Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Fandom: D. Gray-Man
Inspiration: Yup, we're all snowed in over here in New England. 15" and counting. Prolly gonna kill my back shoveling it all out. If I die now you all know what happened!
You rarely, if ever, go out on missions with Lavi. That's why you're so surprised when he randomly shows up at the hotel you're staying in, somewhere in central
. You're so surprised that you do nothing but
stare at him in confused silence until he chuckles, grins, and throws an arm
haphazardly around your shoulders. Italy
"Komui sent me. Said you were having some trouble," is all he says, and then shrugs as if it's no big deal. And it isn't. It's just that you're a little overwhelmed by his presence, by the relief you feel, by the knowledge that you aren't alone anymore.
You slump against him and mutter, "Thank God you're here. I haven't found any leads at all in the past week." There is definitely Innocence in this town. You just don't know how to speak Italian, and while this isn't a serious setback, you can't seem to figure out a plan of action at all. It's like you've fallen into a rut of some kind.
Lavi's eyes crinkle into a smile. He gives you a little squeeze that would normally set your heart racing, only you're too exhausted to let yourself react to him. After a moment, Lavi frowns a little and gives you a look over. "You look a little sick." He grasps both your shoulders and studies the shadows beneath your eyes. Then he sets his jaw and says, "Come on. I'm putting you to bed." And he starts to drag you to the only bed in the room.
You struggle stubbornly. "No! Now that you're here, we have to work even harder. I can't go to sleep in the middle of the day -- " But Lavi only bends over, sweeps you up into his arms, and proceeds to dump you onto the mattress. You squeal in surprise and immediately sit up, only to be pushed back down again.
"Just rest for a little bit," he tells you. His voice is creased with an emotion you can't place. It sounds like worry, but there is something darker brewing between his words. It makes you pause and stare at him for the second time that day. After a moment, his expression falls back into his normal, happy go lucky smile. But his eyes are still dark and green and serious, and you find yourself laying back down because you don't want him to worry about you. But you know that the fact that he is worrying about you will make it hard to rest.
You sigh. You're about to close your eyes and at least pretend like you're sleeping when Lavi's hands are suddenly moving over the blanket you're laying on. Your eyes clash with his and he smirks at the surprise that coats your expression. "Relax. I'm trying to make you comfortable," he tells you, as if tucking you into a bed big enough for two is the most natural thing in the entire world. You envy the composed way he acts around you. You wish you could be just as composed, but to be honest, every time you're around him you're just a bundle of nervous energy.
"We'll head out in the evening and go to dinner or something, maybe ask if anyone's seen anything strange lately," Lavi says conversationally. His words are thoughtless, almost. But there is the slightest hesitance in the way he utters them, like he's thinking things through very thoroughly before speaking anything aloud. You've grown used to the way he talks, to the seemingly transparent way his words link together, only for them to be motley and hard to decipher. So you tell yourself not to think much about going to dinner together, because he probably just means it as a way of getting information. But how your heart thrills at the thought.
You snuggle into the pillow and close your eyes, blocking off the sight of him. The relief that this brings is shallow, though, because you can still feel him in the room and you know he's watching you. Brushing this off is much more difficult.
"Mmm," you agree anyway, because there's nothing else you can do. Your voice is layered with the thinnest amount of exhaustion, and suddenly everything feels very comfortable. The bed, the blanket, the pillow, the warmth. "…But you'll have to do the talking." You think you hear him chuckle at your words, but it is so soft and quiet that you're not sure.
"Go to sleep, [Name]. I'll wake you up in a few hours," he tells you, but by now his voice is softer and it feels like you're drifting away from the entire world. And you must be more exhausted than you'd thought, because moments pass by and you fall into the most relieved, comfortable sleep you've had in a long time. Lavi's presence beside you turns into a serene reminder that you are safe, and as he watches you breathe in and out, his eyes turn warm with the early afternoon sun.
You sleep for four hours. It's much longer than you'd expected to be out for, but then you aren't all that surprised. You haven't gotten a full night's sleep for the past week, after all. When Lavi shakes you awake, you arise feeling groggy, and you stumble into the shower in hopes that the warm water will wake you up.
It is five o'clock and Lavi has already changed into a pair of tailored trousers and a crisp white dress shirt. By the time you emerge from the shower and towel yourself dry, Lavi's waiting on the balcony in an attempt to give you some space. It's nerve-racking, actually, having him so close. You peer out into the room, clutching your towel tightly, and let your gaze linger on the large, imposing bed. This morning, you'd woken alone. Now, a second suitcase keeps yours company, the clothes Lavi traveled in are draped over the back of a chair, and the bed looks lived in. Like you've spent the afternoon as lovers exploring the terrain of physical touch.
You're face is on fire every second you spend digging hurriedly through your suitcase. You glance up at the balcony every other moment, as if to make sure that Lavi's back is turned. He's most likely heard the shower shut off and knows you're in the room, but that only makes you that much more tense. It takes you longer than it should to finally find the nice dress you packed, and you hurry back to the bathroom before Lavi decides to amble back inside. You've never entirely trusted him when it comes to stuff like relationships and hormones and all those complicated things.
After about five minutes struggling to get your dress on and pull up a pair of sheer stockings without ripping them in your haste, Lavi knocks on the door. "Are you ready yet? We should go soon, before the tables start filling up," he says nonchalantly. It almost sounds as if he's more eager to have dinner than he is to search for Akuma, but you think it's probably just because he's hungry. You sigh and open the door, walking back to your suitcase to look for your hairbrush. In your hurry, you don't see the way Lavi's eyes swoop appreciatively over your figure and linger a few seconds too long on your rear.
He clears his throat and scratches his head, grinning his typical grin, "You look nice." You glance at him and tell yourself to calm down, he's just trying to avoid silences, he's just trying to be polite. But still you smile because it's nice, being complimented by him when he's grinning like that. It makes his eyes turn into dazzling green emeralds that light fires in your heart. And maybe it's because you're feeling more awake than you've felt all week, but you let your smile turn into a smirk and your eyes give him a look over as well. He seems to straighten up when he notices, but his grin only becomes wider.
"You do, too," you tell him. Your smirk all but turns your eyes into mischievous, impish crystals, but you hold your own. Inside, you're another matter entirely, all shaky and nervous and God-what-was-I-thinking-checking-him-out-like-that? But on the outside you try to hold those feelings back, because Lavi seems to like his women bold and flirty. And God, you'd like to be like that too, if only to make him notice you.
He chuckles and stuffs one hand into his pocket. Then he gestures to the door and says lightly, "Let's get going." And you step forward, let him take your hand and lead you to the door, try not to let him know how excited you are to be holding his hand and to walk so close to him. If he does notice, he doesn't say anything. But his grip does tighten on yours, and it makes you feel warm.
The restaurant he brings you to is already bustling even though it's a little early still. You have to wait a few minutes for a table, but it doesn't take long and before you know it, you're sliding into the booth and Lavi is sitting across from you. He gives you a half smile and opens his menu. His red hair falls into his eyes. You push back the desire to brush it away.
"I walked by this place on my way to the hotel," he says after a moment of comfortable silence. His eyes are skimming through the options with the skilled grace of a native Italian, and he doesn’t seem to notice the way you stumble over the words and the phrases. "Should we get some wine?" he asks suddenly, and you look up at him in surprise. Wine is something couples order. But Lavi looks so comfortable, smiling over at you in that seemingly innocent way, and you aren't sure what to think. After a moment you give in and just nod.
"Vorrei una bottiglia di Prosecco, per favore,"  Lavi says to a nearby waiter. You turn back to your menu and try not to feel intimidated by the ease of Lavi's Italian. You're maybe a little embarrassed at your own abysmal language capabilities. But Lavi doesn't seem to judge. He even leans forward and asks, "Should I order for you?" The relief you feel is tangible. You smile up at him and say, "That'd be great. All these spaghetti dishes confuse me." Your admittance makes him smile warmly.
"They have a lot of choices," he says in response, and his smile has your heart fluttering delightfully. When the waiter returns with the bottle of wine, you sit back and watch the man pour a champagne looking drink into Lavi's glass. He takes a small sip and nods to the waiter, who then goes to fill your glass as well. Then the man asks, "Siete pronti per ordinare?"  Lavi responds with a quick, practiced, "Sì. Ci sarà un piatto di Agnolotti e Pappardelle. Grazie."  The waiter gives a little nod, sets the wine on the table, and leaves.
Lavi then turns to you, curls his fingers around the stem of his champagne flute, and leans in. "Should we toast?" he asks with a flirty smirk. You try your very best not to blush, and laugh softly, "What for? We're on a mission." He raises his eyebrows at his and pouts, "Exactly! Since we're on a mission, we should toast to success, right?" You should really know better not to argue with him, because you really can't deny him anything. So you laugh again and give in, "Alright then. To the success of our mission."
But Lavi changes it around at the last moment. He grins that suave grin and leans in further, like a lover. Then he murmurs back, "To success." The way he cuts off the reminder of the mission, and the way he's looking at you like he's trying to tell you something, it all makes you feel fluttery and lightheaded. His green eyes twinkle like a predator's. When your glasses gently chime together, though, the spell shatters and you try to hide your hesitance behind a long sip. He watches all the while, and that sharp look never leaves his eyes.
The dinner passes by in a comfortable but intense fashion that has you forever sitting on the edge of your seat. Lavi, surprisingly, is acting very gentlemanly. But you still can't ignore the sliver of mischief that exudes from him. It makes you even more tense.
Soon, Lavi pays the bill (after a tiny bit of bantered insisting), and stands up. He chuckles when you stumble little and says, "Let's go walk off this wine, hmm?" Then he slips his arm around your waist and you're surprised, but so warm from the wine and him that you don't argue. You just let him lead you outside and take full advantage of the way he lets you lean on him.
The night is slightly chilly, as it is the final cusp of spring, and you revel in the warmth of his arm and his breath, which you can feel against your hair. The little Italian town is light up at night, and there are numerous couples lingering in the streets and along the docks below. But Lavi doesn't go to them to ask his questions. You wonder if you should remind him of the mission, of the reason he is here with you, but you don't get the chance because suddenly Lavi is stopping and the thought crashes away.
He turns to you and suddenly you realize how close he actually is, and how close you're snuggled up to him. With a start you attempt to retreat, to put some distance between the both of you. But he merely follows you back, back, back, until you're pressed up against a cold metal railing and him, his arms on either side of you, his eyes shine a gravelly green. You swallow and bite your bottom lip. Your heart is thudding so fast that you can hardly breathe. Lavi smiles and murmurs, "Did you have a fun night?"
For a moment, you are baffled. How can he initiate such a normal conversation when he's only inches away from you? But then this is how he flirts, you realize, and decide that two can play at his little game. Your eyes narrow and you tilt your head to the side, away from him. It helps when you aren't looking directly in those eyes of his. "I guess," you say callously, with a little shrug. The nonchalant way you answer makes him giddy with excitement, and he grins.
"You guess," he repeats slowly, with a sort of drawl that makes you shiver. His fingers slide very gently up your arm, then back down to your elbow, where his thumb brushes against the inside crease. You swallow back a thick wave of desire and try to ignore the reactions of your body, but it's not exactly easy. After a moment, you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind in an attempt at erasing the confusing desire that is bolted against your skin. "Aren't we going to ask anyone about the Innocence?" And then you curse yourself for always reverting back to business, back to what is familiar and not so frightening.
Lavi hums. He raises his hand to curl a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then he lets out a sigh that burns against your cheek and makes you blush. Because he really is so close, closer than ever before, and it makes you want to lean in and get rid of all the space still lingering between you. Apparently, he's thinking the same thing. "Mmm…we should," he agrees, and your heart sinks just a little bit. But then it bolsters right back up when he murmurs, "But I don't really want to. Do you?"
Of course you should say yes, the mission always comes first. But the only thing you're interested in doing is kissing him, and when you shake your head 'no', Lavi decides that kissing is definitely a good choice. He grins and leans in further, watching your eyes flutter, your chin lift, your mouth part. And just before his lips touch yours he whispers, "That's good." Good that he's not being rejected. Good that the night hadn't been a complete failure. Good that you seem to want to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss you. It's all very good.
His lips are soft and gentle against yours. It's not really passionate, not like you'd expected it to be. Your heart doesn't jump brilliantly against your chest. Your skin doesn't burn like fire. But it is real, and beautiful, and the way his lips slide against yours makes you fiercely happy. And the way he drags your bottom lip against his teeth and sucks on it, and the way his hands bring you closer, smoothing up your back and pressing you tight to his chest makes you feel high, like the moon that hangs above the sea and shines down canopies of light.
You like how easy it is to forget about yourself when he's kissing you. The world itself could have stopped turning and you would not have known, or cared, or pulled away. How many months had you wanted this? How long had you been silently dreaming of what this moment would actually feel like? Of how it would feel to run your fingers through that bright red hair of his. Of how it might be like, to have his chest firmly pressed to yours, his arms a cradle around your form.
He is a very adept kisser. But you find that even while this is true, it isn't quite enough. You clutch him harder and he grunts in appreciation, looping one arm around your body. His other hand is secured to the railing, anchoring you there. But the innocent nature of the kiss lasts only minutes before Lavi takes it deeper, headier, making you breathlessly moan against it. It is that moment that you know, somehow, that tonight is going to be more than just a few kisses.
You like the thought of that, of going farther. Because really, when will you get another chance? Lavi is something of a hot commodity to the Order and you never get to be alone with him like this, in a foreign country on a mission for a week. It's a chance that you're definitely not interested in giving up, even if it means that it will change you.
You gasp when he drags you closer, heaving your body against his and clashing his tongue with yours. But of course it isn't enough. You're still cold even in this heat. You want silence and security and your hotel room. You want to kiss him where there is no one else, where you know you're alone and uninterrupted. And that's why you pull back and whisper, "Lavi…let's go back." And he grunts, stares down at you, silently questioning if you're sure, if that's what you really want. Because the words 'going back' actually have very different meanings that simply heading back to the room. And even if he doesn't always act like it, Lavi is a gentleman.
You answer his silent question by pulling away even more and stepping toward the hotel. And Lavi grins, follows, his hand grasping yours and he tugs you forward in much the same manner as he'd done before. Except this time, the way he pulls you is more exciting because you're more aware of what you're being pulled to. And you're thoroughly ready to discover it.
The hotel room is dark when you stumble inside. Lavi reaches blindly for the light switch, but his hand only slides uselessly over the smooth wall. You can't be bothered with the lengthy process of searching, not when you've finally got him pressed up against you and kissing you in the slow-eager-deep way. So you just brashly tug him into the room without preamble, preferring the stumbling trip over the idea of pulling apart even for a second. He doesn't seem to complain, even as he accidently steps on your foot and you hit the back of your knee into the bed post.
You both chuckle. They are nervous-embarrassed-oh-well laughs that remain plastered to your mouths, then disappear entirely because Lavi doesn't seem to want to stop kissing you. Soon, he's pushing your backwards, hands on your hips, lips making you breathless. And he seems to get his bearings back fairly quickly because the rest of the short trip is flawlessly engineered.
But it's still filled with that nervous, first time energy, and when the bed suddenly lurches up out of the darkness, you accidently fall into a sitting position that breaks the kiss and leaves you both hanging. Lavi hovers above you, his hands grazing over the tops of your arms, staring at you through the thick blend of darkness that settles over the room. And you stare up at him, clutching his shirt, trying not to think too hard about the position and the way it brings his lower body almost directly in front of your gaze.
Suddenly, Lavi's smiling boyishly and looping his fingers into your hair, tugging your head back and catching your eyes. The sight of his easy-going expression makes you feel more comfortable, and you smile back because you wouldn't have imagined it would be like this with him. This simple intricacy, the way it makes your heart feel both at ease and hectic, like you're not sure if this intimacy is scary or anticipated or delightful. Maybe all three.
"You ok?" he wonders, almost idly. But his voice is tight, too, and husky and low, and you can hear the desire crowning his words and making them into spiked weights filled with meaning. It makes you clutch him harder, lean into his caress, and smile sort of giddily, cheekily. You murmur, "If you keep kissing me, I think I will be." And Lavi chuckles because he hadn't expected that bold suggestion, not from you, but he finds that he likes it very much indeed.
"Deal," he promises, and leans down. His tilts your chin up with two slender fingers and presses his mouth against yours again. He sinks into the kiss gradually, and after a few moments you're spinning your arms around his neck and dragging him further against you, kissing him back as headily as you can manage. It makes him breathless and yearning for more. His pants tighten uncomfortably and he sighs, gently pushes you back, lays you flat on the mattress without breaking the kiss.
You like his weight on you. You like it so much that you whisper his name and try to pull him tighter, more firmly. But Lavi only smirks and devours your lips deeply with his, his tongue flickering over yours and rubbing against your teeth and inner cheek. The taste and feel and touch of him infiltrates all your senses and makes you berserk, insane, delirious.
You slip your fingers into his shirt and palm over his skin, shifting your touch higher and higher, pressing over all the dips and contours that you blindly discover. Lavi presses himself into you more, sighing, his fingers burning against your cheek. His shirt falls away at your insistence and your hands shift more liberally over his skin. He grins and his touch tumbles down, caressing your neck, shoulder, the side of your breast. His mouth follows and licks, kisses, devours a path over your skin. And when he reaches your dress, Lavi growls impatiently and fumbles with it, eager to continue his quest of uncovering more of you. Seeing and feeling and tasting more.
You watch him through the darkness, studying the way he presses over your clothes. Your dress zippers at the side, but he doesn't immediately realize it. You enjoy his excited touches as they shift and jerk over you, searching pleasurably. When he finally finds the zipper, Lavi mutters, "There it is…" and you giggle as he playfully tugs it down. But when he starts shifting the fabric off you, you can't giggle any more. Because amusement is about the last emotion you're feeling at this point. There are other, more pressing matters at hand here. More important desires and emotions to give into.
"Lavi…" you whisper, your voice raw. He looks at you, his eyes questioning, and you feel yourself blushing at the inquisitive nature of his gaze. Your next words are shaky, unsure, hesitant, but you say them anyway because he should probably be informed of your situation. You shift your hand over his chest and up around his neck, playing with the brilliant red strands of his hair as it tickles over his skin. "I'm a virgin, you know." You swallow back a short wave of embarrassment, and Lavi stills.
It takes him all of three seconds to burst into a big grin, and you're smiling too but you're not sure why. All you know is that his smiles are contagious and you've got it bad, you always had when it came to him. Lavi shakes his head and rocks back on his heels, towering above you with that grin that happens to make you feel like you're convulsing in shivers.
"Why are you laughing?" you wonder, half amused but mostly embarrassed, because you're not sure if he's laughing at you or your declaration. Does he think it's juvenile? Do people not care about those things anymore? Is he really that surprised to hear you say that? You sit up slowly, coming face to face with him in this new position, and he cups your face with both his hands and whispers the reasoning behind his amusement. "…So am I." You stare in shock.
"Seriously?" you ask, raising your eyebrows. He chuckles and leans in, pecking little kisses over your mouth and thoroughly enjoying your surprise. You think it's strangely endearing, this situation, and you find yourself smiling as well because you never would have imagined this, either. That Lavi could be anything but a total Casanova, in both looks and personality and repertoire. You're both smiling when you kiss him back. But after a moment spent devouring the headiness of that kiss, smiling, too, is an emotion that has little use now.
You shed the smiles just as Lavi sheds your dress. As he slides the fabric away, he murmurs, “What did you expect? That I get into any pants I see?” The chuckle he ghosts over your collarbone makes it clear that this notion is just as ridiculous to him.
He wriggles the rest of the dress off of your body eagerly, tossing it to the floor and immediately lowering his mouth to your skin to kiss more of you. You bite your lip and clench your fingers into his hair, whispering, “You could have anyone you want, you know.” And he could. He’s handsome enough and he exudes charm as if it’s part of his very DNA. On countless occasions both in and out of the Order’s walls, you’ve noticed plenty of women eyeing him. And so you’d just assumed, perhaps a little too quickly, that he had seen his fair share of encounters with the opposite sex.
Lavi lifts his head to look at you, his eyes oddly serious even in the dim light. He must have decided that he doesn’t much like the darkness, because suddenly he is leaning forward and over you, his body angling as he reaches for the lamp beside the bed. The light blinds you momentarily, and when you open your eyes again, Lavi is hovering over you with those strange-solemn eyes.
He’s leaning down to kiss you moments later, but this kiss is different than the others. It somehow matches the way his gaze flickers with that unplaced emotion. His mouth is soft but urgent, as if he’s trying to tell you something through his actions. You’re starting to realize what those silent words are when he says, “You’re the one I noticed. The one I wanted.” You think your heart will burst.
You watch with half lidded eyes as he unclips your bra, his fingers slow, reverent. You’re a little frightened when he tugs it away, but then his tongue is twisting over your nipple and you don't have it in you to be embarrassed about this. Not when it feels so natural and satisfying and wonderful. So you just tunnel your fingers into his hair and let yourself be swayed by the lovely feeling of him kissing such a sensitive part of you.
“Oh?” you murmur, because his words are still circling through your mind like vultures around prey, and you can’t seem to figure them out. How could Lavi have wanted you over all those other gorgeous women? You, who is not gorgeous, who is awkward with words and emotions? Whose social life is not nearly as dazzling as his? He seems to know exactly what you’re thinking, because after a moment he starts to kiss back up your body, his lips sucking and his teeth nipping. Coherent thought fades. Lavi remains.
The smile he gives you, half immersed in arousal, is his way of taking his words and attempting to cement them against you. He does not answer you outright. Instead, his response is in his touch, the way he brushes his fingers down your body and circles them over your naval, your hips, your thighs.
Perhaps it is because you've imagined being with him so many times in the past, but right now you're not really that nervous even though it's your first time. At least, not until his fingers come burning down to your panties, wrestling them away, and he's suddenly stroking over your core and making you feel very hot. Your body shudders with a numb sort of pleasure that leaves you hanging between two very colorful planes, and you gasp because it is like nothing you've ever felt before. Lavi raises his head and watches your expression falter and crash with desire, his lips parted and bruised, his eyes gleaming deliciously.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d called himself a virgin, but none of his movements are shaky or hesitant. You think it would be strange if they are, because he is always so sure of himself all the time. And you’re thankful that at least one person has some idea as to what they’re doing, even if he’s only guessing and connecting the dots as he goes. But sex is mindless, thoughtless, and even though you’re nervous you’re not worried.
“How’re you feeling?” Lavi asks. His voice is all husk and gravel, skimming over the lowest tones of sound, making his words ridiculously erotic. You blink up at him, your pupils dilated from pleasure. His thumb is circling your clit as a knuckle teases your entrance. The touch is nothing short of astounding, and you can feel your entire body aching and drowning in the desire to have more. Always more.
Your answer must show very clearly in your expression, because Lavi gives you a half smirk and leans down. The mischief in his eyes is tangible and breaks through the air between you like shots shattering silence. When he kisses you next, your entire body responds to him and lifts up to meet him. His fingers stop touching you because he’s too busy marveling at the lovely way you’re dragging him down. Like a siren pulling sailors into the sea. He’ll drown for you. Just as long as he gets to have you for his own.
“You’re beautiful,” Lavi hoarsely gasps. The dim light crushes over your naked form and makes you into a Goddess. Your skin glows. The half lidded way you stare up at him makes him ridiculously hard. And wearing way too many clothes.
You seem to follow those thoughts exactly, because a moment later you’re tugging at the waist of his trousers and Lavi is chuckling at your impatience. He silently unbuttons them. When he goes to hook his thumbs into the fabric, he peers over at you with a smirking expression, as if to say, ‘Are you ready for this?’ You raise your eyebrows at him and smile back. The way the light sends shadows jolting over his face and chest has your heart pattering away, but it’s nothing compared to the way he looks when the trousers come off and he’s left in his boxers.
You swallow at the sight of him. His erection bulges against the thin fabric of his boxers and all you can do is stare. It’s strange how a single body part could instill so many emotions in you. The sight is thrilling and startlingly erotic. You swear you can feel the blood in your veins jolt as it pounds through your head.
Lavi watches you watch him for a moment before leaning closer to your sitting form. The heat of his body collides with yours and you stare up into his eyes. He’s looking at you with that serious gaze again.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, [Name]. We can wait – “
“I don’t want to wait,” you cut him off. Your hands lift up to circle his waist and dip down to touch the fabric of his boxers. Lavi’s eyes flash with desire. He chuckles, a throaty sort of sound, and nods.
“If we do this…there’s no going back,” he says, trying to make you see exactly what you’re getting yourself into by being with him. Your answer is a slow kiss and a coy slip of your fingers into those boxers. You give him a half smirk and kiss him again, “I want you, Lavi. Tonight.” He grins back and nods.
His boxers come off and you’re both bare, sitting on that great mattress, letting your eyes wander and explore. You’ve never seen a naked man before but somehow it feels right. You’re glad that Lavi is your first. That feels right, too.
He gives you a comforting smile and murmurs, “Lay down.” You do, stretching your body out over the mattress while he watches you. He shifts between your legs, heaves them up around his waist, and then slides his hand from the tops of your thighs to your stomach to your breasts and back. The touch is strangely intimate in a way you can’t describe, and when he does it again you sigh and give a breathless little moan.
“Lavi…kiss me,” you order, hands above your head as you blink up at him. He pauses for only a moment to take in the sight of you, then obeys. The next moment he leans down and takes your mouth with his, simultaneously dragging his erection over your core in a teasing fashion that has you gasping. Your body arches into his and he chuckles darkly, nipping at your lips and rocks his hips against you once more.
“Th-That feels really good,” you tell him, clutching tightly to his shoulders. He hums in agreement and murmurs, “In a moment…it’s going to hurt. You have to tell me when the pain stops, okay?” You bite your lip and nod. You’re not afraid: every girl is told in one way or the other that the first time hurts. Pain is something you are accustomed to as a member of the Order. So when Lavi slowly pushes himself into you and you feel something rip inside you, you don’t cry out. You just hold him tightly and stop breathing.
Lavi watches you carefully, his face concerned. He sees the pain in your eyes even when you’re obviously trying to hide it. In a soft voice, he asks, “That bad, huh?” You laugh a shaky, pained laugh and nod.
“Didn’t think it’d hurt this much,” you manage through the pain, but already you can feel it fading slightly. It feels so strange to have something fill you up, something that hadn’t been there before.
You squeeze his shoulders and tell him, “You can move now.” Because you think it’d be better to just get it over with. Lavi brushes your hair out of your eyes and whispers, “Alright.” Then he rocks back a few inches and gently pushes forward again. You hiss at the movement. It hurts, and yet…yet you also feel the very beginning of something tickle over you. It’s a light feeling, and you’ve got a pretty good idea as to what it is.
“Keep moving,” you tell him, biting your lip. Lavi grunts and moves, this time rocking out a few more inches. He’s still extremely gentle, as if he thinks you might break if he moves too fast. By the time he repeats this motion a dozen or so times, you’re clutching at him for new reasons and Lavi can tell that the pain has been replaced.
“Wow…” you whisper with a little laugh. Lavi chuckles, his voice bathed in that arousal. He thrusts faster, pinning your leg up around his waist and then moving his hand to caress your cheek. He leans down to kiss you and you sigh, arching up. The action causes your hips to tilt upwards too, and Lavi gives a pleased little moan.
His hips thrust faster, less gently, and you know he’s almost there. The feeling of him shifting over your inner walls has you panting and tilting your hips up faster as well, trying to meeting his thrusts halfway. A strange feeling begins to fill you and you struggle to breathe. It’s as if your skin is shattering and falling apart. Every inch of you feels like it’s exploding. You gasp and arch your back, murmuring, “Lavi! I think- !”
But he already knows, and he hurries to catch up with you as your orgasm takes your breath away. You have never felt anything that could compare. Except perhaps Lavi’s own finish, his expression as he comes and the way he shudders into your body. A certain heat fills you up and makes you feel like you’re drowning and flying all at once. When Lavi stops moving a moment later, he pulls out of you and nuzzles his face into your chest with a satisfied sigh.
You shift a little and wrap your arms gently around his shoulders. Your body is still ringing from pleasure, but there is a hint of soreness that settles between your legs even now. You’ve got a feeling it’s only going to get worse.
“How d’you feel?” Lavi mumbles, raising his head to peer down at you. You don’t bother lying to him: you know it wouldn’t work anyway. So you just shrug and give him a sort of grimace. His eyes soften.
“Okay,” he pauses to think, tapping a finger against his chin. Then his expression brightens and he suggests, “How ‘bout a bath?” His earnestness makes you smile.
“That sounds great,” you tell him. A moment later, Lavi is getting up, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and sauntering into the bathroom in all his nude glory. You blush and bite your lip.
It is no surprise that the remainder of the evening is spent in such luxury that you forget all about the soreness gathering all over your body. It is also no surprise when, the next morning as you wake up in Lavi’s arms, you have absolutely no regrets in any way.
 "Vorrei una bottiglia di Prosecco, per favore" … "I would like a bottle of Prosecco, please"
Side note: Prosecco, a sparkling white wine usually consumed before a meal.
 "Siete pronti per ordinare?" … "Are you ready to order?"
 "Sì. Ci sarà un piatto di Agnolotti e Pappardelle. Grazie" … "Yes. We'll have a dish of Agnolotti and one Pappardelle. Thank you."
Side note: Agnolotti, small ravioli stuffed with meat, cheese, or vegetables. Pappardelle, broad noodles
Friday, January 23, 2015
Character: Steve Rodgers
Fandom: Captain America
OC: Raven Clarke, petit, easy-going, smart, enjoys getting her own way~
Inspiration: Spiked eggnog and Santa Bebe ;3 Oh God what’s wrong with me
Steve’s apartment isn’t anything too impressive, but decked out in all its Christmas charm Raven Clarke think it’s the loveliest place she’s ever been. And the man himself, sprawled comfortably on the couch, only makes everything that much better.
She saunters out of his kitchen to hand him the glass of eggnog he’d wanted refilled. It’s a specialty of hers, this eggnog, and Steve hasn’t had anything quite like it in years. Decades in fact. So when she’d offered to stop by with some of course he couldn’t say no. He wouldn’t have anyway: being around her happens to make him feel like he’s on cloud nine.
“Mm,” he hums when he takes another sip. The compliment is right there in his voice, right there in the way he smiles up at her. But there’s another compliment in those eyes of his as he turns them toward her and that lovely sheath of fabric she’s been calling a dress, which is wrapped around her just tight enough to make him constantly notice. She smiles back, well aware. And he knows she’s aware and it only makes him chuckle and say, “Come here.”
His voice is all low and lovely and she immediately responds to it, all too happy to snuggle up to his side. She does exactly that. Steve hands her his glass and she takes a little sip of it. The delicious warm burn of alcohol makes her smile lazily and hand it back. Her lazy smile only widens when Steve’s hand curls around her petit form and starts to play idly with her hair.
The television flickers in front of them: reruns of Christmas shows she’s seen a million times but he has not. Of course she’s insisted they put them on. Since this year the holidays don’t involve Steve running around saving the world, Raven’s insisted on introducing him to everything he’s missed. Then suddenly a commercial catches the screen and a sultry female voice is singing ‘Santa Baby’ and Raven starts humming along because she happens to love this song.
Steve laughs and muses, “They still sing this? I haven’t heard it since Marilyn Monroe.” And Raven laughs because she shouldn’t be surprised but is, and is also a little (tiny bit) jealous that Steve was around when Marilyn Monroe was. She doesn’t address the last bit, though she does ask, “Do you not like this song?” Because something in his voice makes her think that maybe he doesn’t.
She’s right, and it surprises her even more because how could anyone not love this song? When she asks, though, her lover only shrugs and glances down at her with those bright blue eyes of his. “It’s just such a…materialistic song. It’s all about what she wants. It has nothing to do with the actual holiday, just some selfish woman’s wish list.” She gapes at him in mock horror, and he chuckles at her expression.
“Okay,” she concedes, cause he does have a point she supposes, though she still thinks he’s crazy. “But just listen to that voice. Isn’t that sexy? Sexy Christmas songs are the best, you know.” So true. Everybody loves sexy Christmas songs. Even kids.
Steve just crinkles his nose up and mutters, “It’s Christmas, not Valentine’s Day. There’s no need for…that.”
She’s guessing that he’s referring to sex and she raises her eyebrows at him. It takes her only seconds to grab his eggnog mug, put it on the little table next to the couch, and roll over to straddle his hips. He’s surprised at the move: his eyes widen just slightly as he looks up at her. He’s confused, too, but not for very long.
“Steve,” she murmurs in an almost arousing voice, all low and promising. And even though he’s not exactly prepared for it, his body betrays him and he shivers at the tone of it. He watches her warily as her hands spread over his chest, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his dress shirt and thumbing briefly over the revealed skin near his throat. “There’s always a need for sex. It’s what makes the world go round.”
Yes, she’s fairly aware of the almost silly way she says it, like she’s actually teaching a sex-ed class instead of speaking to her boyfriend-lover-whatever-the-hell-he-is. She’s also aware that it sounds slightly condescending and that she hadn’t meant for that. But what she’s most aware of is the way Steve’s lips curl up very slightly at the edges and his hands reach up to touch her, to spread over her thighs.
“Oh?” he wonders. Even though he’s been frozen for a number of decades he hasn’t lost sight of what a come-on looks like. In fact he’s only recently realized what a come-on actually looks like because back in the 40s he had always been too skinny and short for girls to notice him, and after that changed he’d been too busy to care. In any case, he’s well aware and even relieved when he sees the passion in her eyes, because he’s been feeling something similar ever since she arrived nearly two hours ago with the eggnog and that dress.
She laughs, seeing the look in his eyes and leaning forward as if to kiss him. She does, but not on the mouth like he obviously expects. Rather, her kiss gently brushes over his cheek and then drops to the very edge of his lips. After only moments Raven just decides to forgo this particular manner of teasing because kissing him properly is a luxury she decides she needs. Steve lets out a little, pleased sigh and then mutters lowly, “Hang on, let me turn off my phone.”
She frowns a little and draws back, watching him tug his cell phone out of his back pocket. It’s a smart phone, one of the nicest she’s ever seen because he’s Captain America and deserves it of course. But the funny part is that he still has trouble working it even though he’s been in the twenty-first century for several years. And so after a moment when he mumbles something about technology, Raven laughs and puts him out of his misery.
She takes the phone and turns it off in a matter of seconds, then tosses it haphazardly on the other side of the couch before turning back to him. He’s looking at her with a raised eyebrow, but there’s an amused smile in those eyes of his and she giggles. “No interruptions?” she asks, and he nods firmly, then reaches for the remote control and switches the television off. “Absolutely none,” he tells her, “Even if the entire city of New York suddenly falls prey to some demonic overlord, I am not leaving this apartment.” Because that dress.
She laughs at that but understands the sentiment perfectly. And when she leans down to press a deep kiss to his lips, Steve draws her closer and tightly holds her against him. She sinks into his body and the kiss turns almost heady, like they’ve been waiting for it for ages now. Well, Steve has anyway. And she’s not about to deny her attraction to the blonde haired superhero. She’s never been able to anyhow.
Her fingers slip into his blonde hair and she tugs his head back, dragging a kiss full of heady tongue and teeth down his neck. He groans then sighs, as if being underneath her like this is perhaps the most beautiful thing he’s ever experienced. But at the same time they both know that it’s nowhere near as lovely as it’s about to get, and that’s why Steve isn’t surprised when his body falls prey to a particularly dizzying shiver.
It starts through his body like a shock of electricity and spins right out of control, and it’s so maddeningly perfect that Steve turns breathless with want. His large hands slip around her rear, encompassing her because she’s just that small compared to him, and he drags her down over his core. Raven lets out a callous moan that burns roughly over the skin of his neck, and she shifts her hips to accommodate him. The resulting clash of friction is enough to make his head spin.
She can feel him grow harder from her move. How could she not? His cock is straining against his trousers and seems to almost melt right through the fabric of them. It feels so hot and so hard, and she knows that the size of him will inspire a subtle sort of insanity within her. He’s very impressive to look at, not that it’s all that surprising since he’s Captain America and every part of him is impressive.
Still, she’s getting impatient, and the thought of how hard he’s become (and in such a small amount of time) influences her next move. She slips away from him, gently extricating herself from his hands and sliding to the ground between his knees. He’s not stupid, he knows what she’s up to, but some part of Steve still stiffens because yeah, this particular trick has been practiced for centuries and it’s no big deal, but in his time it was something only wives or prostitutes did. She is neither. And so he leans forward and threads his fingers through her hair, drawing her eyes up to his. He peers down at her seriously and murmurs, “Raven, you really don’t have to – “
“Shh,” she interrupts, smiling wickedly, “I want to do this for you.” She darts forward to peck a kiss against his mouth as her fingers trail down to unzip his trousers. The next moment is filled with stimulating shivers that bury down deeply within him. The feeling of her hands around his length has Steve sinking forward, fingers still clutching her hair, body bent over her form. And when her mouth finally eases around him, he lets out the most delicious, sinful moan Raven has ever heard.
“Mmm…” he lets out a throaty chuckle and curves his fingers around the back of her neck. “Feels really good…” he whispers into her hair. His touch dances down her back. His hand splays over the taut skin between her shoulder blades and edges around the back of her dress. Her rear looks amazing in that gown, especially now that she’s bending over, kneeling between his legs. He feels her playfully squeeze his thigh in response to his words, and sucks harder. It is so incredible that he can hardly breathe.
He’s never had a woman do this for him. Before he became Captain America, women overlooked him in favor of bigger, more muscular men. And afterwards, when he fit into that category, he was too busy with the war efforts to pay much mind to the female population. When he did pay them any mind, his gentlemanlike demeanor hadn’t allowed them to do this for him. It had embarrassed him. But for some reason, he’s not embarrassed now. He’s not embarrassed at all, only crazy with desire.
He breathes out and moans again, very softly into her hair. Raven thinks it’s the loveliest sound she’s ever heard and sucks harder, just to hear more. He’s so big that it’s hard to get much of him in her mouth at once, and so after a while she pulls away to pay more attention to his base. The way her tongue dances over his hard flesh has Steve groaning, clutching her harder. And she isn’t even close to being finished with him. Soon, she’s pushing his cock to the side and leaning in to lick at his balls, sucking very lightly over the very sensitive flesh. His reaction is worth the trouble.
He’s caught between a mix of horror and confusion, at her audacity, and utter bliss. It isn’t surprising which emotion he gives into. The surprised choke that spills from his lips morphs into a long, drawn out moan that tells her exactly how much he likes the attention. And when she starts to pump his member at the same time, Steve has to bit the inside of his cheek to stop yet another moan from coming into existence. He’s only able to muffle a part of it though, and the rest tumbles from his throat before he can successfully hold it in.
“Raven…” he breathlessly says, his voice hoarse and grainy, like textured leather. The tone of it is an obvious warning, which she wonders if she should heed. She quite likes the idea of bringing him to his finish like this, after all. The sight of him, hovering above her, his eyes a quilted mess of emotion and desperation, has her humming in appreciation. The vibration of her hum travels over him and he whispers her name again, this time more adamantly. He is going to come if she doesn’t stop. It’s inevitable. And yet…
She doubts he’s ever come from this alone. From his reaction earlier, Steve seems to be fairly new at oral sex. So why not give him a royal welcome into this aspect of intimacy? Why not show him exactly how good it feels to climax from only the touch of another’s mouth?
She doesn’t stop and doesn’t intend to. Instead, she draws her mouth back to his cock and devours him once more, this time with quick, long strokes. Steve stares at her in amazement, eyes wide as he watches his flesh disappear and reappear. It is a level of erotica he has not expected. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. All he can do is sit back and watch the hollowed way she sucks at him, taking him hard and fast. Then suddenly Raven pulls back, takes only his tip into her mouth, and sucks. And that about does it.
“Oh my God,” he mutters, head falling back. But he can’t look away from her, can’t bear closing his eyes against the perfect image she makes. His hips buck up as his orgasm reaches its peak, then surges almost painfully through him. He’s vaguely aware that he’s gasping her name but can’t bring himself to stop, or care, or even wonder at the stark differences of this orgasm compared to all the others. No, he can only focus on her. The way her eyes peer up at him, watching him come. The way she sucks all the more furiously as he does, dragging the electricity out as it burns over him.
He moans and stop shifting, but she still doesn’t stop sucking at him until he’s nothing more than a melted mass of emotions on the couch. Only then does Raven pull away, give him a cheeky smirk, and stand up. He’s only half aware of the way she unzips her dress and steps out of it. Only half aware of the way she kicks her heels off and finishes undressing. When she’s bare she curls herself against his side, somewhat amused at the bleary way he blinks at her.
“I told you to stop…” he mumbles, wrapping his arms tight around her naked form. He’s still wearing most of clothes and so it feels rather wonderful leaning against the stark fabric. Raven chuckles and cups her hand over his cheek, bringing his mouth to hers. The kiss she gives him is lingering and deep, and through it Steve finds no small amount of lust. Reality slowly trickles back to him and he smiles, rests his forehead against hers, and lays a hand over her bare hip. He drags her leg over his and slides his fingers over her rear, listening to her moan appreciatively.
“You didn’t say that,” she told him, tongue in cheek. He gives her a faux stern look that she only laughs at, because there’s no way he can successfully pull it off at the moment. Not when his expression is already so relieved and satisfied and (dare she think it) aroused.
“You didn’t exactly give me the chance to say anything,” he dryly comments, and then suddenly she’s being shifted and finds herself lying back on the couch. He settles over her. The couch isn’t very large so they’re pretty much flushed up against each other, not that this is any cause for complaint. She merely raises an eyebrow at him and curls her arms around his broad shoulders, wondering what he’ll do next. When he starts kissing down her neck, she’s got a fairly good idea.
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it,” she laughed, his fingers deliberately tickling over her stomach. But the lust mingled in with the touch leaves her breathless, and the way Steve flashes her that grin (that sexy I’m-such-a-charming-war-hero smile) has her shaking down into the pillows and never wanting to get up again.
It’s a good thing that she doesn’t have to. Steve keeps her there for a good while longer than she’d expected, and that couch would very soon have purposes other than simply sitting. Well, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
OC: Anastasia, short Auburn hair, sassy, likes to tease
Inspiration: Just pretend that Estonia and the others still live with Russia, m’kay?
Estonia has many talents. They mostly revolve around technology. Social graces apparently skipped over him when he was born. That’s okay. It’s not like he needs or wants to talk to girls anyhow –
“Eduard,” a voice calls, capturing his attention and ruining his attempts at staying in the shadows. He tells himself that he shouldn’t be surprised. Because regardless of whether or not he has social graces, that woman will always be there to call him out. Even years since their first meeting, Estonia is unsure if this is a good thing or not.
Anastasia is hard to describe and harder to decipher. She is not like his computer codes: there is no rhyme or rhythm to her personality. She can be cold one minute and hot the next. Her lack of consistency should by all accounts perturb him, but for some reason he finds her intriguing. And scary, too, but then this sort of thing always scares him.
He turns abruptly in the opposite direction. Russia’s house is eerily quiet. While this happens to be fairly normal, it’s also a little frightening. Why he has to be the one who randomly runs into her, he cannot fathom. He can only wonder at where the others could have gotten to and why he always seems to get into these situations.
A hand wraps around his wrist like a vice and drags him back. At once, his entire body stiffens and then goes slack. Her touch does silly things like that. It makes him want to run away in fear; it makes him want to be as close to her as possible. His heart is doing loop-da-loops in his chest. Suddenly he’s having trouble breathing. The tray of cold tea in his hands (which he just took from Mister Russia’s empty study) shakes as his emotions are made visible.
Her smile is a strange and scintillating mixture of amusement and dominance. Her eyes are twin predators that hold him down. No, he can’t move. He will forever be stuck beneath her gaze, struggling with the confusion of his own feelings and wondering at the way she seems so gentle and yet so fierce at the same time. He doubts he will ever figure her out. He isn’t sure if he even wants to try.
“Eduard,” she says again, but this time her voice is a purr. He shivers and she smiles. “What’s wrong?” she asks, and he suddenly wants to laugh. What’s wrong? Try the fact that he can’t so much as think whenever she’s around him (a highly crippling matter for any self-respected genius). What’s wrong indeed.
He’d so like to tell her that. Or maybe not that exactly (how dreadful it would be to openly admit such a thing), but something along those lines at least. But unfortunately all Eduard can manage to say is a stuttered, appallingly mortifying, “N-n-nothing’s wrong – “ He cringes and cuts himself off from further embarrassment. Why does it always have to be him that she has to run into?
But Anastasia does nothing that he expects her to do. She doesn’t laugh at him or make any gesture that hints at amusement. For some reason, he is more grateful for this than he can begin to fathom, and he clears his throat and tries to say, more calmly, “Are you…uh, here to see Mister Russia?” God, he wants to die.
This time, she does smile, but it’s the soft kind. The kind that Eduard rarely sees on her face, because it’s so gentle and endearing that perhaps she is afraid of the emotions behind it. But tonight she doesn’t seem afraid. Tonight she wears this smile boldly, brilliantly, and Eduard thinks it’s lovely.
He thinks a great many things are lovely about her tonight. He thinks her simple dress is lovely. He thinks her hairstyle is lovely. He thinks the way she looks up at him is lovely – oh, but she’s looking at him with those eyes again, and he has no idea what they mean or why his body immediately starts to warm up at the sight of them –
“Are you alone? I’ve been walking around this place for a while, but couldn’t find anyone,” she explains. Her words, the way she answers his question with a question of her own, it is all so typical of her. Eduard sighs and goes to put the tray down on a nearby side table. The hallway that they are in is lush, with thick carpets and warm tones of reds. Russian paintings line the walls. The pillars are etched with Russian carvings. Everything is Russian except for the two of them, they who are an inconsistent but somehow welcome change.
“I suppose I am,” Eduard tells her rather reluctantly, turning away from her and fiddling with the teapot just to give himself something to do. He’s never quite sure about himself whenever she’s around him. Does he like her company or not? Does he want her to stay or not? Sometimes he doubts he’ll ever truly know. The thought disparages him.
He is in the middle of peering into the teapot to gauge how much cold tea he will be throwing away (God he feels so awkward) when [Name] suddenly purrs out a strangely enchanting, “That’s good.”
He frowns at this, of course, because he can’t imagine what’s so good about being alone with him in this great mansion. Surely she must have other things to be doing, other people to be seeing. He is really not at all important and a woman like her has to have other engagements on such a pleasant day –
Her fingers suddenly curl around his elbow and it burns him. Eduard stiffens and glances over his shoulder at her, but he hardly has the chance to see her face before she’s leaning into his back. Then her arms are wrapping around his chest and she’s pushing her entire body against his, and fuck it all to hell but Eduard can’t remember how to breathe.
“W-w-what – “
“I was hoping you’d be alone,” Anastasia murmurs, and he shivers because her voice is like sex, all musk and headiness, and Eduard is really terrible at things like that. But oh, there is something so very sinful and delightful when she pushes herself into him like that. Perhaps she doesn’t intend to do it, but Eduard can feel parts of her that are making his hormones absolutely rage. It really isn’t fair.
This has never happened to him before. No woman has ever wanted him, at least that he can remember. He has lived his life happily alone, not at all inconvenienced by the lack of female company. Or if he was, he convinced himself that he didn’t need anything like that in order to be happy. It’s worked successfully thus far, but suddenly he is questioning those old disciplines. In any case, he doubts it will be easy to convince himself of anything after this experience.
“Anastasia, w-what are you – “
Her hands are moving, sliding over his chest, up and down in a caress that makes his entire body melt. His fingers clench down on the side table and he tries to recover some semblance of his old self, but he cannot. He is lost. Lost to the delicate way his heart flutters, lost to the pleasure that a simple touch can bring.
“I’m a very patient woman, Eduard,” she suddenly says, lifting her head from his back. Cold rushes over the warmth of her touch and Eduard swallows thickly. He doesn’t dare move. Doesn’t dare do anything except stand there and try his best to get control over his traitorous body.
Anastasia smooths her hands over him again, this time ducking a little closer to his trousers. When he shivers again, she smiles a smile that he can’t see. When she goes to unbutton one of the fastenings of his shirt, Eduard inhales sharply and snatches her hands quickly, pressing them against his abdomen to stop her from doing anything else. The action only makes her more amused, though she won’t show it. She has more important things on her mind.
“Anastasia, th-this is really too much – “
But it isn’t and they both know it. Eduard can’t stop himself from selfishly wanting more, because his body is reacting to her touch in ways he can’t possibly stop. She doesn’t plan on doing anything but continuing onward, because she’s waited years for this moment and wasted many daydreams wondering what it would feel like, being with him. Stopping would be just as sinful as continuing on.
“Oh?” she pauses anyway to hesitantly ask, “Do you want me to stop, Eduard?” The way she says his name drives him crazy in ways he can’t even begin to understand. He desperately wants to tell her yes, but something stops him and all he can manage is a halting, “…I…I, uh…”
Anastasia deciphers his stuttering the way she wants to, and shrugs, “Then I’ll keep going.” And Eduard wonders at the way his body surges with relief at these words, as if the very thought of her stopping terrifies him. What terrifies him even more is the surge of eager anticipation that he feels when she turns him around.
His back hits the table’s edge and he gasps in surprise. Everything happens so suddenly that Eduard can barely keep up. The world is moving around him but the only thing that registers within him are Anastasia’s hands running over his chest and her lips abruptly careening close to his.
That is when the world stops, tired of the spinning and the anticipation. Eduard stares at those lips with dreamy confusion. [Name] stares at him with a raised eyebrow. Her mouth flutters over his skin, like a butterfly’s wings, so lightly that he wonders if it really counts. Apparently it doesn’t, because the next moment has [Name] asking, “Should I kiss you, Eduard?” God yes. And no.
Does he want her to kiss him? He isn’t sure. Has he wanted her to kiss him before this moment? The lines of their relationship are suddenly hazy, blurred from the headiness of the encounter. If he had wanted this woman in the past then he hadn’t known it, at least not as strikingly as he knows it now. Because he does want her. In this moment, he’d wants little else.
He doesn’t respond in words, but she can see his answer build within his eyes. Her hands slide against the fabric of his shirt, clutch at his sides. She pushes her chest against his and decides in that moment to stop asking questions and just act. He has had plenty of opportunities to push her away and he hasn’t taken even one of them. Which means of course that he has no intention of pushing her away and wants her to kiss him. So she does.
The kiss is hot and smooth, and Eduard sighs against her mouth as his body relaxes in silent pleasure. Seconds pass and suddenly Eduard is shifting, his hands are cupping her face, sliding into her hair, tipping her a little to the side and deepening the contact. It is such a surprising move that Anastasia makes a pleased, breathless sound against his mouth and feels her body flush with delight.
She kisses back fiercely, but allows him to hold onto the power and the movement of their lips. She never would have expected Eduard to take control in such a manner. She wonders what else he will surprise her with. The thought warms her in more ways than one, but that warmth is far from satisfying for her.
Her fingers are at his shirt before Eduard can follow her, and suddenly cold is lurching against his skin as the fabric is dropped away down his arms. He pulls back with surprise to stare at her, eyes wide and cheeks blushing. He had not anticipated such a turn of events, though perhaps he should have. It’s just like her to take him so off guard.
She purrs up at him with wide eyes of her own, but the only surprise in them centers merely around the fact that he is more fit than she had expected. She runs her hands down his chest and watches his eyes flutter at the pleasure of her touch. They open wide again when said touch lingers at the edge of his trousers. He stiffens against the table and waits for her next move. Inside, a fierce battle rages as he wonders what he actually wants. Sex and her, or returning to the familiar?
He waits too long, as usual. But he can’t help it: his mind is a messy twist of confusion that often leaves him feeling unsure and hesitant around her. So all he can do is watch with baited breath as she slowly retracts her hands, turning instead to her own clothes. Relief crashes through him, but it is mixed with something he can’t explain. All he knows is that a part of him wants her to continue, wants to see her bare, wants to be the one to make her eyes light up with passion. It is a frightening thought.
She takes a step back and her eyes slowly take him in. Coldness lurches through him and he shivers, though he’s not sure if the reaction is from the temperature of the room or the heat of her eyes. He hardly has time to wonder at the answer though, because as her eyes continue to dip down his form Eduard is suddenly very aware of the bulge in his trousers, and he stiffens in concern and embarrassment.
But as she looks at it, there is no judgment in her eyes. There is only a strange sort of delight that makes him both relieved and confused, two emotions that apparently run hand in hand wherever she’s concerned. Does it really excite her so much to see him like this? The thought baffles him, but he doesn’t question it. Time keeps slipping through his fingers and before he can grasp at it, Anastasia is tugging at her dress. The fabric pools at her feel a moment later, and Eduard stares.
She tilts her head to the side and stares back, exuding a confidence that he can’t even imagine possessing. But she does, and she shows it even when she’s standing half naked in underwear that leave very little to the imagination. Very little indeed.
Her bra is practically transparent, made of off-white lace that drags over her breasts daintily. Her panties are made of the same material, and skim high up over her thighs. The tables are turned now. Eduard is the one staring at her, and she is the one searching for judgment. Of course there is none. There is only reverence in his eyes, and it makes Anastasia smile.
She steps out of the circle of the dress and moves back to him. Eduard watches warily, swallowing back a wave of desire as she reaches for him. Her hands once more tumble over his bare chest, and after a moment she moves to take his wrists. He’s not sure what to expect, and has to hold his breath when she puts his hands around her waist. Her bare waist. His eyes flutter closed and he inhales, hesitance reigning through him. And all the while Anastasia watches, and decides that she’d better do something about said hesitance.
“I’m going to tell you a secret,” she murmurs, returning her fingers to his body. Her thumbs brush over his nipples and she watches his reaction float across his face. But at her words, Eduard peers at her, and she purses her lips before whispering, “I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time now.” The admission startles him, and he can’t answer, for his words are stuck in his throat.
That’s okay. She doesn’t need to hear his answer anyway. She can see his response in every move he makes, every shift of breath. And when she lowers her hand down to cup his clothed erection, Anastasia finds that the silence is perfectly acceptable. Because into that silence, Eduard lets loose a breathless moan that threatens to shatter her well-placed control.
He immediately blushes, embarrassed to have made such a sound. But Anastasia only smiles and gives him a gentle squeeze, enjoying the feeling of his hardness against her palm. She rubs her fingers over his erection and watches his eyes flutter. And with every second he is surrendering. She can see it very clearly and it excites her.
His voice a ragged whisper, he says, “You can’t have. Why would you want me?” It takes her a moment to realize that he is finally responding to her previous admission, and Anastasia looks up at him. Her fingers drift to the edge of his trousers, running up the zipper and curling around the hem. But even though her movements are teasing, her eyes are very serious as she considers his words.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asks, almost sounding surprised. The sincerity of her tone has him staring, feeling rather surprised himself. She shuffles closer, running her hands over his sides, and says with a smile, “You’re smart, handsome, and honest. And besides,” her smile turns cheeky, “I like a man with glasses.” He couldn’t help but laugh.
“You like me for my glasses?” he chuckles, feeling oddly comfortable now, even though they are both half naked and very aroused. But for some reason it suddenly feels natural, talking to her, laughing with her, all the while struggling with desires that threaten to knock them breathless. And so he finds himself smiling down at her, at all that lovely cream lace, at those astoundingly long legs, and thinks that it’s okay that this is sudden. Love very often is. And from the way she is looking at him, he thinks that it isn’t naïve to believe that love has a part to play between them.
She bites her lip and mirthfully tells him, “Among other things. Would you like to hear them?” It is a flirty question that makes Eduard tense, though not due to the same discomfort as before when he was trying to pull away. This time he is surprised to find that he would like nothing more than to do the opposite. Because watching her pull her teeth over her lip makes him feel a very strong, shocking need to kiss her. He shivers, catches her eye, and whispers a hoarse, “Yes.” He really would.
She smiles indulgently and leans up, arching her body along the length of his. Soft lace drags over his chest. He can feel her taut nipples through the thin cloth and it makes another harsh wave of anticipation tumble through him. Her mouth grazes his neck and he can’t breathe. All he can do is clutch at her, tighten his hands around her waist and drag her closer.
Against the skin of his neck, Anastasia murmurs, “I like your style. The way your clothes make you look. And the way you look good regardless.” She playfully nips at him and he swallows. Her lips immediately follow the movement of his throat, tongue flicking out to accompany her kisses. Her hands skim over his back, from the base of his neck to the end of his spine and back.
“I like the way your eyes light up when you get near a computer,” she chuckles at this, as if she finds it very endearing, and Eduard smiles. Her lips duck down his chest to brush over a nipple, and he immediately clutches her harder. The way her tongue shifts over such a sensitive part of him has him biting his lip hard. He had no idea how much pleasure could be garnered from such a simple touch. It would be one surprise of many that day.
Her hands drift back to the front of his trousers, though he hardly notices. He does when he feels her begin to undo them, and his eyes jerk open to stare at her, once again overcome by hesitance. The majority of his worries are put to rest when Anastasia kisses the area just over his heart and tells him, “But most of all, I just like you, Eduard.” But even as he smiles shakily down at her, he finds that he is nervous.
It is an expected emotion, especially around someone you care for and respect. But there is little to worry about. Because when she slides the trousers away and slowly kneels before him, there is only admiration in her eyes. Admiration and no small amount of lust.
She reaches for him and Eduard tenses, his cheeks red. He is so far out of his element that he can only stand there and try to remember how to breathe. It isn’t as easy as it should be, but then again he thinks that’s to be expected as well, especially when Anastasia leans forward to press her lips against his tip.
He thinks it’s the most erotic sight ever, her kneeling in front of him, mouth on his erection. But then she blows that image out of the water when she smiles up at him and opens her lips, taking several inches of him inside her very hot mouth – and sucking.
“Mu Jumal!”  he gasps, arching his back and gripping the edge of the table tightly. It is a sensation like no other and he can’t even begin to understand it, because Anastasia doesn’t stop there. She takes more of him, takes him so far that her nose brushes the pattering of hair at his base. And that’s when her fingers also make a reappearance as they slide gently to the underside of him to massage what areas her mouth cannot get to.
His hips jerk forward but she takes it all into stride, pushing him back down against the table. He stares at her, watching every move she makes, the way his cock appears and disappears into her mouth. And every suck, every gentle stroke of her fingers has him gasping and reeling, his mind sparking out, his body thrilling with tension. He’s going to come.
How Anastasia seems to know this is beyond him, but moments later she is pulling away, sliding her lips off his erection slowly and giving him one last playful suck on the tip. His eyelids flutter and he rushes to catch his breath. He is both disappointed and relieved that she’d stopped before his orgasm. The duality of his emotions leaves him feeling almost exhausted, even when he knows this is far from over.
Anastasia stands, graceful as ever, and looks at him. He wonders what she sees. She must enjoy whatever sight he makes, because a moment later she is taking his hand and pulling him behind her, and he is stumbling along, feeling numb from all the pleasure and finding it rather difficult to walk straight as a result.
He’s not entirely sure what she’s planning. All he really knows is that they’re soon entering a darkened room and she’s closing the door behind them. He watches while she pulls away to drag the heavy, floor length curtains open. The gentle light that streams inside is more than welcome, if only because he can see her face much better now.
The room is furnished with several couches and upholstered chairs, but it’s fairly obvious that no one has been in here in a while. A light layering of dust has collected on the surfaces. With the endless number of rooms that already need cleaning, it is no wonder that this one has been overlooked. Perhaps it’s just as well, Eduard thinks as he watches Anastasia sit on one of the couches. She crosses her legs and turns to him. The way her eyes sparkle at him tells him that she has many things planned before she is finished with him. Surprisingly, he finds that he is perfectly fine with that.
“Come here,” she says, her lips curving up into a smile. Anticipation plucks at him, moves him forward thoughtlessly, and when he sits down beside her she catches his eye with a cheeky grin. It probably has something to do with the fact that he is stark naked and she’s close to it, and they must make quite a sight sitting side by side.
She soon rectifies that. A moment later Anastasia is slipping her leg over the both of his and straddling him. Her fingers curl into his hair and she tips his head back, leaning down to kiss him. It’s a short kiss, because into it she whispers, “Now it’s your turn, Eduard.” And he opens his eyes to stare at her, confused at her meaning.
She fixes that, too, when she reaches for his hands and brings them up to cup her still-clothed breasts. “Touch me,” she murmurs, her voice inviting. She squeezes her fingers around his and watches him blush. But he doesn’t pull away, and after a moment of this innocent handling, she quirks a smile and says, “You can take it off, you know.” Because he’s undoubtedly gained that right by now.
His eyes jerk up to hers. “A-ah…can I?” he wonders hesitantly. Then slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal instead of a lover, Eduard peels back the cloth and eases it up her breasts. She helps get the rest if it off, pulling the bra over her head and tossing it somewhere behind her. And all the while Eduard stares, reaches for her and cups one soft breast with his hand. He swallows, feels his member stiffen, wonders how his desire could possibly get any deeper. And she leans forward and silently draws his head closer, inviting him in.
His tongue hesitantly drags over her and she sighs. His gentle ministrations get more confident and his hand joins his mouth, smoothing over her other breast. He kisses the valley in between and then slides his tongue up it, hardly thinking about his actions. He needn’t bother thinking about them though, because he’s a natural. The revelation is surprising and intriguing.
Anastasia kisses his hair, his forehead, his temple. He raises his eyes to her and she whispers quietly, “You’re perfect, Eduard.” The compliment makes him flustered but pleased nonetheless, and bolsters him from all the flaws he believes himself to have. There is no need of those self-imposed flaws now. She will help him shed them if she can.
“But Eduard…” she takes his hand and lowers it down her body, murmuring, “I want your fingers somewhere else now.” The blush is back, but it’s filled with something else. Desire. A need to touch her. And so he lets her guide his hand, then slowly dips his fingers around the curve of her core, sinking against that lace and wondering at the heat of her.
Her reaction is immediate and beautiful. He watches her moan, tip her head back, press her breasts against him. And when he slides his finger around the edge of the fabric to feel her better, Anastasia breathlessly sighs his name. He thinks he’s never heard anything so wonderful in his entire life.
“Don’t stop,” she tells him, the edge of her voice all but begging. He doesn’t, partly because he needs to hear more of that pleading voice, partly because the wet, hot feel of her is making him ever harder and it’s amazing. He finds himself breathless too, even though he isn’t the one being touched. But the way she clings to him, shifts her hips to feel him better, pants against his neck, it’s all making him crazy too.
She cups his face and brings him in for another kiss, and while he’s distracted by it she brings one hand down to touch his aching member. The feeling of her fingers curling around him has him gasping, moaning against her mouth. But it doesn’t end there, because then suddenly she’s bringing him ever closer, brushing his hand away from her and replacing it with the tip of his cock.
The next few moments are blurry at best, but ridiculously amazing. She sinks down, taking him into her. It’s fairly easy to do so, considering how blissfully wet she’s gotten. Eduard sighs out a ragged sort of sigh and holds her closer, kissing her harder. She returns the kiss with equal force and at the same time shifts her hips, dragging his length out and then slamming back down. The action leaves him miles behind, hanging between two realities that don’t really add up but don’t have to. Love isn’t logical. It doesn’t have to make sense.
But it does make him crazy, is it is often apt to do, and he sinks down against the couch with a dragging moan. Their kiss dissolves and Anastasia buries her head against his neck, focusing only on the movement of her hips. He burns her up inside, the heat of their coupling a dazed sort of beauty that she can’t bother putting to words. All she can think about is the warmth of his body against hers and the fact that this is actually happening. She has pined over him for ages and now her daydreams are finally coming true.
“An…Anastasia, I think…” his voice is breathless, weak, filled with a desire that makes her moan. She rushes forward, circling her hips around his cock and taking him deeper. Their eyes clash and she brushes back a strand of his hair, coming closer and resting her forehead against his. There, in that position, their breaths mingle, their bodies shake, their finishes rush to greet them. She whispers, “Okay, it’s okay Eduard,” and they fell.
Beautiful, Eduard thinks. He watches her expression and sighs, letting the intensity of their ends drag over them. She moans and closes her eyes, her hips still moving. When she next opens them, her eyes are glistening and she looks even lovelier than before. He quirks a smile and she chuckles, a throaty hoarse chuckle. Then she comes closer, wraps her arms around his shoulders, and sinks against him. He returns her embrace with a sigh, not ever wanting to leave this position.
But they have to, and soon Anastasia is shifting away, dragging herself off of his member and instead moving to lie down along the length of their couch. He raises an eyebrow at her and she chuckles. He thinks she looks even better like this, all spayed out for him, and quickly goes to join her. The hesitance is gone from him. He doesn’t need it any longer. Perhaps he never really did.
Together they lay on the couch and bask in the sunlight and each other, duties and chores gone from their minds, cold tea still waiting outside amid the husk of their love.
 Mu Jumal! ... My God!
 Mu Jumal! ... My God!