Saturday, December 31, 2016

A Bucky Barnes Lemon -- Out With The Old

Character: Bucky Barnes

Fandom: The Avengers

OC: Camille Hughes, brunette, brown eyes, mischievous

Inspiration: Happy New Year's Eve guys!  Wanted to get this one up tonight for the occasion lol.  Hope you all enjoy it and that everyone has had a great 2016!  
Also, I switched back to the other format cause I got some comments that said they like the other one better/are impartial to the change, so I figured if it's not broke, don't fix it right? 
Anyway, hope you guys have a good night and I'll see you in 2017  ;)

Tony’s New Year parties are legend, for multiple reasons, but this year is even more so than usual.  Besides the copious amount of alcohol that, more often than not, leads to a complete contrast of morals, Tony goes out of his way to ensure that there are all kinds of crazy forms of entertainment available.  When one is drunk enough, even the bouncy house smashed into the corner looks fun.
Camille is used to these parties.  She’s been with the Avengers for several years now and Tony’s over the top celebrations hardly even faze her at this point.  The same cannot be said about the latest member of their group though.
Bucky Barnes looks utterly lost.
He’s been downing shots like a broken record for the past hour, though he’s as sober as he’d been when he buttoned up that impeccable suit and fumbled to make the tie look presentable.  His super soldier qualities apparently don’t make it easy for him to get drunk, because any normal person who be stone cold by now (and probably getting their stomach pumped at the hospital).
“Hi, soldier,” she greets, sidling up to him with a smile.  He gives her a forlorn, ‘what-am-I-doing-here?’ look and she laughs.  When she peers at the shot he’s currently cradling between three fingers, though, she starts coughing.
“Is that Petron?  Jesus, how do you not have alcohol poisoning by now?” she mutters to herself, and quickly intercepts the shot before he can down it.  It the bottle beside him is any indication, he’s already gone through nearly half of it.
Bucky frowns at her but doesn’t argue.  Too much.
“I’m trying to get so drunk that I won’t want to punch Tony in the face,” he tells her.  If anyone else had said those words, Camille would’ve thought they were joking.  But Bucky’s eyes are sincere, brimming with an honesty that makes her sigh.
“I think at this point, Tony is too wasted to care if you punch him.  He probably wouldn’t remember it anyway,” she mumbles to herself, and then reaches out to snatch up Bucky’s arm as he turns his body to face the crowd.  Shit – she doesn’t want to give him any ideas.  Regardless as to whether Tony deserves to be punched (she personally has her own list of reasons, compiled over the years), doing so at his own, public party would spell disaster.
With a stern glance at her aggravated soldier, Camille hooks her arm around his and pulls him from the bar stool. 
(Though technically she doesn’t pull him – he doesn’t get anywhere he doesn’t want to – the thought of replacing the alcohol with her sends funny little flutters through his body.  No, he lets her pull him.  Lets her clutch at him.  Her warmth at his side makes his heart clench and his skin hot.  And besides, the look she’s sending him isn’t exactly ‘come-hither-quality’, but he’ll take what he can get.)
“I know a place that’ll make the rest of your night much better,” she tells him.  In the low hanging lights of the bar, Bucky almost revokes his previous thought – there is something passionate that colors the edges of her eyes.  Something that certainly puts his complaints to rest.  (As if he’d even had any to begin with.)
He follows her.  What else is there to do?  He’d probably follow her anywhere.  Even when she brings him to the uppermost suite in the tower, he follows, though he’s a little bit confused as to where, exactly, she’s taking him.
He may have imagined that she’d bring him back to their own room.  Maybe exchange the gown for a robe, help him out of his constricting tie.  But instead he is brought into a room that looks about as luxurious as it does unfamiliar, and he idles by the door with an expression of confused contemplation written across his face.
“What’s going on?” he wonders, glancing at the luxurious furnishings with a distrusting eye.
Camille only laughs and pulls him across the room without even a second glance at the mahogany floors or the gold edged paintings or the 19th century bookshelves.  Instead she just leads him right to the balcony doors and throws them open.
A burst of freezing cold air hits him square in the chest, and even though his body runs extra warm, it still sends shivers running callously down his form.  Of course, the shivers could also be from the sight of the huge Jacuzzi waiting for them near the balcony railing.  He doesn’t need to be overly intelligent to realize why Camille dragged him all the way up here.
With a smirk, he steps onto the balcony.  The Jacuzzi is already hot, steam billowing up into the cold air.  It’s freezing out here, but Bucky hardly feels it.  Camille however…
She’s already laughing as she reaches behind her to unzip the sinfully tight dress she’d put on only hours before, shivering so much that Bucky is almost afraid she’ll turn into an icicle before she has the chance to even get into the hot tub.  He gruffly steps behind her to dutifully assist in the removal of her clothing.  He’s certainly not about to disagree with her plans at this point, especially considering how much planning has clearly gone into this.  The bottle of champagne and the two flute glasses waiting on the side of the Jacuzzi tells him that she has been waiting to surprise him with this for a while.
“More alcohol?” he wonders with a raised eyebrow, and she snorts.
“I didn’t think you’d drown yourself in vodka all night,” she mumbles, and pushes out a curse when her dress hits the ground and the frigid air thoroughly weaves through her.
And then it’s Bucky’s turn to curse, because Camille’s planning obviously has a little more to it than merely bringing up some champagne and turning the hot tub on.  She’s wearing absolutely nothing beneath her dress, and glances over at him with a smirk edged over with wicked amusement.
She laughs at the surprised hunger that quickly overtakes his expression, but doesn’t pause to admire it.  Instead she hurries over to the edge of the Jacuzzi and lowers herself into the steaming water with a pleased hiss.  Bucky watches every movement, drinking her in with a clenched jaw as arousal spins through him and catches him off guard.
It shouldn’t.  The moment he saw the hot tub he knew what it entailed.  Unless there are bathing suits hiding in one of those vintage dressers inside, there is only one way they are getting in this Jacuzzi.  He’s not sure if he’d ever gone skinny dipping before but doubts it.  Even with his limited memory regarding his old life, there aren’t many places to go skinny dipping in New York.  The waterways aren’t exactly clean, and there are no private pools in any of the neighborhoods he used to frequent.
“Are you coming or not?” Camille suddenly asks, looking over her shoulder to where he stands.  She’s dipped down to her chin, and every exhalation breathes a puff of white condensation into the air.  Unfortunately, he can’t see much of her from where he is, and that is something he really needs to fix.
“I’m coming,” he grumbles, though it’s only for show.  His grin only grows as he shucks off his suit jacket and tie.  His shirt and pants follows soon after, and he takes just a few seconds to gather up all their clothes and toss them back inside the suite, closing the door behind him. 
The little spark of forethought is due only to the concern that their clothes might freeze over by the time they get out, and they’d have to perform their own walk of shame in borrowed clothing.  (Stark would probably never let them live that down.)
Bucky goes to join her in the hot tub, slowly sinking down into the hot water with a sigh of relief.  It’s so hot that it stings for a moment before his body gets used to it.  After that, it’s pure heaven.
He shrugs his flesh arm around Camille and drags her into his side, peering down at her with a smirk.  From this position, he can see so much more and already feels a bolt of arousal spike through him. 
“Should we pop the champagne a little early?” Camille asks, tilting her chin up so she can look into his eyes.  He’s watching her with a dark look in his eyes and she knows exactly what it means.  With a giggle, she edges closer so that her breasts skim against him, and maneuvers a leg around his beneath the water.
Bucky swallows and growls out an impatient, “We’ve got an hour before midnight.  I can think of something else I’d rather do.” 
His hand dips against her skin, up her collar, around her neck – he moves his thumb over her chin and tilts her head back, pausing only a moment before he leans down the rest of the way to kiss her.
Camille sinks into him resolutely, fingers shifting up to curl into his hair and grasp at it.  A few weeks ago, he had cut it back to a normal length with the help of Steve, who’d been more than happy to shear off his ‘long, mangy hair’ for him.  Camille had mourned the change for about a day or so, but her thoughts took a sharp upward turn the moment she had seen Bucky all dressed up for Christmas Eve mass, which Steve invited them to attend with him.  The moment she had seen how utterly perfect he looked in a suit and tie and freshly shaven face, all her complaints died on the spot.
(She likes seeing his eyes, too.  They’re so much more expressive then they were before – more willing to crinkle at the edges with the bright efflorescent trace of a smile.)
Her drifting thoughts shatter the moment Bucky drags his hands around her waist and heaves her on top of him, rocking his hips up into hers and moving his mouth faster, fiercer, with all the desperation of a man getting very impatient.  At least if the sudden rock hard erection jutting against her stomach is anything to go by.
She moans and presses against him, rocking in gentle thrusts into his hard shaft as her mouth spins over his.  Bucky growls and heaves her closer, grasping her ass with tight desperate fingers and swearing deliciously against her lips.  One hand reaches up to cup her breast in a firm grip, lifting her into his hand and squeezing just softly enough for her to edge closer, wantonly needing more – always more.
“Bucky,” she murmurs, voice scraped together into the barest hint of a moan.  She captures his bottom lip between her teeth and drags it into her mouth, sucking at the skin as his mouth tumbles open into a moaning growl of his own.
Not for the first time, she thinks he’s too sexy for his own good, and he usually doesn’t even realize it.
He realizes it now, or at least he knows what he’s doing to her in this moment.  If he’s good at just one thing (out of many, truthfully), it is reading her when she’s in the throes of arousal and playing her passion out like a musician might pluck the strings of his instrument.  She certainly won’t complain if tonight, she plays that particular part.
“God,” she moans, whimpers almost, as she shucks her cunt against him.  The moment seems heavenly in a strange way that is probably connected to the subtle shift of romance brought in by the hot tub and the moon that hangs low in the sky.  She’s so glad she planned this out.  She’s positive that he is too.
She knows how crowded places make him uncomfortable, especially when they come in the form of wild, crazy parties with long guest lists.  Luckily, Tony has toned down his party lifestyle in recent years, so Bucky has only had to deal with such instances a few times.  Still, she knows he hates them.  There are too many places to hide in plain sight; too many allowances for enemies to get in.
But here on this balcony in the roiling steam, here between their naked bodies as they have their own New Year celebration, there is absolutely no discomfort burning through his gaze or turning his body to stone with stiff wariness.  No – his body has become hard with a different kind of emotion, tense with desire and not tempered fear.
She reaches a hand down below the water and curls her fingers around his cock, enjoying the way he inhales sharply and looks down to watch the way she begins to pump him.  The water turns each touch into some strange, efflorescent fantasy come to life – ghostly touches that feel like they come straight out of a dream full of bared skin and breathy sighs.  And yet, the grounded way she grasps him, tight enough for him to feel but loose enough to entertain such a gentle notion of almost-innocence makes Bucky moan and tip his head back.
He is frankly too distracted to keep kissing her.  Instead he merely rests his hands at her hips and focuses on the way she pulls and pushes desire straight into his bones.
Camille watches him with low tempered eyes that scream out desire.  Does he even know how beautiful he is?  The moonlight streams over his skin and lights it up in an almost reverent way.  His eyes flutter closed, jaw clenched hard as the muscles of his throat enunciate against his skin.  His body is perfect, and though he would argue against such a claim, she thinks she’s never had a thought more true.  His uniqueness is perfection – every flaw, every shortcoming – and in a moment of tenderness, Camille leans down to kiss his neck, then his collar, then finally his shoulder, near the skin that shares a border with his metal arm.
Bucky’s eyes fly open at the kiss.  He’s always been highly aware of his metal arm, and with that awareness comes a heavy helping of conscientious offense to the fabricated part of him made entirely by his enemies.  He will never understand how easily Camille accepts every part of him, even the parts he loathes the most. 
With a long exhale, Bucky reaches up to touch her head, spinning his fingers over her hair silently.  Her hand pauses as it grasps him below the water and she raises her head up to look at him.  The expressive softness in his gaze takes her breath away.
He leans down to kiss her, but this time there is no teeth or bites, no furious desire, no desperate passion.  This time there is a certain gentleness to his lips as they caress hers, and she knows him well enough by now to know what he is trying to communicate to her.
She kisses him back, dragging her palm more slowly over his cock as she does.  He shudders beneath her, sighing out against her mouth.  But he doesn’t rush her, doesn’t try to spur her on.  Her pace is her own.  He’ll give her that freedom, for now.
She uses it well, bringing him nearly to the point of orgasm with her slow kisses and pliable touches.  He’s rocking up into her hand before he’s even aware of it, and is murmuring, “Doll, if you keep doing that…”
A shot of warm pleasure burns through her at the pet name and she chuckles.  He only calls her that when he’s feeling particularly provoked, regardless of whether that provocation stems from.  In this case, she’s got a pretty solid idea as to the emotion behind the word.
“Am I making you crazy?” she asks, whispers really, her voice a breathy sigh that gets muffled against his mouth as he slowly devours hers. 
He hums against her in agreement and grumbles, “Crazy enough to return the favor, I think.”
He doesn’t just think: he knows.  Knows that he’d like very much to see her come apart for him, preferably several times.  With a smirk that curves his mouth into something downright wicked, Bucky tugs her head back and reaches down to grasp the hand still wrapped around his cock.
He drags that hand over him - once, twice – moaning into her neck louder than before.  Loud enough to make Camille shiver wildly against him and whine when she feels his other hand suddenly weave down her ass to pull pleasure over her folds.
She gasps and stops moving, caught off guard by the suddenness of his touch and the sheer bliss that accompanies it.  She’s horny as anything from the last few minutes alone, and his fingers are quickly stirring up her desire and making it burn out of her in droves. 
He keeps pumping her hand around his cock as he moves his fingers against her folds, controlling both of their pleasure easily.  How he can even focus on doing so baffles her, especially when he curls his finger inside her and starts sliding it in and out of her cunt.
“Bucky,” she moans, burying her face into his shoulder.  She rocks her hips in time with him, barely even realizing that he is still moving her hand against his shaft.  When she does realize, a moment later, Camille quickens the pace of her hand to match his and Bucky lets go with a groan, tipping his head back and pumping another finger inside her.
“Mmm…d’you think Tony would be mad if we fucked in the hot tub?” Camille suddenly wonders, sounding both sinful and innocent in a way Bucky can’t explain, only he knows it makes him crazy to hear her.  Perhaps it’s just the question itself, the hopeful quality of it, the desire to stay right where they are and not move a muscle.  The need that pulls through her voice – the urgency to have him inside her – makes him clench his jaw in barely contained control.
“He’ll be pissed,” he tells her, but he doesn’t stop and neither does she.  She doesn’t miss the way he’d said ‘He’ll be pissed’, as if Bucky is already planning on fucking her right then and there. 
“Mmm,” she agrees breathily, but it certainly doesn’t stop her from inching closer to him and pulling him against the apex of her thighs.
It doesn’t stop him from removing his fingers and replacing them with his erection, either.
She sinks down on him with a moan and grasps his shoulders tightly.  There’s something about the steaming water that makes her feel more than just warm – with Bucky there, inside her, around her, she feels completely enchanted, as if she’s been put under some beautiful spell.  It’s everything together, she suspects.  The cold air that nips at her upper body; the warmth of Bucky’s skin as she presses herself against his chest; the fact that he is now gripping her ass with tight, desperate fingers and controlling her thrusts with aching precision.
“Fuck,” she wails, voice muffled against his neck as she collapses against him.  The only part of her that moves is her hips, which shake down into his with sudden, violent need.  He is all too happy to spur her on as he drags her down and pushes himself deep inside her with the momentum.
She claws at his chest, fingers grasping whatever she can as she curls around him.  Bucky buries his face against her shoulder and their bodies wrap themselves together into all the intricacies that come with making love.  It’s glorious, beautiful – makes her feel magnificent that someone like Bucky could want her like this, love her like this.  It’s the kind of feeling that makes you feel lightheaded and dazzling, like you might flutter away in any moment and possibly never come back down.
She thinks she’s okay with that.
He feels so good inside her and he doesn’t want to stop for anything in the world, but the lapping water is starting to crash out over the edge of the hot tub and the water slows their movements down almost to a point of frustration.  He doesn’t explain anything to her when he clamps his forearms down around her waist, halting her thrusts and heaving her tight to his body.  Even when she gasps – a rebellious little sound she means to reign in – Bucky doesn’t falter in his resolve. He proves that when he slides forward on the seat, plants his weight solidly on the floor, and rises up out of the Jacuzzi with his cock still hilted inside her.
Camille scrabbles against him, locking her legs around his waist and circling her arms around his neck as she tumbles hard into him.  The world spins for a brief moment as Bucky somehow manages to step out of the hot tub without dropping her.  Subdued pleasure rings through her with every step he takes as the momentum shifts through their still connected bodies.  (Another feat she’s too far gone to comprehend.)
“Bucky – “ she starts to say, confusion warping through her soft hearted complaint, but he cuts her off with a low chuckle that makes shivers roil over her skin.
“Shh,” he murmurs, breath pooling against her neck.  His lips brush over her ear when he says, “There’s a big bed in that room, doll.  What’d you say we go make better use of it?”
If she were able to form words around the sharp spiral of desire currently hurtling within her, she’d say hell yes.  Unfortunately, all she can bring herself to do is mumble out something that sounds vaguely agreeable – something that shifts quickly into a breathy moan when Bucky’s metal hand grasps her ass and drags her closer, readjusting himself inside her.
She breathes out sharply when he does, and he grins as he maneuvers them back inside the room and toward the bed.
He’s tossing her down before she can fully understand where they even are, and Camille is gasping as she feels the sudden lack of his masculine power holding her up against him.  The bed catches her, but she barely lays there for even half a second before Bucky is propping one knee between her legs, hooking his fingers around her ankles, and dragging her down the mattress to where he awaits.
“Bucky!” she cries, the moment he’s hovering over her and swiftly entering her once more.  This time, there is no water prohibiting their movements and Bucky takes full advantage of that.  He thrusts down hard, firmly grinding himself inside her before pulling out and doing it all over again.  Each thrust is faster, more powerful, as if he’s doing more than just making love to her.  It’s as if he’s asserting his dominance as well.
The whole thought leaves her feeling ragged and unkempt and completely aroused.  She can assert her own dominance, she thinks.
She arches up, pushing her hips down to meet his, her breasts coming up into the air.  She tips her head back with a drawn out moan.  She doesn’t even have to try to paint her face into seduction – Bucky has already utterly seduced her anyhow – but she makes a pretty attempt and it makes him swear as he watches her closely.
He’s leaning down and devouring her breast before she can even tell him how much she likes when he fucks her like this.
“Mmm!” she moans, fingers tangling into his hair to keep him at her breast.  Her nipples are taut and hard from the cold air, in desperate need of the attention that Bucky is generously giving them.  His tongue is scorching hot against her cold skin and when he sucks firmly at them, Camille sobs out a breathless whimper that makes him twitch inside her.
He’s controlling the spiral of passion with a finesse that almost shocks her – would have, had she not already known what to expect from him.  With a grunt, Bucky nips at her breast and rams his hips into hers simultaneously, making her vision blur at the edges.  Everything is incoherent.  Everything expect the impending orgasm that is quickly ricocheting through her.
“Bucky – oh God!  I’m gonna – James!” she wails, a babbling mess of unkempt desire that knows no boundaries.  He groans against her, abandoning her breast in favor of burying his face into the crook of her neck.  His body hovers over hers, skin rubbing against skin, hips frantically shifting as he steals away every last ounce of her self control.
And it’s the way she says his name, his real name, that makes his own control shatter like glass upon a tiled floor – the shards splintering into a brilliant display of imperfect chaos.  The breathless mewling way she contorts the syllables of his name into quilted burnished hunger has him growling out a strained, “Come for me, doll.  Come all over me – “
“Yes!” she cries, nearly screams, and bucks her hips furiously up into his as he pushes down and bruises her skin with the force of his thrust.
She comes around him, inner walls fluctuating in a sinfully erotic way, clenching down around his cock so spectacularly that he grunts out a muffled curse and barely manages to pull out of her before he spills himself all over her stomach and breasts.
She watches as he pumps himself, blurry eyes blinking up at him from a mess of damp tangled curls, then she sits up and scrambles forward to take his shaft into her mouth and suck him dry.
He moans at the sight, the fluttering of his orgasm still gripping at him.  Fingers grasp at her hair, shift it out of her eyes, and he watches closely as she helps finish him off.  The image of her is imprinted behind his eyes, hopefully will be for a long while to come – or at least until they do this all over again.  The thought is already making him feel hot once more.
But they have time to peruse each other later, to stir that heat up into another blazing inferno, to test the boundaries between them and set fire to those, too.
“Let’s clean you up, doll,” Bucky murmurs, his voice a ragged pull of tired pleasure.  He helps Camille up onto her knees and doesn’t hesitate to bring her close against him, despite the mess he’d made of her skin.  She chuckles lowly as he lifts her up into his arms and walks her over to a nearby door, which he’s hoping is a bathroom.  Luckily, he’s correct.
He sets her on the counter of the sink and riffles around in the cabinets for a washcloth.  Camille leans back and watches him, half-lidded eyes soaking up the glorious sight of his naked form. 
When he returns to her with a damp cloth, Bucky smirks and catches her eye.
“See something you like?” he asks, sounding more relaxed than he has all night.  She giggles when he drags the washcloth over her stomach to wipe away the remnants of him.
“Always,” she responds, and wraps her legs around his waist, locking her ankles together and pulling him against her.
He grunts out what sounds like a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners as he stares down at her.  Then he leans in, caging her in as he rests his hands beside her hips.  His mouth hovers close to hers.
“I believe there’s a whole bottle of champagne waiting outside by the hot tub,” he breathes, all low and husky like he’s thinking of things other than champagne.  She raises an eyebrow just to be flirtatious, but inside, her eagerness is limitless.
“Shall we, then?” she asks, and proceeds to throw her arms around his neck and scuffle forward.  He doesn’t complain – just pulls her in and lifts her up again, as if he doesn’t mind in the least that he seems to have become her personal chauffeur for the evening.
By the time they return to the hot tub, pop open the champagne, and snuggle close together, its five minutes to midnight and the new year is around the corner – and neither of them can even imagine spending the last few minutes of the old year in a different way.
“Happy New Year, James,” Camille whispers to him when the New York sky suddenly lights up with fireworks from Central Park, tearing through the black veil of night with a vengeance that looks lovely.
Not quite as lovely as him, though, because at that moment, Bucky turns to her and smiles, and the sincerity behind it makes her heart almost hurt from the happiness that pushes through her.
“Happy New Year,” he says softly, and clinks their glasses together with a laugh.
The moment they take a sip, Camille smirks and says, “Now that we celebrated the old year coming to a close, what d’you say to properly bringing in the new one?”  The smile she sends him is almost as wicked as the way she’s suddenly trailing her hand down his chest.
He puts his glass down before he spills it into the water.
“I thought you’d never ask,” is all he says, before is mouth is crashing down against hers and his previous wish to start all over again is coming true – right beneath the blaze of fireworks that pop like exploding stars into the night sky.
(Tony is most likely going to kill them come morning, but to be honest, neither of them really care.)


Thursday, December 29, 2016

A Laxus Dreyar Lemon -- Enlightened

Character: Laxus Dreyar

Fandom: Fairy Tail

OC: Ayce, pink hair, golden eyes, playful and petit

Inspiration: So yeah…I totally turned yoga into something sexy.  I mean there’s just so much potential, ya know?  Hope you all had a great Christmas, or whichever holiday you celebrate :)
Also, I’m playing around with the formatting.  Do you guys like the spaces between paragraphs better?  I think I'll be posting all new pieces like this to make it easier to read.

Laxus doesn’t know how he’d been wrangled into this. 
The gentle lilt of music fanning the room is too delicate for his constitution, and he feels like a complete idiot.  Even if he is flexible enough to do what Ayce keeps calling ‘the Dolphin pose’, the thought of actually trying it is out of the question.  That being said, he can’t seem to find it in himself to tell her to stop.
He doesn’t know how he got here – it had been too quick to recount.  He’d been distracted (Ayce has never worn yoga pants around him before and his thoughts had turned very singular in their direction).  Before he’d known what was happening, Laxus had been thrust into one of the smaller exercise rooms at the back of the guild hall, and here he is.  Watching Ayce bend her body in ways that should be outlawed.
It’s ten times more torturous than anything he’d expected, and he’s not talking about the exercise.
“Laxus, don’t just stand there like a wall,” Ayce suddenly says, glancing over at him from the floor.  “You were the one who said you wanted to see what yoga was.”
(‘Like a wall’ is a half decent description of him, she thinks, soaking up the sight of him without his favorite fur mantle.  Without it, he wears only his usual sleeveless shirt and tight maroon trousers, and the muscles of his arms have the very real potential of making Ayce drool all over her yoga mat.)
She’s clearly not aware of just how dangerous she looks right now, Laxus decides, and tries not to make his interest too apparent.  A difficult feat, that.  Especially when Ayce is bending over in such a tantalizing way, pushing her perfect ass into the air as she leans forward on her forearms.
He’d like to go over there and pull those damnable yoga pants over that ass and down her hips.  Nudge her legs apart.  Cup her ass with his hands and see if she’s as affected as he is right now.  In his little daydream, she’s soaking wet and mewls beautifully when he lowers his fingers to her core.  She’s already in prime position and can’t seem to help herself as she starts shaking her hips against his hand and grinding herself down on his fingers. 
“Laxus?” Ayce wonders, glancing over at him when he doesn’t have a response for her previous statement.  His eyes are glazed over, arms crossed tightly.  He’s staring at her ass.
She lifts a hand to her mouth to stop her smirk from making an appearance and takes a moment to wrestle her laughter down.  She doesn’t want to push him away.  Especially not now that her evil plan seems to be taking effect.
She hasn’t entirely planned this out, but she has wondered if it would give her an opportunity to take things further with Laxus.  He is a difficult man to please, but she’s wanted to do just that since the moment she met him.  It seems that today is her lucky day, because it is quite apparent that the captivated interest on Laxus’s face has very little to do with yoga itself.
She turns her body, languidly flipping over onto her back, and tries not to smirk as she pushes her chest into the air and tips her head back into a partial back bend.  She tells herself that it’s a legitimate yoga pose, but in all honesty she just wants to see what his reaction will be.  She’s not disappointed.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him tense up and shift from one leg to the other.  He’s so obviously discomfited that it would have amused her, had she not been distracted by her own aroused thoughts.  He’s clearly imagining her doing other things and it makes her body burn at the thought of his desire.
She moves her head and catches his eye.  He stares at her for a fleeting moment before jerking his gaze away and grumbling something beneath his breath.  Ayce just barely manages to contain her amused expression as she slowly brings herself out of the pose and stands up.
He’s not expecting her to walk toward him. 
“I’m sorry,” she suddenly says, “I’m not a very good teacher, am I?  How about I show you the Warrior position?  It’s very easy.”
She just wants to see the muscles of his thighs bunch together.  Yes – definitely not a good teacher.  A good teacher wouldn’t decide on poses just to witness his concentrated strength.
No matter.  She isn’t sorry, and as she stands beside him, she’s got a feeling that Laxus is somewhat relieved that she’s stopped moving her body in the way she’d just done.  Not that she’s trying to make yoga sexy or anything – she can’t help it if it makes full use of her grace and flexibility.  She smirks just a tiny bit.
“Face me,” she tells him, reaching out to position his body towards hers.  He lets her, for now, but she can see the storm brewing in his eyes and knows how wicked his temper can be.  His wearing patience is practically palpable.
“Stand with your legs apart, like this.  And lift your arms up,” she explains, showing him with her own body.  She shifts her feet apart on the mat, points one foot forward, and lifts up her arms as if she is a swan gracefully preparing to take flight.
If she is a swan, Laxus is a bear.  He’s glowering by the time he eases into the position, and when he raises his arms, he feels so stupid that he might die from the embarrassment.  What is he even doing here?
He still can’t remember.  That damned outfit that Ayce is wearing so confidently has put black spots in his memory.  He’d say yes to practically anything right now.
The way Ayce is now looking at him though…well, it makes him feel a little bit better.  Only a little bit, mind you.
“Mmm…here,” she suddenly murmurs, shifting out of the position and taking a step closer.  She lifts her hands to his bare shoulders and pushes them down.  “You’re bunching your shoulders up.  You want them to be loose and relaxed.” 
If her touch lingers a little longer than necessary on his skin, neither of them complain.
“Perfect,” she tells him with a smile that looks more ferocious than she probably means.  Laxus is most likely just imagining the dangerous cut of her gaze.  He thinks he’s definitely imagining the burn of interest that scrapes over her face.  That would be too much to ask for.
“I feel stupid,” he mutters with a growl. 
Ayce smirks.  “Trust me, Laxus, you don’t look stupid.” 
The way she says it makes him pause.  Perhaps it’s the manner in which she says his name – all low and drawn out with hidden messages tucked between the syllables.  Maybe it’s just the way she looks at him, honest but not at all innocent, as if there is more that she’d like to say but doesn’t.
He doesn’t expect her to continue touching him.  He’s not entirely sure if he’s glad about this or not.  His patience is wearing thin and it’s much harder to concentrate when her hand is so warm as it shifts to his side.  Her proximity will be his downfall.
“Now you want to shift your body forward.  Keep your arms straight and put your weight onto your leg,” she says, nudging his side with her hand.  He stares at her, but decides to keep silent for now.  He’s just a bit curious to see where she’s going with all of this.
“Head forward,” she whispers, lifting a hand to his chin.  She gently aligns his head with the rest of his body, then lays a hand on his thigh.  That move of hers makes him jerk in surprise.
She’s just inches away from his –
“Put all your weight right here,” she says, and squeezes his thigh as if to enunciate the message. 
She’s doing it on purpose, his mind supplies, eyes narrowing as he stares ahead.  Her other hand returns to his side, thumb brushing circles against him.  All this unnecessary touching is making his head spin.
Is he over thinking this, or is Ayce blatantly teasing him?  It rather feels like she is, especially when her hand shifts over his leg as if she’s just feeling his muscles.  Come to think of it, that’s exactly what she’s doing.  She’s blatantly groping him.
He feels a burst of amusement at this, couple with a surprisingly strong sense of pride.  Of course she’d want to grope him, he knows how attractive he is.  It’s not like this is news to him.
When she purrs, “Mmhmm, that’s perfect,” he smirks just a little bit.  Maybe he’s not the only one distracted by all these stupid poses.
His little daydream drifts back into his mind at that thought.  This time, his mind’s eye presents a much more wanton image.  Bare skin pressed into the yoga mat, legs shucked apart and moans spilling from parted lips.  He’d pin her down with the force of his thrusts and watch her shatter beneath him, begging him in a breathless voice for more – Laxus, more – and he’d be only too happy to deliver.  She’d show him just how flexible she really is.
His patience is definitely dwindling.
“Now turn back to me,” she quietly instructs.  Her voice is softly burring with something indescribably potent, like the low octaves of a violin concerting into a passionate symphony.  She moves her hands to his hips and then up his chest. 
As she does, she murmurs, “Raise your arms up by your ears and bend backwards.  Just – here.  Bend here.” 
Her hand shifts behind him, pressing gently down at his mid-back.  He pauses for a moment and hopes that no one else is seeing him like this.  He has a feeling he looks completely idiotic.  Yet…he bends anyway, and has to wrestle down a fierce shiver as Ayce’s hand follows the movement as it skims up his chest.
She’s not even trying to disguise her touch anymore.  It isn’t an instructor’s hands that are on his body, directing him through the movements.  No.  These are lover’s hands. 
His gaze flutters down and locks with hers, and the burning desire that blinks back at him does wonders to crush his remaining self control.  His patience shatters – thank God – he’s never been very good at waiting around and letting things come to him.  That philosophy never got him anywhere, and it certainly won’t right now either.  No, it’s much easier to just take what he wants.
So when his arms drop and he swivels his body toward hers, he doesn’t pause.  Instead he just cups her head between his hands, tilts it back, and kisses her hard.
She’s been waiting for it – he knows it immediately, can feel the relief in the way she kisses him back with the same strength and desperation he bestows upon her.  She practically flings herself against him, arms tight around his neck.  One hand tangles into his hair and suddenly her tongue is at his mouth, begging for a better taste.
He gives in, rubbing his tongue against hers and plundering her mouth with such dominant force that he feels Ayce shaking into him.  He really can’t be held responsible for the way his hands tumble down her body, grab her ass, and pulls her lower body firmly against his.
He can’t be held responsible for his hardening cock, either.
It’s all her fault – from the way she’d bent over like that to the way she’d touched him so callously.  She’s been on his mind for so long now that the sight of her moving her body in such a way had been too seductive too soon.  He can’t possibly control the desire that beats through him like wildfire.  He can’t stop it from burning.
Neither can she, but Ayce doesn’t want to anyway.  When he drags her against him and she feels his erection press into her, she gasps loudly and moans.  She’s so petit and small in his hulking, muscled arms, and the difference between them is a major turn on.  By the feel of him, Ayce can only imagine that his cock is as large as the rest of him.  It certainly seems that way.
The thought makes her more aroused than she admits and she shifts her hips against so shamelessly that Laxus growls deeply and thrusts back.  Even with their clothes on, it’s so hot that Ayce scrabbles to hold onto his shoulders as he does it again, and again, practically lifting her up with those muscled arms as he takes his pleasure from her.
She wants him so badly it hurts.
“Laxus,” she moans, nipping at his lip.  He pays her back in the same way, dragging her tongue into his mouth with his teeth.  He growls again (the sound is the sexiest thing she’s ever heard) and squeezes her ass with tight, domineering fingers, as if he’s wanted to touch her for ages now.  She wonders if he has.
“Was this your plan all along?” he mutters dangerously, opening his eyes to blink down at her.  Their kiss pauses, but doesn’t end entirely.  He nips at her bottom lip and waits for her response.
Was it?  She hadn’t thought so in the beginning, but now that he’s kissing her and touching her in ways she’s only ever dreamt of, Ayce wonders if she had been subconsciously seducing him the entire time.  Since she doesn’t have a good enough answer to that particular question, she merely smirks and runs her hands down his arms, groping his muscled biceps without even a shred of guilt.  If he can grope her ass, she can grope his arms.
“…If I said yes, what would you do?” she purrs with a smirk and meets his eye.  The way they flash dangerously at her makes her shiver and prepare for the worst.  She gets it, but in only the best kind of way.
He growls again, “I’d have you get back into one of those poses you so kindly showed me.  And this time, I’ll be the instructor.”
The promise in his voice makes her crazy.  She’s about to respond – has a witty answer on the tip of her tongue – but Laxus doesn’t seem very interested in talking at this point.  He proves this when he grabs the hem of her tank top and thrusts it over her head in one fluid movement.  She shouldn’t be surprised, and yet the breathless gasp that leaves her throat makes it clear that she is.  And the hungry smirk on Laxus’s face makes it clear that he’s very pleased to hear it.
“Take those things off and go to your mat,” he orders, plucking at the fabric of her yoga pants with a dark look in his eye.  She doesn’t bother trying to hide her next shiver.  Even in combat and situations that are decidedly not arousing, his orders have an almost embarrassingly sexual effect on her.
It isn’t embarrassing now though, and she can’t get her clothes off fast enough.
Laxus watches her with visible lust, though he takes a step back and doesn’t help her.  The way he just crosses his arms and watches her makes her arousal spike to levels that leave her near to breathless, and her chest heaves even as she battles to remove her bra.  The straps are hanging down her arms when she realizes one very important little fact.
“The door.  Go and lock it,” she tells him, holding her bra to her chest and peering at the door with distrust.  She wouldn’t put it passed the others to unwittingly wander in her.  Some of the guild members are far too interested in training at all hours of the day for her to disregard the notion.  And despite this being only one of several training rooms, she’d rather not have to deal with the embarrassment that would accompany someone walking in on them.
Laxus narrows his eyes at the order.  The thought of turning around now doesn’t sound very appealing.  He wants to watch every move she makes.  Wants to witness the removal of every article of clothing.  He keeps his arms crossed and blinks at her in silent disobedience.
“Laxus,” Ayce says, sounding less aroused and more impatient.  His eyes narrow even more.
He points at her and says firmly, “Don’t move a fucking muscle, you hear me?”
She shivers at the pronounced arousal in his voice and nods, grasping the cups of her bra with tight fingers.  He turns on his heel and walks the short distance to the door.  It takes him all of ten seconds, but it seems like each one is a moment that transcends into forever.  By the time he locks the door, ensures that the handle won’t budge, and strides back to her, Ayce is about ready to pounce on him.
He crosses his arms again and growls, “Go on.”  It’s like he’s trying to pin her in place with his gaze alone.
The brunt of his attention makes her heartbeat skyrocket.  She pulls the bra away quickly and goes to work on her panties.  She’s got them halfway down her thighs when suddenly Laxus is right there in front of her, grasping the flimsy fabric and forcing them away.  He has to bend down on one knee to do so and the sight of him in front of her naked form makes her tremble.
Touch me, she wants to say.  But the words get stuck in her throat when his eyes slowly begin to peruse her body.  He stays where he is, kneeling before her even as his hands shake with the desire, the need, to feel her.
“Lie down on the mat,” he grumbles after a moment of staring.  She shivers, then flounders her way to her knees and then her back.  The foam is cool beneath her skin, a thankful distraction that quickly turns useless the moment Laxus shifts into her line of sight.
He reaches up to pull his shirt off and she stares at every flex of muscle as he does, swept up in the movement of his body as he tears the fabric away.  She’s seen him shirtless plenty of times before, but it’s more potent now.  She shivers into the mat and bits her lip.
His eyes drift to her mouth, then down her body.  He lingers at her breasts for half a moment longer before following the path of her naval and the smooth skin of her legs.  Still he doesn’t touch her and it’s a terrible thing, because she’s never wanted anything so badly in all her life.
“How do you want me?” she asks, voice low like gravity.  She tries to keep a teasing, amused lilt in her voice but has a feeling she fails, because Laxus smirks and leans forward.
Nothing prepares her for his next move.
He reaches forward, curves his hands around her knees, and drags her forcefully towards him.  She scrambles against the mat and lets out a surprised yelp that quickly turns into a moan when Laxus grabs her knees and throws them open, staring down at her gleaming folds with an intensely aroused expression.
She hadn’t quite expected that, but every single complaint dies when he drags a finger against her. 
“Oh fuck,” she moans, tilting her hips down.  The vulgarity is delicious and Laxus smirks.
She’s even wetter than he’d imagined.  Soaking wet and utterly dripping with arousal, she lays there prone beneath him and moans with every swipe of his finger.  It’s a sight he won’t soon forget. 
He’s harder than he can ever remember being and wants nothing more than to fuck her with every ounce of strength that he has, but Laxus wants to make use of the last remaining bit of patience that he’s been afforded.  Enjoying her properly will be the single most satisfying thing he will have ever experienced.
He bundles down in front of her, tosses her legs carelessly over his shoulders, and doesn’t hesitate for even a second before his mouth is descending upon her cunt.  He starts lapping furiously at her, groaning against her juices even as he devours her.  His tongue shifts wildly, spinning over every inch of her folds, up and down and again, until her taste has invaded every one of his senses. 
But it is her reaction that has Laxus more aroused than ever.  Almost as if Ayce is trying to achieve yet another of her yoga poses, her hips shift forward and her breasts arch up.  Her hand reaches down to bury itself into his hair.  She starts thrusting into his mouth – whether she means to or not – and Laxus groans all over again at the wanton way she seeks her pleasure.
It’s so hot that he’s tempted to reach into his pants and give himself some much needed friction.  He doesn’t, but only because he wants to bury himself into her so badly that the mere thought of having her quells any other momentary desire.
“Laxus!” Ayce cries, practically sobs.  She shakes, trembles, shifts against him.  Her orgasm brushes at the corners of her body, luring her in like a moth to flame.  She doesn’t think she can hold it back – it’s too much, the sight of him, the feel of him, the way he’s lapping at her like a man starved.  As if she’s the best thing he’s ever tasted and can’t get enough. 
But this is Laxus Dreyar, and he can get enough.  Just enough, that is, to make her so crazy that she could die.
He stops so suddenly that Ayce is left reeling on the mat with her mouth hanging open and a silent moan spilling forth.  Her throat convulses as she swallows.  Her almost-orgasm fades away but the pulsating beat of her desire still tears through her. 
She can’t believe he stopped.
Turning angry, impatient eyes to him, Ayce starts to say, “You – you can’t just – oh!”
He slips a finger over her cunt and rubs at her furiously for a mere second before darting away, splaying his hand over her thigh with a shit-eating smirk.
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” he tells her, voice low with desire that seems to burst from him like electricity.  An apt description, she thinks as she gapes at him. 
“Laxus – “ she begins, intent on tell him off.  But he just wipes the back of his hand on his mouth and shifts closer, dragging both hands up her body to her breasts.  It seems that he is rather distracted by his need to feel every inch of her – not that she can complain overmuch, but still…  She feels like she’s on fire and has nowhere to direct it.
Before she can catch up with him, Laxus is squeezing her breasts in his hands, kneading at them intently as if he’s never felt anything so soft.  He hasn’t, at least not that he can think of in this moment.  He touches her without shame, basically groping her as he pushes her breasts together and lowers his mouth to lick one pert nipple.
She whimpers.  The sound makes him want to devour her here, too.  Since Laxus has never been one to deny himself much of anything, he decides to do just that.
He flattens his tongue against her breasts, then sucks at it, rolling her other breast in his hand as his mouth thoroughly tastes her skin.  She’s so soft against him, so perfect – the shape, the feel – and when he buries his face between them and rubs her against his cheeks, Laxus groans again.
She’s distracted, he can tell.  Her fingers are twisting into his hair and she whimpers every other moment, clearly enjoying his attention as much as he is with the sight of her.  Perhaps it is for this reason that Laxus decides to step it up a notch.  He’d really like to get out of these pants, after all.
She doesn’t notice the way his hand slips down.  Doesn’t notice the way he unzips his trousers and pulls his erection out.  His mouth is busy at her breast, sucking and licking, and it is only when he flattens his lower body against hers that Ayce realizes how vividly she can feel his cock against her core.
The shredded moan that leaves her throat then makes Laxus mutter a foul curse and thrust his hips against her, cock dragging over her folds in a sort of preview of what is to come.
“Laxus,” she moans, curling her legs around his hips.  He’s still wearing his pants, but she can’t bring herself to care about that little detail right now.  She looks down at him and the sight of his cock nestled between her legs leaves her in shambles.  Just the sight of him alone makes her pound like nothing else, as if her orgasm is threatening to overpower her just from the picture he makes.
He’s so close, he could easily adjust himself and slide into her.  But something makes him pause.  The hunger on her face.  The need to see and feel everything he can before this moment is over.  Whichever it is, Laxus gives her breast one last suck before raising himself up on his arms and then sitting back on his shins. 
He blinks down at her with a smirk and growls, “Come here.”
She scrambles up, thinking that he means to have her ride him, but Laxus pushes her head down at the last moment and leans forward, whispering, “Suck me,” into her ear. 
She moans merely at the delicious order and shifts forward, finally able to admire him properly.  He’s thick, and his size matches the rest of him.  When she lowers her mouth to suck at his tip, she decides that he tastes just as good.
Laxus grumbles pleasantly and loops his fingers into Ayce’s hair, eyes fluttering as he watches her devour him inch by inch.  Her mouth is hot around him, and when she swipes her tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock, he swallows tightly.  It’s takes tremendous effort not to push his hips forward and fuck her mouth - a temptation that is harder to resist than he could have ever imagined.  He distracts himself with the sight she makes instead, keeping his eyes trained on the way her lips suck him up and move over his flesh.
It’s more arousing than Ayce could have imagined, having him in her mouth like this.  How many times has she thought of doing something similar to him?  The ferocity of her dirty daydreams seems to have accumulated into this moment, surpassed them even, and she is utterly pounding as she leans against the heavily corded muscles of his thighs.
He is gorgeous.
She sucks him like it’s the single best thing she’s ever experienced and Laxus thinks he might come just from the sight she makes.  It’s arousing in a very singular way, seeing her consume him like this.  He brushes her hair away with surprisingly gentle fingers, collecting it at the nape of her neck.  Leaning over her, he drags his fingers over her back and traces the curve of her spine.  Her ass looks perfect from this position, and he is once again overcome by the desire to grasp it and pull her against him, down around him, feel himself breach her folds and succumb to her heat –
With a groan, Laxus drags her head up and demands, “On your back.”  The brusque, abrupt order makes Ayce’s head spin.  She is too slow in following it.
He pushes her down impatiently, looking domineering and masculine above her.  The sight and feel of his strong movements makes her gasp even as he pulls her hips into his.
He smirks down at her, ducks his head, and kisses her collarbone.  Against her skin, Laxus murmurs, “You ready?”
She certainly feels ready.  She seems even wetter than she had before, which is saying something.  His cock slides over her folds easily, and even that tiny amount of friction has Ayce shuddering down into the mat below her. 
“Yes!” she tells him with barely concealed frustration.  He chuckles and kisses her breast.
When he enters her, it’s swift and controlled.  He barely pauses to ensure that she is comfortable before thrusting back in.  It doesn’t make much of a difference and he knows it – Ayce is as ready for him as she’ll ever be, and there is absolutely no discomfort involved in the way he firmly takes her.  If anything, the feeling of him breaching her like this is even more satisfying because of the fact that he’d made her wait so damned long.
He shucks her legs up, pulling her forcibly down the mat to meet his thrusts.  She reaches for him and he lowers himself down, laying his body against hers.  The weight of him is heavenly in a way Ayce can’t properly explain, not when he’s fucking her so perfectly.
“Ooo…yeah…mm, Laxus - !” she babbles.  She can barely believe that her voice has the capability to sound so aroused, but it does.  Laxus shudders against her when she moans his name and deepens his thrusts, angling his hips in a way that makes her moans stream out faster and higher with every downward press.
He kisses her all over as he takes her – a strange but beautiful thing to be on the receiving end of.  She would never have guessed that Laxus would be the sensitive type when it comes to lovemaking, and even saying that is stretching it.  He takes her without shame, thrusts into her hard and fast.  He isn’t particularly gentle, but there is something in the way he moves that underlies all that.  A certain endearment that makes her breathless in an entirely different way.
She can’t get enough of it.  Of him.  He controls her body is a way that makes her want to scream.  His hands clutch at her, heave her legs up around him, grasp onto her breast and splay his fingers over every inch of skin he can touch.  And his lips follow every movement, pressing kisses down at her neck, her jaw, her lips – moving to her breast, licking at her nipple, sucking red marks into her shoulder.  She trembles at all the attention and bucks her hips up to meet his in the hopes of taking him as deeply into her as she possibly can.
“Mmmm…” he groans into her ear when he moves his head closer to hers.  She turns to face him and their lips brush together, breath intermingled.  Their eyes lock.  The emotions behind them seem to drift forth like floodgates bursting open.
Is this what intimacy is?  Ayce can hardly bear it, it’s so beautiful.  She almost finds that she wants to cry in the face of it.  She clutches him tightly, dragging her hands over his muscled arms and scrabbling down his back.  He shivers into her and rests his cheek against hers.  His stubble brushes over her skin.  His lips shift over her ear.
“Come for me,” he groans, moving faster, more desperately.  He’s holding back, she realizes, and moans just at the thought.  His hand splays out over her side and his calloused fingers seem to burn right through her.  The spin of his harried breath, the frantic shift of his hips, the feel of his cock broaching the depths of her – all that, coupled with that beautiful passionate order, has her completely giving into him.
She comes with a moan that Laxus imprints into his memory and hopes he never forgets.  He lifts himself to watch her, running his fingers over her forehead and into her hair.  His hips tremble, stuttering into hers as he feels her walls contract around him.  He flutters right into his own orgasm with a simplicity that is almost astounding – and yet it is so natural that he can do nothing but fall.
He falls into her, falls around her, falls so deeply and so completely that when it is all over, Laxus can do nothing but bury his face into her neck and breathe.
She holds onto him even after it’s all over.  It feels effortless to wrap her arms around him and keep him against her.  He doesn’t try to move away like she perhaps feared he might, before this began.  Instead he merely huffs out a satisfied breath and rolls onto his side, dragging her tight against him as if he is entirely unwilling to let her go.
If she hadn’t felt beautiful before, his current tenacity certainly does the trick.
“Mmm…you know…one of these days I’ll have to teach you more advanced poses,” she mumbles into his shoulder, feeling wicked and blissful as she slowly comes down from her high.  “I’m positive you’ll enjoy them.”
He’s silent for a moment before letting out a chuckle and squeezing her tighter to his body.  He turns his head, brushing his lips over her forehead, and murmurs, “Next time you’ll do them in the comfort of my bedroom.  How’s that?”
Oh, it is so good – so much better than Ayce had anticipated.  She looks up at him with a grin and kisses his jaw.
“I think the others are planning on going out tonight,” is all she says in response, but the silent suggestion in her voice is more than enough.
Laxus smirks.  If her future poses are anything like the ones she’s already showed him, he’s positive that tonight will be even better.