Sunday, April 15, 2012

A Seneca Crane Lemon -- Maskless

Character: Seneca Crane

Fandom: The Hunger Games

OC: Sienna Vale, very caring toward loved ones

Inspiration: It's the beard, apparently xD  

Life is not often quiet when you're in love with the Head Gamemaker, but there are some moments when the world seems to pause and the silence remains as unbroken as the ocean.

It is those moments when Sienna can truly relax, loose herself in the warm tilting sunlight that wavers into her room, and forget that she and her lover had so many responsibilities within the Capitol.

She rolls over, lifting her arms up over her head in a small stretch as she revels in the softness of the sheets.  Her eyes slowly open and she is met with the image of a man, chest bared and fast asleep.  Her gaze remains half lidded as she appraises him; a light, telltale smirk overriding the limitless peace that has told it's story on her lips.

She wonders how long he will stay locked up in that dream of his and hopes it will not be long, because the morning has only just begun and all too soon they will be parted from one another.  Her hand slides over his skin, warm from the sun that surrounds them, and dips into the firm muscles of his body.  He is beautiful.

He moves, just slightly, but it is enough to warn Sienna that he is waking up.  She edges closer to him, so that her bare breasts are pressing lightly to his side and her naked legs are thrown over his.  Her hand travels to his hipbone before darting back up, stopping only to trace the poetic cut of his beard.

His eyes are opening now, and he glances down at her as though he is a starving man that has just found food.  A soft, sleepy sound moves past his mouth before he turns his head and catches her hand with his.  Light kisses are pressed to her fingertips.

They are silent for a while, just staring at each other; how their bodies are snugly fit together, how the sheet has long forsaken them and now lays in a wrinkled mess at the base of the mattress.  And then, in a voice that perfectly matches the tranquility of the room, Sienna wonders, "Did you have a good dream?"

He hums, shifting his eyes to the ceiling and smiling lightly.  He brings her closer, presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, and then suddenly catches her off guard when he throws her onto her back and rolls on top of her.

She shrieks, giggles tumbling from her mouth, and he leans in to kiss her.  "Mm.  Every dream of you is a good dream," he tells her, and she reaches up to palm his cheek as their kiss dissolves.

She cannot describe the immense pleasure she is feeling when they is like this: carefree and happy and alone.  Too often they are pitted against the public, forced to put on masks and tell people what they want to hear.  Like this, however, huddled up together in the silence of their bedroom, they are only a man and a woman.

She kisses him again, lips lingering over his when she whispers, "What was I doing in this dream?"  And the smirking spark of her eyes gives away her enthusiasm.

He smiles and the sunlight on his face takes her breath away.  She is suddenly overcome with the desire to feel him, to take him, and to claim him as her own.

He reacts to her kiss with a gentility that surprises her, but is not unwelcome.  His arms encircle her, dragging her into an arch that forces her against him.  Their exchange of heat makes her shiver with something far from cold.

"Let's see," he pretended to remember, pressing tiny little kisses over her face.  "I believe you were trying to seduce me."

She raises an eyebrow at this.  "Was it working?" she wants to know, and his smile widens as he leans closer to her, breath mingling with hers and lips just brushing over her own.

He hums again, "Not really.  I was doing most of the seducing, you see.  You were just lying there…letting me do all the work…"  But before he can finish his sentence, he is on his back and she is triumphantly sitting atop him wearing only a vivid smirk.

"Oh, really?" she flashes him a grin and leans over him, breasts pushing up against him as his hands rest on her hips.  She presses a kiss to his neck and then moves her attention to his chest.  "Well, you know what they say about dreams.  They're only fantasies."

He smiles, because the situation is so strange and yet so overwhelming.  His hands move down to grasp her ass, and she sends him a mischievous smirk that makes him forget how to breath.  He never feels this helpless unless he's around her, because she knows exactly what to do to make him forget who he is, and how he's supposed to act for the Capitol, and why he was named the Head Gamemaker.

She brings her mouth back to his and steals a quick kiss that soon becomes deeper and more meaningful.  He rushes to touch her, brush his fingers over her full breasts and sneak them around her pelvis.  His touch meanders over her thighs and down to her knees, and then back up to clutch at her backside and bring her closer to his hardening shaft.

He doesn't realize it, but words are suddenly grounding out into their kiss, deep and taking on a husky form that makes her shiver with longing.  "I want you," he tells her, and she decides that yes, the sun has risen enough and they probably don't have much more time together.  If he wants her, then she is all his.

And he knows it, which is why he wastes no time in moving her above him.  They share a look -- one of those strange ones that seem to say everything that needs to be said -- and then she is slipping him into her and their worlds systematically shatter.

It is a good shattering, and it makes them feel alive.  They stay still for a mere moment before he is guiding her over him, around him, above him.  He is bringing her close to kiss her, to wrap his arms around her, to feel her.  His hips have only limited movement, but she takes care of him and moves for him, and for once he doesn't mind that someone is doing something for him.

Their time united is intrinsic and satisfying, as is always is.  Soon, she is not pressed to him but rather sitting atop him and moving freely.  His hands move down to clutch at her thighs, but he doesn't guide her anymore because she is doing everything perfectly. 

Her breasts are moving, as well.  She seems to know everything that makes him pleased, because she is touching herself, pushing her breasts together and twirling her nipples in a sensitive manner.  He is so tempted to reach up to touch her himself, but somehow he doesn't think it will be as satisfying as watching her.

Still, after minutes of doing just that, Seneca can't take it anymore and his hands curl up her body, dancing over her abdomen and then up to cup her chest.  She lets him, fingers abandoning her movements to wrap around his wrists and then slid down his arms.  She's always loved his arms.  There's something so strong about them, because they promise her a home and something else she'd never received before.

She slowly brings herself back down to him, suddenly wanting to feel those arms around her, and he pulls her into an embrace that warms her entire being.  She sighs, and then moans because he is utterly filling her up and it feels so good.  She can just about feel the imminent release coiling around her stomach and she wants to be close to him when she comes.

He grunts and they stare at each other, drinking each other in.  A moment passes them by, and then another and another, until suddenly Seneca is ramming into her harder than before, taking her every breath and movement and thought and forcing her to come.  He is filling her up, keeping her against his chest as her lips find his and they kiss in a haphazard way.  He is swelling inside of her, letting himself go, rediscovering the home in her that has been his for years.

And then it is over, and their panted kiss is all that's left of the pleasure they have exchanged.  His hips slump back down and she follows him, remaining perfectly still as she is perched atop him, leaning against his chest.  Finally, their kiss breaks, and she moves her mouth to his chin and jaw and down to his neck, and then she stops, because moving has taken so much energy from her and all she wants to do is lay with him.

So they do.  They lay together until the sun forces them apart and they have to put on their masks again.  They lay together until she has to get up and dress herself in something that only Seneca Crane's fiancĂ©e should wear.  And what gets them through another tedious day is the reminder that when it is all over and they are alone again, they will never actually be alone.  Because there will always be someone waiting in the bedroom, on the mattress, buried beneath a mountain of sheets and ready to entangle themselves in the romance that has begun to rule their lives.


  1. My ovaries will never recover.

    1. I second that.


  2. I swear your writing gives me an interest in things I never cared about before, like Hunger Games; my ovaries will never be the same again.