Wednesday, February 25, 2015

A France Lemon -- Trembling Sparrow

Character: France

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: Washing machines…ohonhonhon lolol

There was nothing particularly special about folding clothes.  Nothing even remotely interesting in doing laundry.  Or so you thought.  Because when you happened to have a Frenchman living in your house, the mundane didn’t stay that way for very long.
Two arms curled around your waist and another body cuddled up behind you.  Francis was often in an amorous mood and you were used to these sudden, bold displays of affection.  Also used to the other displays, the displays that shared a border with lust.  And he could mix the two together without even trying.
“Mademoiselle~  I’ve been looking all over for you!” he pushed his nose into your hair and nuzzled you, hands creeping over your thighs as if silently commanding the fabric to disappear.  You rolled your eyes.
“Get off of me,” you snapped, not in the mood for his antics.  In fact you were dreading them, because of one reason: it was Valentine’s Day.  And Francis on Valentine’s Day was a force to be reckoned with.
He didn’t let go.  If anything, he tightened his grasp around you as a snake would around its prey and held on for dear life.  So much so that you really couldn’t help but feel the hard, telltale sign of an erection burning into your rear.  At once you stiffened, sighed, and asked in an almost resigned voice, “Are you hard?”  You weren’t surprised.  He wasn’t either.
“Does it make you uncomfortable, mon amour?” [1] he wondered with a chuckle.  It obviously wasn’t making him very uncomfortable – he never was when it came to sex and all things related to it.  You rolled your eyes again and struggled to get out of his hold, not realizing until it was too late that the movement happened to be very much appreciated by your ridiculously ardent lover. 
“Mmmm…I love it when you struggle,” he purred into your ear, nipping at the flesh and rubbing his groin against your butt.  And, try as you might, you couldn’t help but feel the stirrings of desire shoot through you at his touches.  You frowned and reached down to snatch his hands away from their intended path over your inner thighs.  But even as you locked your slender fingers with his larger, calloused hands, you felt that desire pool inside you and fester, growing into something indiscernible in its power.  You loved his hands.  Loved them laying flat against you.  Loved how they were quick and steady and wicked, and so it came as no surprise to find that you were aroused by having them so close to your core.
“France!” you cried, trying to sound indignant.  But your voice was more lustful than annoyed, something that certainly did not go amiss.  Francis chuckled and suddenly his hands were everywhere, twisting out of your grasp and splaying out over your naval, up to playfully squeeze your breasts, back down over your sides.  And as he generously touched you, he murmured, “Let’s get some of these clothes off, hmm?  I need to see you naked and wet.”  His hand lightly slapped at your butt as if to annunciate his words and you opened your mouth to berate him –
But found that mouth suddenly pressed against the top of the washing machine as Francis suddenly pushed your upper body down against it.  The scolding words on your tongue died almost immediately, and with good reason.  For laying flat against the top of that thrumming machine was stimulating your breasts in ways you couldn’t even begin to describe.  You bit your lip and held back a moan that would have no doubt made him very amused indeed, not that it mattered all that much.  Francis was no sexual novice: he knew when a woman was aroused and hiding it.
“Ohonhonhon~  I had a feeling you liked vibrators, mon moineau.  Don’t worry, I’ll have the rest of you throbbing soon enough,” [2] he half chuckled-half purred, and you scowled against the trembling machine, lifting yourself up to give him a real tongue lashing (and not the kind he obviously wanted, mind you).
But once again, your words died on your tongue.  Because standing behind you with his hair casually tied back and his eyes sparkling with mirth and lust, Francis had begun to remove his own clothes.  His shirt was already on the floor.  His trousers were half gone, and his hard cock was in plain sight.  Yes, your words were lost, because at that moment you decided that you’d rather not scold him.  You’d rather just fuck him.
He raised an eyebrow at you and kicked his pants away, tilting his head as he studied your eyes carefully.  After a moment he smirked, “You’ve finally given in, I see.  And all it took was the sight of my cock~  I’ll remember that for future reference.”  The way his eyes crinkled up was nothing short of wicked.
“Shut up and touch me,” you ground out, turning back around and struggling to get out of your shirt in your rather haphazard position.  After watching the battle for several brief moments, Francis stepped in to assist.  His large hands eased around your front and he pulled you back, admiring the way you whined when he did.  As he turned you around the face him and began undoing your shirt, he commented, “Your chest is already so sensitive…I don’t know why I haven’t thought to do this earlier.”  Thrusting you against a working washing machine that is. 
With a luxurious grin he tossed your shirt away and immediately went in for your bra.  It came off so quickly that you barely had time to blink before his mouth was descending on your hard nipples.  And then you were falling back with a loud moan, and the only reason why you didn’t just fall to the ground was because Francis was holding you tightly to his chest.  Oh yes, your breasts were sensitive, even more so after that lovely washing machine escapade.
“Oh God,” you sighed, tangling your fingers into his hair and dragging him closer.  It felt amazing.  That clever tongue of his thrust against your nipples, followed by teeth that scraped lightly, bit gently.  And when his mouth wasn’t occupied with his oral ministrations, his hands certainly were. 
You pressed your hips against his and rubbed at his cock, which sprang up between you hard and hot.  The action made him stiffen, then moan, and when he looked up at you his eyes were dark and dangerous.  His fingers were at your jeans before you could draw another breath, tugging them down hurriedly as if he could barely stand another moment of their existence around your hips.  The moment they were gone, he was pushing you up against the machine and nipping playfully at your bottom lip, his hands squeezing at your breasts, his knee sinking between the both of yours.
“Shall we use the washing machine for better purposes, mon amour?”  he huskily asked, and when you moaned a response, he chuckled and said, “Get up.  I want to taste you.”  And you thought you would die from the anticipation before you got all the way up, for the way he clutched and lifted you up made you feel like you were burning.  And that was nothing compared to how you felt after you were situated.
Immediately, Francis dragged your legs apart and prodded at your clit with two fingers.  He leaned in to press a kiss against your inner thigh, smirk up at you, and murmur, “Mmm…you’re already wet.”  He lifted his fingers to his lips and licked your juices from them, moaning as he did.  The sight made you pant, so overcome by desire that you could scarcely think. 
“How do you like it up there?” he asked after a moment, drawing his fingers once more over your clit.  You shivered from both his touch and the heady vibrations of the washing machine, which were thudding through you like tiny earthquakes, making your arousal spike into levels unknown.
You leaned back on your hands and spread your legs wider, raising an eyebrow at him.  He smirked in interest at the move, obviously aroused by the rather shameless display.  When he leaned in to drag his tongue over your clit, tasting you for real, you shivered and honestly replied, “It feels amazing.  But you know what would feel even better?”  He paused, looked up at you, and asked, “What is that, mon amour?”  He wanted – needed – to know.
You smirked and shifted to the side, patted the spot next to you, and purred, “If you come up too and we start fucking.”  Your words made his eyes flash lustfully.  He chuckled darkly and straightened, studying you for a brief moment before nodding slowly and pulling himself up onto the machine.  Immediately he had to swallow back a harsh wave of desire, for the vibrations made his cock absolutely rigid.  He paused to catch his breath but his voice still suffered and clenched with arousal.  “Ahh…it does feel good.”  Then he gave you a sideways smirk and said, “You said something about fucking?”
You were in his lap a moment later, sliding your legs around his and pressing your clit to his member.  The vibrations of the machine traveled all the way up his cock and right against your core, making you both gasp as you struggled to get closer.  Then he was slipping inside you and the feelings only intensified. 
“Oh, mon dieu!” [3] Francis gasped, leaning back and grinding his hips against yours, as much as could be allowed in the current position.  You moaned and followed him back, feeling his fingers curling around your waist and hip as you thrust against his cock.  “That feels…!” your exclamation died as Francis reached down to blindly turn the power higher, making the washing machine jolt faster as it reached a faster setting.  “Mmmmmm…” you moaned, burying your face against his shoulder as you continued to spear yourself against him.
“Oui!” he breathlessly panted in response to you, “C'est incroyable.” [4]  And it really was.  You weren’t sure why you’d never thought to do this in the past.
His fingers cupped your face and he brought you close, kissing you with a passion that let you miles behind.  And then he smiled and breathed, “Your cunt feels like it’s vibrating all on its own…Il me rend fou…” [5]
You just kissed him harder, too aroused to be bothered by his offensive wording.  You were flying, pushing ever closer to an end that you knew would leave you breathless and amazed.  And that end did make you breathless, and amazed, and many other things when you finally reached it.  You moaned and threw yourself against him, hips bouncing into his as you took that throbbing cock as deeply into yourself as you possibly could.  And it was breathless and amazing in a staggering, stifling way.
“Oh oui…oui!” he mumbled, for the clenching of your core and the vibrating waves from the machine were enough to make him follow soon enough.  He watched you come with a cry that made him see insanity in a new light, for surely he was corrupted with it.  As he thrust upward and emptied his seed into the vibrating mess of your core, he certainly felt delirious and crazed, like a rabid animal still ravenous for more.
He would get more, much more, but for now he was content with sitting atop the washing machine with you in his arms, lower bodies throbbing and dripping, ricocheting with gratification.


[1] Mon amour … My love
[2] Mon moineau … My sparrow
[3] Mon dieu! … My God!
[4] C'est incroyable … It is incredible
[5] Il me rend fou … It makes me crazy

Sunday, February 22, 2015

An England Lemon -- Rough And Tumbled

Character: England

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: Cause I think Arthur would totally be (secretly) into this…

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting when he came home from work that day.  Maybe a nice hot cup of tea and a relaxing shower.  Certainly not you, curled up on his bed reading a book, stark naked.
He stepped into his bedroom and was at a momentary loss for words, partly because he was just surprised but mostly because the sight of you bare was invigorating.  His mouth hung open and his green eyes widened, and somehow he managed to stutter out a flustered, “What are you doing?”
As if only just realizing he was there, you raised your eyes from the book and glanced at him blankly.  The slow smile that fluttered onto your mouth left him feeling wary, as though he were walking straight into a trap.  A very leggy, delicious trap.
“Oh Arthur, you’re home,” you said, tilting you head to the side and stretching a little.  He swallowed back a sudden wave of desire as he watched, wondering at the catty way you moved.  Were you usually like this or was he just blindly filling in the blanks?  You sat up and crossed your legs one over the other, leaning back on your elbows, “I was waiting very patiently.  I think I deserve a reward.”
He raised his eyebrows at you dryly and began to undo his tie, loosening it and letting it hang off his shoulders as he began to unbutton his shirt.  “Oh really?” he asked, shooting you a wary look.  “Well I’m afraid I can’t indulge you today.  Several important people are coming over for dinner.” 
You chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, it won’t take long.  I’m already half there anyway.”  You waved your hand obscurely and he paused, frowning and blurting, “Really?”  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur was aware that he was being baited, but the thought of you already wet and ready had him breathing shallower, body tingling with the beginnings of arousal.  “…You don’t look it,” he observed after several generous moments of glancing at your body.  Why did he feel so flustered?  It wasn’t like him to jump right into these kinds of situations; he was better, more experienced than that.
You hummed, a half-purr that burred from your throat like violet heather and shimmied dangerously through the air.  Then, before he could possibly prepare himself, your legs spread open and your fingers were slipping against your core in long, even strokes that had him holding his breath, staring with wide dark eyes.  Those eyes followed your every movement, watching with heady, calculating desire as you lifted your wet fingers to your lips.  The soft pink of your tongue darted around the slender digits and all at once Arthur received a rather lovely image of what you’d look like between his legs, licking something that was growing steadily larger with each passing second.
“Yup,” you purred, smirking as your fingers returned to your core, “Now that you’re here, I think I’m more than half gone.”  Oh sweet Jesus you really were.  And speaking of being ‘half gone’, Arthur’s common sense fit into that description quite nicely, because he couldn’t remember why it was so important to go get dinner started or why he really needed to shower and get changed into nicer clothes.
It took him three seconds to cross the room and kneel beside the bed, and then he was clasping your thighs, pulling you close, and sinking his tongue against your core to taste you properly.  You gasped and your head tilted back, legs curling around his shoulders as he licked a long path across your clit, then began sucking on every part of you he could.  It was deliriously perfect.
Your fingers threaded through his hair and you wondered, for a brief moment, if you shouldn’t just let yourself come to that clever little tongue of his.  But you had a plan, and you couldn’t deny that you’d wanted to try it out for a while now.  Been working up the courage to ask, too, and you knew you’d regret not going through with it.  So a few minutes later, you tugged on his hair and murmured a thick, aroused, “Mmm…I love when you do that, Arthur, but there’s something else I wanted to try today.”  And he raised an eyebrow, lips bruised from his ministrations as his tongue darted out to clean the juices off his skin.
“Oh?  What’s that?” he asked, rubbing your leg a little in encouragement.  He had several more kinky passions that he enjoyed and was more than willing to hear what you liked.  It was the mark of a good lover to sacrifice your own pleasure for the sake of the other.  And Arthur liked to think that he was a fairly good lover, probably just as good as France.  Most likely better.
You smiled and swung your leg over his head, shifting until your stomach was laying on the mattress and you were looking at him over your shoulder.  He slowly stood up, swallowing at the sight you made.  Your legs were hanging off the bed, your hips on the very edge of the mattress, and he was getting a very nice view of your rear.  He hummed in appreciation and touched it, sliding his hands over your skin and then haltingly saying, “…You want me to…do it here?”  His finger gently shifted over the area where you asshole was and you started chuckling, shaking your head.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” you smiled, and thought it rather looked like he was relieved.  You didn’t stop to wonder at that.  Instead you bit your lip, wiggled your hips, and said bluntly, “I want you to spank me.”  There, that was better.  It was out in the open at least, and there was no trace of horror on Arthur’s face.  In fact, he looked rather…well, to say ‘aroused’ would be redundant.
“Oh, I see,” he murmured, voice low.  He sighed.  Not an unhappy, fine-I’ll-do-it-but-I-won’t-like-it sigh, but rather a breathless, pleased humming sort of sound.  It was filled with soft excitement and a deep, almost luxurious relaxation, as if he had all the time in the world and liked it that way.
His brought both hands over your butt and propped a knee beside your hips, taking a few moments to just touch you.  Then, when you wiggled your hips again, he gave in and brought a hand down lightly on your left cheek, leaving a very soft lingering pink that blushed over your skin.  You took a deep breath and looked over your shoulder at him, eyes dark and wide and very aroused.  And he stared back, breathing harder as well and then chuckling.
“I never knew you liked this.  Wish you’d told me earlier,” he muttered, rubbing a gentle circle into your skin and then reaching for one of the pillows.  When he returned, he said, “Lift your hips.  And make sure you tell me if I’m being too rough, okay?”  You nodded your agreement and proceeded to lift your hips up, letting him slid the pillow beneath them.  When you settled back down, your lower half was elevated and Arthur let out a pleased hum at the sight you made.  And then his hand came down again, and it was harder this time.
You moaned with surprise and pleasure and sunk your fingers into the sheets, tilting your hips up and panting with every slap.  His touch was a peculiar mixture of gentle and rough, and the pleasure that roiled through you was tinted with delightful shades of blacks and whites and grays that didn’t take solid form, only shifted back and forth like an ocean of escalating desire.
Arthur himself was also finding pleasure in the motions, which surprised him greatly.  Every spank had his member getting harder, aching more acutely.  He was breathless and was actually finding it difficult to only spank you – and not touch you in other places, or run his hands over your body or deal with his own problem.  And well, his drifting thoughts were what ultimately made him come up with a most delightful idea, and he paused in his ministrations to go digging around in the bedside drawer.
“Hmm?  Why’d you stop?” you asked thickly, turning to glance at him in confusion.  But he only sent you a smirking look and pulled out a bottle of lube, upending it and letting it drip all over your ass and lower waist.  You squeaked at the cold liquid but found no other reason to complain as his hands generously massaged the oil into your skin, starting from your waist and moving to your thighs.  And then he chuckled and slipped his fingers between your legs, jolting them over your core very briefly and watching you moan and spread your thighs.
“Uh uh, none of that,” he drawled, slapping your ass again and listening to that delicious moan spilling into the air.  He tsked and, with his free hand, sunk two fingers into your core, twisting them slowly and murmuring, “You’re absolutely dripping.  Does this really turn you on so much?” 
His answer came in the form of a drawn out, hoarse, “Yessssss!”  And he chuckled again, thinking that the sound of you was probably the most erotic he’d ever heard.  And so he did it again, and again, until the whimpering sound of your desire numbed his ears as well as other things. 
Your ass was raw and red.  Every smack of his hand stung you with the most indescribably erotic pleasure.  Every second had your arousal rearing, growing, aching to a point where you felt lost amid the patterned shades of your own lust as it puckered and writhed just beneath your skin.  You were immobile on the edge of that mattress: immobile, blind, and dumb to the world around you.  There was nothing, save for the gratuitous feel of Arthur’s rough motions and the lovely sting of your rear.  It was as if a giant chasm had erected around you and swallowed you into it without your knowledge.
“Arthur…” you moaned, spreading your thighs again.  You ached like you were afire with lust, as if it had merged into your very being.  He looked down at the dripping mess you were and chuckled, moving his hand to lightly slap your core instead.  The rough, unexpected movement had you gasping and whimpering, “Oh!  Arth…ur…” and the sound trailed off as he heaved your hips closer to the edge and ground them against his cock.  His very much bare, freed cock.
You panted, glanced behind you, saw that he was smirking down at you with those shards of narrowed emeralds.  His fingers sunk against your core as if he were idly petting some domestic animal, back and forth as he looked down at you.  But then he paused and told you, “Get on your knees.”  And you smiled, half in relief and half in amusement, for his voice was very ragged and hoarse.
“See? I told you it wouldn’t take long,” you said, shifting into the desired position and tossing the pillow to the side.  Arthur hummed and adjusted your hips, pushing them down to his level and then leaning down himself to press two gentle, lingering kisses to both sides of your rear. 
“I don’t think this will take very long, either,” he muttered, eyes flashing as you looked back at him.  It was quite clearly a warning, but one were didn’t mind upholding.  You merely wiggled your butt, pushing it against him, and grinned lopsidedly, “’S fine.  I’m horny as hell anyhow.”  The unabashed words made him roll his eyes and give you an amused slap on your thigh.  And then he was pushing into you and filling you up in the most basest way, and your back was arching as you let out a shaky, breathless moan.
“That’s good,” you mumbled, shifting your hips a little.  Arthur hummed and pulled out, enjoying the wet sound of his thrusting.  In fact he enjoyed everything about the moment: the scent of sex, the sounds of it, the physical edge that made him feel as if he were weightless, and yet so grounded that he could only stand there and sink into the earth, burdened by desire, hindered by love.  He gritted his teeth and slammed into your harder, unable to find respite even as your tight walls clenched around him.  But he was too aroused, too hard, and it was only until he settled for a swift running thrust that he finally sighed out and felt some semblance of relief.
With relief brought other things, too.  The gentle, static curve of an orgasm floundered beneath his skin, threatening to make itself known if he kept up his hectic pace.  Any other day he might’ve heeded the warning for a more drawn-out approach.  But today there was no time for gentle finishes.  Only the rough net of desire as it captured and dragged him flailing from an ocean of physical obstacles.
“Almost there…!” he gasped, nails digging into your hips, pressing his passion into every touch as if to brand you with it.  But you were already branded, had been for a long time, and in the face of his desire you wilted as well as strengthened: a nonnegotiable truth that flustered you into submission.  It did the same now, with hardly any effort at all.  Because you were already aching, already squirming as you tried desperately to hold your orgasm back, to let the waiting of it rip you to shreds and spin tangible heady relief into your bones.  And so when you heard his voice, the way it was layered with such lust, such need that it was breathless and bare coherent…well, it rather ruined your efforts.
“Arthur!” you gasped, arching, plummeting.  Your end whipped through you like tension snapping.  Your muscles clenched tight around his cock and he let out a hoarse cry at the intense feel of it, eyes watering at the roughness of your finish and the way cut right through him like knives.  It was hardly any surprise when he gasped, leaned over you, and doubled his pace.  No surprise when he came shortly after, your muscles contracting and pulling, pulsing his finish into the most delightful zigzag direction.  And when it was all over, Arthur could only gasp, chuckle, and move to shakily take a seat beside you, his back falling down against the mattress as he tried to catch his breath.
You moved to him, feeling raw and sore but perfectly satisfied.  And, after a few minutes as laying in silence, Arthur gently touched your butt and frowned, “Does it hurt?”  The question was simple and so you answered with an equally simple, “Mmhmm.”  Because it was true, it did hurt, but that didn’t particularly bother you.  It wouldn’t bother you until you had to sit down.
He frowned deeper, “Perhaps I should’ve been more gentle…” 
His hand moved up to your shoulder blades and spun patterns between them.  You glanced at his face, caught his worried eyes, and patted his chest, “Arthur…I feel absolutely perfect.  You were really great.  It felt amazing.”  The reassurance bolstered him as you knew it would, but he still pursed his lips as he looked down at you, contemplating.
And then suddenly he jolted up, eyes wide as he remembered something he really shouldn’t have forgotten.  Something that had to do with a certain dinner party that he was supposed to be getting ready.  “Christ!” he exclaimed, shooting up and grabbing his clothes, then pausing because he really needed a shower.  “I can’t believe I forgot – they’ll be here in an hour and I haven’t even gone to get groceries!”
You watched calmly for a moment, withholding the urge to tell him it was just as well he hadn’t the chance to cook.  Instead you just sighed, moving up to pluck at your clothes, and said after a moment, “You take a shower, you need one.”  You sent him an amused smile.  “I’ll go see about the food.”  For a moment, you stared at each other, and then Arthur moved swiftly to your side and pressed an endearing kiss to your cheek.  “You’re an angel,” he murmured, before disappearing into the bathroom for his shower.
Perhaps ‘angel’ wasn’t quite the right term after the rather rough-and-tumble hour you’d just had, but you smiled anyway.  When his boss’s party did come, the table had been laid out and you’d managed to get a rather nice spread of food from the restaurant several streets down, which had been generous enough to take your last minute order.  The evening ended on that tumbled note, drifting through stone as water might drift through a roughly rounded stream.


Friday, February 20, 2015

A Sousuke Yamazaki Lemon -- Deluge

Character: Sousuke Yamazaki

Fandom: Iwatobi Swim Club

OC: Yori, aggressively nurturing, 5’2, long brown hair, brown eyes

Inspiration: Hmm, not so sure about this one.  I hope it isn’t too bad!  Let me know what you think if you feel like leaving a comment

It was evening, the sun just starting its decline into darkness, when Yori entered the locker rooms in search of a certain someone.  The scent of chlorine stifled the air and comforted her as she searched.  Though competitive swimming was unattainable for Sousuke after his injury, he still came to the pool often, mostly to act as teacher to Nitori, who was in need of extra practice. 
“Sousuke!” she called softly, for her voice echoed quite clearly through the hallways.  There was no one around, and she wondered if perhaps Sousuke had left as well, for Nitori was gone.  Still, she peered inside the men’s locker room warily, and was about to head back toward the main room when she heard the faint sound of a shower.  Making up her mind, Yori stepped back inside and headed for it.
“Sousuke?” she asked, and sure enough a moment later, his head peered out of the shower curtain and he stared at her with his usual blank stare.  She smiled at the sight of his dripping hair and said, “There you are!  Did Nitori leave already?”  It was a rather useless question: she knew Nitori had gone.  She was unsurprised when Sousuke nodded and said, “He left half an hour ago.”  Then he leaned against the tiled wall, crossed his arms, and just looked at her.  His eyes twinkled but he remained silent, and Yori raised an eyebrow.
“Come join me,” he invited, shifting the curtain back a little and showing off the proud, hard expanse of his muscled chest.  Water droplets clung to his skin.  His voice was so unabashed that Yori blushed, unused to being propositioned to in such a straight forward way.  He stared at her reddening cheeks with a tiny twisted smirk that made him look rather wicked, and she huffed.
“It’s a public locker room, Sousuke – “
“Yori.  It’s nine o’clock.  I doubt anyone’s planning to go for a late night swim.”  The words were logical but she still hesitated, floundering with the desire to acquiesce and with the fear of getting caught in such an embarrassing situation.  Besides, she could think of several guys who’d go for a late night swim.  The thought didn’t quell her fears.
Sousuke could tell he wouldn’t be getting anywhere.  Perhaps that was why he sighed almost lazily, reached out, and grabbed her wrist.  A moment later Yori was being pulled rather forcefully into the shower, clothes and all.  And Sousuke just smiled that almost blank smile, his eyes glittering with barely-there mirth as she exclaimed, “Sousuke!  You – “  Her words faltered because that was when she got a pretty good look at him and his very nude body.  She blushed and stuttered, “You’re naked.”  He smirked.
“Yes.  I’m showering after all,” he said dryly, then flicked his gaze over she own body, enjoying the way her soaked clothes had started clinging to her form.  She rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny that the situation was highly appealing.  It had been quite a while since they’d been together and seeing him like this was quickly wearing on her nerves, and her self control.
He tilted his head and reached for her, hands dragging her flush against his naked form.  Yori blushed when she felt his member press against her leg, and blushed even more when his hands began to slip beneath her shirt and raise it off her body.  His voice was soft when he murmured, “Since you’re showering too, I think you should take these off.  Don’t you agree?” 
“Mmm…” she might as well not fight it.  Yori hardly wanted to anyhow.  The fight had left her the moment she’d seen his gloriously bare body, and he was probably right: it was too late for people to possibly come for a swim.  They had the whole locker room to themselves to do as they pleased.  So she let him peel the layers of her clothes off one by one, dropping them just outside the curtain.  And then, when she was as bare as him, Sousuke pushed her gently against the wall and right beneath the spray of the water, drenching her in soft droplets that danced down her skin, between her breasts, over her naval. 
He knelt before her and licked at that water, dragging his tongue over her skin and burning fire through her veins.  His fingers, long and calloused, traced circles over her thigh.  And then he glanced up at her, smirked, and said, “Spread your legs.  It’s been ages since I’ve tasted you.”  Yori really thought her face was going to burn away, her blush was that hot.
She did as he asked, though not without a muttered, “Don’t be so crass.”  But her complaint died the moment he threw her leg over his shoulder and leaned forward to drag his tongue over the seam of her clit.  The trembling way she shook had him grunting, his member hardening from her reaction.  He reached down to pump himself through his fingers as he sucked at her.  When she saw him doing this, she sighed through a desperate crush of desire, which hit her firmly in the chest, and moaned.
“We shouldn’t do this here,” she whispered, but even as she said it Yori knew she didn’t care.  They were just words, an empty husk of syllables that offered no real argument.  Sousuke knew this too.  He chuckled and the vibrations sent her head spinning, her hips arching as a whimpered ragged moan was plucked from her throat.  And that was when she just decided that she didn’t care, she’d let him do whatever he wanted as long as the pleasure could be hers as well.  And it quite clearly would be, if he kept this up.
“Mmm…Sousuke…I want to touch you, too,” she moaned, hands threading into his hair.  He paused, shoulders stiffening from the pleasure of that moan, the way it made him want to crush her against him and fuck her hard.  He’d never done it standing up but perhaps he’d have to rectify that.  Because he doubted he’d be able to wait until they got back to his dormroom, granted that Rin was gone.  They rarely had the privacy to invest in such delightful undertakings, and had to take advantage of it when they did.  Which was why Sousuke hummed and leaned back, lips bruised from kissing and nibbling and sucking, and he murmured, “Go on then.  I’m already pretty hard.”
He really was.  His member stood ready between his legs, proud and stiff and hot.  He leaned back against the wall of the shower and Yori followed him down, water cascading over their bodies in the tiny little square cubicle.  And yet it was large enough to straddle him and grasp his cock, stroking it with eager fingers.
He didn’t moan, didn’t cry out, hardly let any of his pleasure known.  But from the way his eyes drifted over her, sparking with a fire that she swore she felt everywhere, Yori knew his arousal was startling in its intensity.  Probably because it had been so long since she’d properly had him.  She would make it up to him tonight, that was a certainty.
She gave him a little smirk and his eyes flashed in interest, watching as she slowly shifted her hips and replaced them with her hand.  Sousuke grunted, wrapped his arms around her waist, and brushed her against his chest.  His hard length burned her, made her gasp out as she felt fire thrill through her veins.
“Sousuke,” she murmured, clutching his shoulders and rocking her hips against him.  God that felt good.  Somehow knowing that he was as aroused as she was felt amazing.  The knowledge and proof of it had her head spinning, and spinning, and spinning still.  Even after he had tilted his hips and was slowly pushing into her.
“Nnnmph!” she gasped, clenching down on his girth.  He bit his lip and held his breath, fingers digging into her hips as he let her adjust to him.  She was tight and hot, and that couple with her wet body made it very difficult for him to stay still.
“Mmm…are you ready?  Can I move?”  he buried his face against her shoulder and felt it tremble, though whether it was from passion or something else he didn’t know.  When she grasped her fingers into his hair and began to haltingly jolt her hips into his, he decided it was passion.  Definitely.
“Yes, God yes.  Move.  I want to feel you,” she whispered, and he thought he would burst from the sound of her voice alone.  Husky, low, and dripping with raw desire.  He laughed a little, breathless laugh that had everything to do with his own lost self control, and gave her a rather sinister smile.  “If you insist,” he murmured, and did as she asked.  The next moment he was surging his hips upward, melding them against hers and pushing his length as deeply into her as he could in their current position.  And in return, she sunk down as well, letting herself be filled with him.  Letting him show her how it felt to be alive and loved.
What a feeling it was.  She breathed in his breath, tumbled her fingers over his skin, kissed his shoulder and his chin and his mouth.  And Sousuke grunted, moved his lips with hers and grasped her rear with tight, delicious fingers, guiding her against him.  Her head spun so wildly that she hardly even realized she was coming moments later.  But when she did, it was such an uncontrollable feeling that she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stare at him in wonder and crash against the brilliant shades of her passion. 
The water pelted down on them and Sousuke watched it trail over her body.  He hummed and leaned forward, still hard inside her even as she clenched deliciously around his shaft.  He nipped at her ear and growled a low, “Keep going.”  That she of course listened to, because she wanted to bring him pleasure as well, even if her own pleasure was momentarily put on hold.
She kept going.  She rushed forward, shifted her hips, felt her skin slap quietly against his.  And somehow, somewhere, Sousuke started to lose himself too.  He curled his arms around her and dragged her close to his chest, pressing her breasts against him and watching her lower body move over his.  The sight was enough to make him crazy, and he clutched her ever harder as he let himself go.
“Ah…” he shuddered, quietly drowning against her.  Yori held him and let him sink against her, head buried against her chest as he breathed hard.  “…Mmm.  Come here.”  He leaned back and she followed, their wet bodies sliding easily together as the water glistens down. 
It was a beautiful feeling, she thought, being wrapped up in his arms and the embrace of the water.  Letting the warmth of them both linger through her, washing her with brilliant beautiful memories.  And as she tilted her head to kiss his cheek, Yori decided she should come looking for him here more often. 

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

A Xanxus Lemon -- Bruise Me Blind

Character: Xanxus

Fandom: Katekyo HItman Reborn!

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: I used a lot of swears in this.  Like a lot.  It’s actually a much more m-rated lemon than I usually write so proceed with caution.  ;3

Okay, so you did it on purpose.  It wasn’t like you happened to acquire a packet of this stuff every day.  In hindsight, you wholeheartedly blamed Doctor Shamal for having the audacity to suggest the idea in the first place.  You supposed it was also his fault for giving you the necessary…ingredients.  Well, Xanxus could complain all he liked, but he’d thank you soon enough – you hoped.
“Fuck.  Fuck this.  What the fuck did you put in my fucking wine you piece of fucking trash?”  He looked pretty furious.  That was fine.  You were okay with fury.  And that was why you smirked, crossed your arms, and proceeded to incite his wrath even more.  When you held up the (empty) packet the good Doctor had given you earlier, Xanxus paled.  He knew enough about his own body to know that there was no fucking way he’d get a rock hard boner just from sitting around all day.  And he knew enough about your manipulating little mind to know that you planned this.  The rock hard boner that is.  His anger, too.  He always knew you were a masochist.
He stiffened when your eyes drifted down to stare indulgently at the extremely impressive erection currently taking up the majority of his trousers.  The fabric was thin, expensive, and not good at hiding this sort of thing.  This thing being a painfully, surreally fucking hard cock – but let’s not get redundant.  You smirked and he glared.  Not particularly uncommon.
No, but what was uncommon was the way Xanxus was gripping the arms of his chair, his knuckles stark white against his tan coloring.  His overall posture was highly unnatural, and extremely different from his usual, slumped, eyes-half-closed-cause-I’m-fucking-napping-you-cunt demeanor.  This time he looked almost…uncomfortable.  It was really intriguing.  Hot, too.
You supposed you shouldn’t have been very surprised that he was uncomfortable.  It wasn’t as if he’d expected to get a boner in the middle of the afternoon.  And what a remarkable piece of anatomy he had.  You could quite clearly see that it was huge and quite frankly the implications of this was making you rather aroused.  Eyes dark with lust, you turned your gaze to his face.  He looked positively murderous.  Some of that savage anger leaked into his voice when he ordered, “Lock the door, trash.”
You shivered, paused, then decided that perhaps it would be better to obey him for now.  At least he didn’t intend to send you away without making you help him.  The thought of doing that had you near to collapsing in shivers right there on the floor.  But somehow you managed to make your way to the door and do as he commanded, regardless of the stifling sexual tension in your body.
“You’re going to deal with this problem.  And you know how?” he asked, voice low and husky and so so angry that you could barely breathe.  Only stare and try not to pass out for lack of oxygen.  But Holy God above you have never been so aroused by the sight of a fully clothed man.  You swore you could feel your lower body combusting into tiny little orgasms just from eyeing that massive –
“Answer the question, trash,” he growled, and surged from the chair, his height tall and imposing, his thighs huge, muscled – and the sight between them nothing short of inspiring.  You answered with a barely coherent, “How?” but it seemed to be good enough for him, because after a moment he scoffed, grabbed your shoulders, and pushed you onto your knees.  You were inches from him.  Centimeters lay between your mouth and the most impressive package you had ever seen and would ever come to know.
“First you’re going to suck me off, then you’re going to let me fuck you.”  And then he grabbed the back of your head and smashed your face against the front of his trousers and that hard arousal, growling a husky, “Unzip my fucking pants, trash.”  It must’ve been a dream come to life.
You reached up and palmed him through his pants, and when you took a little too long to actually undo his zipper, Xanxus tightened his grip of your hair and gave you a warning glare.  After that you went faster, tugging the zipper down and undoing the button with shaky fingers.  Then you slowly peeled the fabric off of his hips and watched in an entanglement of utter awe and disbelief as his member sprang free and curled upward towards his stomach.  He was fucking huge.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.  His hand reached down to give himself a few quick strokes.  The sight made you wetter than ever.  You swore your underwear was completely ruined.  It got even worse when he grabbed your chin, tilted your head up, and shoved the tip of his cock against your lips.  If he wasn’t still clenching the back of your head with his other hand, you probably would have fainted on the spot.  Instead you just opened your mouth. 
He was iron hard and much bigger than you could have imagined.  Rough, too.  So much so that, when he decided you were going too slow for his liking, he all but shoved the rest of his member down your throat without warning.  You choked, eyes watering because while you weren’t entirely new to this deep-throat business, you were not prepared for it.  Your hands immediately flew up to grasp at the edges of his trousers, which were now splayed against his thighs.  Your nostrils flared as you tried to steady your now limited breathing.  You had a feeling your face was turning red, and not only because of the lack of oxygen. 
He rocked his hips back and shoved them forward again, making you take his entire length whole, and then repeating the motion until your throat was practically numb and your gag reflex was all but vanished.  And then when you thought for sure that he was going to come down your throat and make you swallow everything (not that you were planning on complaining of course), Xanxus abruptly pulled away.  You barely registered the way he hoisted you to your feet.  Barely even knew he was stripping you down until cold air blasted its way across your chest.
You didn’t complain about that, either.  This was what you wanted.  His anger and his desire was what made you excited.  And so even when you ripped your jeans away and began to roughly fondle your body, you could only stand there was watch him through half closed eyes. 
He scoffed, sneered, and muttered, “Che.  You shameless piece of trash.  This is what you get for taking advantage of me.”  Odd, hearing him say that, especially when his hands were roughly groping your breasts, tugging at your nipples, leering down to slip past your panties.  Oh God, those fingers –
“You’re fucking soaked through you little slut.  I could shove it in right now and you’d love it, wouldn’t you?”  You moaned at his words, at the way he was making you pound even harder.  And he felt you pound, felt it against his fingers as he tore three of them inside you at once.  You were like a white hot furnace that pulsed over him and he couldn’t wait to get his cock into that tight little hole of yours – it would feel so fucking good –
“No…you have to work for it,” he decided, stopping his thoughts from taking a hold of his control.  He wanted to make you pay for your insolent actions.  And so instead of taking you right there, right then, Xanxus merely chuckled that furious chuckle and stepped back to his chair.  The next moment he was sitting down, his cock standing straight up as he took on his familiar slumped posture.  But this time there was nothing even remotely sleepy about him.  In fact, he looked about ready to pounce at you, and that of course only made the pounding of your lower body that much worse.
“Come here then.  And face the door,” he drawled, waving his hand in an almost dismissive way, as though he was talking about something mundane and not at all associated with fucking.  You stepped forward on shaky legs.  Every step felt like you would fall at any moment.  For the life of you, you had no idea how you managed to get all the way to that chair without doing so.  But then desire did funny things to a person.  It gave them strength where there should only be ragged, untempered weakness.
You turned to face the door and immediately felt his large hands roughly grab your hips.  And then you were falling, right into his lap, right against his gloriously stiff cock, which pressed into your backside like raw fire.  You gave a little surprised squeak that sounded rather undignified – but then again dignity was one thing you didn’t have at the moment, and you were relatively okay with that.  Just as long as you could get your fill of him.  Which you did, of course, not long after when he hoarsely demanded, “Lift your hips and lean forward, trash.” 
You swung your legs on either side of his and slid your hands onto his knees, lifting your hips and leaning forward as he ordered.  And then you could feel the tip of him spreading the skin of your core, and well, he pretty much did the rest himself.  He dragged you back down, till your back was flush against his chest and his cock was suddenly scraping inside you.  And the way he filled you so suddenly and so intensely had you biting your lip and moaning – moaning like you never did before.  Because fuck it all, he was fucking huge and felt so damn good inside you.
His hands locked around your stomach.  His teeth roughly scraped over your shoulder as he leaned in to kiss it, bite it, lick it.  Against you he chuckled darkly and muttered, “Now it’s your turn, [Name].”  And his hand came down to slap your hip rather hard, annunciating his words and silently telling you to fucking earn your keep, and your redemption.
But it was harder than you’d thought, doing it like this.  Your movements were shaky and felt incomplete.  No matter how hard you rocked forward, it wasn’t enough.  You couldn’t feel him the way you fiercely needed to, and he seemed to find this amusing almost.  You could practically feel his smugness in the way he leaned back and watched your struggles.  It was damned hot but desperate too, this endeavor.  And you really did have to earn it, it seemed, because he was making absolutely no effort to help you along.
After a while of this helpless battle of yours, you frowned and glanced at him over your shoulder, meeting his gaze with an emboldened, pouty stare.  “Xanxus – “  But he didn’t let you finished your silly little plea.  All he did was sneer at you and say, “This is what you fucking deserve after spiking my drink with a fucking aphrodisiac.”  You could have cried.  In fact you almost thought you were about to, but perhaps that was just the effects of the ragged, despairing desire clinging to your every muscle.
“But Xanxus – God, this isn’t fair – I want you to fuck me!” you cried, and your words must have done something to him, because his fingers tightened around your waist. 
He swallowed thickly and then sneered again, wrapping his arms around you and brushing his fingers over the top of your clit.  Stars immediately jumped into your vision, clenching dramatically around the edges of your sight as you moaned and fell back into his body.  Your hips jerked.  A few of those desperate tears leaked out of your eyes.
“Fuck you?” he drawled, teeth sinking into your neck.  You cried out again when his hips suddenly came up in a powerful, lurching thrust that left you more than just breathless.  You swore your entire soul was crumbling, decomposing right out of your body.
“Y-y-yes, fuck yes, fuck me hard, fuck me with your huge cock – fuck me Xanxus, ffff-oooohhhhhh!” your babbling was put to an abrupt halt when he suddenly jerked you back, flipped an arm beneath your legs, and somehow managed to get you to sitting sideways in his lap, his wet cock plastered between your bodies and dripping from your juices.
“Che.  You don’t know what you just asked for,” he muttered.  Then he was standing and dragging you into his arms, heaving you up for only a matter of seconds before depositing you down into his chair, where he had only just been sitting.  You found yourself on your knees, rear in the air as you clutched to the back of the seat.  And you barely had the chance to figure out what just happened (your mind was still sluggishly catching up), before his knee was bracing against yours and his cock was slamming into you from behind.
“Oh fuck!” you cried, knuckles white, tears streaming down your face.  It was pleasure like no other: raw, uninhibited, and filled with wretched loathsome darkness that puckered at the corners of your mind and forced you into blindness.  Every thrust was rough, domineering, bruising in its wholeness.  Every motion coupled with a satisfied grunt as Xanxus pounded into you ruthlessly, without mercy, without even bothering to see if he was breaking you or not.  He made darkness beautiful, as well as a multitude of other things you hadn’t the mind to think of.   Because you were rather sure you’d lost yours somewhere between ‘suck my cock, trash’, and ‘enjoy the ride’ (spoken in so many words).
“You like that, don’t you you little harlot?” he panted, watching your body tremble into that chair.  He’d never seen you in such a wreck and it was a sight he’d not soon forget.  He intended to take you for everything you were worth and more.
His hand came down to roughly slap your ass and you cried out, mumbling back a slurred, “Yessss…oh God yes…I fu-fucking l-lo-love it!”  And you did.  He could see it in the way your hips tore back in a useless attempt to meet his.  Useless, because he was in absolute control and he wouldn’t allow you to have any say in this.  He slapped you again because he liked watching your ass redden at the touch, and he liked hearing the cry that left your throat after each one.
“You want me to fuck you harder, don’t you?” he grunted, wondering if that was even possible.  But when you whimpered out your (very positive) response, he decided to fuck it all to hell, he might as well try.  And so he paused briefly to heave one leg up into the air, twisting your body to the side and throwing the limb up over his arm.  You gasped in surprise, met his eyes with that shocked expression, and immediately crumbled at the sight of him shifting closer and slamming back into you.  Oh yes, he could most certainly fuck you harder like this, however shaky and uncertain the movements ultimately were.
“Oh yes, yes yes!” you babbled, staring at your bodies and the way they roughly united.  He was bruising you and it would hurt like hell later on, but fuck, it felt amazing.  So amazing that you thought you were going to die at any moment – but that was just your orgasm, which was quickly taking your breath away and making your chest hollow from lack of air. 
“Yes!” you chanted, crying, clutching at the chair.  He was making you crazy, each thrust taking you for all you were worth and pushing your limits in more ways than one.  And that was how you came, so quickly that you barely knew you were coming until you were in the thick of it. 
You clenched down around his cock so hard that Xanxus groaned at the feeling, at those tight little muscles pounding against him.  He shoved his member deeper into you, drowning in the wet fire, wondering why he’d never done this before.  Because it was fucking better than anything he’d ever had.  And somehow doing it like this, in his chair, in this tangled position, was hotter than anything he could have imagined.
“God damn fucking trash!” he grunted, and spilled his seed inside you before he could even try to stop himself, not that he would have anyhow.  But your muscles clenching around him was enough to make him lose his control and he didn’t even care.  All he cared about was watching with smug pride as his cum dripped down your thighs and made your hole wetter than ever.  And fuck your stupid little aphrodisiac, because he was still so damned hard that he could hardly draw breath.
He pulled away before you were ready for him to, and without his body there to hold you up, you slumped down into the chair in a boneless heap of limbs.  When you glanced up at him, your eyes popped and you gaped at the way he was still rock hard and glaring down at you in barely tempered lust.  You must have used more of that stuff than you’d thought.  Then again, the idea of fucking Xanxus all day didn’t exactly upset you.  You smirked up at him, swung your legs apart in what was very possibly the your most shameless move yet, and drawled, “Let’s fuck again, Xanxus.”
Well, he didn’t exactly disappoint.  The door stayed locked for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening.

Monday, February 16, 2015

A Thorin Oakenshield Lemon -- Siphoning Steel

Character: Thorin Oakenshield

Fandom: The Hobbit

OC: Fallon, a dwarf, red hair blue eyes

Inspiration: This is long overdue, sorry for the wait!  I think I might’ve gotten carried away a little but oh well :3

You doubted you’d ever get used to it.  It had all happened so quickly, after all.  One day you were a simple dwarf, a commoner.  The next you were a queen.  The title still shook you down and you often floundered at the endless responsibilities that awaited you each day, unused to ordering people around and holding yourself with the dignity that was now expected of you.  No, you doubted you’d ever get used to it.  And yet there was one thing you could grow accustomed to.  Something that made you warm and happy even in the midst of your suddenly foundationless life.
Ukrâduh?  Are you still awake?” [1]  Lost amid your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the door of your chamber opening, nor the sudden presence of your husband of only a few months approaching.  The sight of him made you smile, relief somehow saturating you merely from the knowledge that he was there.  He stepped closer to your place beside the mantle and the hearth flickered golden against his strong features.  His arms gently encircled your waist and he laid his chin upon your shoulder with a soft sigh, nuzzling you with his long, sharp nose.
“It’s very late.  You should be sleeping,” he murmured, but there was a pleased note in his tone that told you he was glad you were not.  The duties of running a kingdom had rather taken over his life and you rarely saw each other during the day, except at mealtimes and during the customary time allotted to hearing the disputes of his people.  Your people.  The reminder whispered at you as you leaned back into your husband’s embrace.  You were Thorin’s wife now and the dwarves of Erebor were your people as well.  Thorin their king, you their queen.  As you looked at him now, the thought didn’t seem nearly as daunting as it did during daylight.
There was a tender look in his eyes as he took you in, turning you in his arms and slipping his hands around you to your lower back.  The gentle, almost sacred way he drew you against him had you craving a different sort of touch, but that would have to wait.  Thorin reached up to stroke calloused fingers against your pale, smooth cheek, and then murmured, “What’s wrong?  You look distraught, Fallon.”  Your name was spoken with just as much tenderness if not more, and the sound of it had you near to collapsing from relief.  In public he followed the codes expected of him and called you his Queen.  Only at times such as these was he allowed to use your true name, and it felt wonderful and heady as it sloped over his low, thick voice.
You shook and he frowned, holding you up against his chest as if he were cradling a small babe.  His strength had always impressed you, but his gentleness amazed you and never ceased to catch you off guard.  That a muscled, burly warrior such as himself could be so soft and tender toward you left you reeling in several different ways.
“Sit down,” he said, still frowning.  He led you to the richly upholstered chair that sat by the fire and helped you into it, his large hands never leaving yours as he knelt down before you.  “Now, tell me what’s bothering you, Ukrâduh.  I can see that something is.”  His nickname for you had you sighing, leaning forward to brush your fingers into his hair in an almost idle fashion.
Finally, you spoke, and you noted with satisfaction that your voice was calm even as the rest of you was not.  “It is nothing, Thorin,” you softly said, taking his marriage braid between your fingers and running it through your touch.  The intricate beadwork that had gone into its completion bumped over your fingers.  You lifted the thick braid to your lips and kissed the final, larger bead at the end of it.  The unique bead that merged the two separate runes of your houses together.  All the while he watched, his stormy eyes quite clear in the flickering firelight, and you knew you weren’t convincing enough.
You gave him a smile and sighed, knowing that he was too astute and stubborn to let you go without explanation.  He had no doubt seen your worries long before now, had watched them build as you took on more and more responsibilities.  He was not worried for you, because he knew your strength of character and knew you’d be just fine.  No, his concern lay elsewhere, in the gentle divide of your now contradicting roles: to be his Queen, and to be his wife.
He took your hands and clasped them into his own, kissing your fingers firmly.  “I know you are weary from your duties.  You fear you are not enough, that the people will never see you as their queen.  You worry over your common upbringing.  Am I wrong?”  No, he was not.  In fact he was right about everything, so much so that it surprised you.  And yet you knew it shouldn’t have, for Thorin had always been able to see you for what you were and then some.  Except this time, he had missed one thing.  The one thing that was the most important, and the greatest source of your concern.
You looked down at slowly said, “No.  You’re not wrong.  I…I don’t know if I…if I have any right to be queen…”  you wanted to say more, but the words failed you, and Thorin took advantage of your silence to look up at you in contemplation, his eyes dark and heady, his face shadowed by the dim light.
“And do you feel you have the right to be my wife?” he said rather suddenly, and if you had not known him as you did, you’d have thought he sounded angry.  But it was not anger that caught his eyes, but stubbornness and the desire to prove a point.  You smiled and murmured, “I believe I have that right, husband.”  And he smiled back, the corner of his mouth quirking up.  The little smile did wonders to the rest of his face and turned him into a much younger man, bereft of responsibility and the need to uphold his duties.
“Good,” he replied simply, with a nod of approval.  “Then that is good enough for me.”  His words were honest and you thrummed with pleasure at them, tightening your fingers around his hands and smiling.  But then your smile waned as your main concern hit you square in the chest, and you haltingly wondered, “But Thorin…is it really enough for you?  We barely see each other now.  It hardly feels like we’re married at all.”
He blinked up at you, measuring your words with calm indifference, and then gave a little mmhmph as if in agreement.  His eyes danced over you for a brief moment, lingering on the lace of your thin nightdress, the slender crane of your neck as it merged into your shoulder then into the wing of your collar.  He idly reached up to trace that collar, his rough fingers sending jolting shivers down your spine as he digested your words.  You saw the wheels spin in his eyes and knew without a doubt where his thoughts had turned, for a fire now kindled against his gaze and seemed to burn right through the thin stays of your gown.
“I may have a cure for your worries,” he said, almost gruffly, and yet his voice was so smooth and burring that it sounded almost like the soft trickle of water over rock.  He sent you that quirked smile and rose to his feet, fingers casually reaching up for the hem of his tunic.  He lifted it over his head and dropped the soft, vibrant fabric to the floor. 
Your eyes immediately darkened with desire, for the sight of him now made you shaky and raw.  He was magnificent, his chest proudly muscled: a testament to his hardships as well as his fortunes.  Dark hair layered over his skin, skirting around equally dark nipples before darting down to disappear into his trousers.  He watched you watch him for a long moment, prideful at the way you clenched the arms of your chair with desire.  Then he stepped forward to take your arms and help you to your feet.  “Lay with me tonight,” he murmured, dragging you close against him, “Let me have you as a husband would have his wife.” 
His hand reached up to caress your breast, engulfing it and rolling your hard nipple against his large palm.  Your eyes fluttered at the feeling, at the way you immediately reacted to him.  Your skin burned with sudden desire, and you tilted your head up in silent question.  He acquiesced.  The moment his mouth took yours you shivered, sinking against his warm, sturdy chest and letting him grasp you tightly, kiss you headily.  His lips were rough-but-smooth, hot and talented.  He brought you to delirium just from dragging that kiss against you, burning it into your soul and leaving you gasping from the trembling onslaught of passion.
“Thorin,” you whispered, as a priest might whisper the name of his God.  The reverent sacredness that rolled into each syllable had him moaning.  The deep leathery sound drifted right into your skin and made gooseflesh rise like tiny armies, which assaulted your every emotion.  And the hand that squeezed you moved up to touch your face, cup your cheek, turning your head to the side and deepening his kiss with a generous sigh.
It hadn’t been all that long since you’d felt this intimacy, but the last two weeks had seen Thorin very busy indeed.  You often retired before him, leaving him to his thoughts and his work.  And sometimes he didn’t even return to your shared rooms until late at night when you were fast into your dreams.  And he’d crawl into bed with you and bundle you up against him, far too exhausted from the day’s duties to think of anything but sleep.  It was a very welcomed thing, to feel his desire now as it grew against your naval; to know that, late as it was, it was never too late to enjoy the liberties that married life provided.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” he murmured, fingers smoothing down your back as he pressed his mouth to your chin.  The trail of his lips cascaded down your neck.  He nibbled at your collar and slowly grasped your nightdress, pulling it up your legs and hips and breasts, until it was nothing more than a shapeless mass beside his tunic.  And, naked as you were then, Thorin let out a darkly pleased moan of appreciation, reaching up to cup both breasts with his hands and resting his forehead against your shoulder as if sharing in your strength.
It occurred to you then that perhaps this was precisely what he was doing.  His own strength was battered from his suddenly royal life.  The last few months since the coronation had seen a great many changes in his daily happenings.  The most difficult one to accept had been the transition from a life of absolute freedom in the wilderness to the restrictive kingship he had now. 
That he was troubled with his role had not occupied your thoughts, silly as it was.  You had selfishly thought you were alone in your worries, that Thorin had nothing to fear, for he had been born a prince and knew how to rule over a people.  Except that he didn’t, not really, because the brunt of his life had not been spent in royal halls.  Rather he had wandered aimlessly through inns and taverns, from village to village, without a home to return to or a kingdom to rule.  Foolish of you to only now begin to see the extent of his own hardships.
“You needn’t apologize,” you whispered, threading your fingers once more into his hair.  “We’ve both been busy,” you added, and brought his head up so as to look him in the eye.  He smiled at you, relieved to be in your presence, to have this easy intimacy, and you leaned in to kiss him gently.  As you did, your fingers tugged at the laces of his breeches and he moaned, catching your face and kissing you harder as you peeled the layers of fabric away.  When he was as bare as you, strong and towering against the firelight, you took his hand and led him toward the bed. 
When you got to your destination, you crawled onto the mattress and knelt down in the silk sheets, catching his dark lustful eyes and patting the place beside you.  “Come here and let me touch you,” you said, and saw him shiver at the words.  He sat down facing you, kneeling as well, and you immediately straddled him.  The ragged breath he let out had you shivering, bolts of passion spearing your center and making you delirious with it.
Sitting atop his thighs, his hardened member created a firm but thankful barrier between the two of you, and yet you didn’t touch him quite yet.  Instead you moved your fingers to his shoulders to press against the strained muscles, taking pleasure in doing this for him, in dissolving the physical fatigue that plagued him.  His muscles were tense and hard: years upon years of built up discomfort.  It would take years still to unravel him properly, to see him collapsed and melted.  But the gentle rhythm of your hands still made him sigh with pleasure.  He tucked you against him, arms wrapped snugly around your shivering form, and collapsed in a different way.
“Mahal, I love you,” he breathed, kissing your neck.  You moved to scrape your nails down his back and he moaned, his own fingers digging softly into your waist.  His words shattered you.  The phrase always did, for the thought of being loved by a dwarf as great as he was staggering in its complexity, and in its simplicity.
“Show me,” you demanded, thumbing over the beard that covered his jaw.  The hair tickled you, creased against your fingers and had your breath tumbling faster.  Your chest heaved from the emotions of being near him.  You wondered yet again how every part of him could induce such tremors within you, but you hadn’t the time to nor the desire to merely speculate.  You needed physical touch, and he was all too happy to accommodate.
Thorin chuckled at the tone your voice took.  He’d grown used to calling it your ‘queen voice’, for it was the voice you often used when you were forced to bear the mantle of your newly appointed station.  It was a voice of determination, of pride, and it resonated through you flawlessly.  As if you were meant to carry it, meant to use it.  And for tonight he would become your servant, and answer to all your whims with delighted abandon.
“Very well, my queen,” he murmured huskily, then splayed his hand against your back and lowered you into the sheets.  You allowed it, because the moment he was nestled against your core you remembered how heavenly it was.  The hairs of his chest tickled over your skin.  The burn of his length pressed hotly to your thigh.  And you knew instinctively that the night was yet young, and that it would be shortly filled in numerous ways.
“And how would you have me prove my affection?” he murmured, eyes twinkling from beneath his dark brow.  The fire’s light was muffled now, separated as you were from its warmth.  Shadows puckered over his face and gave him a darkly appealing demeanor, as if he were ready to devour you whole.  You thought perhaps he was, perhaps he wanted to, and was merely waiting for you to command it.
And so you smirked up at him and whispered, “I should think it obvious.  Take me.  Make me breathless.  Remind me why I married you.”  The last sentence was added cheekily, and Thorin chuckled. 
His hands generously touched you, massaging over your breasts as he dipped his mouth to taste them.  “Oh?  Did you marry me only for physical pleasure?”  He knew you were joking and happily contributed, sounding not as a battle hardened king but rather a young lad in the midst of female exploration.  You laughed shortly, briefly, a gentle hiccup of sound that died even faster.  His fingers had found their way between your legs and he was brushing over the hairs that pattered over your core, sinking indulgently into the seam of wetness. 
Your face turned serious and he watched you curiously, studying and memorizing each emotion that spluttered over your cheeks and twisted your mouth.  You arched just a little, pushing your hips further into his hand, then breathlessly said, “I married you because I’m in love with you, Thorin, my king, âzyungel.” [2]
The reverence that your voice then took had him pausing, expression faltering into the sort of despair that love often brought to light.  He let out a deep breath.  Each second that it lasted was a second blown to pieces, shattered so completely that all you could do was stare up at him and wait for him to move.  When he did, it was with another deep sigh that, this time, seemed to penetrate right through his soul and straight into yours. 
“You make my head spin,” he admitted with a desperate kiss pressed tight to your mouth.  His body crushed over yours, but the weight was soothing: a comfort that tied you closer to him.  He planted firm kisses over your mouth, murmuring between them, “I feel lost without you.  Every day drags when you aren’t by my side.” 
His tongue raced over your lip and plunged into your parted mouth, writhing with yours with such abandon that you hardly remembered to draw breath.  Chest heaving, Thorin cupped your breast once more and squeezed, dragging a whimpered moan from your throat.  The kiss quickened: a raging battle of teeth and tongue and lust, such unbearable lust that had you drowning into silk sheets and against roughly hewn skin.
“I’m here now,” you gasped, head tilting up as if you were resurfacing from a deep lake and drawing thankful lungfuls of air.  And then, breathless still and shaking from that lust, you moaned and cried, “Take me, Thorin, before I die from the agony!”  For you were pounding, pulsating, waiting to be filled by him.  And you knew he was the same, because you could feel his desire spiking against you, hard like the stone of his mountain, sharp like the steel he used to mold.
He chuckled but didn’t delay, and was pushing into you moments later and sighing out at the feeling of completion.  “As my queen commands,” he muttered, eyes shining as he thrust your hips down.  You gasped, trembled, clung to him as the girth and size of his length tore through you.  It was a beautiful feeling.  It was beautiful and so very raw. 
His body had always taken your breath away.  The graceful but strong lines of each limb, each muscle collided with yours.  He moved like a king, with the power and authority of one; and yet he moved also as a warrior, his poise elegant and agile, his body scarred, tattooed and tanned, but refined.  Like siphoned steel, melted down and changed, beat into the curve of a blade.  And he speared you now, punctured you with both his body and his heart.  His eyes were full of life and full of his love for you, brimming over into the watery essence of frantic, almost violent joy.
Your fingers pressed that wetness away, saying nothing, for nothing needed to be said.  Thorin turned his head and pressed a kiss to your palm, closing his eyes momentarily before grunting and hovering closer, hips shifting faster.  He gathered you up into his arms, your head laying atop them, your body caged within his. 
And he took you like that, until you writhed and thrashed from the powerful, surging pleasure.  Until he moaned and pressed his forehead to yours and drew you beneath the current of his desire for you.  You were both swept away then, as a river might sweep an unsuspecting victim.  Except if you were victims it was of your own violation, and you all but jumped into that boiling undercurrent with vehement moans and gasps and cries, until at last you found the shore and tumbled for it.
Still buried inside you, his finish dripping from your core, Thorin kissed you once again.  This kiss was different, slower, passionate with the gentle romance of two circling souls coming back to each other.  His tongue brushed against yours and you moaned, clinging to his shoulders as you felt his devotion burn the very threads of your being. 
And then, against his ardent mouth you hoarsely whispered, “Thorin…I think I want you again.”  In fact you’ve never wanted anything more, even though you were still full from him, even though the night beckoned you into its tender embrace.  But wide awake with passion, you would not find sleep.  And Thorin chuckled because the demand had his heart thrilling even as he wondered at his own dexterity.
“You’ll have to let me recover first, Ukrâduh,” he smiled, nuzzling his face into your hair and inhaling deeply.  “Mmm…but who am I to deny my queen what she desires most?”  You smiled and laughed, sitting up and skirting around behind him.  Your hands began to touch his back, continuing the massage you had started before, but in more depth.
Leaning down to kiss his broad shoulder, you murmured, “Thank you, Thorin.”  And he glanced over his shoulder, knowing that the expression of gratitude went much deeper than simply succumbing to your wishes.  You were still unsure of your own queenly duties, still hesitant about the responsibilities suddenly thrust upon you.  And yet you knew that with him beside you, you would be able to do anything, and you would share in his strength and become the queen he needed, and deserved.
Thorin merely reached for your hand, laying it in his lap and grasping it tightly as you pressed yourself against his back, closed your eyes, and took comfort in the man you had become queen for. 

[1] Ukrâduh … My greatest heart
[2] âzyungel … my love