inside of her thighs as if unconsciously trying to spread them further without actually applying the necessary force to do so. He focuses his efforts elsewhere, instead.
He wont drag things out unnecessarily, at least, working a line up the length of her and pressing the flat of his tongue against her clit, closing his mouth over it, giving her a reassuring squeeze with his hand.
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It forces the breath out of her in a short gasp, her own shoulders pressing into the cushions to better angle her hips, give him what he's looking for, her stomach tying itself in knots. God he feels good- the hot, wet press of his tongue pushing between the lips of her sex and the way he grips her backside to hold her there, as if she had any intent at all to stop him- she's nearly forgotten how it feels to be wanted like this. There's no force needed to convince her legs further apart then; she spreads them on her own, draping one over the edge of the couch, the other over his shoulder when her knee hits the backrest.
His mouth bears down on her clit and she whines desperately, pawing at his head while her other hand seeks out his at her hip to tangle their fingers together. She tries not to squirm too much, biting down on the urge to rub herself against his tongue. She wants to find that release, to come apart at the seams and spend herself against his lips, but there's still a part of her that wants it on his command, even after all this time.]
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sorry, had a long couple of days. I'm still here!
no worries!
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sorry for the tiny tag
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aaaand I'm back!
me too, apparently. welcome back and sorry for the wait!
OK LITERALLY LIKE A *YEAR* LATER
opens arms
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