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.
[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.]
[This brings up memories for him, too--surreptitious office visits that were less than professional, stolen moments and shushing each other behind a closed door while trying not to laugh. He was a different person, then, and it seems an entire lifetime away. In many respects, it was, and though it hadn't all been bad, it wasn't all good, either. He'd been too hung up on his job, too worried about what might happen if they ever got caught, too busy to give Angela (or anyone, really) the time and attention she (they, everyone) really deserved.
He'd paid for that in many ways, some worse than others.
So he's glad for this second chance, even if this is as far from getting it right as possible, holed up in this abandoned building under a time limit as they are. It's almost laughable to draw parallels, but he supposes that laughing about it is all he can do. The alternative hurts too much.
He'll focus on what's right in front of him instead, relishing the feel of her hands in his hair and his tongue against her, circling and flicking her clit with an increasing relentlessness. He can feel the way she tries to pitch her hips against him, and he holds her firmly in place, not wanting it to be over too soon, and he'll vary the movements of his mouth to drag things out as long as he can.
When he's sure she's got the hint, he slides a hand back between her legs to spread her open, licking broad lines all around her folds and craning his neck to dip his tongue inside her. His fingers follow not long after--one to start, and then another when he thinks she can take it.]
[She misses his laughter and being able to share that with him more than she thinks she has words for. Just a pit of helpless longing filled with all her regrets that she does her best to cover over with the good memories. Despite the disagreements they had and the tension that had only grown as the years wore on, a part of her had--perhaps unconsciously, against what she would have called her better judgement--adopted Overwatch as the family she no longer had. And Jack... there had been something (everything, really) about him that had lit a spark in her that went beyond professionalism. Maybe that had been the problem; maybe neither of them had ever properly understood what that had meant or what it needed.
She'd loved him then; she still does, but it's for the man he'd once been and she's not sure how much of him is left.
He holds her down and she whimpers, frustrated in ways she doesn't want to stop, his mouth keeping her right at that edge but never quite giving her what she needs to tip over it. It's hard not to push her hips back up the moment he moves his hand, but he's made it clear what he wants and she concedes, her legs quivering and breath hitching around short little gasps the moment she feels his tongue probing at her. Followed by- oh. She sucks in a breath around a short squeak of surprise that dies in her throat.]
Gott, Jack- [He doesn't exactly have small fingers and it takes her a moment to reacquaint herself with the feeling, her heel pressing against his flank and her back curving up by a fraction; but her hips staying dutifully where he had told her. The second finger and her own clench in his hair, her moan this time throaty and unhindered.]
Jack, please, just... liebling, please...
[She doesn't care if she's begging. She wants this, wants him; wants the orgasm he's keeping her from simply by the sheer weight of that unspoken 'not yet'.]
[Old names--and old endearments, more specifically--would give him pause if he wasn't so engaged in the task at hand. This whole encounter has been a lot of trying to keep old things buried, with varying success. He imagines he'll sort it all out later, once they've gone their separate ways and he's comfortably alone again.
But it is nice, while it lasts, complicated feelings aside. 76 can push past it, especially when she's begging for it.
He releases her hips, lets her grind into him if she wants, figuring it's time to give her at least a modicum of relief. His finds a rhythm, fingers pulling out of her and pushing back in again, timed thrusts that accompany the each stroke of his tongue.
The whine in her voice gets him to pick up his pace, closing his mouth over her to suck gently, then tracing quick circles and finally honing right in, breathing hard against her.
Come on, Angie, is what he wants to say, but the way he relentlessly flicks across her clit will have to be permission enough.]
[She's barely thinking about whatever happens to slip out. If she was, she might have stopped herself, but it's too late now and he's not slowing down. On the contrary, even if he's saying nothing at all, his intent is clear and she'd thank him for it if she could still form a proper sentence. But he steals the words from her with each thrust of his fingers and each swipe of his tongue, undoing her in ways that make her toes curl.
They're replaced by desperate little sounds of pleasure paired with the roll of her hips now that her body is free to respond and push her on to that breaking point. She feels it coming, a cresting wave of desire so eager to crash and this time she's the one who holds herself there, on that edge, for as long as she can, muscles quivering, her fingers clenched tight in his hair holding him there- right there--
She comes with a choked sob and a shudder that jolts through her body, the tension finally releasing in a singular moment that seems to both stretch on forever and end all too soon. It leaves her dazed and panting for air, her one leg going limp over his shoulder and fingers trembling against his scalp. Heat curls through her veins, carried by her racing pulse, and she feels heavy and light at the same time.
And even then, though the foggy haze of her orgasm, she can sense a creeping fear that he'll leave the moment her guard is down and she gropes blind for his shoulders- to pull him up to her, to keep him from going, whether that was his intent or not. His name is on the tip of her tongue, a plea for him to stay, but it doesn't make it out. She swallows it back and hopes her hands are enough.
[He doesn't pull off her even as she comes, instead riding it out in tandem, wringing every noise and shudder out of her until he knows she won't be able to take it anymore. He gives her a reprieve after that, but it's hard to tear his mouth away, so he settles for a slow, deep kiss against her as he slides fingers out of her and grips her thighs again.
Eventually, however, he knows he has to stop, and he surfaces a little breathlessly, something that might be a laugh in the back of his throat.
His cheek rests against her thigh for a moment as he catches his breath drags the back of his hand across his mouth just in case she doesn't want to be kissed with that wetness all over his face. He crawls his way back up to her, burying his forehead in her shoulder, no air between them.]
[She shouldn't have doubted. She should be trusting him, even when it feels so easy to assume the worst these days. But he's as attentive- as steadfast- as ever and she whimpers and moans for him when he refuses to be pulled away despite her pawing hands. She's aches by the time he's done, the deep, satisfied kind, bordering just shy of uncomfortable. It's a good feeling.
He finally moves up and in the hazy afterglow, it's second nature to open her arms to him, bearing the weight of his body against hers without a wayward thought. Her fingers draw aimless lines up and down the back of his neck and between his shoulders as she nuzzles into his hair, lazy kisses pressed to the top of his head.]
[He lets out a breathless little laugh into her collarbone, one that sounds almost real, this time. 76 knows he should be asking her how much time they have left, but now that they're this close, he's not sure he ever wants to move. Propping himself up a little so that he's not putting his full weight on her also gives him a good opportunity to just look at her for a few long moments. He'd forgotten how nice it is to see her flushed and glowing.
Whatever hesitance he had with regards to his own pleasure seems to have lifted slightly, and as he settles his forehead against her and kisses her neck, his erection pressing a little shamelessly against the inside of her thigh.
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bakerstreet2016-06-16 03:59 pm
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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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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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He'd paid for that in many ways, some worse than others.
So he's glad for this second chance, even if this is as far from getting it right as possible, holed up in this abandoned building under a time limit as they are. It's almost laughable to draw parallels, but he supposes that laughing about it is all he can do. The alternative hurts too much.
He'll focus on what's right in front of him instead, relishing the feel of her hands in his hair and his tongue against her, circling and flicking her clit with an increasing relentlessness. He can feel the way she tries to pitch her hips against him, and he holds her firmly in place, not wanting it to be over too soon, and he'll vary the movements of his mouth to drag things out as long as he can.
When he's sure she's got the hint, he slides a hand back between her legs to spread her open, licking broad lines all around her folds and craning his neck to dip his tongue inside her. His fingers follow not long after--one to start, and then another when he thinks she can take it.]
sorry, had a long couple of days. I'm still here!
She'd loved him then; she still does, but it's for the man he'd once been and she's not sure how much of him is left.
He holds her down and she whimpers, frustrated in ways she doesn't want to stop, his mouth keeping her right at that edge but never quite giving her what she needs to tip over it. It's hard not to push her hips back up the moment he moves his hand, but he's made it clear what he wants and she concedes, her legs quivering and breath hitching around short little gasps the moment she feels his tongue probing at her. Followed by- oh. She sucks in a breath around a short squeak of surprise that dies in her throat.]
Gott, Jack- [He doesn't exactly have small fingers and it takes her a moment to reacquaint herself with the feeling, her heel pressing against his flank and her back curving up by a fraction; but her hips staying dutifully where he had told her. The second finger and her own clench in his hair, her moan this time throaty and unhindered.]
Jack, please, just... liebling, please...
[She doesn't care if she's begging. She wants this, wants him; wants the orgasm he's keeping her from simply by the sheer weight of that unspoken 'not yet'.]
no worries!
But it is nice, while it lasts, complicated feelings aside. 76 can push past it, especially when she's begging for it.
He releases her hips, lets her grind into him if she wants, figuring it's time to give her at least a modicum of relief. His finds a rhythm, fingers pulling out of her and pushing back in again, timed thrusts that accompany the each stroke of his tongue.
The whine in her voice gets him to pick up his pace, closing his mouth over her to suck gently, then tracing quick circles and finally honing right in, breathing hard against her.
Come on, Angie, is what he wants to say, but the way he relentlessly flicks across her clit will have to be permission enough.]
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They're replaced by desperate little sounds of pleasure paired with the roll of her hips now that her body is free to respond and push her on to that breaking point. She feels it coming, a cresting wave of desire so eager to crash and this time she's the one who holds herself there, on that edge, for as long as she can, muscles quivering, her fingers clenched tight in his hair holding him there- right there--
She comes with a choked sob and a shudder that jolts through her body, the tension finally releasing in a singular moment that seems to both stretch on forever and end all too soon. It leaves her dazed and panting for air, her one leg going limp over his shoulder and fingers trembling against his scalp. Heat curls through her veins, carried by her racing pulse, and she feels heavy and light at the same time.
And even then, though the foggy haze of her orgasm, she can sense a creeping fear that he'll leave the moment her guard is down and she gropes blind for his shoulders- to pull him up to her, to keep him from going, whether that was his intent or not. His name is on the tip of her tongue, a plea for him to stay, but it doesn't make it out. She swallows it back and hopes her hands are enough.
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Eventually, however, he knows he has to stop, and he surfaces a little breathlessly, something that might be a laugh in the back of his throat.
His cheek rests against her thigh for a moment as he catches his breath drags the back of his hand across his mouth just in case she doesn't want to be kissed with that wetness all over his face. He crawls his way back up to her, burying his forehead in her shoulder, no air between them.]
God, Angie--
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He finally moves up and in the hazy afterglow, it's second nature to open her arms to him, bearing the weight of his body against hers without a wayward thought. Her fingers draw aimless lines up and down the back of his neck and between his shoulders as she nuzzles into his hair, lazy kisses pressed to the top of his head.]
Rusty or not, that was wonderful...
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Whatever hesitance he had with regards to his own pleasure seems to have lifted slightly, and as he settles his forehead against her and kisses her neck, his erection pressing a little shamelessly against the inside of her thigh.
He's going to hate to leave her.]
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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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