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Monday, October 28, 2013

A Kanda Yuu Lemon -- Dare To Breathe


Character: Kanda Yuu

Fandom: D. Gray-Man

OC: Rin Kato, long braided white hair, magenta eyes, reserved

Inspiration: The fact that they're on a train...I dunno, I thought it was slightly delicious :3  Enjoy!


Rin Kato is not beautiful, at least not to herself.  She looks at her reflection and sees only faded scars and mystery.  When she takes her eye patch off, she sees only an ugly, jagged scar that runs through the center of her eye.  No, she is not beautiful in a conventional sense, not anymore.
She used to be lovely.  Her eyes are unlike any she's ever seen before, a sort of crippling magenta that is both powerful and gentle.  Her hair she has inherited from her mother, long and white and silken.  Her pale skin, her long legs, her soft, subtle curves.  They used to make her confident, but now she only sees the scar that covers half of her face.  Beauty has abandoned her.
But not everyone agrees with this sentiment.  Kanda Yuu will never, ever admit it, but he finds her lovely.  He finds her lovely in an irresistible way, in a manner that he cannot always ignore.  Over the years, she has grown on him, changed him as well.  He is gentle when he is around her, more human.  And, like humans, Kanda is often struck by the crippling desire to go where no man has ever gone before.  He sees her hair and he wants to run his hands through it, let it fall over her shoulders.  He sees her face and he wants to hold it, kiss along the scar that isn't all that terrible, at least not to him.  Lastly, he sees her body and he wants to drag it up against his.  Feel her, touch her, breathe life into her.
It is a burning, passionate need that makes him unsure and also hesitant, because he is rarely consumed by the desires of the flesh.  Kanda has never cared for that sort of thing.  But when he sees Rin he cannot help but feel a blistering heat lick at his body. 
"Kanda?  Don't fall asleep on me," Rin smiles, and nudges him with her foot.  His eyes snap open and he stares at her from across the train compartment.  He normally would have forced himself to look away from her after a moment, but this time he doesn't.  He knows he's being rude and that he's making Rin uncomfortable, but he can't help it.
Her cheeks flare with pink and she covers her eye with the palm of her hand.  "Sorry…it took it off cause it was bothering me.  I'll put it back on if it makes you uneasy…" and she begins to slip her eye patch back over the scar that mars her face, only for Kanda to suddenly lurch forward and grab her wrist.
"No," he says, voice low.  For a moment, they stare at each other, eyes wide and unsure, inches of space beckoning them forward.  And then Kanda grunts and shifts back, retreating to his seat.  "You look fine, onna. [1]  I don't give a damn about how you look."
It isn't true, at least not completely.  He doesn't care about her scar.  But to say that he doesn't care about her entire appearance is a blatant lie.  He can't get enough of her.  She is beautiful to him, like an exotic white flower that blooms where other flowers cannot.  And her scar is just another aspect of her beauty.  It makes her look fearsome and yet gentle, soft, endearing.  And when Kanda sees it, sees her entire face bared to him, it makes him crazy with the desire to reach out for her.
Rin chuckles a little, but her cheeks don't lose their pinkness.  She nods and puts the eye patch back into her lap, looking down at it.  For a moment, all is silent save the rustling and shaking of the train.  But then, Rin murmurs out a barely coherent, "Thank you."  And Kanda is suddenly feeling his own cheeks darken, because Rin is one of the only people who can see beyond his words, to the truth at their center.  And it makes him a little embarrassed.
He scoffs and jerks his chin away, but his gruff reaction only makes her smile wider, bite her lip to hold in the laugh that will surely make him angry.
His eyes slant over that lip, the way her teeth capture it and pull, sucking it in.  He grits his teeth because he suddenly wants to capture that mouth, scrap his teeth over that lip, taste her.  And the sudden crash and ebb of startling arousal pushes him back into his seat, away from her, away from anything that might lead to change.  And yet even as he retreats Kanda can't look away.  From that mouth.  From those eyes, which haven't quite noticed the extent of his jarred desire.  He swallows thickly and tears his gaze to the window, but even the landscape that passes them hurriedly by doesn't stop to help him.  He is still blisteringly aware of her.
He wonders if this is what it's always like, this strange human emotion that he has thus far successfully avoided.  He wonders why his body and will is only just now shaking against it.  But somewhere, deep in a thought that just grazes through his mind, Kanda knows that it is her fault.  Her fault for always drawing his eyes, his attention, even the shaded affection that he doesn't let anyone know he has for her.  Her fault for being so blissfully irresistible and irritating, so much so that he can't stop thinking about her.  Wondering where she is, if she's safe when she's on a mission without him, if she's thinking about him, too…
He tries closing his eyes, tries reverting back to his original position and ignoring her, but even this isn't helping.  Behind his lids he can still see her, but this time it is different.  She is biting her lip and staring at him with wide, dilated eyes, and her expression is filled with such expressive desire that Kanda's eyes are flying open the next moment, unable to find any sort of rest despite the fact that Rin has stopped watching him.  Her expression isn't filled with anything but boredom.  She has stopped biting her lip.
But she has noticed that he seems to be uncomfortable, and her eyes slant back to him when she feels him watching her closely.  She raises a pale eyebrow and tilts her head a little, as though she's not looking at him but rather some painting in a gallery, interpreting all the angles of sashayed color.  "Kanda?" she wonders, and is surprised when he jerks back, as though shocked, electrocuted by her voice.
He is, in a way.  He hadn't expected his name to pass through those lips.  Hadn't expected it to sound quite so low, so thick with emotion, with a sort of unconscious undercurrent of…something.  But that isn't what surprises him.  He is shocked because of the way his body reacts to that one little sound.  The way his blood burns through his veins, hotly, shooting down through his body and curling around one area of himself that makes him morbidly horrified.
He watches emotions pass through her expression, watches her sweep her eyes over his face.  Worry is what makes her inch closer, lifting herself off her seat to settle across the cabin beside him.  He stiffens when she tries to touch his forehead.  His long fingers snatch her wrist before she can press her skin against his and inadvertently make him worse off.  He tugs his jacket farther around him and looks away with a scowl.  His eyes are explosive, and though they are bathed in their usual annoyance, Rin sees something else in them that makes her pause.  Something strong, that waves through that obsidian with powerful abandonment. 
"…Kanda?" she murmurs, and her voice is lower now.  But he has a slightly better handle on himself this time, and his body doesn't shake or jerk at the sound of his name rolling off that tongue.  The tongue that he suddenly wants to feel over his skin, curling around his - "Kanda, you look a little sick.  Are you…are you ok?"  She puts a hand on his knee because she isn't sure where else she should touch him, and he pulls back with a sort of jolting consternation.  Her fingers burn right through his clothing and he bites his tongue to stop himself from making a further fool of himself.  But it's easier said than done.
"Fine," he grunts, not daring to look at her, not even daring to breathe.  This will pass, he knows it will.  Soon he won't want her so badly anymore and things will go back to normal.  His entire life is planned out to the minute and he can't afford to waste time on stupid little things like this.  But he doesn't anticipate her hand to raise toward his face, with the intention of pressing a palm to his forehead.  Doesn't anticipate it to brush over the vaguely noticeable but well hidden bulge that is the source of all his discomfort. 
Rin pauses, then pales, suddenly nervous because she isn't entirely sure what just happened, or if her mind is somehow conjuring this up.  But the way Kanda reacts, the way he hisses and drags her hand away, cheeks exploding into rare slivers of color, that is what makes her realize that she is not dreaming.  Not making anything up.  Kanda  Yuu is…aroused.  For her.  She gapes.
And it is her disbelief that makes Kanda angry.  The way her eyes turn wide, shocked, as though she cannot believe that she has made him like this, that he can even get like this in the first place.  As though she isn't aware of just how desirable she is.  As though she isn't aware of how much of a man he is, how he has needs and thoughts just like every other even though he fiercely tries to ignore them.  He grits his teeth, looking at that surprise and seeing rejection in its stead.  He waits for her to tell him off, waits to hear the words that will shatter more than just his arousal, though he is loath to admit it.
But he doesn't hear anything.  Just the suddenly harried breathing that fills the cabin.  Just his own heart, which pumps and beats right up against his chest.  And suddenly Rin is leaning closer to him, hand easing over his leg again.  He looks down at her expression and sees a certain curiosity in her eyes.  But there is something else, too.  More of that disbelief.  But this time it isn't directed at him, but at herself.
He grabs her hand and pushes it away, gruffly muttering, "Don't.  Don't touch me."  Not there.  Not like that, with those gentle, forgiving fingers.  Not if she doesn't want to do exactly as he says, go somewhere in which there is no return from.  But she doesn't listen.  She just twists her hand in his, easily threading her fingers around his fingers and then looking up at him.  And her eyes are a wide, dilated mess.  And she is biting her lip.  He stares.  Stares as she silently eases forward, hesitantly, her breath hot and low as it scrapes over his skin, her lips a trembling symphony that barely brushes over his hair, forging at path toward his mouth.
He is stock still, body locked with surprise, amazement.  Her lips press against his and he stares at her, an unmoving wall that doesn't know what to do.  He is taken aback with his own disbelief as it courses through him like wildfire, like a chemical which is icy cold and yet hot, hot against his skin.  His body jolts when her hand rises up to palm that bulge.  She is strangely confident in herself today.  Perhaps because she never knew how he felt, and the realization makes her feel powerful.  Powerful and beautiful and ready to show him.  Show him what, only Kanda can imagine.  But he likes what said imagination is coming up with.
She pulls away just slightly, eyes opening so that she can look at him.  Her eyes dart down to where her hand is laid against the most intimate part of him.  His gaze follows hers, marveling at the freedom he is allowing her.  When he looks back up into her eyes, he sees that she is already looking at him.  She smiles a tiny smile and breathes out nervously.  "I didn't know…" she whispers, but her words drag off into nothingness.  Didn't know what?  That he's been pining over her for months?  That his body always seems to betray him when he's around her?  That he's spent countless cold showers trying to force himself to forget about her, the way she moves, the curves of her body, the way he can easily imagine her bare beneath him, moving with him in sync? 
She is so close to him that he can feel her lips trembling against his, just barely brushing over him.  He can feel her body heat scorching through the side of his jacket and he suddenly wants to take it off, and hers too.  Run his hands over those curves and shake her down until she feels as helpless as he does now.  His eyes glint into hers as he curses in his native tongue, his mind switching back and forth, back and forth as he struggles to grapple with his wishes.  If he gives into her now, things between them will forever be different.  But the way she careens into him, waiting for him, wondering if she has the confidence to kiss him again…she makes up his mind for him and he can't stop himself.  Can't stop himself from allowing his mouth to crash against hers, pushing her back from the force of his kiss, drag her down with the depth of his passion.
She gasps and her hand raises from his pants to drag up his chest, into his hair.  She rocks against him, against that delicious force, against his body and his insistent mouth and his taste, which drowns her and makes her feel alive.  He pushes her back, until she feels her back laying against the seat.  She doesn't entirely know how she got there, how Kanda had been able to maneuver her down and himself between her legs.  What Rin does know is that having him pressing against her, feeling the effects of his arousal pushing through her clothes, it makes her crazy for more.
A noise leaves her throat and it makes his eyes flash open to stare at her.  His eyes are explosive again, burning with a fire that reaches the very depths of her.  She writhes against him, trying vainly to rub his arousal against hers.  The clothing between them provides a hindering barrier, but friction still sears through and Kanda grunts, stopping the fierce kiss to stare down at her, at the way she is laying beneath him, breathing ragged, chest heaving.
He leans back onto his knees and his eyes dip casually over that body, memorizing the way she is staring up at him with that silent plea.  She is glad that she isn't wearing her eye patch suddenly, glad that she can see him properly.  With his jacket shoved away from his hips, the bulge of his pants is that much more obvious and he looks delicious, hovering above her like that.  But the shivers that rise up within her at the sight of him is nothing, nothing compared to the raw feeling she gets when he touches her. 
She is wearing her long Black Order jacket, the black pants that accompany it, the boots.  But she has changed the usual top for a gray sweater, comfortable for traveling.  The soft cashmere of it is luxurious against her skin, but Kanda's hands are even better, even more amazing as he dips his fingers beneath that sweater to trace up her abdomen.  She watches, arms above her head, legs propped up around his hips, as he drags that fabric up and up and up to reveal more of her than he has ever seen.  Parts of her that he has only dreamt of touching.
His eyes dart to hers, molding over her features as his large hands cup over her chest.  Her eyes drift closed because it feels nice, but then flash back open a moment later when she feels him fiddle with the clasp of her bra, which lays between her breasts.  It snaps open and he pushes it away, lifting the sweater so that he can lean down and kiss her.  Kiss the soft mounds of flesh and fulfill at least one of his burning desires.
She is soft and supple and exactly as he'd imagined her to be.  And her reaction is even better.  Her hands slip into his hair and she sighs a breathy moan slivered with bits of that light, delicious desire.  Her head inches back, her chin up as she admires the way her body zings with pleasure.  His tongue and his lips and even his teeth, which gently push against her nipples and softly scrap down her skin, it all makes her want to succumb body and soul. 
His fingers massage over her other breast, and he switches here and there, as though he can't help but pay equal kisses to each breast.  He licks a burning path through the valley of her chest and then cups her firmly with his free hand, as though testing the exact suppleness of that flesh, the way it conforms to his fingers, the way it is easily, flexibly pressed and molded.  And only when he has had his fill of her does Kanda raise his head and turn his explosive eyes to hers.
He lowers his mouth back down to her lips and slowly, lazily kisses her.  The train rocks and pulses over the tracks and his body rocks and pulses over her.  But it isn't enough.  Not enough rocking or pulsing or touching.  She doesn't just want slow kisses or tender exploration.  Though her body is on edge, completely and utterly electrified from Kanda's startling affection, Rin wants more.  Her mouth hastens against his and her hips buck up to roll over his erection, which has only grown harder.  And though there is still a certain amount of hesitance between them, Kanda doesn't pause when he growls and shoves his hips against hers, grinding, pinning, rubbing.  Doesn't pause when Rin gasps and moans, louder, throwing her head back.  His mouth descends on her pale, long neck and she grips him hard as he nibbles and careens against her.
Kanda is rough.  She isn't sure why she is surprised by this.  His entire demeanor is naturally hard, like the siphoned edges of steel.  His teeth scrap over her neck and his hands tug and push at her jacket, dragging her arms from it.  He is insistent and domineering even in the face of hesitance.  But Rin is only further turned on by this.  Her body pulses and pounds for him.  She has often dreamt of this exact moment, but as Kanda hurries to pull his clothes off, fumbling with his jacket, his shirt, his pants, Rin throws away everything she'd dreamt about and replaces it with now.  His jacket falls to the floor.  His shirt hangs loose around his hard chest.  His pants are dragged down slender hips and his cock, when it is finally within her sight, is like nothing she's ever imagined.  He is perfect, every part of him.
He rocks back against her, lips back on hers, tongue smoothing against her lip, tasting her.  His fingers tug at her pants, dragging them down her thighs.  They are too much trouble to take off all the way so they stay there, at her knees, and soon her cotton underwear follows them.  He rocks back on his knees and stares down at her, just as she'd done to him.  His eyes burn like coals and she erupts into shivers of unbearable lust, which only gets worse when his fingers reach down to feel exactly how wet she is.  He hums, a proud, smug sort of sound, and smirks viciously down at her. 
Her eyes flutter closed.  His hands push her legs up to her chest, spreading her as much as could be allowed with her pants still grappling at her knees.  Then he lowers his mouth, kisses her thigh, licks over her skin, inhaling the strong musk of her arousal.  When he reaches her core, it is all Rin can do to stay still.  Her back tries to arch but the weight of Kanda's hands on her legs pushes her down and she can't move.  The trapped feeling is somehow more delicious than she'd thought could be possible.  She stares sightlessly at the velvet ceiling and bites back moan after moan as Kanda's tongue dips and smashes against her wet folds.
But she can't hold back every moan.  Can't bite back every single flutter of desire.  And soon that trapped feeling isn't quite as delicious anymore.  Soon it is just a nuisance.  She wants more.  Wants everything he has to offer and absolutely no barriers between them.  "Kanda…" she half whispers, half moans.  Her voice is a cadence of all the lust he's ever wanted to hear from her and it makes him look up, locking his eyes with hers. 
The hunger in his gaze makes her breath hitch.  It doesn't take much to bring his attention to other things, to other wishes.  She whispers, "Help me…get these off."  She tugs a little at her pants and his eyes dart down to her hands.  Then he curses swiftly and grapples with her boots, heaving them roughly away so that he can get to those stupid pants.  But he doesn't complain, because after they are gone, Kanda can't really deny that it feels utterly delicious to nestle between her legs, against her wet heat, and feel her curl herself around his waist.  He sinks into her a moment later and he can't believe she feels so silken and slick, or how good it feels on his cock.
Kanda is vaguely aware that its probably her first time.  But he's also very much aware that its his first time, too, and that he's got something to prove.  He is rough even now, and yet he holds himself above her, rocking his hips almost gently, almost lightly.  Rin appreciates it because it hurts to have him breaking all her barriers so suddenly, and yet…
And yet she can't think of a better way of giving herself up.  His hips pin hers to crushed velvet and soon her breath is spluttering not from pain but from a pleasure that rips through her veins.  Rin gasps and holds him, fingers gently digging into his skin, his scalp.  His hair creates a curtain between them and the rest of the world, the passing landscape, the rattling train car.  He buries his face into the crook of her neck and sighs out, not quite moaning.  His voice is barely the edge of a moan, only the mere raw traces of one and yet it is strangely erotic, hearing that harried breathing.  Seeing those haphazard eyes.  Kanda's normally calm demeanor has been blown away as easily as breathing.  And because of her.
Her heart pounds against her chest and Rin is certain he can hear it.  Certain because he lay his head against her in his quest to press firm, darting kisses all over her skin.  His eyes seek hers.  He smirks a dark, low smirk that makes his gaze positively implode and she tips her head back when his hands move to pull her hips forcedly towards him.  He drags her into the thrusts with a gritty, palpable desire, determined to bring her to the ultimate high.
It doesn't take very long to succeed in that particular quest.  She is already half gone, ricocheting like a dart to a bull's eye that looms directly over her heart.  Her back arches high, her breasts shifting from the forces of his thrusts.  When she tips her head back, her long neck craning, her eyes wide as they stare at the space above her, Kanda nearly spills himself into her then.  It is only through fierce control that he holds back, only through the stifling desire to have her come first, to watch her undo herself at the mercy of him.  And he doesn't have to wait much longer.
His name is a mantra on her lips that is muffled, jagged, and thickens the air between them.  He slowly blinks down at her, dark eyes taking in every movement she makes, every bit of tension in her body as it begins to unfurl.  He feels her tightly clench around his throbbing member and he grits his teeth, caving over her as he watches her expression, the way she is gasping and looking at him and moaning.  Moaning like he's never heard.  Moaning like she's only ever done in his dreams. 
She's gasping his name and he's thrusting harder, in and out, and his cock feels so good when she's clenching down on it, making the space between them smaller.  He nearly can't breathe from the intense pleasure of her.  But then she's coming and Kanda doesn't even know the meaning of pleasure because he sees it manifest itself in her every movement, every shaky breath, every blind, grasping clench of her fingers.
"Kanda…Kanda, Kan-da!" he heaves his hips so hard against her that she sees stars, and so does he.  The next moments are intertwined and delicious as he watches her push her hips into his, body arching and climaxing in the most beautiful way he could have ever imagined.  And the sight of her, the way she clenches her legs around his waist, the way she can't seem to stop breathing his name, her eyes that shine with helpless passion, it all makes him come too.  Until he is spilling himself into her and panting through the edges of a moan and silently screaming at her through his harsh obsidian eyes.
Rin has never felt beautiful.  She has long ago accepted that she is not traditionally lovely, and that the scar which jaggedly trails over her eye will never go away.  But pressed against crushed velvet and hot skin, pinned beneath dark eyes which speak of silent romance, Rin feels like the most beautiful woman in the universe. 


Japanese Translation:

[1] Onna: woman

~~~ 

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

An Adult!Colonello Lemon -- Chemicals

Character: Colonello

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: Every smut collection needs an Adult!Colonello :3


It is midnight and you are restless, for something or someone who is not laying beside you, warming your bed.  Everything is empowered during the night.  The ticking of the clock, the springs in the mattress, the creak of floorboards, the burning sensation in your heart.  It is a fire like no other and it comes from a peculiar mix of boredom and desire, mingled together like two chemicals.  And it swoops and dives over every inch of your skin, making you toss and turn and glower at the light that shines just beneath your bedroom door.
The sheets are suffocating swaths of fabric.  Your pajamas, the little shorts that cling low to your hips and the worn cotton undershirt, feels like strangling holds.  An impatient breath blows past your lips and you flip onto your back, staring at the dark ceiling and wondering what your lover could possibly be doing.  The clock ticks and tocks, ticks and tocks beside the bed.  As if laughing at your solitude, your boredom, your desire.
A minute goes.  Five minutes.  Until finally you sigh and sit up, ease your legs over the side of the bed, stand up.  You rub the sleep from your eyes and suddenly feel an annoying sensation of exhaustion overcome you now that you are out of bed.  But you ignore it, just as it has been ignoring you, and instead pad off to the source of that light, two rooms over.  And what you see there surprises you even though it shouldn't, the sight of Colonello hunching over one of his guns, a polishing rag in hand.
He doesn't see you at first so you just opt to watch him, curiosity drowning in your eyes.  His blue eyes are startlingly clear in the dim light, but they are directed only at his work, the way his fingers brush over the cold metal, the way he holds it close to his chest like a lover.  You roll your eyes, but then suddenly realize something that perhaps you had known all along but just hadn't acknowledged: he looks ridiculously erotic sitting there at midnight polishing a gun.  It is strange but it is powerful, and you shift to lean against the threshold as your eyes follow every movement of his hands.  Up and down, up and down, over gleaming, dark, devious metal.  Up and down.  And of course, having the mind that you do, it is really no question as to where your thoughts immediately go.  Your eyes darken into pools of that bored desire and you smirk.
"Colonello," you say.  Your voice is quiet but cuts right through the light silence, and he jerks up in shock.  His eyes glint over your form and he leans back, heart beating fast in his chest as he tries to calm it down.  But then he sees the smirk on your mouth, the way it makes your eyes positively mischievous, and he cannot calm down, not for a moment.  Because he knows that smirk and those eyes, knows them to be very potent in the most delicious sort of manipulation.
You push off of the threshold and step into the room.  The way his eyes appraise you makes you wish you had worn something else to bed, something sexier.  But he doesn't mind.  He likes seeing you in your pastel shorts and his own cotton undershirt.  Likes the way it flows about your body in such a natural way and makes your chest look soft and your body look inviting.  He crosses one leg over the other, ankle to knee, and watches you with those sharp shooter eyes.  Watches the desire pull at the bottommost corners of your gaze, dragging the color of them into something almost unrecognizably cimmerian. 
"You should have invited me if you were going to polish your guns," you said, innocent and yet so, so not.  You smile and watch his eyes flash.  Then you chuckle a little because your words are so ridiculous and yet somehow have the strange potential to be desirous, if only a little.  He chuckles too because he agrees, and yet he loves hearing your stupid innuendos  loves hearing them glide past your lips with that imperfect confidence. 
You step over to his form and sink to the floor at his feet, hands ghosting over his knees as you look up at him.  "I couldn't sleep," you tell him, as if divulging some sort of secret.  He hums and puts the gun down.  His fingers are stained with gray polish and he smells like metal and earth, but you don't mind.  Don't even mind it when he runs his fingers lightly through your hair and touches your cheek. 
In response he says, "Is that so?" and it strikes you that it is the first time he's spoken so far.  His voice is gravel under boots and has the edge of dirt to it.  You aren't sure if it's from exhaustion or something else, something that is just beginning to circle the room, your body, your heart.  But you like the sound of him when it is midnight and when you can't sleep.  You like it so much that you lean forward to rest your chin on his knee and circle your arms around his shin, like you are a predator holding down your prey, which you are about to devour. 
You kiss his knee, your lips dipping gently over the green fabric of his pants, and he moves his legs a little, sliding them open and allowing you to nestle within the confinement of them.  As he leans back Colonello knows, knows very well that there will soon be nothing between you and his desire, which is a slowly, intricately building tower that will encompass everything in sight.  His fingers thread through your hair and he pulls your head up so that he can see into your eyes, see if you are suffering from the same sort of withdrawal.  It doesn't take much to find the desire that pulses through your gaze and into your veins, though, and soon you are shifting forward, easing his fingers away from your hair to kiss over his knuckles, his fingertips, his palm.  Then you are moving your lips to his leg, his thigh, careening your body against the front of the chair to reach the soft bulge that is beginning to form in his pants.
He watches with dark, gleaming eyes, eyes that are about to burst into the full potential of his passion.  Your hands follow your lips and rub little circles over his hips, his inner thighs.  But you don't touch his manhood, and for that Colonello isn't sure what to think.  Isn't sure if it is the anticipation that is making him so impatient or just the fact that your teasing is getting old.  He growls a little, his chest rumbling into the slightest sound of warning, and you look up at him with an eyebrow raised.
"What's wrong?" you wonder, faux innocence perforating your tone.  It makes him grind his teeth and lean forward, his tall frame all but towering over yours.  Then his fingers are suddenly working at the ties of his pants, undoing them with a furious, fumbling need that makes him look crazed and erotic.  You stop him just before he is able to draw out his erection, for the simple pleasure of doing it yourself, and chuckle.  Your breath ghosts over his hands and you guide them to your head, letting him tunnel his fingers into your hair once more.  Then you mutter, "So impatient," and dive your hand into the opening of his pants to pull out his cock, which isn't quite as hard as you'd like to see it become.
Colonello sighs out and his eyes flutter closed.  The air between you is so thick with tension that you could hack it away with the edge of a machete and still not be free of it.  A delicious sort of desire suddenly pounds through your body as you look down at his cock, study the most intimate part of him.  Then, because you've suddenly never wanted anything else in your life, you lean forward to take him slowly, gently into your mouth.
"Mmnnm…" he sighs, a relieved, pleased sound that lightly cascades over your ears.  You open your eyes and see him staring down at you, the clear blue of his gaze now only a dusky sapphire that gleams through the dim lighting like sunlight through painted glass.  You wonder, for a moment, what the sight of you does to him.  If he enjoys seeing your lips around his length, if he likes the way you bob against him.  But then suddenly you are overcome by the sheer magnetism of having him in your mouth and you are blown away by this simple, startling little fact.  It is delicious, perhaps not in a physical sense but certainly in an emotional one.  The feel of him, the silky way he glides beneath your tongue, the hardening of his arousal, it makes you close your eyes again and immerse yourself in the sensation of him.
It is equally delicious to him, it seems.  His fingers tightly grasp your hair but he doesn't pull you against him or force you in any way.  His head falls back against the plush chair and his mouth falls open in a silent moan.  But his eyes, they never leave you.  He watches every move you make, watches every dip of your tongue and every thrum of your breath as it slides fast away from you.  And then, when you duck your head farther against him and take him into the back of your throat, as deeply as you can, he moans out lowly and pulls you roughly to him, hips edging forward as his eyes explode with lust.
You gag and he lets go immediately, seeming to remember himself just a little.  He watches with dark eyes as you push back for a moment to catch your breath, sneak a glowing, amused look up his way, and then ease your lips back around his girth.  You do it again and he grits his teeth as his body erupts into magnificent shivers, feeling the beginnings of an orgasm tracing through his veins like liquid fire. 
And that is when he tugs you back, leaning over you, chest heaving as he looks down at the mess you have made him into.  His cock is now a twisted, aroused warning which curls up toward his stomach, as hard as gleaming, satiny steel.  He breathes out quickly, dipping his eyes to yours and tilting your head back with those stained fingers.  He suddenly wants to see you bare, bare and raw and a panting mess just like he is now.  And he wants to be the one to do that to you, to make you come and yell his name until it is a sore, memorized phrase.  You smirk up at him, duck your head to press your mouth against his wrist, and against his skin you whisper, "Take my clothes off, Colonello." 
You might as well have asked him to fuck you senseless.  His eyes flash into sharpened, lustful spikes and your body pounds, aches for the heightened desire to have him touch you.  You want his hands all over you, everywhere.  You want to feel the fire that scorches through him now, feel it all over your skin and inside you.  And so you let out a little moan when he suddenly pushes forward, leaning over your form with those determined, delicious eyes.  His hands seek the bottom of your undershirt and he yanks it up over your head, throwing it away.  Your bare breasts are revealed to his hungry eyes and he reaches down for them, cupping them in his large hands and then rolling his fingers over your nipples, watching your head fall back and your lips bite back a moan.  But that won't do, not at all.
"Open your mouth," he growls, and you look up at him with eyes that, for once, are far from mischievous.  You are clay for him to mold and he knows it.  He leans forward still, hands slinking around to smooth over your back, lips brushing just over yours.  And against them he murmurs, "I want to hear every sound you make."
You shiver brilliantly and lean forward to kiss him harder, but he doesn't give you the pleasure.  Instead he pulls away, amused by the petulant glower you send him, and brings his hands to his own shirt.  Your glower is gone by the time the fabric joins the slowly growing pile on the floor, replaced entirely by an expression of utter need that makes Colonello shudder lightly.  He likes it when you look at him like that, like he is your oxygen and you can't live without him. 
He lets you reach up to smooth your hands over his chest, shivering just a little at the coldness of your fingertips.  When you circle three fingers around his heart, he leans forward to press his forehead against yours.  For a long moment you stare into his eyes and can't breathe, because your body is sparkling with a deeper sort of emotion, a bold happiness that strikes you hard and rings throughout the entirety of your body.  Your hands ease up over his broad shoulders and you lean in to kiss him, finally pushing your mouth to his.  He kisses back with a dilapidated sort of passion that crumbles and vibrates over you.  You tremble.  He breathes out and then suddenly his lips are fire against yours and so, so hasty, needy, pushing you back and making you understand.  Understand exactly what you have done to him.  Understand exactly what he will do to you.
He grasps your back as you tip backwards, surprising you with the force of his kiss.  You feel his fingers stroking over your skin and you moan a little breathlessly and hold onto him.  Your knees shake.  Your body aches.
And then all of the sudden Colonello is breaking the kiss and heaving you to your feet, standing before you with his pants dragging halfway down his thighs and a hard, wanton expression on his face.  He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him, skin to skin, chest to chest.  Your breasts mold to his skin and he looks down at you.  His fingers drag up your neck, tilting your head a little as he studies the way your body fits against his.  His cock is a hard reminder between your crushed bodies.
You kiss him, dragging your mouth over the skin of his neck, up his jaw, to kiss the corner of his mouth.  When he makes a pleased sound and kisses you back, you slide your hands down his chest and fiddle with the pants that are uncomfortably hanging off him.  A quick jerk and they at on the floor, kicked aside, and then Colonello has caught on and is encompassing his hands over your jean covered ass and pulling you roughly against him, lips working furiously with yours.
He jerks at the buttons and pull them down, sliding his hands over the bare skin of your butt as he pulls your panties off too.  Suddenly there is no time.  No time to go slow and no time to discover gentle passion.  He heaves your lower body against his again and the feel of him, hot and ready and hard, has you biting back a fierce moan as you tip your head back.
He growls and follows you, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, tongue racing out to dash against your tongue.  Your hands thread into his hair and he hooks one of your legs around his waist.  And suddenly you can see everything with startling clarity, every emotion that pulls and pushes at your body like waves.  Every need that burns within you and fuels your desire.  And every single one of his, too.  You break the kiss because you want to feel him inside you and you can't wait another second.  For a moment you stare at each other, waiting, testing.  And then you're sinking to your knees in front of the chair he had just vacated, glancing at him from over your shoulder with eyes that scream out, 'fuck me, fuck me, fuck me'.
He shivers because the sight of you is one he will not forget any time soon.  He shivers because in that position he can see exactly how wet you are, exactly how ready you, and the way you're leaning forward and looking at him makes him want to bury his cock as deeply into your folds as he can.  And he knows you'd like nothing better, so he goes to kneel behind you, hands firmly taking a hold of your bottom.  He presses his shaft against the skin of your leg and then watches you shiver and push back against it, a small, breathless keen leaving your lips. 
"Colonello…" you whisper, looking back at him again.  Your eyes are convulsing with that desire, the chemicals of it burning a slow path through your body.  He grips you harder and breathes out, lines himself up, and pushes into you.  And when he is inside, when your heat and your tightness is finally surrounding him, Colonello can't even breathe.  He thrusts shakily into you with increasing litheness and you moan, moan like nothing he's ever heard.  You don't hold anything back and he loves it, loves hearing the shards of pleasured noises escaping your parted lips.  And he wishes he could kiss you and absorb those moans into himself, but he will have to wait for another time.  For now he is far too lost in the delicious feel of this position.
Your breasts push up against the rough fabric of the old upholstered chair, and the scratchiness of it makes your nipples sore and raw.  But you don't care.  It is delicious and you spread your legs farther, pushing your butt into the air and arching your back and grasping the chair likes it's the last thing left on earth.  And the sight of your body wound up like that, like a cat, has Colonello gritting his teeth and pushing into your faster, faster.  His cock rushes over the sensitive skin of the most sacred part of you and you can't help but moan his name over and over.  Your head is tossed back.  Your toes curl.
It is a desire like none other and you can't hold it back for anything.  Your passion rocks through you in time with his thrusts.  You try to meet him halfway but you find that he won't let you.  Colonello is dominating you like no one else can and you love it, love it so much that you can't possibly stave off the orgasm that is beginning to twist around your lower body.
Like a coil, it snaps and breaks through you, shattering over your skin like watered champagne.  "Colonello!" you gasp, rocking your hips back faster even though it won't do any good.  You cannot control your body now.  You move on your own, without even knowing what you're doing until you're halfway finished.  Colonello moans, feeling your muscles clench around him, feeling your become even wetter, dripping with desire.  The feel of you now is like none other and he nearly dies before he can come.  He pushes into your faster, thrumming his hips against you at a pace that leaves you so breathless you can't even moan anymore.  And then with a low, gravelly, husky moan he spills himself into you, cock straining against your walls as he is milked clean.
"Fuck," he mutters, bracing himself and ramming his hips harder against you.  "Fuck fuck fuck."  His voice is a cadence of curses the blisters over your skin and leaves you raw and tingling.  He comes long and hard, feeling ridiculously empowered as one hand comes down on the top of the chair.  He holds himself up and breathes in the scent of sex, the musk of your entwined orgasms, the sweat that seethes over you bodies.  And then he stops, stops moving and just holds himself in place over the top of you, hands depressing into the cushion of the chair, cock now a softened mass within your sodden folds.
You gasp together, bodies warming each other.  And suddenly you want to kiss him, want to turn around and let him hold you.  Suddenly you want to sleep.  You are exhausted.  Perhaps you have been for a while and are only just realizing it.  It must be early in the morning by now and you feel like you haven't slept in days.  So you turn to look at Colonello and he nuzzles his face against your hair for a moment before easing out of you and rocking back on his heels.  He takes a moment to look at your body, the body he has become very familiar with, and is pleased with the spent way you follow him up. 
Neither of you say anything.  But as he takes you into his arms, press his naked body against yours and kisses you, you know what the silence is trying to tell you.  And when you lead him to the bed that calls out to you, leaving behind gun polish and cotton shirts, that silence follows, whispering words against your eardrums as you curl up against your lover in a tangle of sheets and limbs.  And it is telling you 'go to sleep, go to sleep, I love you now.' 
He brings you close, his stained fingers shifting against your back as he drags you against him, and kiss the corner of your eye.  You don't have to hear concrete words to know what that silence means.  You smile.  You have never felt as loved as you do now, here in the dark, well past midnight, in Colonello's arms.

~~~

Thursday, October 17, 2013

A France Lemon -- Sea and Sky


Character: France

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: Alice Trice, food critique, outwardly stoic but actually very childish

Inspiration: Chef!France~  Oh, and as always, lay on those language corrections.  Google translate sucks.  :3


It was a lovely night.  Clear, beautiful, with bright stars that seemed to twinkle through the sky.  It was the perfect night to eat out, which was exactly what Alice was doing.  In the most expensive, 5 star restaurant in town.
She got paid to do this.  Got paid to dress up in her fine dresses and fur coats and head out to eat exotic food.  She got paid more when she was bossy about it, when she went about and criticized any number of things.  The establishment itself, the food, the service, even the atmosphere.  But there was nothing, nothing at all that she found unlikeable about this particular restaurant.  Except, perhaps, for the two mischievous, knowing blue eyes that blinked at her through the crowd of tables and waiters.
The fact that he was watching every move Alice made didn't surprise her.  Francis was very proud of his restaurant, and the fact that she was here to critique his business would make any man nervous.  But when she boldly caught his gaze from across the room, she realized that there wasn't anything really nervous about the way he was standing.  In fact, he looked more amused than anything else.  She could think of several reasons why.
They had met nearly two years ago when she was in a lower position in her company.  She had come to this very same restaurant to inspect his kitchens and he had given her quite a bit of trouble.  His very nature made her want to be the person she forcefully shied away from.  The childish, fun loving woman she used to be, and sometimes still was, had been carefully layered over with the strictness that she needed in order to maintain her status.  Being around Francis made her feel youthful again, like she still had a chance at being truly happy, truly accepted for who she was.  And it was for that reason alone, and all the turbulent emotions that came with it, that Alice found Francis to be so troubling.
A waiter exited the kitchens and France grabbed his arm, sharp blue eyes glancing over the food that Alice knew instinctively was hers.  She watched him as he checked for flaws, and, when he found none, patted the waiter on the back and let him go.  Then he looked back at Alice and sent her a secretive sort of wink that nearly made her look away.  Her cheeks rose up into the very slightest pink and she raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, 'who cares if your food is good, I still have the power to make it awful in the public's eye.'  Then she smirked, just a little, just enough to make Francis's eyes flash in interest, and she raised her wine glass just a little bit before taking a dainty sip.
The waiter slipped up to her table and said in a suave, charming voice, "Your Chicken au Poivre, madam, with dressed asparagus and lemon."  He set the intricate platter down before her and took a step back, appraising the table with a critical eye for a moment before saying, "Might I inquire into your choice of dessert to follow the main course?"
Alice looked up at him, taking a long sip.  Her thoughts flitted between the list of desserts she had seen on the menu, but then she hummed and looked over the top of her glass.  France was still watching her, his dashing blue eyes taking in her every movement, every breath, and the amusement he had garnered from seeing her in her fancy clothes and wearing her strict, cold smile made her want to laugh.  If he thought she would let him be subtly entertained by her, he would soon think differently.  So without looking away from those bright eyes, she told the waiter, "Tell your head chef that I'll leave that detail up to him."  Her eyes slanted back to the waiter, and she finished with a surprisingly coy, "Surprise me."
The waiter nodded and turned, back straight as he shot off to the kitchens.  Alice watched carefully when the waiter got to the swinging doors and leaned in towards France, whose eyes flickered between her and his waiter.  The amusement in his shimmering, glassy eyes seemed to increase tenfold.  He sent her a flirty smile and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her to pretend as though her heart wasn't on fire, beating a thousand miles a minute against her chest.


An hour later, Alice was waiting at the coat room door for her furs.  She was full from the delicious meal and ready to go home and collapse into bed.  It was with that sort of resigned, relieved feeling that Alice took her coat and began to lift it onto her slim form.  But it was intercepted by two strong, large hands as Francis appeared behind her.  He smiled charmingly at her when she looked over her shoulder, and helped her into the coat.
"Thank you," she told him, voice as stiff as her posture, which had been perfectly straight all night.  She glanced over his attire, noting that he had taken off his chef's apron and now wore black trousers, dress shoes, and a black button up shirt.  His hair was tied back into its usual style and his eyes glittered at her through thick lashes.  He smiled down at her and offered up his arm, which she reluctantly took.  They began to walk toward the front doors of the fancy establishment.
"Did you like the dessert?" he wondered idly, but there was a lacing of something dark beneath his breath which put her on edge.  It wasn't anger, just the sort of undetermined emotion that she often associated France with.  He seemed eager to hear her response, because he turned to watch her. 
Instead of giving him the satisfaction of hearing that she actually loved it, Alice just shrugged delicately and held her head up in an almost haughty manner.  "It was fine," she told him, slanting her eyes over his for a split second before looking away.  His lips pulled upward into a knowing smirk and he held the door open for her, walking her outside onto the pavement.  The beautiful nightlife of Paris and the cold atmosphere drove her closer to him, just a little.  Just enough for him to notice and for her to pretend not to.
"So you liked it then," he mused, walking them to the edge of the sidewalk and stretching out his hand to hail a cab.  The first two passed them by.  The third pulled over with the sort of scrabbling finesse only a city taxi driver could master.  Francis chuckles and opened the door, "Since you love chocolate, I thought it would suit your fancy."
She gave him a hard look and then sighed, accepting his offered hand as he helped her into the taxi.  He seemed to be really increasing his charm tonight, probably because he knew she'd be writing her critique for the morning paper.  She anticipated that he shut the door and let her on her way, but to her surprise, he instead slipped into the seat beside her and shut the taxi door.  "34 Rue Monge, sil vous plait," [1] he told the driver, and the car started forward before Alice could even put in a smart response.
"Francis."  He glanced at her, eyes twinkling in mirth, and she said in a low, dangerous voice, "What are you doing?"
He chuckled, breaking the ice that had quickly built a barrier between them, and told her cheekily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world, "I'm bringing you home, mademoiselle."  His eyes shot her warmly through the darkness of the cab.
"I don’t need you to bring me home," she said flatly, but he merely shrugged.  "Well, it's too late now.  Let's just enjoy the ride, hmm?" and he smiled at her in that amused, suave way he'd been doing all night. 
Silence cascaded between them for a short moment, before Francis asked, "You're not cold?"  She glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow and told him 'no'.  He hummed and nodded, reaching an arm over the back of her seat in that too-casual way.  Then he asked, "Are you sure you're not cold?  You could sit over here you know.  Closer," he leaned in, and she turned away to look out the window.  "I'm fine.  And don't you dare try to grope me, France," she told him, and he sighed out in a half-whine that almost made her laugh. 
More silence.  Then… "Just admit that you liked the dessert, Alice."  And the way he said her name, the low emphasis he gave it, made her shiver.  She glanced at him, her eyes cutting even through the darkness, and watched him cross his legs and rest his chin on his hand.  He was the image of casual charm and it made her want to melt again him.  But that would be going against the nature she was trying to exude.  She frowned.  "I told you it was fine," she said, and to her surprise, he groaned. 
The sound was so erotic that she stared at him in surprise.  Surprise by the way he looked, like he wanted to promote dirty thoughts, and surprised by the way her body had reacted to that little, delicious sound.  She sat straighter and watched warily and he fisted a hand in his lap and rubbed his eyes with his other one.  "I love it," she heard him murmur, and then blushed when he finished with an intensely sexy, "I love it when you act like that."  His voice purred with low desire that burned a flame right through her heart.
His eyes suddenly careened into hers and Alice was taken aback at the passion searing within them.  He growled out, "It makes me want to pin you down and fuck you."  And he watched as her cheeks blushed into a powerful red that he could see even in the dim light.  She jerked her head away from him, trying to set her thoughts in order, trying to ignore the lust that he had just shot into her veins, trying to ignore him.  But it was impossible.  Impossible to ignore him when he was sitting so close, when his shoulder was nearly touching hers and when she could feel his body heat wave over her like a comforting sheath.  She swallowed and breathed out shakily, loud enough for him to hear.  He groaned again because he knew, knew what she was feeling.  He was an expert in these sorts of things and he just knew.
And that was why he didn't hesitate to touch her.  The moment his fingers brushed over the fabric of her leg, the barriers shattered like glass, and she turned to him with an eagerness that would have normally made him amused.  By this time, he was just as eager, and far too fervent in his passion to bother with such a silly emotion.
But when his hand slid firmly around her thigh, fingers brushing over silk and wishing it was skin, Alice came to her senses.  She caught his hand, clamping his fingers shut around hers and holding desperately onto the sudden onslaught of lust as it invaded her entire body.  It was the atmosphere, she was sure of it.  The darkness of the taxi, the way they were semi in public.  She hissed out a sharp, "Francis-" but never got to finish, because then his body was converging on hers, his hand flipping out of her grasp to curl around her thigh and drag her against him.  He shoved her heavy fur coat off of one shoulder and replaced it with his lips, which pressed a firm, heated kiss to her bare skin.  Then he admired the way she clung to him, desperately holding onto his shoulders and throwing her head back against the seat as she threw herself into the fray of her emotions.
"Mmm, mon ange, [2] don't give into me yet.  I want you to fight back."  He nibbled on her skin and she inhaled sharply, gasping breathlessly and gripping his hair hard.  He flitted his tongue over the captured skin and she made a strangled noise which made the blood rush directly to between his legs.  "Fight me," he whispered against her, inhaling the sweet perfume that lingered on her skin.
She didn't want to.  She never really did, even when she was putting on airs and pretending.  But fighting him back now was more tempting an offer than she could allow to pass by.  She shoved him back when he tried to pull her closer, jerking his head back and looking at him through the flash of moonlight which pattered through the car window.  He swallowed thickly and she watched his Adam's apple bob.  Then she pressed him back into the seat, swinging one leg over the both of his but not quite straddling him.  Her mouth she pressed against his neck, softly at first but with an increasing, dire need.  When she dragged her lips up to his face, he was staring at her with a mixture of intense desire and awe. 
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then rushed forward into a heady, passionate kiss that was both haphazard and ridiculously controlled.  Controlled by the tight grasp she had on his hair.  Controlled by the grip of his hands on her hips as he pulled her into his lap and down, down to grind against the hardened bulge that was tempering within his pants.
"Oh!" she gasped, surprised and more than a little turned on by the fact that he was already so hard.  He chuckled a little into their kiss and she kissed him harder, very turned on by the way he didn't even seem to care.  That he had an erection and that they were in a taxi, and that the driver probably knew exactly what was going on in his cab.  His nonchalance about the entire situation made her feel bolder, powerful, and she started rocking her hips into his and grinding against his member.
"Do you like it when I act dominant?" she asked against his needy mouth.  He groaned a little, hands flexing over her butt as he gripped her.  His legs shifted farther apart and his head rested back against the seat.  Her fingers were still tangled into his hair and she desperately wanted to release it from the binding he had it in.  But even in the darkness, she could see telltale landmarks that they were close to her apartment.
"Oui," he whispered, voice cascading into his beautiful accent.  "C'est bon." [3]  He kissed her again, firmly, skimming his mouth over her skin and down her neck.  His fingers reached up to shake the pins from her hair and she breathed out fast when he tugged her head forcefully to the side to kiss her neck.  "Je suis tellement suscité. Je peux difficilement supporter." [4]  She breathed out a whispered moan and cupped his face, watching him kiss her and wondering what he would look like when he was kissing other parts of her body.
She rolled her core over the hardness in his pants and breathed out hard when he moaned into her neck, making her skin wet and tingling.  She knew they didn't have much time left and yet Alice didn't want to stop.  The world was perfect in that moment, in the back seat of that taxi, whispers of lust tossing through their harried forms.  But it wasn't enough.  She wanted to feel him.  Wanted to see him begging for her.  Wanted to bring him to the cusp of a powerful orgasm and watch it unravel him in the most delicious ways.  And that was what prompted her to shimmy her hand in between their lower bodies and rub his hard member through his pants. 
"Oh, oui…oui oui, touchez-moi plus," [5] he begged, panting against her neck, fingers digging into her fancy dress and wishing she was bare, bare and glorious atop his mattress.  She pressed her mouth against his and acquiesced to his obvious wish, unbuttoning his pants and pulling out his erection, which curled up in arousal and was a stark contrast against the darkness of his clothes.  He watched her study his most intimate organ, his eyes half lidded and bordering on that amused lust which made her frustrated and excited at the same time.  Then he smirked, tilting her chin up so that it was level with his, and whispered out a very low, very aroused, "I want you to suck it."
She shivered violently, closing her eyes for a moment while she took in the extent of his words.  He smiled and kissed her cheek, all the while watching her, feeling the shaky way she was grasping at his shirt, and wishing that he could lay her out beneath him properly.
She was about to respond.  She was opening her mouth to reply when suddenly the world stopped.  The taxi shot up onto the side of the street and the man behind the wheel, who they had blatantly ignored up until then, said loudly, "8.30 Euros, Monsieur."
Francis gritted his teeth and looked over at Alice, who was blushing vividly and looking anywhere but at him.  He cleared his throat and she eased herself off his lap, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment and trying not to watch Francis fix himself up.  Then he fished out his wallet and gave the taxi driver a ten Euro note, reached across the seat for the fur coat that had long slipped past Alice's shoulders, and opened the door.  Together, they stepped into the clear air of the busy Paris streets, watching as the taxi they'd just vacated dove back into the ever present traffic.
A long minute was spent staring at each other, wondering what would happen next.  He seemed to be letting her make the final decision, and as he pressed her coat into her arms, she pulled him in, too, pressing a kiss to his lips.  He grinned and kissed her back, huddling against her body as they loitered outside the apartment complex.  Then, when someone called out derogatively to them, Francis pulled back and watched her struggle to find her key, which lay at the bottommost of her purse.
They made it inside in record time.  Up the stairs, through the hallways, until finally they reached the door that must have been hers, because Alice skidded to a stop and peered up at him with a coy smile.  She turned the key in the lock, paused, and glanced up at him.  "It's a bit of a mess," she warned lightly, and he smiled.  His hands slipped around her slim waist and he pressed her delicately to the door, breathing into her hair, "I'm not here to judge you on your neatness, mon amour."  And she shivered, because the thought of why he was here, and what they would be doing, made her more aroused then she thought possible.
She swung open the door and they stumbled inside.  She searched blindly for the light and flicked it on just as Francis was throwing the door closed.  Then they turned back to each other, and for yet another time that evening, the moment was bathed with awkwardness.  Awkwardness which was soon shattered when Alice reached up to unclip the necklace at her throat.  The dazzling crystal masterpiece hit the floor.  Then she tossed her cloak over the edge of a nearby chair, stepped out of her shoes, and turned away from him.  Francis watched with hungry, needy eyes as she flicked the zipper of her dress down and stepped out of it on her way to the bedroom.  Her pale, creamy, naked hips swung back and forth like a pendulum against his heart.
And he lost it.  Stepped forward, struggling with his shoes, kicking them off to join hers.  Ripped at the buttons of his shirt as though they were real restraints that kept him from what he wanted most in the world.  By the time he got to the doorway of her room, he was trying to pull his pants off and failing, his fingers fumbling as his eyes searched for her.  She was watching him through wide, pouty eyes that had the potential to break him as well as make him live a thousand times over.  It was a few minutes still before he managed to wrestle out of his pants.  And by then, she was approaching him with arms wide open.
He grabbed her waist and heaved her against him, nearly sighing out when her skin finally met his.  Her dress hadn't allowed her the restraints of a bra, so her naked breasts were also pushed up against him and it felt wonderful.  Wonderful to be this close to the woman he had been pining over for so long.  She eagerly rose to kiss him, magnificently drawing her body along his and feeling him shiver at the tantalizing contact of skin siding along skin.  Then she slipped her hands into his and pulled him toward the bed. 
He watched her crawl onto the mattress with heady eyes, fingers pulling off his boxer briefs and releasing his erection for the second, and final, time that night.  His actions prompted her to reach down to deal with her panties as well, but he stopped her, gripping her hands gently when she went to hook her fingers around the fabric.  She raised her eyes to meet his in silent question, and he murmured out a low, "I want to do that."  Then, when she blushed a little, he chuckled and slid onto the mattress, slowly folding her body out beneath his.  He sighed and kissed her lips, nestling himself between her legs and enjoying the way her body heat enveloped over him in waves.
His lips tickled over her skin as he pressed open mouthed kisses wherever he could.  Her shoulders, arms, breasts, stomach.  Until he was crouched by her hips, head ducked against the warmth of her thigh as he inhaled the musk of her arousal.  She squirmed and watched with wide, lustful eyes as he kissed her core, delving his lips just above the fabric that separated them.  His fingers hooked beneath the ties and slowly pulled them down, and the bareness of her made him hum out darkly and press a different sort of kiss to her core.
It was hot, his tongue dipping gently against her folds, his breath wavering out in waves of heat.  His lips knew instinctively how to kiss her, where to press down a little harder, where to suck.  His tongue zigzagged over the entirety of her and then thrust inside, just a little, just enough to make her back arch up into a magnificent display of her pleasure.
Her fingers reached down for him, tangling into his hair and puling him closer because it felt so good.  So good having his hands pin her down like that.  So good having him taste her like fine cuisine, like he couldn't get enough.  She felt like she was melting, drowning against those sheets and it was delicious.  "Fr-Francis…!  Ah~" 
He moaned against her and she grasped at his hair harder, mesmerized by the wild vibrations that shattered over her skin.  Then he was suddenly pulling away, his eyes as dark as a sea miles deep.  And he shifted up over her, never once looking away from her eyes, which were as different from his as an open sky.  His lips dragged a deep kiss over hers and for a single moment, she forgot everything.  Forgot that they were bare and laying on a mattress, in a room that would soon witness the creation of love. 
But everything crashed back into reality, and then suddenly Alice was overcome by the stark physicality of him.  The way his body was pressing hers down, waved in heat, arousal.  The way he was kissing her, his lips a silken barrier that walked along the very edge of defined romance.  The way his skin brushed against hers, delicately yet firmly, and the way his fingertips created a sort of lingering passion which exploded throughout the entirety of her and made her gasp, tremble.
He breathed out, lips brushing over her cheek, and shifted his lower body.  His hard length pushed against her thigh and she gasped again, slightly taken aback by the raw feel of him.  It shouldn't have surprised her but it did, the emotions that drowned her, and even as she pulled away to study the shards of lust in his eyes, Alice couldn't help but want more of that drowning.  The sea of his gaze pulled her under, and with one last kiss he broke through the final barrier that kept them from being one, and the true drowning began.
"Oh!" she gasped, arching into that lovely semi circle again.  France grunted, his hips molding against hers as he began to get the feel of their lovemaking.  The first few thrusts were shaky at best, unsure but still delicious as they quelled their initial, superficial needs.  But then the deeper desires hit them like bricks, and soon Francis was stepping up the pace, rushing toward something that they both knew had the potential to utterly shake them down.
He slipped into her like he belonged there, like it wasn't their first time acting as lovers.  Like he knew exactly what he was doing.  His thrusts were seasoned with experience and it intimidated her a little, but the time for those silly feelings were long gone.  Other, stronger emotions were sparking through her and so she pushed that confusion away, settling instead on immersing herself in the wild, sporadic way he pinned her down and took her.
They were flying fast through the act and it almost seemed as though there was nothing, nothing that could stop them from crashing into their orgasms.  Francis grunted, a desperate sort of moan spilling from his lips as he careened forward.  He blinked down at her and she nearly gasped aloud at the bright romance in his eyes.  She was also aware of other things, too.  Like the way he was gritting his teeth, as though he was trying very hard not to come.  Like the way his fingers were gripping her hard, the way his hips were controlled but caustic, almost violent as he thrust into her.  And it was these signs that made Alice give into her own end.  She gripped him hard, arms circling his shoulders, and moaned.  Her head was thrown back and her back was arching up again and Francis thought she looked lovely like that, in that delightful position.  But then he was feeling her coming, the muscles of her womanhood pulsating deliciously against his, and he was moaning out as well and following.
Their hips snapped fitfully, bruising and haphazard and then slower, gentler, like they were trying to drag out the zinging passion, the delicious shivers that ghosted over their skin.  He lazily moved his hips, his thrusts not quite pinning her down any longer.  And so with the newfound freedom she rose up, meeting him halfway as she blinked up at him and smirked.  Her lips formed a secretive sort of smile that made him chuckle.
His hands drifted over her, down her thighs to tickle over her knees.  Then she was pulling him in, dragging him against and shivering when the movement shifted his softened cock, which was still deep inside of her.  She pressed her mouth to his cheek and he hummed, hand splaying out over her back and bringing her close to his chest.  Their legs formed a mass of tangled limbs and perfection settled on the air between them, like silenced weights which dragged them far, far beneath the surface of the sea.


Extended Ending

Francis leaned against the building that was his restaurant, cigarette handing from his lips as he looked up at the sky.  He took a long drag and remembered.  Remembered the night that had brought him more pleasure than the entirety of his youth combined.  And he smiled a secretive smile that made the very deepest part of his eyes shine like twin suns.
The back door to the kitchens suddenly opened up and his peace was shattered, momentarily.  His head waiter came rushing out, clutching a newspaper tightly in his hand.  When he saw France, he walked toward him, thrust the newspaper into his hands, and said breathlessly, "It is out, Monsieur.  The critique."
Francis' eyes flashed as he read eagerly through the paper.  He leaned in, crushing his cigarette against the brick wall with his free hand and his eyes moved quickly through the text.  Then, when he was through, he smirked and hummed, pleased.  "Not a bad critique.  She must have liked the dessert I made for her."  And he smiled his signature slightly perverted smile that made his waiter wonder if they were thinking about the same dessert.  The man cleared his throat and nodded, and Francis waved him off as he reached for his phone.  He sent a short text a minute later, smirked, and then turned back towards his restaurant. 
Across the city of Paris, a woman glanced at her phone, opened the text, and rolled her eyes with a smile.
'I knew chocolate was your favorite.  Tell me you're not busy tonight.'
She couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.


~~~

Translations:
[1] Sil vous plait: Please

[2] mon Ange: my angel

[3] Cela me rend heureux: That's good

[4] Je suis tellement suscité. Je peux difficilement supporter: I'm so aroused.  I can hardly stand it.

[5] oui…oui oui, touchez-moi plus: Yes…yes, yes, touch me more.