Monday, September 30, 2013

An Allen Walker Lemon -- Texas, Hold 'Em Down

Character: Allen Walker

Fandom: D. Gray-Man

OC: Aura, petite, stubborn, blond haired blue eyed

Inspiration: Playing poker with Allen.  Not my best lemon, but hope you all like it anyway!

Her unassuming nature made Aura a prime target for many of the darker pastimes that were favored around the Black Order.  She would never admit it outright, but she really needn't have had to anyhow.  Everyone knew that she could be downright scary when she wanted to be, even though she was so outwardly ladylike.  Everything about her, from the top of her wavy blond head right down to the shiny buckled shoes and lacey attire made her seem both innocent and even a little childish.  But there was nothing innocent or childish about her, which Allen soon came to realize as he picked up another card.
"Your move," he casually told her, though inside he was moments away from freaking out.  Anyone would be with a half naked young woman sitting demurely before them.  And it didn't help that she was beating him.
Her eyes slivered over his bare form, dipping not so innocently down to his boxers, which thankfully still clung to his hips.  They were the last article of clothing he wore, which shocked him even as he watched the glint in Aura's eyes heighten.  He hadn't known that she was so good at poker.  Though he supposed it was more that she was good at watching him.  She had caught him cheating multiple times during the start of the game and was surprisingly adept at countering him.  So adept that she'd managed to wrestle him out of most of his clothes. 
She hummed and looked at her deck.  Her hand wasn't all that good, though she was confident that Allen's wasn't either.  She leaned forward, well aware of the way Allen's eyes darted momentarily down to her cleavage, and laid out two cards.  Their little game of Texas Hold'em would soon be over, or at the very least put on pause.
"Strrrip," she purred, eyes gleaming up into his.  She watched him look down at his own deck, then back at her two cards.  And then she saw his mouth edge upward just a tiny bit.  The two cards he put down knocked hers right out of the water.  "Not this time," Allen said with a smirk.  Inside, he felt very very relieved that he had won this particular round.  He shifted beneath the scrutiny of his opponents pouty gaze, and realized that she didn't seem all that surprised or even upset.  He was about to become suspicious when Aura shrugged delicately and tugged at her lace skirt.
Her eyes were slivers of dark amusement as she stood up and pulled the fabric down.  Her innocence was just an air she put up on missions, because she found that she got farther when people didn't expect much from her.  But she was not innocent, not really, and she was sure Allen realized it in the seconds that followed.  A smirk coated her lips and she slowly sunk back to the floor, folding her legs beneath her.  One hand rested at her hip, her fingers gently curling around the single string that held up her panties.
She watched Allen's face implode with red.  His eyes darted away from her when he realized he was staring and he cleared his throat loudly, uncomfortably.  He shifted when he felt his lower body react, feeling utterly embarrassed at that little fact.  But if Aura noticed, which she probably did, she didn't taunt him or even seem to mind.  She merely smirked slyly and tilted her head, purring out a sultry, "Should we continue?"  And then she watched the blush on Allen's face deepen.
"A-Ah…I think I - "
"You're not being a coward, are you Allen?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at the way he seemed to be trying to get out of the remainder of the game.  "You can't be afraid of showing a little skin."  He didn't bother telling her neither of them were showing a 'little' skin. 
She laid her cards down and rose to her knees, crossing her arms below her breasts.  Then she looked down at him, taking in the way he sat, the way his eyes were filled with reluctance, the way he almost seemed to be leaning away from her.  She smiled.  "Are you afraid of me then?" she asked when he didn't respond to her previous words, and the question seemed to do the trick.
"O-Of course not!" he exclaimed, eyes burning with a sudden fire that Aura rather liked seeing there.  She noted at how his blush seemed to be receding, and decided that she didn't feel like playing cards anymore.  There were other games she wanted to play.  Other things she wanted to do.  So she leaned forward, close enough for her breath to waver over his skin, and she whispered, "Then what are you afraid of?"  This time, the question hung in the air between them, charged and electrified.
Moments turned to seconds and Aura soon grew impatient.  She leaned forward just a little, enough to press her lips against the skin of his forearm.  Her eyes never left his steely gray ones, even when his fluttered shut.  "I'm not afraid of you," Allen said, his voice low and strained.  She wasn't sure if it was because he was lying to himself or because of the feelings that were coursing through him.
She moved her kisses up his arm, to his neck.  When she got there, Aura wasted no time in nibbling at his tender skin.  She caught a bit of his flesh between her teeth and licked it, pleased when he let out a strangled noise that denoted his desire. 
"That’s good," she breathed kissing beneath his jaw.  Her hand came up to splay across his bare chest and she very gently pushed him down on his back.  He went willingly, if not a little grudgingly.  When she followed him down, he looked a little lost.  "I'm not afraid of you, either," she told him.  The smirk was gone from her voice and she looked very serious.  It struck him that she was possibly trying to make him feel better, and it worked to an extent.  Allen felt himself relaxing and even enjoying the way her body shifted above his, brushing his skin just enough to make him harder with every touch.
He swallowed thickly and looked up at her, trying not to think about how bare they both were, and how obvious his arousal was becoming.  But if she was going to push him away then she would have done it already.  So he just lay there, feeling her kisses chill him, feeling her fingers take that cold away and instead replace it with fire.  Burning, scorching, aching over his body.
Her lips brushed over his and his eyes jerked open in surprise.  He wasn't sure why he was surprised to have her kiss him properly but he was.  The shock of it, the delicious way her lips cascaded over his, it made his head fall back in surrender.  Aura giggled a little into the kiss, slowly breaking it to trail hot kisses to his ear.  She dragged her teeth over his earlobe and he moaned, hands jolting up to hold her waist. 
"Want to know a secret?" she whispered lowly, breath fanning out over his tender skin.  Allen shivered and made a noise.  She hooked a leg over his waist and straddled him, breasts pushing gently against his chest.  Her lips pressed into the hollow below his ear and against his skin she murmured, "This was my plan all along."
Surprise jolted through Allen.  Aura rose her head to look down at him, taking in his reaction with sharp, almost calculating eyes.  But to him it was obvious that she was waiting to see if he would reject her or not.  The tables had turned rather suddenly and Allen was all too happy to accept his new role.  He hummed and slid his arms up under his head in a lazy sort of way.  Then he propped one leg up between hers and watched her cheeks flare up with a soft blush.  He was surprised to see it there, but didn't show that surprise in any way.  Instead, he blinked up at her casually.
"Well?" she asked, trying to gain back her ground as she raised a flippant eyebrow.  But her cheeks were still bathed in that slight rosy hue and she looked a little uncomfortable.
"Huh?  Well what?" Allen wondered, partly because he actually didn't know what to say and partly because he liked the way she was getting annoyed.  Her anger made her blue eyes light up with a sort of primal fury that went straight to his groin.
She huffed a little and said, "Well, do you think I'm a slut because I set this up?  Are you uncomfortable?  Do you want me to - " she paused because then her body was shattering into tiny little hot pieces.  When she looked down at Allen's expression, which was timidly determined, she felt her heart nearly give out.  He looked so unsure even as his fingers jerked against her fluidly, his movements smooth and nearly perfect.  Her mouth opened and her eyes fluttered closed and her hips rocked forward just slightly, just enough to make him blush furiously and yet feel a sudden influx of manly pride.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted, circling his thumb over her clit.  Her thin panties were already wet and had been long before his touch.  She was hot, too, so hot that Allen was suddenly overcome by the fierce desire to bury himself deep within her.
Aura laughed breathlessly, her head tilted back.  She jerked her wet core over his leg, not feeling at all ashamed as she attempted to get as much friction as possible.  "You're doing fine.  Stop thinking," she advised, and chanced a look down at him.  Whatever he was feeling, whatever sort of lust or hesitance, Allen still managed to look ridiculously erotic laying beneath her.  One of his arms was still cushioned under his head, and his chest was perfectly bare and pattered with slight scars.  And his boxers, they were now nothing more than a tent which housed his arousal.
The sight of his boxers made Aura realize that she was being a little selfish.  He was probably aching right about now, and she was just taking what she wanted.  Though she knew he probably wasn't used to girls being so forward with him, Aura decided to take the most direct route she could.  A moment later, she was rubbing over the bulge of his boxers and watching Allen's reaction with gleaming eyes.
"Oh, jeez - mm!" his head pushed back and his eyes slipped closed.  He bit his lip to stop the moan from spilling into the air, but failed.  The strangled sound made her ache all the more, and she rubbed him harder, tracing the outline of his cock as it strained against the maroon fabric.
The problem with Allen, albeit it was also fairly endearing, was that he was so unsure about what to do.  His sexual encounters were low, if even existent at all, and he was far too shy to even attempt removing either of their remaining clothes.  So it was all up to Aura to hasten the foreplay.  She wanted him bare, wanted him now, she was aching for him and didn't want to wait if she could help it.  She was slipping her hand into his boxers and pulling out his cock a moment later, much to Allen's surprise.
His eyes flew open and he watched her through the heady passion, taking in the sight of her hand as it slid up and down his cock.  He was so ready for her.  It didn't take much to make him aroused and he had been for a while, ever since the first article of her clothing was laying on the floor.  The sight of her body had done this to him, but it would take more than that to bring him to his end.  Aura intended to make this a night he would not soon forget.
"Help me take these off," she said, voice a little breathless as she tried to speak through the hazy passion.  She eased her hand off his cock and moved to her bra, unhooking it with feeble fingers and sliding it down her arms.  Allen stared at her for a long moment, his gray eyes flashing with lust, and then slid his hands over to her panties as she moved her hips up.  He peeled them away, sliding his fingers over her butt as he pushed the fabric down.  She did the rest, wriggling it over her thighs and down her legs.  And then, when she was completely naked before him, Allen decided that the sight she made would be forever imprinted in his memory.  Whenever he thought of her he would see her hovering over him, hands lightly resting on his forearms, core slipping over his leg.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can wait anymore," she said, rather like she was apologizing for being late, or for ordering the wrong take-out.  But even though her voice was casual, there was nothing lax about the rest of her, or the tense way she hovered above him.  And the double edged sword pierced Allen deep within his heart, slicing his passion into shreds of translucent need.
He watched in a sort of hazy, cloudy daze as Aura slid her fingers around his cock and lined it up.  She wriggled her hips down onto him and purred out as she took his tip, then even more.  His girth speared her with an initial sear of pain that soon brightened into immense pleasure, and before she was even a few thrusts in, Aura was biting her lip to hold back her moans.  All the while, Allen lay beneath her, rocking his hips just a little, watching her move with that articulate grace, that flinty, innately known manner.
His head pushed back into the wood of the floor, his eyes fluttering between closed and open, her and the ceiling.  His hands snatched up her waist and then he slid his fingers down to grip her butt, squeezing it delightfully as he pushed and pulled her against his thrusts, which were steadily becoming more and more forceful.  Where once was hesitance now became surety, and Allen began to move with that confidence.  It made him seem irresistible to Aura, who could only rock into his lap and watch him gain the upper hand.
And he did, moments later, when Allen suddenly decided that it was no fun being on the bottom.  So he moved, flipped them both over so that Aura was pressed into the floor and he was hovering above her.  Then, because his cock had slipped out of her in the transition, he lined himself back up and started up a series of powerful thrusts that had her toes curling with heady desire.  Her back arched up and her hands scrabbled at his shoulders.  Pleasure shot deliciously through her body as her hips shook from Allen's thrusts, which rocked her firmly into the wooden floor and molded her against him at the same time.
"Oh!" she moaned, wrapped her legs around his waist and attempting to pull him ever closer.  His large hands wrapped around her waist and he pulled her up, studying the way her body was contorting from the force of her pleasure.  The sight of her was making him want to come, very badly.  He gritted his teeth and growled out a moan before bringing a hand up to squeeze over the softness of her breast.  His touch made Aura crazy.  She arched her back higher and moaned his name, along with a frustrated compilation that Allen couldn't fully identify but knew was probably a warning. 
In a way, he was relieved that her end so near.  He didn't want to spill into her too soon, but Allen couldn't wait much longer.  His orgasm was tearing a delicious path through his body and he was physically aching from the exertion of holding it back.  He careened backward, body raising up as his thrusts increased in tempo. 
"A-Allen!  Allen I'm - oh!" her thighs trembled around his waist, her eyes opening wide to lock with his, and Allen knew that she was coming before she even did.  And when she did, the way she pulsated around his cock, the way she moaned his name, it all made him insane.  He furiously thrust into her, finally allowing his own orgasm to rip him open.  And then he was spilling into her and sighing out in both relief and intense pleasure. 
He closed his eyes and continued thrusting because it felt good, those zinging, thrills of sporadic desire.  It curled around his body and made him want to start over again, from scratch.  From another game of strip poker and another hesitant clash of wills.  And when he opened his eyes and looked into hers, he saw the same sentiments lingering around them.  It made him smile, a little unsure, a little shy, because the emotions he was suddenly battling with were very human and very frightening.
Silence perforated the air between them like little grains of sand through an hourglass.  She reached for him and he went into her arms, still connected.  And when she gently pressed her mouth to his, Allen felt his heart stop in his chest.  Their physical intimacy was nothing compared to the sheer wonderment of a kiss.  And the emotions behind it, the gentle desire, it reminded Allen almost of home.  Of everything familiar and happy and warm. 
He moved closer, hovering above her, body weight creating a thankful gravity over hers, and kissed her deeper.  In that moment they knew that neither would be leaving that room any time soon.


Friday, September 27, 2013

A Turkey Lemon -- Egyptian Bird

Character: Turkey

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: Miu Ahmed, kind, gentle

Inspiration: Miu is a dancer who comes to Turkey for a festival :3

The air is thick with perfume and incense, and it wavers over the crowds which have gathered to watch the delicate, passionate movements of the foreign Egyptian dancers.  They have come to the Turkish festival in honor of the strong alliance that has bound them together for centuries.  Beneath the modern sun, in the overlapping city of Ankara, it is all just a guise.  But true friendship pervades the atmosphere, and two men stand off to the side, blending into the crowd but always apart.
"I'm glad you could come," Sadiq says over the traditional Egyptian music.  It rattles through the crowd like a bird seeking a soul, and Sadiq is quite clearly reminded of the vast sands of Egypt, which seem to stretch on forever.  Gupta glances at his friend, his silent demeanor shattering in the proximity of the country who knows him best.  He can see, see the way Sadiq's eyes are watching one particular dancer.  And he understands the emotions which light up his dark eyes as they follow looping limbs, golden glowing wrists, and wispy fabric.
Egypt says nothing, however, about the obvious feelings which Sadiq is suffering from.  It is not his nature to speak of emotions in general, but he does give a little hint, "Miu all but begged me to come.  She's missed you."  And he sends a sly glance up at Sadiq's expression, noting how his cheeks have become slightly colored.
"Oh?" Turkey coughs, looking away for a moment.  But his eyes don't ever leave the dancers for long, and soon they are directed once again on tanned skin which has been made bold with dyed cloth.  His eyes darken and Gupta turns his attention back to where his best dancer, Miu, is performing the finale.  The crowd leans forward in anticipation as she does a complicated flip and then sinks low to the ground, all the while moving her shoulders and chest in the traditional way all belly dancers innately know.  The gleaming, real iron Khopesh [1] lays straight on the back of her neck as she bows her head, arms jutted out like the wings of an Egyptian bird.  The edge of the sword stands straight against her skin and Sadiq is overcome by an intense desire to kiss over where is lays.  But all too soon the sword is flipped artistically back into a sheath as Miu stands up, and the crowd roars to life as they bow low to the ground.
"Should we wait for Miu over there?" Gupta wonders, gesturing to the large hotel which towers above the festival.  Most of the festival guests have undoubtedly booked rooms there.  Sadiq himself had booked three rooms on the penthouse floor.  One for Gupta, one for Miu, and one for him.  He knows they will appreciate the view come morning, when the sun's rays have enveloped the entirety of Ankara in a gleaming, metallic symphony.  Sadiq glances up toward the high-rise building and shrugs, content with the idea of leaving the noisy festivities behind.  It is a week long festival, so there will be plenty of time to enjoy it another night, hopefully with Miu by his side.
"She knows she's on the penthouse floor?" Sadiq casually inquired as they began to weave through the thick crowd.  Gupta glances up at his friend and almost laughs, "Yes.  You really outdid yourself this time."  He doesn't bother telling Sadiq how it isn't necessary, and how Miu already thinks the world of him anyway.  His friend is naturally competitive even without someone to compete with.  He would still have booked the best rooms for them, regardless of what Gupta says.
Sadiq shrugs as though he's disinterested, but his eyes light up like two gleaming moons, and Gupta knows that he is all too excited for the night ahead.  He hasn't seen Miu in nearly a year.  Relations in Egypt have made it difficult for people to leave or enter the country.  They will have a lot to talk about, a lot to catch up on.  The prospect of it all entices Sadiq like nothing else and Gupta has to hurry along in order to keep up with him.
They reach the hotel minutes later, slipping into the expensive looking lobby and heading toward the front desk.  Beautiful marble pillars spiral toward the high ceiling and people of all nationalities linger together talking of the festivities outside.  There is an overall rush of excitement that pulses through the room.
Sadiq steps up to the front desk and leans in to speak with the pretty receptionist, whose catty eyes catch his with the hint of a smirk.  He sends her a suave grin because he can't not smile at a pretty woman, and then tells her, "I booked three rooms on the penthouse floor."  He watches her eyes flash at the mention of the richness of the penthouse, and the woman leans forward to look at her computer.  She demurely clicks away, and moments later turns back to him.  "Your rooms are ready.  Here are you keys."  She hands him three stiff cards and sends him another hopeful smile, but Gupta is suddenly nudging at his side.  Sadiq glances at his friend, then follows his gaze toward the hotel doors.
The dance troupe has found their way to the hotel, but Sadiq has eyes only for the woman in the front, who is staring at him with an almost shy smile.  He grins back and walks toward her, thrusting the card keys into Egypt's hands as he passes him.  And then he has his best friend wrapped up in his arms, holding her tightly and chuckling at the way he has become so excited, so thrilled at the mere sight of her.  He pulls back and sends her a special smile.  It is not particularly suave or charming, but it is soft and true, and meant only for her.  She smiles back and kisses his cheek, and Sadiq has to firmly push down the desire to turn his head and accept her lips with his.  Now is not the time to give into those feelings, especially when Miu doesn't know about them yet.
"Let's go up to our rooms and talk," she says, and Sadiq is only too happy to accommodate her.  He slips her hand beneath his arm and glances back toward Gupta, who has sauntered off to wait for them by the elevators, his mysterious smile painted on his mouth.  They slowly make their way over to him, and all the while Miu is rattling on about how excited she'd been when she heard that Gupta would be attending this festival, and how she'd signed up as a dancer just for an excuse to come as well.  Sadiq's heart is thrumming with warmth by the time they enter the elevator and begin rising to the top floor.
"I was so nervous," Miu claims, holding onto Sadiq's arm with a tight, delightful grip.  He smiles when she begins to recount the months of practicing she'd been subjected to, and how she'd had to brush up on her moves because they'd been a little rusty.  "It's been ages since I've danced like that.  I wasn't bad, was I?" she wonders, just as the elevator beeps and the doors slid open.  He is about to tell her that she was the best dancer out of them all, that she made his heart beat right out of his chest, but then Miu is gaping at the expensive furnishing of the penthouse suite and she's walking to the window, which overlooks dozens upon dozens of twinkling lights that sweep into the valley far below.
"Oh…" she whispers, pressing her forehead against the glass.  Gupta takes one look at the way Sadiq's eyes are flashing and mutters out a soft, "I'll be…uh, going to my room.  Goodnight."  Miu looks back at him and smiles, "Goodnight."  Sadiq says nothing, but waves him off and walks up to where Miu is standing.  She turns back to watch the outside world and he steps up right behind her, close enough to feel her body heat radiating toward him.  The lights behind them causes their reflections to splutter out over the pane of glass, and through it, their eyes lock onto each others.  The sudden seriousness that perforates the air is what makes Miu slowly turn to face him, wondering at the starkness of Sadiq's eyes and the way they bear down on her.  He is reaching for her before she really knows what's happening, and dragging her flush against his chest in an embrace that supersedes his normal friendly ones.  This one is more intimate, more needy, and reflects that stark hunger in his eyes, which she is only beginning to understand.
"Sadiq?" she asks after a moment of enjoying the way his arms circle her so entirely.  She likes this.  Likes the proximity of him, and she will not deny that she's wanted to be more than friends for a long time.  But she is fairly clueless about matters of this nature, and is entirely unsure as to how to proceed into the dark emotions which push at her skin.
He looks down at her, expression serious.  The way his eyes take her in makes her shiver, and she leans closer without even knowing it.  Their mouths are very close now and she'd overcome by this strange desire to kiss him.  The strength of it surprises her, but she isn't one to lie to herself.  So she whispers a very soft, "…Sadiq…I think I want you to kiss me."  And it makes his eyes light up and darken at the same time.  Her heart splutters out, then dies.  The tension between them is a slowly squeezing drug.
His lips tremble just a little because the emotions surrounding them are so powerful, expressive, and that she has only said such words in his dreams.  But he knows this is real.  He knows because he would never be able to dream this up in such a vivid way.  He wants to kiss her, wants to do just as she asks of him, but he hesitates a second too long and she clears her throat in embarrassment, taking his silence for rejection.
"Ah…s-sorry, I must have misread…" she looks away, her cheeks flaring up with bright red, and tries to untangled his arms from her waist.  But he will not let her leave, not now, not ever.  And he pulls her back against him and ducks his head into her neck.  His hot breath fans out over her dark skin and she shivers, shivers at the way his lips careen over her ear.  Then he moves a kiss to her neck, firm and passionate, and against her skin he whispers words that make her flourish with desire.  Her fingers clutch onto the fabric of his shirt and his hands move over her waist, bare because of her belly dancer's outfit.  Her eyes slip closed and her head tilts back, accommodating his lips as they rush to meet hers.  And she feels herself falling, falling away from the world and into one that has room for only two.  Only them.
Their lips move in a frantic, tantalizing manner that makes them breathless.  But breaking away for air is a sin and so they keep going, keep careening into something that they both know the end of.  An act that they both understand, and has the power to change the entirety of their lives, their friendship, their love.
But still they pursue it, because they know instinctively that it will be sweet.  Sweeter than anything they’ve ever had, than anyone they've ever experienced.  And they want this so bad.  Too many years have been spent wasted away in the social restraints of friendship, of hesitance.  And now that those chains have been broken there is nothing that will stop them.  Nothing that will make the night anything but delicious.
Finally Sadiq pulls away, but it is only to gasp in air.  His lungs scream at him and his mind berates him.  He cannot win against this fierce passion but he tries anyway.  And she isn't making it any easier.  She pulls him back into another kiss that has the potential to shake the scope of his integrity.
Minutes pass them by in a blur.  Their lips change from wild and fast to slower, sensual.  Miu leans into him and has all but melted against his warm chest.  Her heart is beating quickly but she ignores it in favor of the delicious atmosphere that has been building up between them.  And then finally the kiss dissolves.  They both breathe silently.  His eyes are still closed when she opens hers and reality sets in. 
"Wow…" she whispers, and her lingering, awe-inspired proclamation makes him look at her.  What he sees in her gaze seems to please him and he smiles that soft, malleable smile that flutters all the way up to his eyes.  He hums out in agreement, but the calm moment is all too soon thrust away when Miu splays her fingers out over his chest.  He is reminded of the opportunities that can come from kissing, and blood rushes down between his legs at the thought of Miu spread out beneath him, sheer fabric tousled and dripping away from her glorious skin.
She is not very adept in lovemaking.  Though she wears glamorous clothes, Miu is not comfortable in them.  She often doesn't understand the workings of her own heart, least of all in matters of the flesh.  But the feelings that Sadiq is feeling, the expressive way his eyes gleam into hers, she can understand that.  And she can even figure out where his mind is taking him, and why he is shivering suddenly and pulling her closer and gripping her harder.  And Miu, who is not one to lie to herself in any way, innately knows that tonight she will not be the shy, unsure girl who had been friends with Turkey, but rather a powerful, lovely woman who will be his lover.
She kisses him again, partly to reassure herself that she can be beautiful and confident if she wants, and partly to relay the information to Sadiq.  She feels another shiver wrack through his body and almost immediately, the calm kiss turns passionate.  He swallows her body with strong arms, lips hungrily kissing her as though these are their last moments, last kiss, last touch.  And this time, Miu doesn't melt against him.  She drowns.
Drowns to the floor, until they have sunk against cold tile and plush, thick fur rugs. 
The barriers break, shattering like the tall glass, dimly lit window panes that glide along the penthouse suite.  The restraints between them amount to nothing now.  There is only the futile, angry seeking of worldly flesh.  Hands inch over ever part of her body and he wickedly touches as much of her as he can.  He has only dreamt of this.  The moment where he can uncover and discover and map her out like a strategically planned battle.
She moans and he feels his erection jerk to life.  The sight of her is perfect.  Her hair is splayed out over the thick rug and the rest of her meets tiled floor.  Her eyes stare up into his, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted.  She is waiting.  Waiting for him to touch her again.  Waiting for him to kiss her.  Her submissiveness makes him want to tunnel his hands beneath those sheer bindings and show her what she has done to him.
But instead he just cups her over her clothes, dragging his thumbs over her sensitive breasts, feeling her hardened nipples through the fabric and watching her shiver through half lidded eyes.  She bites her lip as his knee sinks between the both of hers and pushes against her core.  He can feel the heat of her spreading through his pant leg and it is making him crazy.  So crazy that he can't possibly stop himself from reaching a hand down and cupping her essence, feeling the heat with the skin of his fingers.  She moans again and her backs flexes into a low arch.  The way she pushes her core farther against his hand makes him have to grind his teeth to hold back a moan of his own.
His fingers jerk against her, accidentally brushing over her clothed womanhood.  But the way her body automatically yields to him makes him push against her again, this time in little circles.  A fluttered noise rises up within her.  Her eyes lock onto his and she begins to roll her hips against him.  The sight drives him so insane with desire that Sadiq drags his hand against his own arousal and rubs friction against it.  The movement doesn't offer him as much relief as he thought it would, though, and he frowns. 
Another breathless moan escape Miu, and Sadiq looks down at her to see her watching him with dilated eyes, eyes of desire.  The sight of him touching himself has her on edge, and she is pounding for him as a result.  She hasn't wanted anything as much as she does now.  The need to have him inside of her is making her delirious and Sadiq can see that quite clearly.  He smirks a little, and decides that perhaps it is time to step things up.  Heat is already curling around his erection and he wants nothing more than to release it.  He is sure that Miu follows the same sentiments.
His hands rub over breasts again, this time more roughly capturing the soft, covered flesh.  She wants to feel his skin against her bare skin, though, and gently pushes him away and begins to untie the strings of her chest binding.  He watches with dark eyes, hooking her thighs over his to as to nestle against her core.  When she feels his covered cock against her, Miu goes faster, fingers fumbling over the ties until Sadiq pushes them away and does it himself.
He jerks the breast binding away, the sheer fabric slipping like water off of her skin.  Immediately his lips descend, kissing and devouring every inch of her breasts.  The softness of them, the tenderness makes him moan and rock his hips against hers.  She breathlessly exhales and tunnels her fingers into his hair, eyes slipping closed as she thoroughly enjoys the way his tongue dips against her nipples.
But it isn't enough.  She wants more and so does he, and soon he is tugging off his own shirt and adding it to the steadily growing pile of clothes.  He gives her hardly any time to admire his chest and instead continues kissing down her body, tongue flicking out here and there and converging on the parts of her that he finds most irresistible.  Her belly button.  Her jutting hipbone, the dripping band of her pants, and down, until he presses his tongue against her heat. 
Her reaction to that touch is one Sadiq will never, ever forget.  The way her body jerks and the noise she breathes, as though she can hardly believe that anything could feel as good as the scorching heat of his tongue against her womanhood.  As though she is seconds from coming even though she is only halfway undressed.  It makes him kiss her core again, sinking his tongue against her more, licking up the fabric and inhaling the musky scent of her arousal.  Feeling his cock twitch with the desire to be that tongue, to rub against her in such a delicious way, to sink into her.  He moans and the vibrations of it shake through her. 
"Sadiq…" she whispers, a choked sort of sound that makes him look up at her through the valley of her uncovered breasts.  The sight of her expression, the way her eyes are melted almond pools of lust, it makes him rise up onto his elbows and growl.  He wants her.  And the way he looks at her now makes it obvious that she is his prey and that he is about to devour her whole.
His cock strains against the fabric of his pants and he knows, instinctively, innately, that another moment of this sweet torture will be the end of him.  So his large hands spread over her hips, his fingertips shooting warmth through her and grounding her against those cold tiles.  She watches him through half lidded eyes as his touch turns from gentle to dominating, and he tugs her pants and underwear down in one swift movement that leaves her feeling raw and excited and incomplete.
He drags the fabric down to her ankles and wrestles it away.  Then his hand slips around one slender ankle and he drags one leg to the side, sharp eyes taking all of her in.  It makes her embarrassed, the way he studies her, and she tries to cover herself up.  But he stops her, hand roughly pinning her other leg down as his eyes flicker over hers.  The emotion in his gaze is what stills her.  He is not judging her.  What he sees, he likes.  She can see this in his eyes, but she is still uncomfortable by his stare.  It unnerves her.  No man has ever just looked at her before.  Not like this.  Not with this power, this stark need.  It is so erotic that she doesn't know how to handle it.
He wants to taste her again, this time without the barrier of that sheer fabric.  This time he wants to drag his tongue over her skin and feel the wetness of her, taste that musky arousal and make it pound.  But the way she caves in on herself makes him stop.  This is Miu, his best friend, and he knows things about her that no one else knows.  Facets of her personality that have been gleaned from the decades of their acquaintance.  Tonight is not the night to do everything he wants.  So instead, Sadiq crawls back up to her lips and kisses her again.  She sinks back in relief and hums against him, dragging her arms around his neck. 
He watches her through slivered eyes that gleam out in passion, and then rolls his hips into hers.  The fabric of his pants, his strained cock, they all push against her bare core and her eyes fly open in surprise.  This is lust, plain and simple, and yet it is more, so much more. 
Her hands move down his sleek body, touching him as his lips shake her down and his hips rock desire into her.  Her fingers splay out over his back, his sides, roll over the front of his chest and his nipples, feel him flex and moan against her when she does.  Then she drags her hands down to his pants and flicks the button away, jerking the fabric down his slender hips.  She cannot wait another moment.  She wants to see him bare.  She wants to watch him sink himself into her, pin her to the floor, take her to a place she's only ever been to in her dreams. 
The moment his pants and boxers are gone, his cock springs up and heat rushes through her at the sight of him coiled over her.  Their breath is one intermingled entity that pervades throughout their bodies.  She looks down at the part of him that will soon be a part of her and shivers almost violently.  She wants to touch him but is too afraid.  Of the feelings that she is battling with, of the passion that would result from such an intimate touch.
And yet Sadiq seems to want her to follow through with this particular desire.  He kisses her cheek, presses his lips against her jaw, her neck, and in her ear he whispers in a voice that verges of a plea, "Touch me."  But when she doesn't immediately, when she freezes up instead of doing as he wants, Sadiq lowers his hand to hers and guides it to his arousal, curling her fingers around his cock as he breathes life into her skin.
"Please," he strains out, his voice low like gravel, like salt water that pierces the flesh.  He never begs.  It goes against his competitive nature.  But he will beg a thousand times over for this.  He will beg until the stars fall out of the sky, if only for a moment of her delicious attention.
She breathes out, swallows thickly, and moves her hand.  Immediately, Sadiq sags against her, body crushing over hers as he forgets himself.  She doesn't care.  His weight is a heavenly gift that has her on the brink of reality, and she increases her pace, stroking him faster, faster, until he is rocking his hips in time with the movements and moaning.  Moaning like nothing she's ever heard. 
"Ah…evet, evet." [2] he presses his lips to her skin, melding kisses against her flesh like a scorching iron.  All the while he whispers things into her ear, things that make her body burn and sear and ache.  Things that would make her come right then and there had they not been promises of better things. 
He wants to come all over her.  It is a desire that hits him hard, out of nowhere, out of thin air.  But Sadiq also wants to take her with the strength of the arousal which tears through him now, so it is with reluctant fingers that he pulls her hand away from him.  He kisses her mouth again but this time it is with the shade of a promise.  It is his silent way of telling her that it is time, time to cross the final bridge that separates them.
She watches him line himself up.  Watches the way his cock begins to enter her.  The tip of him breaches her folds and after that she can't watch anymore.  Because then her back is arching high into the air and all her breath is hissing past her lips and her eyes are flying wide open.  Pain tears through her momentarily, like the sheer fabric that she has been wearing all evening, and it isn't until Sadiq is five thrusts in that is begins to dissolve.  He moves gently, molding their hips as fluidly as he can as he watches her expression with careful, solemn eyes.  When she reaches up for him, when he sees the pain slowly draining away from her face, he goes faster.  Jerking his pace quicker.  Pinning her hips to the ground.
And she moans for him, because when the pleasure far outreaches the pain, she can't do anything else.  She is lost between the landscapes of him and her.  Lost between the rocking and the swaying and the intricacy of this elaborate dance.  And she doesn't ever want to be found. 
Sadiq holds himself up with his elbows, which create a circle around her head.  He looks down at her, watching every part of her move with his intense gaze.  Sometimes, one of his hands reach down to grip a breast, or to splay out over her thigh.  His touch drags her down further into the bliss that shoots through her veins and builds a fire against her heart.
"Ben yakında gelecek gidiyorum," [3] he grinds out between his teeth.  She knows Turkish and knows what he is saying, the warning of his tone.  And yet she doesn't focus on the meaning behind his words but rather the way his lilted language seems to make her even more aroused.  She moans, dipping her head back, and he immediately presses his mouth to her neck as it is revealed to him.  He is not done talking yet, though.  Against her neck he growls out words that make her grip him harder, her orgasm tearing a path through her body.  "Adımı söyle. Çığlık." [4]
"Oh!" she moans, chest heaving.  His words only make her orgasm come all the faster.  She pulses around his cock as he thrusts it into her and he knows, knows that she is about lose herself, and knows that it will be a sight he will never forget.  "Sadiq!" she cries, answering his words and answering her own desire as well, to let him know how badly she has wanted this, how much she has dreamt of this.  She moans louder and her back arches with the force of her orgasm.  "Nnh!  Sadiq!"
It is a sight like no other, that uncoiling, and it makes Sadiq grit his teeth as his own orgasm rips through him.  Their hips rock haphazardly, spluttering toward their combined end.  He buries his face against her neck and moans a long, drawn out moan filled with shards of desire.  Her nails dig into the flesh of his back and her thighs tremble with power.  She moans again when he spills into her, body rising into the air as he thrusts his way to his finish on that cold tile floor. 
"Becermek," [5] Sadiq curses, staring sightlessly across the room for a moment.  Then his eyes drift slowly to the lovely creature beneath him, who is panting and flushed, and his eyes soften.  He leans down to kiss her, his cock now soft within her, and neither of them want to let the moment go.  But the floor is cold and they are in the foyer of the penthouse, certainly not an ideal place to make love, and both of them want other things now, too.  Like the softness of a bed and the gentle covering of a blanket.
He draws himself out of her and rises up on his knees, breathing out slowly.  Then they both stand on shaky legs that hold none of the power they'd just had, and they fall into each other.
Miu laughs because it feel just like any other moment with Sadiq.  Carefree, surprisingly refreshing, and the fact that they've just had sex doesn't seem to have changed the nature of their love for one another.  She laughs because she is relieved about that.  And he chuckles and holds her against him, both bare as the day they were born and completely comfortable with that fact.
"My room or your room?" he wonders, idly brushing circles against her back.  She sighs out and says sleepily, "Yours."  And he hums, reaches down to snatch up their pile of clothes, and the drags her against him again.
"As you wish," he mutters into her ear, and in his whisper, Miu hears the beginnings of his lust building back up again.  She smiles because she is glad.  She smiles because she knows that tonight will not be a night for sleep.  And she is fiercely happy.
[1] Khopesh: Traditional Egyptian sword

[2] Evet: yes

[3] Ben yakında gelecek gidiyorum: I'm going to come soon.

[4] Adımı söyle. Çığlık: Say my name.  Scream it.

[5] Becermek: Fuck


Wednesday, September 25, 2013

A Prussia Lemon -- Conquer

Character: Prussia

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: If any of you are badass German speakers, I would love you forever if you helped correct my abysmal German.  :D  What can  I say?  I'm lazy~

She didn't like beer.  Didn't like the bitterness of it, the way it curdled down her throat, the way it effected people.  But she did like company.  She liked being around people and laughing and tipping herself back into a world full of youthful dreams and happy-go-lucky aspirations.  And even though she didn't know German and was alone in a great, wide, new country without any friends, she found herself very easily assimilating into the atmosphere of the beer garden.
Germany.  She had come to it because her father had died and she thought it was high time she grew up.  She was alone in a country she knew little about but she was okay.  The people around her knew very good English.  And even though the Germans were stereotypically cold and unfriendly, she found herself fitting right in and enjoying herself wholeheartedly.
There were hundreds of people piled up inside and out of the beer garden.  Tents had sprung up around the small property to make up for the lack of room inside.  People were sitting together at picnic tables.  Women wore dirndls and carried five beers at a time as they ducked through the crowd.  The lone woman who was there for the day just stood off to the side wearing a bright smile.
"Willst du nicht ein Bier?" [1] a lazy voice suddenly drawled from her right, and the strange woman turned.  Behind her stood a man who had snowy white hair and the prettiest red eyes she'd ever seen, ever.  He was holding a half empty beer glass, his eyes narrowed shards that drilled right through her.  His cotton shirt was tucked into his pants, and he wore traditional lederhosen.  Despite the fact that her knowledge of the German language was sadly nonexistent, she was able to get a grasp of what he was asking her.
"I hate beer," she told him, hoping that she wasn't making a fool of herself.  She wasn't even entirely sure why he was speaking to her at all.  She watched his expression closely after she spoke English, the way his eyes narrowed even more, the way his posture changed just slightly as he peered down at her.
"Tch," he finally muttered, reaching back to idly scratch the back of his head.  He didn't take his eyes away from her.  Then after another long moment in which he seemed to be internally debating something, the man said in surprisingly good English, "How could you not like beer, Frau? [2]  Crazy tourist."
She smiled a little at that, suddenly finding it amusing how every German she'd come across thus far had been able to hold a decent conversation with her in English.  The white haired man noticed the fleeting smile and raised one sharp eyebrow.  The effect of his expression was deflated when he took a drink.  "What is it?" he wondered when he was done, and watched curiously as the woman before him shrugged and shifted on her feet, looking a little shy all of the sudden.
"English," she murmured, and then cleared her throat and explained, "Your English is really good.  All you Germans are really good English speakers - "
"I'm not German," he cut her off, looking highly offended and even angry.  She was taken aback at the sudden change in his casual demeanor.  Now he stood taller, back angled and he hovered over her and his eyes, they flashed like blood red rubies.  She took a startled step back, watching him with curious eyes as he seemed to remember himself and drew back.  "…I'm Prussian," he muttered, turning away from her. 
She gaped for a moment and then stupidly asked, "Like the Teutonic Knights or something?"  Did Prussians even still exist?  Did he have the right to all himself a Prussian when there wasn't even any Prussian country?  She watched him make a noise in the back of his throat, as though he couldn't believe that she had only been able to think 'Teutons' at the word Prussia.  But he acquiesced with a lazy shrug, because he had heard this all before.  There was no Prussia, not anymore.  He looked up into the sky and murmured, "Ja.  Teutonic Knights."  The immeasurable sadness in his eyes took her breath away.
She shifted and looked away from him, suddenly feeling out of place.  People whirled around them, dashing off to get to tables, dragging people away to join the makeshift dance floor that spun and contracted with lively accordion music.  And then bright crimson eyes caught a hold of hers and the strange Prussian man jerked a thumb behind him, "Mein bruder…he's over there.  Would your boyfriend mind you having a drink with us?"
She laughed because she didn't have a boyfriend, she'd left him far far away in America with only the words, 'I need to grow up, without you' to hold onto.  She laughed because of the way he looked a little offended at her happiness, like he thought she was making fun of him for even asking her.  She shook her head. "I'm here alone, actually.  And I hate beer," she told him for the second time, and she swore she saw the hint of a smile fleetingly curve over his lips at the reminder.
"Ja, ja," he nodded, then grabbed her wrist and turned in the other direction, leading her fluidly through the crowd.  "You can drink water then, you crazy tourist."  And she laughed at the nickname she had seemingly gotten from him.
Moments later, they had weaved their way through the thick crowd and reached a lone picnic table set aside from the others.  On it sat a man with combed back blonde hair, also wearing lederhosen.  He had a bulky frame, and probably towered over the silver haired man.  Who, she suddenly realized, she didn't know the name of.
"What's your name, anyway?" she suddenly wondered, and he glanced back at her in surprise, though she couldn't tell what he was surprised at.  That he had forgotten to tell her, or that she even had to ask.  Though in her mind, she thought it was the former.  He pulled her to the table and muttered a gruff, "Call me Gilbert, Frau.  And this is Gilbird."  He gestured to a small yellow bird that was plucking at its tiny features beside the blonde man, who had looked up and was staring at her with startlingly clear blue eyes.  "Oh," Gilbert said offhandedly as he sat down, "and this is my bruder.  Ludwig."  And he cringed a little as though he didn't like his brother's name. 
"Hello," she said, settling herself down beside Gilbert and smiling over at Ludwig, whose face was a little pink.  She couldn't tell if he was flustered because of the multiple beer glasses that littered the wooden table or if it was her fault, and she reached forward to offer her hand as a truce.  His gaze jerked down at it for a moment before he grudgingly accepted.  His handshake was very firm and even a little intimidating, but with Gilbert beside her she felt alright, for some reason beyond her.
"Would you like a beer?" Ludwig asked, voice polite but expression unwavering.  He seemed to have cottoned onto the fact that she didn't speak German, and she was unsurprised that his English was just as good as his brother's.  She opened her mouth to answer him but Gilbert beat her to the punch, "She hates beer."  And Ludwig's mouth popped open just a little to express his utter shock at the denial of his most beloved beverage.  Before he could start stuttering, though, Gilbert turned to her and asked, "They have other drinks.  What do you want?"
His voice and expression left little room for her to argue, so she reluctantly agreed to a Mike's Hard Lemonade, because the taste of alcohol wouldn't be quite so profound mingled with the lemon.  She didn't want to drink too much either.  She had her common sense about her, thank you very much, and she wasn't just going to allow herself to get piss drunk in some strange country whose customs she didn't fully understand.  Never mind the small yet still significant language barrier.  She wasn't stupid.
Except she didn't feel uncomfortable when Gilbert returned with not one bottle of Mike's but three, claiming that he'd 'help her'.  And she didn't even care when she'd finished her first and moved onto her second, all the while aware that Gilbert had only taken a sip of the one he'd gotten for himself.  Ludwig watched the two curiously as they bantered back and forth.  They hadn't known each other hardly an hour and yet it felt like they were old friends.  But as one hour dragged to two and as the sky began to darken into the wispy gray strands of night, the term 'friends' didn't really fit.
She wasn't drunk, not even close.  The world just barely spun around when she moved.  She was hardly even tipsy.  And yet…she suddenly wished she was, because then she'd have more courage to do the things that her ridiculous mind was goading her to do.  Ridiculous, because it would go against every single personal code of conduct she had for herself.  Ridiculous, because it was not only dangerous but stupid, such a stupid thing to do in a country she was utterly alone in.  And somehow degrading, too, to think that yet another American tourist had fallen into the same mold that many of her brethren had created.
She still had most of her common sense, but it was just a little bit tainted, just a little bit blurred by the sudden craving to tunnel her fingers through silver hair and to wrap herself around the straps of that lederhosen.  Strange, that she should suddenly want to give that part of herself away, to a stranger no less.  But she'd always been restless, always searching and never finding, and she was used to the moments where she'd surprise herself because she possessed something she didn't know she had.  Besides, the mere fact that he was a stranger and that she'd never see him again after this night was what really sparked her interest.  Made her lean in and smile a smile she reserved for moments like this.  Moments of conquest.
Whether Gilbert or Ludwig knew her thoughts, neither said anything.  But Ludwig made a point to shift his form reluctantly toward the dance floor, pretending to watch the swarm of people.  And that was when Gilbert leaned in close to her ear, his hot breath wavering over her skin, and whispered, "Do you know how to dance, Frau?"
His eyes pierced into hers the moment she raised them and for a moment she could only sit there, his words ringing in her head.  Then her lips curled up into a smile that was laced with poison and she murmured, "Of course I do, Gilbert."  His eyes became iron spikes that grounded her directly where she was, on rough wood that she longed to feel beneath the rocking sways of not so tender loving.
"But," he whispered, and it was such a low tone that she had to lean in further to catch the rest of his sentence.  "Can you dance like that?"  Like that.  For a split second she was positive that he was saying something dirty, that he actually was on the same path as her.  But then she noticed that he was glancing at the dance floor and knew with a sudden jolt of disappointment that he wasn't being dirty or speaking in innuendos.  That he was asking if she could dance the sort of traditional, modern-twisted, drunken dances that the people were performing 30 feet away.
She tried her best to tuck away the cold strands of discouragement and looked over her shoulder at the twirling, not so graceful figures of the dancers.  They were just ordinary people, like her, like him.  Some wore lederhosen and dirndls, some were more casually dressed.  Some, she was sure, were tourists like herself who were drunk and brave enough to risk the unfamiliar accordion-style dance.  She turned back to Gilbert and wondered what would happen if she said she could.  Would he take her dancing?  She would have loved to see that happen, but she decided to be honest so she didn't embarrass herself.  "…No."
She looked back toward the dance floor just to avoid his eyes.  But no one could successfully ignore Gilbert, not if he had anything to say on the matter, and it was barely a moment later that he jumped up and began tugging at her arm.  She started, surprised at the insistent look in his eyes.  Across from them, Ludwig looked pointedly away.
"What are you doing?" she asked, finally standing up.  She was curious, curious to know if he was going to do what she thought he was.  She was not let down.  As he started to pull her toward the dancers, he said, "I will teach you, woman.  It's easy."  And when they got there, and he swept her up into his arms without even a hint of reserve, she tipped her head back and laughed.  These were the moments she would not forget.  The blur of color, the pulse of bodies, the lull of heightened accordion, and the stranger's arms that made her warm and safe and somehow incomplete.
He showed her the steps, at first.  But when it was clear that it was impossible to teach someone in this chaotic atmosphere, Gilbert just settled for twirling her around, moving like the rest of the inexperienced crowd.  It wasn't embarrassing at all; it was exhilarating.  She laughed and clutched at him for dear life as he pulled and tipped and spun her around.  She almost felt like a child again, grasping at her father's belt as he danced with her in the backyard.  But then again, there was really nothing about Gilbert or the way he held her that was like her father.  And that was what made her heart rate skyrocket, her fingers slip around the straps of that lederhosen and hold on as the world disappeared into flurries and shards of broken movement.
It happened so quickly that her mind had to sluggishly catch up to the haphazard movements of her body.  Her hands were not five seconds around their new hold when Gilbert looked down at her.  Really looked.  And then he was pulling her closer than was necessary for dancing, and his mouth was descending upon hers and the last bit of her breath was blown away with the wind and his lips.
She didn't even stop to wonder at his kiss, the suddenness of it or the fact that they weren't dancing anymore.  She didn't care about that.  She only knew that it felt right, leaning against the broad expanse of this stranger's chest, having his arms around her, his hands grasping at her shirt, his mouth moving into a dance of their own as bodies rotated and twisted around them.  The accordion was nothing but a dulled simper of music.  All she could hear was the blood pumping in her ears and her heart, which raced against all timely restraints. 
Her hands shifted over the traditional cotton shirt he wore, to where the first few buttons were undone.  When her fingertips blazed over the small expanse of skin, he shivered almost violently and heaved her closer, hands grasping her butt and dragging her up against his hips.  She gasped at the hardened feel of an erection and wondered how she hadn't noticed it before now.  She gasped again when he growled and spat, "VerdammtDu machst mich verrückt, Frau." [3]
She didn't understand him, at least not all of his words.  But she understood 'damn' and she understood 'woman', and the tone of his husky words gave her insight into the emotions behind them.  Shivers erupted down her body and she made a little, whiney noise against his mouth, which had stopped kissing her so as to breathe.  He responded to her, though, his lips subtly shifting over hers, and his hands did not move from her body. 
It was delicious but she needed to breathe.  Her lungs screamed at her to pull away just as her body seized forward.  Finally her lack of breath won over and she broke the kiss to rest her forehead against his.  Crimson eyes slanted down at her through the darkness, gleaming with a certain evil that she wanted to wholeheartedly claim for her own.  That desire captured her so vindictively that she wasn't surprised when her own voice, low and husky, murmured the words, "Should we go?"  And his eyes flashed dangerously down at her, his mouth slipping into a smirk that was both possessive and delicious. 
He didn't say a single word.  Didn't tell her yes or no.  He just slipped a hand around her slender wrist and turned away, weaving in and out of the crowd with a grace that could only be obtained when one wanted something very very badly.  She followed him carefully, jostling her body against the forms of others who bumped into her.  The crowd was so thick that she didn't have a clue where they were.  The darkness made everything unfamiliar even though she'd been on the grounds all day, and it was with a silly, blind faith that she continued on.
It struck her that she was doing the exact thing she swore she'd never do as a tourist in a foreign country.  She had laughed at the image of the American woman, the way the world saw them as easy and possessive.  She had laughed because she had never considered herself to be one of them, and yet here she was, ready to be both easy and possessive if it meant she'd spend just one night with a man who claimed to be Prussian.  She wasn't laughing now.
Everyone needed a few crazy nights to break away from social restraints, and also personal ones at that.  Everyone needed to do something completely insane before they got too old.  It was an initiation into adulthood, a way of laughing at yourself when you are old and gray and remembering the silly youth you had been all those years before.  Tonight was one of those nights.  One of the nights that would forever haunt her memory, and she knew before it had even begun that she would never forget the flash of his silver hair or the gleam of his red eyes.  Or his touch, which burned through her very clothes even as he dragged her along behind him.
The crowd began to thin out as they reached the edge of the festivities.  There was much fewer people now, but still he continued on until there was barely a handful lingering about.  He pulled her toward two buildings that seemed to be abandoned outhouses and for a moment, she wondered if it would house their fated night.  But he did not go inside.  Instead, Gilbert swung around the middle of them, to a small space was located between the second outhouse and the first.  And it was in that cramped space that she was pushed up against the cold cement, and kissed very roughly.
Her arms wrapped around his neck and she brought him closer, just as he heaved her up and pushed his hips against hers to hold her there.  His stiff erection felt delicious against the fabric of her clothes and she whimpered a little when he rolled his hips roughly.  His long fingers slid from her waist to her sides, dancing along her shirt and pulling at the wrinkled fabric.  It was so clear that he wanted to tear it away, wanted to feel her skin with his skin and melt against the emotions tearing through him.  But he didn't give into the fierce desire to see her bare.  It was too cold, to public, and he wasn't sure how far she would want to go considering those circumstances.
But she was willing to defy all reason that night.  The alcohol that ran through her system helped make up for the confidence that she lacked, and it was with fingers fumbling with desire that she jerked at the buttons of his tradition cotton shirt.  Cold air hit his chest hard and he inhaled sharply as her warm fingers contrasted that chill.  Her legs wrapped around his waist and she kissed him harder, flicking out her tongue to taste him better.  He opened his mouth and let her explore, but all too soon Gilbert was overcome by the fierce need to conquer.
His teeth sunk gently into her lip and she moaned, taken away by the dominance he was suddenly exerting.  His tongue clashed with hers, their teeth clanking together in the heated kiss.  His hips rocked hard against her core and he ground his erection against her jeans.  His fingers moved up to slip beneath her shirt, feeling her hot skin and introducing it to the cold air.  Her fingers tightened on his shirt, which was hung about his frame.  The straps of his lederhosen were still firmly in place, but without his shirt they just lay against his bare chest.  She would have moaned at the sight he made, if not for the fact that her mouth was entirely occupied.
His hips jerked against her again, but this time it was with a desperate air that told her how badly he needed her.  Foreplay was a questionable thing when one was pressed up against a public building, and so she didn't complain when he went to tug at her jeans.  The thick fabric was pulled over her hips to her thighs, where it would remain for the rest of their encounter.  Her panties were slid up too, and she all but hissed at the sudden clash of chilly air that hit her. 
She expected him to deal with his pants and then take her, wildly, harshly.  But to her surprise, Gilbert took his time.  His hand took a mischievous path down her body, over her rounded hip, to her core, and that was when she lost all semblance of grace and turned into a puddle of nerves. 
"Oh!" she gasped, taken aback as his fingers first rolled over her wet core and then slid inside her.  It was such a sudden move that she could only hold onto him while he thrust into her.  He stopped kissing her so that he could watch the fierce emotions play over her features.  Their breath intermingled and they stared at each other, wondering what was next, and how they would go about attaining it.
But there were no rules or guidelines here.  No order to this angry passion.  This was cold curses whispered into hot skin, long fingers brushing desire into aching bodies, and a torturously calm expression that had eyes which saw everything.  Every movement, every breath, every gasp, every shiver.
It was with a hefty curse that Gilbert drew away from her, too soon and yet not soon enough.  He pushed his hips against her to hold her up and reached around to fumble with his pants, which still clung haphazardly to his hips.  Then, when they hit the ground, he kissed her, pressing all his desire into the movement of his lips.  And when she had steadied herself against him, he wasted little time in pushing past all her barriers and taking her.
Her head fell back as she took him in, the girth of him absolutely taking her breath away.  Her thighs trembled, shiver wracked through her, and her mouth opened up in a silent moan.  Gilbert watched her very carefully, watched the expression on her face and the way she was reacting to him.  When he was certain that she felt no pain, he pulled out and then thrust his cock back into her.  She whimpered, pleasure ripping its way over her body in rippling waves.  Her fingers clawed at his chest and then gripped the straps of his lederhosen, happy for the hold they supplied.  For some reason it was immensely hot to hold onto his like that, for the both of them.  It made him move his hips faster, harder against her.  It made her bit her lip to hold back her moans.
She was all too aware that they were in a public place.  Not very crowded at all, but still public.  It would be too easy to be discovered, too easy to moan too loudly and have someone find them.  And so she buried her head against his neck, her mouth pressed diligently against his skin to muffle all the sounds that escaped her.  That, too, was somehow erotic to him.  The threat of being discovered increased his need to spill himself into her, and his thrusts quickened their pace.  He pushed them both toward delirium.
His hips bruised her.  The force of his thrusts knocked the breath out of her and she couldn't so much as think.  All coherent thought was blown away with the profound insanity that had taken over their bodies.  That insanity increased when Gilbert eased a hand back up her shirt, this time slipping beneath the cup of her bra and touching her breast.  His thumb brushed over her hard nipple and she moaned against him, biting into his skin and making him grunt out a pleased thrumming moan. 
She was so close, so very close.  Her orgasm was beginning to rip through her and she pulled back to bite his ear, whispering a very soft, very breathless warning into it.  He grunted and kissed her neck, his hips ramming against hers in a tangled dance that screamed with desperate passion.  It was delirious, the feelings that coursed through their bodies, and with a harsh whimper she felt herself coming on his stiff cock.
"O-Oh!" she moaned, and wished she could remember his name.  In the intense bliss she had long forgotten.  She only knew him by his eyes, his hair, his body as it made hers crazy with wanton pleasure. 
He moaned lowly, so that it was barely a rumble in his chest, and all too soon he felt himself spilling into her.  His hot seed reached the very depth of her and she moaned at the feel of it scorching through her body.  But even as he came, he didn't let up the force of his thrusts.  He shook her down into a second orgasm, making her bite her lip hard to stop the increase of moans that threatened to leave her throat.  Her eyes slammed shut and she tightened around him again, pulsing over his cock as it softened from his own orgasm.  Then he stopped altogether, his thrusts becoming only a shard of a memory as her mind shut down and she collapsed against him.
They remained like that for a while.  Moments turned to minutes, which spread out into the night like forgotten stars.  And only when the cold began to creep back into their bodies did they pull away from each other, all too aware that time was slipping through their fingers and soon, they would be nothing but memories, too.
Silence cascaded over them.  Gilbert helped her down, then tugged up his pants and fixed his shirt.  He watched her through his gleaming red eyes as she straightened her bra and pants, and then they just stood there like strangers, wondering again the ever present question of what came next.
But she was already aware of that answer.  Nothing came next.  Not with them.  There wouldn't be another meeting, there wouldn't be another moment spent between two building in the shade of night.  And there wouldn't be another drink or dance or walk back into the festivities that they only recently came from.  Not for her.
So she just stepped forward, hands sliding up the straps of that lederhosen, trying to cement the feel of his cotton shirt into her memory.  And she pressed her trembling mouth against his, unsure if she was shivering from the cold of October or from an unknown, undiscovered emotion.  Then he watched her pick up the bag she'd brought with her, take one last glance at him, smile that gleeful, childish smile, and walk away.  He watched her until her shadow was nothing more than a shift of the darkness, then he reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up and leaning against the wall of the makeshift alley.
As he thought back on his encounter, he realized that he'd never asked for her name.  And yet even without it he knew he would never forget the not so innocent tourist, who came to witness Oktoberfest and yet didn't care for the taste of beer.

[1] Willst du nicht ein Bier zu bekommen?: Don’t you want a beer?

[2] Frau: Woman

[3] VerdammtSie machen mich verrückt, Frau: Damn.  You make me crazy, woman.