Monday, January 16, 2017

A Cullen Rutherford Lemon -- Bedroom Battlefield

Character: Cullen Rutherford

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

OC: Ariaya Lavellan, kind, mischievous

Inspiration: Excited to post this one!  I'm pretty sure there's no one in existence who isn't at least a little bit in love with Cullen, am I right?  ;D  Anyway, for my Dragon Age readers - I'm working on a Zevran lemon that should be done soon.  Thinking about doing a DA only request session sometime over the next few months.  Anyone interested?   Let me know in the comments ;)

Aria doesn’t like chess.  It isn’t as though she downright hates the game, it’s just that she doesn’t understand it.  No matter how many times Dorian tries to teach her, the rules never seem to stick.  There are too many pieces, and too many directions in which to move them.  After a while, the tumbling black and white checkers make her head spin.
They don’t have games like that in her clan.  Their constant traveling lifestyle makes it difficult to keep anything that isn’t necessary for daily survival.  Games certainly aren’t a part of that, no matter how much Varric likes to dispute otherwise.
So – Aria doesn’t like chess very much.  That is why Cullen is so surprised when she suddenly appears in his office one evening and suggests a match.
“You hate chess,” he says with a confused frown.  He reaches up and scrubs at his eyes, blinking back the exhaustion that has become yet another part of his life.  His desk is covered in reports and he still has a lot to do before he can call it a night, but he doesn’t immediately refute Aria’s suggestion.  Saying no to her is…difficult.  For a multitude of reasons, most of which go well beyond the obligatory respect for her title.
Aria shrugs.  “I don’t hate it,” she denies, twisting her mouth up indignantly.  Then she adds, “…I thought you might teach me some more, that’s all.”
That isn’t all, if Aria is being honest, but she decides to keep the rest of her ideas to herself for now.  She gives Cullen that smile – the one that makes his resolve utterly shatter into millions of irreparable pieces – and he clears his throat.  The effect she has on him is staggering, and it only grows more potent with every day.  Ever since they’d been intimate that first time, it rather feels as though his very soul trembles in her presence.  Falling in love is a tiring but intoxicating thing.
He can’t say no to her – doesn’t even want to.  The thought of spending a relaxing evening in her chambers seems divine.
So Cullen merely says, “I’ll drop by in an hour, after I’ve dealt with a few more of these reports.”
Aria seems perfectly fine with that, and she hums in agreement.  When she raises her eyes to his, something burns behind them.  An unidentifiable glimmer that makes the hair on the back of Cullen’s neck stand on edge.  He knows right then and there that he is missing something.  Something important.
“Don’t be too long, Cullen,” Aria murmurs.  The corner of her mouth tips up into a small smirk that looks oddly predatory on her face.
He is definitely missing something.
Still, his confusion disappears once she leaves, and for the next hour Cullen busies himself with reports.  Aria keeps herself busy too. 
Her chambers had been tidied earlier, and she goes around the room to light sconces and candles so as to brighten the space.  She throws more logs onto the fire, hoping to remove all traces of the chill mountain air.  Indeed, her plans require warmth for success, though she isn’t entirely sure it will make a terribly big difference at the end of it all.
What is it those Orlesians like to say?  Presentation is key?  She giggles.
She is just setting up the chess set Dorian had let her borrow when a knock announces Cullen’s presence at her door.  She shouts a quick, “Come in!” and waits for his heavy footsteps to reach the top of the stairs before turning to him.
“Cullen,” she murmurs with a smile.  He returns it, sweeping his gaze over the room.  It isn’t particularly different from how it normally is, save of course for the chess set Aria has dragged in front of the fire. 
“Why don’t you take off your armor?” she suggests idly, and goes back to setting the game up.  She is having trouble remembering where the bishops and knights go.
Cullen hums in agreement and she hears the telltale sound of buckles and the clinking of steel as the armor is removed.  After a moment, Aria takes a seat and glances over at him, fingers still drumming on the table as she tries to recall Dorian’s instructions.  It is hard to do when Cullen is currently stripping himself down to the simple cotton shirt and trousers he wears beneath his armor.  Such simple clothes, but the way they outline the muscles of his arms and the broadness of his shoulders makes her mouth water.
Soon, she reminds herself.
With the armor off and neatly placed on the floor by the sofa, Cullen strides toward her.  She doesn’t expect the sudden way he threads his fingers into her hair, tips her head back, and lowers his mouth to hers – but she certainly enjoys it.  Aria kisses him back languidly, and when he pulls away, Cullen smirks.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he murmurs to her.  She grins, feeling only a little bashful.  His sincerity often makes her tremble in the wake of it.
His runs his fingers lightly down her face, catching her lower lip with his thumb, and smiles almost wolfishly down at her.  She shivers.
It would be easy, so easy, to convince him to continue down this path.  He is willing – the burn of his eyes told her that.  But Aria has been planning this night for too long to just toss it away so quickly.  She wants to take her time.  Make him crazy for want of touching her.
“You’re first,” she whispers, inches from his mouth.  He looks momentarily confused at the words before he remembers why she has invited him up here to begin with. 
Clearing his throat, Cullen pulls back and chuckles.  “Of course.”
He takes his seat.
Aria knows before the game even begins that she will lose.  Cullen is a masterful player.  He’s been playing all his life, and she has only just started to learn the game only a few short weeks ago.  But she isn’t trying to win. 
He takes one of her pawns on his third move.
With a glimmering smile, Cullen glances up at her.  He isn’t sure what he plans on saying.  Something teasing?  Perhaps a word of encouragement?  The game has only just begun, after all.  If she has improved since the last time they’d played, she has a chance to beat him.  But everything he wants to say falls short when he notices the way she is propping her foot onto her chair and unlacing her boot.
“…Getting comfortable?” he wonders, raising one eyebrow at her.  Aria just laughs and hums, looking strangely dangerous even as she hikes the boot from her foot and throws it across the room.  Oddly enough, she doesn’t go for the other one.
“My move?” she askes instead, turning her attention to the board.  She moves her pawn forward and looks up at him.
Two more moves, and then Aria steals one of is pawns and sets it happily on her end of the table.  Cullen chuckles at the way her expression brightens with pride, and looks down to see what he will move next.
Before he gets the chance, Aria snorts and says, “Cullen, don’t be like that.  You’ve got to follow the rules.”
He looks up at her with a frown.  “Pardon?” he asks, not sure what she is talking about. 
Aria just smirks and nods at him, “Take something off.  It’s only fair.”
He gapes at her.
“…Take something off?” he repeats after a moment, and then rolls his eyes and mutters, “Dorian…”
She laughs and nudges him with her foot.  “I hadn’t realized that strip chess was a thing.  I like the idea of it though.”  She rests her chin on her palm and purrs, “…Don’t you?”
The look in her eyes has him swallowing tightly.  At once, Cullen feels cornered.  The odds are completely against her and they both know it, but the thought doesn’t help much.  Her suggestion for tonight suddenly seems as beautiful as it does perilous. 
He still reachs down to unlace his own boot.  Saying no to her is impossible, especially when it has to do with something like this.  His heart does a little flip at the thought of her putting herself in such a position, knowing how awful she is at this game.  He can only assume that she doesn’t much care for the consequences.  That, perhaps, she wants to lose to him.
Well, that is something Cullen can do.  He gives her a little smirk and tosses his boot off to join hers on the floor, then turns his attention back to the board.
He will crush her.  
She smirks at the determined expression now coloring his face and allows him to make his move.  One of his knights knocks over a bishop.  She shucks her other boot off, strategizing what the best clothes would be to remove first as she peers down at the board.  She should be thinking of how to beat him at this game, but Aria is practical.  She knows she doesn’t stand a chance unless she plays a little dirty.
Cullen doesn’t like cheaters, but she has a feeling he’ll like this.
They barter back and forth across the table for several moves, shifting pieces until the chessboard is fairly intermingled.  They two of them have both removed their boots and socks.  Aria has also untied the band holding her hair together and so the long messy braid is now undone and framing her face.  It is around that time when things start to get a little complicated.
Cullen destroys her rook with a well placed move from his queen, and gives her a smirk that frankly makes her want to kiss him.  There is an expression she does not often see on his face – that devil may care regard.  How lovely to see it there now.
And to hear it in his voice when he murmurs, “I believe it’s your move, Inquisitor.”
How utterly unfair of him to use her title in such a purring, delicious way.
She sends him a glance that makes his smirk deepen, and unfastens the leather ties of her pants.  Aria shuffles out of them slowly, extricating herself from the fabric before tossing it to join their pile of discarded clothing.  Then she props her knee up, smiles at Cullen, and turns her attention to the board.
He is only a little taken aback by the sight of her bare knee appearing above the table.  Aria often sits in such a way, with one or both knees propped up.  Tonight she’s just…not wearing pants as she does it.  Maker.
Aria somehow manages to knock over his bishop and grins proudly, eyes glimmering as she glances up at him.  Cullen is smiling, no doubt amused at her glee.  His eyes turn dark and hungry when she murmurs, “Your move, Commander.”
Two can play his little game.
He swallows tightly, reaching up to pull his tunic off his body.  The fabric drags over his skin and with every inch revealed, Aria feels her throat get drier and drier.  He’s so handsome and half the time, he doesn’t even realize it.
When Cullen’s upper half is bare, he sends her a tiny smirk before averting his attention to the board with singular focus.  It seems that while she’s been strategizing which clothes to remove first, Cullen has actually been coming up with a battle plan for his cause.  Hardly surprising from the Commander of her forces, though she is left a little shocked when she suddenly realizes that he’s cornered her in several different areas of the board.  Huh.
Instead of getting angry, Aria feels a burst of sharp arousal tear through her at the realization.  He’s good.  He’s proven himself several times over and – Mythal, he looks perfect in the firelight.  The muscles of his chest taper down to with subtle masculinity, brushed over with that blond chest hair that she is so fascinated with.  She can't help it - her own race is practically hairless in comparison.  Where elves are lithe and elegant, humans are powerful and earthy in a different way.  It is an endless source of curiosity for her.
The first time she’d seen that chest hair, Aria had been completely overwhelmed with that curiosity that she had spent a good portion of the evening fawning over his chest and lavishing him with attention.  She has half a mind to do the same now.
“Your shirt, this time?” Cullen inquires, leaning back as he watches her watch him.  He knows the look on her face.  With a not so subtle grin, Cullen tugs at the collar of his shirt and lets it fall open, chuckling when Aria’s cheeks puff out in consternation at being caught.  Then she realizes his words.
And she laughs.  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she teases, but reaches into her shirt instead of peeling it off.  Instead, she goes for her breast band, hands tenting the shirt as she unravels the band from inside the protective layer of clothing.  It’s technically not cheating.  And besides, Cullen looks downright hungry as he stares at her.
She drops the band to the floor with a flourish, then leans forward to push her elbows onto the table and allow the collar of the shirt to fall open.  Cullen’s eyes dart down to that opening, catching just a hint of those pert breasts, that sinful cleavage.  He can see the outline of her nipples against the fabric and swallows, clenching his fist beneath the table.
His cock twitches headily as he struggles to maneuver his way around his arousing thoughts.
She’s doing this on purpose.  Cullen rubs his face and chuckles tiredly.  As a strategist, he’s got to admit that it’s a damn good move on her part.  Distraction is always a good technique – especially when it comes in such a scintillating form.
“You’re too smart for your own good, Inquisitor,” he tells her, reverting back to her title without thought.  Aria just laughs.
“Thank you, Commander.  Now I believe it’s my move.”  She leans forward to make her move and the fabric dips lower.  Cullen tries not to stare (he really does) but Maker it’s hard, impossible even, to ignore the desire that presses through him now.  As she makes her move, he decides that he really needs to get the rest of her clothes off.  Now.
Cullen barely even glances at the board as he knocks over her pawn and looks at her, waiting.  But instead of taking her shirt off, Aria merely stands up and starts shucking off her underwear, wriggling her hips just so as it drops to the floor.  Her shirt is long enough to hide the sight of her hips, but it hardly ruins anything for Cullen.  In fact, he finds his arousal spinning more heavily, ricocheting through his body with such determined desperation that he can hardly remember how he planned on beating her at this game.  All his strategies seem useless.  Now, he just wants her naked.
Aria resumes her seat, tossing Cullen a wicked smirk as she wriggles into a comfortable position.  He can only imagine what the wood of her chair feels like against her bare ass – the thought of her being so bare beneath that shirt makes him crazy.  He wants to rip the rest of the fabric away and show her just how impatient he’s gotten.  His cock is rock hard beneath the table, begging to be touched.
He needs her so damn much right now.  And yet…
She’s clearly not going to make this easy for him.
With a smirk, Aria leans forward again and slowly peruses the chessboard.  She takes her sweet time as she does, idling more than necessary over her choice.  Her free hand smoothes up her collar and plays with the delicate necklace around her neck, twisting the chain around her finger.  It draws Cullen’s attention to her cleavage (again) and he clears his throat as he watches her.  It’s a thoughtless action on his part, but it speaks so much of his own frustrating desires.
After several very difficult seconds on Cullen’s part, Aria finally moves her only available rook across the board and murmurs with a gleeful grin, “Check.”
For a moment, Cullen doesn’t even hear her.  He’s too distracted by those perfect breasts that he can imagine so vividly, picture them spilling out of her shirt and –
“What?” he splutters, forcing his attention back to the board with a frown.  Did she just say - ?
“Check,” Aria repeats with a chuckle, and rests her chin on her palm as she peers at him.
It takes him all of two seconds to see the trap she’s put him in.  He puffs out his cheeks and tries to strategize what his next move should be – but it’s so hard to think about all that when he’s so…well, hard.  All he can think of is having her naked body beneath his, pinning her down to the mattress, rubbing his cock against her dripping wet folds –
“You’re not conceding, are you?” Aria wonders, playing with a strand of her hair.  The words make him bristle with what’s left of his masculine pride.  Pride that has taken a distracting downturn. 
Maker, he can’t remember ever being so scatterbrained about something he usually finds so simple.  He can beat Dorian at chess with his eyes closed, yet the moment Aria takes off the majority of her clothes, he’s done for.  It’s not really surprising; just a touch defeating to his normally sharp mind.  He’s not the Commander of the Inquisition for nothing, after all.
She’s doing quite a number on him tonight.
With a clenched jaw and fire blazing in his eyes, Cullen glances up at her and growls, “Never.”
If he notices the shiver that drags through her body at the tone of his voice, he doesn’t say.  Neither does Aria, but she does do something else.
Something regarding inching her bare foot up his leg from beneath the table.
He’s trying to think, damn it, and she’s got absolutely no qualms now about how clearly she’s trying to distract him.
“Aria – “ he mutters gruffly, catching her foot in his hand before she can make it to her destination.  She’s close, inches away from the bulge of his trousers, the hard erection currently spinning his thoughts for a loop.
“Make your move, Commander Cullen,” she purrs, rubbing her foot against his thigh the moment she feels his grip loosen.  The movement makes his fingers clench down harder, curling around her bare skin with a strength that is quickly sapping out of him.  When he had agreed to this, Cullen hadn’t realized that this would be so difficult.
Still, he can get out of this.  He will make her take that shirt off if it’s the last thing he does.  And he’d rather do it by proving to himself that he can think strategically and be ridiculously aroused at the same time.
He broods at the chessboard with that familiar determined expression.  Aria watches him with sharp eyes.  Desire bolts through her with every second that lingers between them.  Just the sight of his powerful shoulders, his strong jaw clenched down like that – thinking about the best way to conquer her – makes her squirm against her chair with a breathy sigh.
The noise makes Cullen jerk his head up and stare at her.  There is a touch of wilderness to his gaze that hadn’t been there a moment ago, as if he is mere seconds away from crashing into insanity.
Aria chuckles somewhat awkwardly (she actually hadn’t meant to make that sound, or for it to be quite so passionate), and whines, “Please hurry up, Cullen.  This game is getting a bit old.”
She wants to get them out of their clothes just as much as he does, after all.
His eyes flash at her for only a moment before he diverts his attention back to the game and finally makes a move. 
It’s not a half bad plan, considering his current position, but the best part about it is that he’s found a way to get out of her trap as well as take the rook that had threatened his king.  He’s wearing a smug grin when he places the rook on his end of the table and leans back to look at her.  His thumb drifts over the bottom of her foot, which is still pressed into his leg.  The touch makes her shiver, and the thankful way her expression melts makes his body react similarly.
“Take your shirt off,” he all but growls, looking utterly controlled as he sits there, almost like a king himself.
Aria can’t stand up fast enough, wrangling her foot out of his grip and darting out of her chair.  She’s pulling the fabric up and off of her even as she walks around the table to where he sits.  By the time she reaches him, Aria is as bare as the day she was born and is sliding into his lap without even a shred of hesitation.
The time for frustrating pauses and conflicting desires is over.  Cullen makes that very clear as he shifts his hands from her hips to her breasts and clenches his fingers down around them firmly, mouth tilted up as he seeks hers.  She doesn’t waste any time as she leans down and kisses him, completely surrendering her body to him as she does.
Mythal, he tastes so good.  After all that waiting, all that planning, it’s delicious to finally feel him against her.  She wriggles her hips down into his and gasps at the feeling of his erection brimming against her.  He groans when her hips circle him, grinding sinfully down into his erection.  They’ve both needed that friction for so long that it makes them melt into each other, fingers flying to touch more, to hold more. 
Aria moans breathlessly against him, grasping the sides of his head tightly as her lips tip into.  Even beneath her, Cullen commands her every action.  Each fluttering desire that ricochets through her is because of him.  He makes her crazy.
His hands grip her solidly, drifting from her breasts to her ass.  He squeezes the globes of her flesh with tight fingers, spreading her out against his clothed shaft and firmly dragging her down into him.  And then in a move that makes her nearly break apart, he dips those fingers into her wet heat and feels her properly.
“Cullen,” she groans, her voice a whimpering mess of ragged desire.  She shifts her hips into his fingers and buries her face into his neck, breath spooling out over his skin.  Her hands scrabble down his bare chest, over the patter of blond hair that she is always so curiously aware of – she paws at him, wanting nothing more than to rip off the rest of his clothes and see, feel, him as clearly as he does her.
She kisses the side of his neck, nipping at his skin, lifting her mouth to the underside of his jaw.  The stubble there makes her shiver.  He looks more unkempt than she’s ever seen him.  The wild desire in his eyes seems to grow with each passing moment, hurtling into a stark need that presses color into every corner of her world.
Meanwhile, Cullen just sits there, feeling as if he is the luckiest man in Thedas.  He had never allowed himself to imagine that he would ever be in such a position as this – that a woman like her would be a whimpering mess in his lap, driven insane merely from the way his fingers work at her and hold her possessively against him.  It almost feels divine.
He slips two fingers inside her and Aria nearly screams.  She doesn’t – instead, her outcry turns into a muffled wail as his mouth turns down to devour hers.  His kiss is as desperate as the way he touches her, as if he cannot get enough of her.  As if he doubts he ever will. 
“Touch me,” he hears himself order, barely coherent against her mouth.  It sounds more like a beg brimming with precarious desire that fluctuates between complete control and no control at all.  He’s not sure where he stands.  He’s just as glad not to know.
Aria shivers brilliantly at the words though.  She can’t act fast enough as her fingers drift down his chest and work at the ties of his trousers, fumbling around her desire even as she dips her hand into the fabric to drag his cock out.
So hard – that’s the first thought that unravels through her head.  It’s the last, too.
The moment she’s got her fingers wrapped around his erection, Cullen lets out the most perfect, beautiful moan she’s ever heard and hurtles forward.  His body surrounds her, fingers still thrusting into her heat, face buried into her hair as his chin rests at her shoulder.  His free hand grips her waist tightly, and every time she pulls her fingers up the length of his cock, he shudders against her like a leaf blowing in the wind.
It’s the most arousing thing she’s ever witnessed, seeing her strong Commander turn into such a frantic, desperate mess.
And yet…
She still has so much planned.
“Let me reward you for beating me so brilliantly,” she whispers into his ear, giving his cock a gentle squeeze as she near the tip of it.  He grips her harder at the move, pulling back to look at her face with a brief expression of confusion.  Brief, because Aria is already extricating herself from his hold and slowly lowering herself to her knees in front of him.
Cullen lets out a harsh exhale that speaks volumes about what he’s currently thinking.
“Aria,” he begins, no doubt the start of some heroic speech about how she doesn’t have to do that for him.  They’ve been intimate only a handful of times so far and she’s never done this before.  But his voice is feeble, weak at even the mere thought of denying her current path.  He wants this and she knows it.
“Shh,” she whispers, and her breath blows hotly against his erection.  He’s not sure if she means for that to happen or not, but it certainly doesn’t help his self control.  Or his willpower.
“Let me pleasure you, Cullen,” she murmurs.  Her voice is sin and he the sinner, but he does not stop her from leaning in and taking his tip into her mouth.
Instead, he clenches his jaw and growls, “Maker’s breath,” as he watches her slowly inch her way down his cock.
He takes it back – the sight of her whimpering in his lap is nothing compared to the sight she makes now, lips wrapped around his length and eyes peering up at him with mischief intent.  Perhaps her voice is not sin; perhaps the entirety of her is.
He exhales loudly when she wraps her hand around the base of his cock and starts to gently thrust it in and out of her mouth.  His fingers act of their own accord as they spin through her hair, pushing it out of her face so he can see her, watch her, imprint this moment into his memory.  He hopes he never forgets it. 
She either knows exactly what she’s doing or she’s as quick a study in the bedroom as she is on the battlefield, because she moves with a confidence he finds entirely addicting.  Her tongue slips over the underside of his cock with practiced movements, rubbing pleasure into him even as her lips suck and her fingers pump.  She moves fast enough to just barely give him the gratification he so desperately needs, yet her progress is speckled with slow teasing strokes that have him gritting his teeth in frustration at the same time. 
It’s entirely possessive, this need for more.  More of her touch and her moans and just her.
He knows he’s not going to last long if she keeps this up, especially when she – does that thing with her tongue –
“Aria,” Cullen groans, jaw clenched and hands fisted in her hair as he stares down at her.  The way she drags her tongue over his tip and then gives it a generous suck has him seeing stars, and all the chantry verses he holds in such high regard seem utterly inconsequential and even downright monotonous in the face of her loveliness.
His thoughts are beginning to verge on blasphemous when he slowly grapples with the sides of her head and stops her from coming back down on him.  His cock pokes at the side of her mouth as Aria blinks up at him questioningly, and he’d like nothing more than to shove it back inside her mouth and –
But no, get a grip on yourself, Cullen – he needs to calm down if he wants to take this tidal wave of pleasure and turn it on her. 
(He doesn’t want a repeat of their first time, that embarrassing moment in which he had allowed her to drive him so crazy that he’d spilled himself much too soon.  She had smiled at him when he did, as if she’d been proud to make him want her so much that he, a mature and practiced man, could forget himself so easily.  The sight of her pride had only helped his embarrassment marginally though.)
“One of these days I’m going to make you come like this,” Aria murmurs, knowing that he is trying to get her to stop before such an end can occur.  Her words leave him feeling dry and burned with unquenchable lust.
Cullen growls and says, “Not tonight.  I want – need – “
He trails off because he doesn’t know how to put his needs into words.  How do you verbalize something you can barely understand?  Describe something that is too fleeting to hold onto?
Aria kisses his still clothed thigh (she really has to do something about that) and slowly crawls back into his lap.  Her fingers push his hair back from his forehead, setting it right as her thumbs brush over his cheekbones and the edges of his eyes.  In a soft voice, she asks, “What do you need, Cullen?”
Her voice sounds like acceptance and he pulls her closer.
Then he’s suddenly standing, heaving her against him and chuckling lowly when Aria gasps and scrambles for a hold, fingers delving against his shoulders.  His hands grip her ass tightly, keeping her solid and grounded against his body.  At least for the duration of the time it takes to reach her bed.
Five paces.  And in the midst of all that arousing domination, Cullen breathes into her ear, “You.  I need you.  I need to feel you around my – “
His words break off when he accidentally drops Aria onto the mattress a little more roughly than he’d originally planned.  It doesn’t seem to matter though.  She propels herself back up with wide, passionate eyes that seem almost black with all her desires, and Cullen has a feeling that he’s just stumbled upon some very useful knowledge for future situations with her.  That she appears to like dirty talk is very fascinating indeed, and he smirks down at her.
Aria reaches for him.  He doesn’t quite expect what she reaches for, though.
Her hands grasp his cock again and with a purr, she murmurs, “Come here, Commander.”
The shiver that bursts through him then is so powerful he thinks he might fall.
It takes him all of three seconds to shuck the rest of his trousers off and kick them away.  Then when he is finally as bare as she is, Cullen props a knee on the mattress between her legs and leans forward.  Aria drags him closer as she throws her arms around his neck and pulls, and they end up falling together onto the bed with subtle laughs full of surprised passion and comfortable arousal.
She hooks a leg around his waist, drags his hips down firmly against hers, and that comfortable arousal immediately shifts to the burning cacophony of lust in less than a moment.
He groans into his neck, hips thrusting of their own accord.  His cock grinds down against her folds and it is such delicious agony that he groans again.  She arches up into him, an expression of frantic desire etched thoroughly across her face, and pulls his length to her entrance with impatient fingers.
Who is he to ignore such an obvious order from his Inquisitor?  He slides in without pause, grateful that her impatience matches his own.  His thrust is powerful and complete as he seats himself deep inside her in one swift move, and Aria is immediately mewling at the rough-but-perfect way he handles her.  Gone is the shy Commander who had been so careful with her on their first night together.  In his place is a man filled with a lust so extraordinary that it sheds away any lingering traces of hesitation.
“Maker – “ he chokes, and thrusts down again, hips shattering against hers even as his voice grinds into a low groan.  He buries his face against her cheek, eyes fluttering between open and closed.  He is too caught up in the blatant relief of being inside her to know whether he wants to watch her unravel or simply lose himself as solidly within this moment as he possibly can.
And yet, even as his thrusts turn into erratic pulls, Cullen somehow manages to retain a part of himself as he strains to ask, “…Hurting you?”  He can’t even bring himself to say a full sentence, but Aria understands the question.
Her mouth upturns as she stares at the ceiling, lowering her gaze to the sight of his body moving above hers.  His skin is a glorious golden glow in the firelight, and his muscular form seems starker than usual from the dip of shadows along his flexed arms and back.  She threads her fingers through his, for once, unkempt hair and turns her head into his, whispering, “Just keep – ah, keep fucking me, Commander.”
Cullen immediately lets lose a strained moan that sounds absolutely sinful falling from his lips, and he lifts his head to look down at her.  His eyes are a quilted mess of barely coherent desire and what looks like amazement.  When it comes to her, he always finds himself amazed.
“Yeah?” he asks, merely because he wants to hear her voice again – wants to wallow in the desperate plea that strikes through it.  His hips turn down into a thrust that’s almost bruising in its force and he watches her face crumble into an expression he hopes he never forgets.
(Maker, let him never forget.)
Aria cries out when he does it again, her fingers turning into talons as she grips his shoulders tightly.  Her torso strains up as if she’s writhing – body shifting into beautiful mess that has Cullen angling his hips down to grind into her faster.
When she sobs, “Cullen - ar halam, ma sa’lath!” [1] in her native tongue, Cullen utterly loses it.
“Aria – “ he gasps, eyes shutting tight as his hips take off into a pace that he can neither control nor stop.  He is detached, it seems, from his own power.  He can only barrel forward into her and hope that she comes before he does.
She breaks off into more lilted Elvish, which drives him even crazier, if possible.  She doesn’t even seem aware of it – neither the language switch nor Cullen’s reaction to it – she is utterly consumed by her own finish as it rattles through her, pushing her past breaking point and shattering her right there in his arms.
She fluctuates around him as if she’s unconsciously trying to keep him within her, pulling him back every time he pulls away.  Cullen can’t get back inside her fast enough – his hips propel him forward of their own accord, and soon his desire is tangled with hers to such a degree that he doubts he’ll ever be able to unwind himself. 
He doesn’t want to anyway, and with a satisfied groan that fills the room like a heavenly chorus shining down its light, Cullen falls over the edge and spills himself inside her.  He keeps thrusting until Aria is a boneless mess beneath him, and then lowers himself down to her side.  They lay there beside each other for several long seconds that are peppered with the sounds of their panting exhales.
Then – Cullen mutters, “Maker…I forgot – I mean, I’ll have to ask Adan for a potion for you.”  He runs a hand through his hair as he rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling.
Aria chuckles and turns her head to watch him.  “You are aware that going yourself would basically air all our dirty laundry, right?  I thought you wanted to keep this between us.”
He had.  He does.  He remembers having that very same conversation after their first night together.  Aria had understood and even agreed that it would be best to keep things under wraps for now, at least until the Halamshiral Ball is dealt with.
Cullen’s mouth tilts up in amusement.  He catches her eye and murmurs, “After the noises you’ve just made, I doubt there’s anyone in Skyhold that doesn’t know about us.  Besides, Dorian can’t keep a secret to save his damned life.”
The last bit is grumbled, but she still hears him and laughs, nudging her leg against his with a smirk.  Cullen’s response is to grab said leg and pull it over the both of his own, curling her up against him at the same time. 
Aria snuggles down into his chest with a pleased sigh as Cullen’s fingers begin to thread their way through her hair.  “Well you’d better get me a few potions rather than just one.”  Then she falls silent, waiting for him to say…
“They go bad after a day or two,” he replies with a confused frown, looking down at the top of her head.  “And you only need one for each…uh, act.”
Aria dissolves into giggles at his awkward phrasing.  He joins in after a moment and squeezes her tighter against him.  After a moment, she rises up onto her elbows to blink down at him with a grin that teeters on the sinful side, and he finds himself swallowing at the sight of it.
“…Exactly,” she purrs as she lowers her mouth down to his.  She cups his face,  pulls her fingers over the scruff on his jaw, and as she leans in to kiss him she breathes, “I don’t plan on leaving this bed any time soon, Cullen.”
This time, he does swallow, and quickly murmurs, “You know I can’t stay here forever – I have work to – “
She kisses him to shut him up and he lets out a soft groan as her body comes to rest against the length of his own.  What had he been trying to say?  He doesn’t remember.  Doesn’t care, either.  Instead, Cullen merely rolls her gently onto her back to kiss her properly.
At this moment, Cullen doesn’t care if the entire world knows about them. 

[1] Ar halam, ma sa’lath … Finish/end me, my love

Friday, January 6, 2017

A Spock Lemon -- Fall (Into Me)

Character: Spock

Fandom: Star Trek

OC: Thalia, red hair, brown eyes, witty, observant

Inspiration: Here we go, the first Spock lemon I've ever attempted.  As usual, it will probably take me most of January to get requests finished up.  Hopefully you'll all be patient with me while I go through the process.  I will be updating the Accepted Requests list soon as well.  There are a few more requests I'd like to write before I close everything up.  Anyway, enjoy!

She blames Captain Kirk.  (It’s usually his fault anyway.)  If he hadn’t decided to throw a huge Christmas party for the crew, then she could have gotten away with spending a nice, peaceful Christmas Eve in her quarters.  Alone.  As in, not surrounded by loud music, strobe lights, and wasted crew members stumbling around knocking into her.
She could’ve avoided this whole situation entirely.  But no – the Captain had to threaten her into attending his party.  She’d rather spend Christmas Eve in her room with a good book and the simulation of fire crackling in the hearth – maybe some cello in the background drizzling its way through some gentle Christmas songs to make her sadly decorated room seem a bit more festive.
If anything, it would have been more festive than techno music and drunken men asking her to dance every other minute.
Thalia glances down at her watch critically.  She hasn’t even been there a full hour, and yet there are already several people passed out on the table in the corner and a few full blown make-out sessions going on behind the scrawny fake trees Kirk had somehow managed to scrape together for appearances. 
She wonders when it would be acceptable to leave – and if anyone would even notice her absence.  She’s in the middle of coming up with a plan to make a hasty exit when yet another person drunkenly bumps into her.  This time, however, the force of it sends her reeling backwards, and she would have undoubtedly fallen to the ground had a pair of hands not clamped down on her arms at the last minute to save her from her fate.
She knocks into what feels like a wall, gasping as her drink flies out of her red plastic cup and spills down her front.  Luckily (or is it, she wonders with a groan), she’s wearing her uniform instead of a dress like many other women, but it doesn’t stop her from cursing under her breath as she imagines how long it will take her to get the stench of alcohol out of her clothes.
And then she remembers that she’s still pressed up against her unknown savior, and glances over her shoulder to thank however stopped her from crashing to the floor.  The thank you is on the tip of her tongue.  It dies the moment she realizes who, exactly, is standing behind her, still holding her up.
“Commander Spock!” she gasps, and stumbles upright with an embarrassed blush.  She starts to smooth out her uniform before remembering that it’s currently soaked in alcohol, and groans again.  Apparently she has the worst luck of all.
Spock merely blinks down at her, takes one look at her blushing face, and calmly says, “There is no need to be embarrassed, Lieutenant.  It would be far worse had you fallen.”
She flails around for something to say to him – her higher up and, (dare she even think it) the man she’s rather unwittingly been crushing on like some silly little girl for the past two years.  Christ, she must be crazy.  She almost wishes she had fallen and hit her head, preferably so hard that she could just allow this moment to fade to black.
“…Um…thank you, Commander,” she stumbles, and glances down at her shirt with a sigh.  Mainly to give herself an excuse to look away from his penetrating stare.
Her cheeks are probably beet red by now.  She certainly feels like it’s risen about a million degrees within the last five seconds alone.
Awkward silence falls between them, or so she thinks.  Perhaps it’s just her, because Spock doesn’t seem to fully grasp the strange nervous energy building up between the spaces of their bodies.  He’s still looking down at her with eyes that crinkle with slight confusion, as if he cannot understand what she’s thinking.
“You were leaving,” he suddenly says, voice solid and tinged with perception.  It isn’t a question, merely an acknowledgement.
Thalia pauses, glances up at him, and admits, “…Yes.”
She doesn’t know if the loud music is addling her brain, but she almost hears a trace of petulant on his face, as if he doesn’t like the verdict.
Another beat of silence (silence that is, for a brief moment, pure and complete as the song changes), and then Spock is saying, “Allow me to escort you to your quarters.”
Thalia stares at him in surprise, but he is already turning away and walking to the doors, as if he expects her to follow without question.  It would, perhaps, be the logical thing to do.  Then again, Thalia doesn’t run on logic like he does.  If anything, her life is one beautifully chaotic mess, as different from his as the sun is to the moon.
Somehow she remembers to walk forward, stumbling around a pair of drunken dancers and depositing her now empty cup on a nearby table.  Spock is waiting for her at the doors, hands primly set behind his back as shoulders straight.  His eyes flash down to hers the moment she steps into his space, his gaze as unreadable as always.
He gestures to the doors and she follows him through.  They get about five paces into the hallway when a very familiar voice drawls, “You two aren’t sneaking off only an hour into the party, are you?”
Thalia stiffens and turns, eyes landing on none other than her captain.  He’s leaning against the hallway with his arms crossed, watching them with a raised eyebrow as if he’s been waiting to catch them escaping.  Of course when Thalia takes note of the mussed up looking cadet beside him, she knows this isn’t true.  She sighs.
Spock sighs too, though not with the same gusto of tired aggravation.  His sigh is more of a pause that drags out into a few immeasurable seconds. 
“We are not ‘sneaking off’,” Spock responds, using his I’m-more-logical-than-you-therefore-you’re-beneath-me voice.  Thalia knows how much Kirk hates that voice.  As one of the more senior Lieutenants, she often gets to see it in action on the Bridge when she takes over for Sulu at the helm.  It makes her smile slightly when she sees the annoyance that flashes through her captain’s eyes.
“Are you laughing at me, Lieutenant Thalia?” Kirk inquires, spearing her with a look that makes her smile immediately drop away. 
Spock glances down at her just in time to see the twitch of her smile disappear.  Had the situation called for it, he might have smiled himself just to see it there on her face.  (Her smiles are lovely – they seem to light up her entire aura when they appear, and he finds himself drawn into them as if they are made from pure moonlight - )
As it is, he only allows the briefest expression of amusement to color his face, but it is enough for Kirk to notice.  When he wants to be, their captain is very observant.  Which most likely explains how he’s the first one to notice the mistletoe currently hanging over their heads – mistletoe that he had put up himself.
He’d done it to amuse himself more than anything.  Catching errant parties who would rather spend the evening in their boring quarters is quite fun, and catching them underneath mistletoe is even better.  Of course he hadn’t thought that it would be none other than his Commander and his Lieutenant that would walk straight into his trap.
That almost makes it better than anything.
Kirk crosses his arms with a wide, evil smirk that Thalia immediately becomes concerned with.  She knows that expression well enough to realize how nothing good ever comes from it.  Or if it does, then it never comes easily.
Spock either doesn’t notice or he’s ignoring it entirely, because he begins to say, “I am merely escorting Lieutenant Thalia to her – “
“Yes, yes, you’re escorting Thalia to her room, I get it,” Kirk interrupts with a snort.  Thalia feels her cheeks redden at the underlying implications in his voice.  He clearly doesn’t believe that Spock is only escorting her.  She’s thankful, for a moment, that the Commander is part Vulcan and therefore probably won’t understand those very same implications…
But he is also part human, and he’s been around Jim Kirk for long enough by now to know how his mind works.  In any case, Thalia only blushes harder when Spock pauses, then frowns, “I believe you have arrived at a conclusion that is entirely unjustifiable, captain.”
Kirk just shrugs and sends Thalia’s blazing face a smirk.  Spock glances down at her too and sighs. 
“I guess that’s for you to decide after you’ve kissed,” Kirk says in an offhanded manner, despite is words not making any sense – to anyone but him, as usual.
Thalia immediately splutters out a, “What?” at the same time Spock says, “Excuse me, captain?”
There is something no-nonsense in the tone of Spock’s voice, as if he is somehow challenging Kirk, trying to put him in his place or some such thing.  Some kind of silent communication seems to drill through the space between them, and every passing moment of it makes Kirk’s amusement grow.
“You’re standing underneath mistletoe,” he finally explains, glancing up above their heads to the ceiling.  “Therefore by human traditions, you have to kiss.  And don’t give me that crap about being Vulcan, Spock – you’re half human too.”
Thalia looks up and pales at the sight of the sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently from above their heads.  Spock just gives it a quick, condescending glance and turns back to Kirk.
“I know of no such tradition,” he staunchly says, and hooks his fingers around Thalia’s wrist in a sudden grip.  She whirls to face him, surprised at his touch.  He doesn’t freely touch others.  In fact, she’s not sure if he’s ever touched her so solidly before.
The look on his face however – it burns away the hopeful surprise.  Does he really find the idea of kissing her so revolting?  Her heart thuds heavily against her ribcage at the silent rejection, and she swallows tightly.
Kirk jumps up when Spock turns away, insisting, “You have to – its tradition – hey, come back here!  I’m your captain – “
Apparently using such an excuse is not good enough for tonight, because Spock doesn’t even glance behind his shoulder as he hauls Thalia away, fingers tight and unyielding around her wrist.  She falls into step beside him quickly, but notices that he doesn’t release her until they reach the elevators and he is forced to let go of her hand.  She’s not sure how she feels about that.
What she is sure about is that the next few moments are so shockingly perfect that she finds she can no longer breathe.  Though admittedly, that might be because Spock is suddenly pressing her into the elevator, grasping her face with both hands, and slanting his lips over hers in a kiss so abrupt she is left miles behind.
She gasps, hands rising to flutter at his chest.  He feels so solid underneath her fingertips and it is a lovely contradiction to the slow way he kisses her, as if he is afraid he is stepping too far over the boundary set up between them.  As it is, Thalia can’t stop to wonder if there is truth to such a thought or not, because…well, she cannot so much as think.
She’s sad to say that she basically just flails against him in her surprise, immovable to the heady feeling of her dream unfurling before her eyes.
Spock is kissing her.
He’s kissing her.
And he’s suddenly pulling back as quickly as he’d come, looking chagrined and very human as he puts several paces between them.  “I’m…I apologize, Lieutenant.  It seemed…before…that you wanted me to partake in that tradition.”
His stumbling seems strange in the cadence of her heartbeat, which patters through her like a storm.  Waves of confusion as well as joy stumble through her, too, and she cautiously steps toward him as if she is approaching a wild animal.
‘Wild’ is not something she would call Spock though, and even now his face is folding over into blank logical indifference.  His go-to expression when the two conflicting parts of him clash.
She supposes it makes sense.  Logic is more comfortable, perhaps, than the crazy chaos of human emotion.  It can be categorized in ways that entirely defy the emotions of her species.  But to see him attempting to do so now is utterly inconceivable and she has to stop it before she loses this chance forever.
“I did – I mean I do – “ Thalia pauses, catches his confused gaze, and murmurs, “It’s just you surprised me.  You’re supposed to kiss underneath the mistletoe.”
Not catch her off guard several hallways away from it.
Spock appears entirely disgruntled by this information.  He raises an eyebrow and spears her with a glance that looks much less confused and much more confident.
“I was under the impression that it wouldn’t matter where I kissed you.  It would be…logical to assume that you would prefer a more private setting.  As opposed to sharing affection in front of your captain.”  He peers at her as if to challenge her.
Thalia blushes and laughs awkwardly, mumbling, “Ah…yes, that’s true.  It seemed, before, that you found the thought of kissing me to be…”  she trails off, unable to bring herself to say the word on the tip of her tongue.
Spock stares at her.  “Considering the fact that I just kissed you of my own accord less than two minutes ago, I believe I have proved that supposition false.”
Thalia nods as if this makes perfect sense, and as she does she realizes how very stupid they both sound right about now.  Why are they trying to make this into some logical argument when it would be so much easier and much more pleasant to just continue where they’d left off?
She must be insane.
She looks up into his eyes, sees the darkened way he’s watching her, and mutters, “Christ…”   Then she flies forward to catch him off guard this time around.
Except she doesn’t catch him off guard at all: Spock merely steps toward her and drags his arms around her waist just as her mouth tips up to search for his.  Their lips meet in perfect synchronicity, as if he had only been waiting for her to come to a conclusion that he has already arrived at.
Yes, she thinks that she probably is insane.  But at least she is making up for it now.
She presses her body against his, arching headily to reach his taller frame.  He all but towers above her and he has to bend down to her level in order to kiss her.  She has to admit that it’s a touch arousing to witness, and she quickly tangles her fingers into his hair to bring him closer. 
And then – the elevator doors are suddenly lurching open and Thalia jumps away in a wave of fuzzy surprise.  In her haste she trips over her own feet and would have fallen right to the floor had Spock not been close enough to catch her.
It’s almost fairytale.  Which naturally makes her blush like crazy because God, can she get any more pathetic?
“Your balance seems to be impaired tonight, Lieutenant Thalia,” Spock murmurs from above, holding her tightly.  She can feel the masculine strength in his arms as he grasps her, the heat of his hand as it lingers on her waist – just a touch lower than would be considered acceptable in public.  And the way he says her name, purrs it almost, has fire curling its way straight to her core.
She knows in that moment that she is finished.
And – the elevator doors close before they can get off.
“Fuck,” she says before she can rein the word in, mainly in reference to the fact that they had missed their floor.  But the word has a strange effect on the Vulcan holding her.  His eyes flash down to hers and it seems as though he is thinking about something entirely different.  She is quick to catch on and blushes vividly.
“I – uh, I mean – “
He doesn’t let her finish.  (Thank God, she would’ve just embarrassed herself even more - )  Instead, he heaves her back into a standing position, then presses her against the wall of the elevator as his mouth hurtles down to kiss her again.
This time there is more fervent desire behind his movements and it makes everything around her turn insignificant.  She can think only of the solid strength of his body as it pushes into hers; the stark way he kisses her with a passion that seems to tear right through her own.  She clamps her fingers down around his upper arms and moans breathlessly at the flex of muscle hidden just beneath his shirt.
The moan makes his eyes flutter open and his lips slow to a burning grind.  Thalia opens her eyes too, confused as to why he is stopping.  But when she sees the black heat building up in his gaze, that subtle trail of arousal spikes into something much more potent and she moans again as she kisses his harder.
He returns the kiss, deepening it as his body presses her more firmly against the wall.  One of his legs pushes between the both of hers.  His fingers fly down to her waist, where he circles his thumbs at her hipbones.
His touch is completely surreal and she thinks she might be dreaming.  But – even her overactive imagination could not hope to paint such a picture.  She would never have guessed that Spock would have this amount of passion.  That he could kiss her like this, touch her like this – allow this affection (or whatever it is) to overturn the propriety that he always seems to hold in such high regard.  No, this is not a dream.  He is defying every dream she’s ever had with every frenzied touch.
He’s kissing her like he’s never wanted anything so badly in his entire life. 
Meanwhile, the elevator continues its downward spiral and creates a strangely addicting backdrop to their passion, enclosing it in an array of conformed desire.
When the elevator is stopping again, it’s Spock who pulls away too quickly, and Thalia who is left breathless against the wall.  It’s Spock who creates the space between them – Thalia who is left to wonder why.  Until she realizes that there are two ensigns entering the elevator, chattering some nonsense about Kirk’s party.  Neither of them seems to realize what they are walking in on: Spock had disentangled himself from her before the doors had actually opened.
They do, however, give her a strange glance before turning their backs to them and facing the doors.  Probably because she’s still drowning against the wall, breath spooling out too quickly to be considered normal.  She thinks it’s somewhat fortunate that apparently no one can conceive of Spock pressing a woman against a wall and kissing the daylights out of her – herself included, disregarding the last five minutes.
She looks over at him to see him staring at her, a dark lustful hunger invading his eyes even as the rest of his expression returns to stoicism.  There are two paces between them and yet it feels as though he is right there beside her and has never left.  Arousal bolts through her like shots in the night, due completely to the way he looks at her.  It’s almost amusing, how a single glance can inflict so much.  It would be, if she doesn’t feel overly impatient to get out of this elevator.
The next minute drags into what feels like an eternity filled with meaningless chatter and the dark promises Spock is still projecting at her as he watches her from the corner of his eye.
When they once again reach their floor, Thalia can’t get off the elevator fast enough – to the confusion of the two ensigns, who she practically plows down in her haste.
In contrast, Spock swiftly exits with much more grace, giving the ensigns a nod as he reverts back into the embodiment of the Commander of the Enterprise.  Hands behind his back, head straight and chin high, he looks as powerful as he always does when he is on the Bridge handing out orders in a seemingly effortless fashion.
To be perfectly honest, it makes Thalia want to jump him.
She doesn’t of course – there are several people in the hallway as well, walking to and fro despite the fact that Kirk had ordered all personnel not on duty to attend his Christmas party (or else). 
Spock gives her one look that makes her feel like she might combust in front of all of them and gestures down the hallway as the doors close behind him.  “Shall we, Lieutenant?” he asks.  There is a spark of what looks like mischief in his eyes – a baffling thing, really, considering how emotionless he usually is.
He probably knows how impatient she is.  He can probably feel it in the space between them, that desire to return to his side.  She can barely contain it.
And yet – the murmured way he drawls out ‘Lieutenant’ is what keeps her steady as they trek down the hall, closer than usual.  There are promises in that voice too, similar to the ones she sees lingering in his gaze.  She is willing to wait and see just what those promises entail.
Luckily, she doesn’t have to wait very long.
Her quarters are close to the elevator, just around the corner, and they arrive there within seconds.  She is very glad that this hallway is deserted.  She has a feeling that had anyone been watching, Spock would never…well, he’d certainly never do what he’s doing now.
Leaning down to kiss her, nip at her bottom lip, fingers tugging at her hair before slanting over her cheek, lowering to her chin and holding it between his thumb and his forefinger – he drags his thumb over her lip, pulling it down as he asks, “What is your passcode?”
Thalia blanks, too overcome by the rush of sensation.  All his kisses are filled with such sudden, inexplicable desire.  They make her crazy.
“What?” she breathes.  She can barely even hear him over the thrumming in her ears.
A shot of amusement colors his eyes as he peers down at her.  Taking her mouth in his again, he murmurs against her, “Your passcode, Lieutenant.  Unless you’d prefer we stay here in the hallway all night.”
That desire curls inside her like a living beast and she laughs.  Her breath pools against his mouth.  She never would have pegged him to be such a masterful seducer, but here he is, seducing her with only a few words and several lingering touches.
Her earlier thought repeats itself with a vengeance: she is utterly finished.  Completely done for.  The promise in those words – the way he so easily says how he plans to stay with her tonight – makes her feel so weightless she could fly away.
“23-7804,” she whispers.  He doesn’t even look away as he reaches behind her to enter the code.  His arms curl around her to do so, pressing her even closer so as to reach the buttons in the door – it is a dirty move on his part, she thinks.  He is even better at this than she could have ever imagined.
When the door opens, he pushes her inside without releasing her, and is kissing her again before the door is fully closed. 
She’s not sure what she expects from him at this point.  He has defied all her previous suppositions of how he might act when spurred on with desire.  He certainly doesn’t respond with his logic and reason.  It seems he gives himself over to his human side when faced with all this passion.
Which is why she finds that she’s only a little bit surprised, at this point, when he hooks his arms around her ass and heaves her up into the air in a startlingly heady display of masculine strength.
“Oh!” she gasps breathlessly, right before Spock turns the full force of his gaze to her.  The little breathy sound seems to make his eyes even darker, his human impatience winning out with a vengeance as he walks them through the room.  His mouth devours her before he even reaches the threshold to her bedroom.
For a brief moment Thalia wonders how he had known it is her bedroom, but then she remembers that all quarters have the same basic layout.  She is immediately grateful that she doesn’t have to waste words explaining to him where he can find her bed.  She’d much rather do other things with her mouth. Needless to say, that’s the last logical thought she has that night.
He pushes the door open with his free hand, sliding it off her ass for a short moment before returning to clutch at her.  The door is kicked shut without a backward glance or a moment of hesitation, and Spock is quickly pinning her up against the closed door and kissing her deeper, teeth flying and tongue dancing against hers.
She utterly melts – until he grinds his hips into hers and she feels the hard bulge rocking against her cunt.
“Spock,” she moans, hands fisted in his hair.  She doesn’t necessarily plan on moaning his name like that – in face, she never would have dreamed of doing so until this moment (private evenings alone with her fantasies notwithstanding).  But the sound immediately has his eyes flying open to stare at her, jaw slack for the briefest of moments before tightening into barely restrained desire.  His gaze is hungry, almost furiously so – tempered through with a dark blaze of possession that comes entirely from the desperate way her voice pleads with him.
She likes this.
It is a thought that spins through his head so quickly, builds up so abruptly, that he doesn’t even hesitate to slowly grind his hips into hers again.  This time, though, he leans his head away to watch her expression closely.  He wants to see every trickle of desire as it shivers through her.
He’s not disappointed.  A short frenzied exhale accompanies the breathiest edge of a moan as it scrapes through her throat, and Spock cannot help himself from tipping her head back and showing her through a heady rough kiss that she is making him very aroused with all her delicious sounds.
His hands slide up her body, dipping beneath her shirt and continuing their way up her back.  His touch is calloused and expansive – grounding her yet making her heart do silly little things at the same time.  She arches up into his chest as his hands maneuver over her back, pushing her breasts against him even as he grapples with her bra beneath her shirt.  He breathes out hard as he unhooks it with surprisingly agile fingers.
That’s when she sees the tight, determined expression lighting his face, as if he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing.
For such an adept kisser, Thalia realizes that Spock might not have that much experience in other matters.  Her Vulcan Studies class back at the Academy had mentioned something about Vulcans rarely ever having physical intercourse unless they are mated or experiencing the effects of Pon Far (of which is another matter entirely).  She wonders just how much experience he really has – clearly some, at least.  Still, she isn’t used to being the one with more sexual prowess.  Usually, she’s the inexperienced one.
For some reason though, she doesn’t feel at all strange at changing the roles with Spock.  The thought is as comfortable as breathing, and easily conceived as the desire roiling through her even now.
“Spock,” she murmurs, and he lifts his head to look at her.  “You can…touch me,” she says, her words quickly becoming more of a plea than a grant of permission.  She wants his hands on her body, wants to feel those calloused fingertips everywhere.  His eyes flash.
“I am touching you,” he tells her, so calmly that she actually bursts into laughter – because she can see the amusement that color his eyes, the fact that he is actually joking.  It’s strangely perfect.
“You know what I mean,” she tells him with a grin, and he smiles very briefly back – just an upward twitch of his mouth before he leans in to kiss her and it disappears.
Instead of responding with words, he peels her shirt away and throws it on the floor.  Her already unclipped bra slides down her arms, and he turns those hungry eyes to her breasts. 
Perhaps he isn’t as inexperienced as she’d thought, because he doesn’t so much as hesitate as he lifts his hands to cup them.  Perhaps he’s merely taking her words to heart and touching her, knowing that he wants him to.  It doesn’t really matter what reasoning he has – all that matters is that when he weighs her breasts in his hands and gently squeezes them, the arousal Thalia has been battling constantly with returns with full force.
It might be the fact that she is half bare before him – a dream in and of itself.  His gaze upon her pins her down and makes her desire skyrocket without him even having to lift a hand.  But he is touching her now, fingers pinching at her nipples, rubbing her soft skin with firm caresses – it’s perfect.  She cannot get enough of it.
Her fingers immediately go for his own shirt as he works at her chest.  All his attention is turned to her breasts – almost singularly – that he barely even realizes she is pulling his uniform up until he is forced to remove his hands from her so as to get out of the sleeves.  And then he is as bare chested as her, and Thalia thinks she’s never seen a man (Vulcan, she corrects) who looks as enticing as him.
He is beautiful, and he’s not even fully naked yet.
She squirms against him at the thought, grinding accidentally into the bulge – which seems to have grown harder over the course of the last few minutes.  It really is an accident, at first, but when the movement causes Spock to let loose the sexiest growl she’s ever heard, it’s only natural that the second and third time is not a mistake.
He stares her down as she teases him, allowing it for a moment before suddenly slamming his hips into hers and thrusting their lower bodies together.  His hand reaches up to grasp her breast – his grip is hard now, firm and solid, as if she is his anchor and he is lost without her.  But if anyone is lost it is her, because every delicious thrust of his hips makes her grip of reality overturn into violent shades of raw need.
“Spock!” she gasps, moans, pushes her hips back to match his.  She needs to feel him bare, to feel his cock against her skin, sinking into her core, thrusting like this - but inside of her, not merely against her.  She is empty without him.  She’s never needed anyone so badly in her entire life.
“The bed – I, Spock – I need you!” she cries, grasping his shoulders so tightly that she’s probably marking him.  He doesn’t seem to care – just growls that sexy growl into her ear and nips at her lobe, heaving her from the wall and instead against him.  He grips her ass firmly and drags her against his erection with tight, controlled movements, and doesn’t release her until he crosses the room to where her bed awaits.
“You need me?” he inquires in that growled voice the moment he lays her out beneath him.  His fingers make quick work of her pants, sliding them down her legs before she even has a chance to answer.  And then – with his mouth suddenly dragging pleasure over her skin, making his way to her breasts, Thalia can’t even bother answering him.  At least not verbally.
Instead, the moment he wrangles the last of her clothing away, she grabs his hand and drags it to her cunt, curling his fingers around her wet heat with only a drawn out moan to enunciate her desires.
Spock sighs out heavily, a short exhale that is full of stark needy arousal.  His cock twitches at her move – as do his fingers, which sink immediately against her wet folds.  She’s soaking wet for him, so much so that as he experimentally flicks his finger over her cunt from bottom to top, it takes no effort at all to slide all the way over her.
And no effort to make her go immediately crazy.  He watches with startled (passionate, hungry) eyes when Thalia abruptly moans his name and arches into him, pushing her hips into his hand with a muffled curse that sounds extremely delicious despite its illogic.  But – illogic aside, Spock touches her again.  And again.  He slides his finger over her several times, then sinks against her with a groan that he forgets to reign in.
She hears the sound and stares at him, taking him all in with a gaping expression.  He stares back at her with the smallest amount of embarrassment painted over his face.
Silly Vulcan.  He doesn’t even realize what that sound does to her.
“Keep touching me,” she gasps, crazier than before.  Fuck, she’s never felt so hot.  Never wanted anyone’s cock the way she wants his – no, that’s wrong.  She wants so much more than that.  She wants everything from him.  All his beautiful logic wrapped up just for her – his heart, both sides, human and Vulcan and every part between – she wants it all.
She doesn’t even realize she says that until Spock is pulling away with a startled chuckle.
“You want everything?” he asks, raises an eyebrow as he hovers above her.  Once again, she realizes his unexplainable talent for pinning her down with his gaze alone.  A dangerous thing, that.
Thalia laughs, but it’s tinged with desire and need and everything she cannot put into words.  Spock’s mouth twitches into a smile.  His hand rubs over her cunt very suddenly, using all his fingers to feel her, spread her folds, sinking his thumb into her core – she goes berserk.
“Spock, fuck!  Oh – “ her body arches up with permission and she moans, “I need - Spock – I need – “
He hums against her neck and grabs her wrist, dragging it up to his cock like she had done to him just minutes before.  The bulge in his pants feels rock hard against her hand, especially when he leans forward to thrust against her fingers and groans into her neck.
“Oh God,” she moans, squeezing him gently in her palm.  He lets out a ragged, harsh breath that she immediately decides sounds immeasurably perfect colored in the tone of his voice.
Somehow between the shades of curdling desire, they manage to get his pants off.  The moment his cock is free, she feels herself combust from the inside out and he hasn’t even taken her yet.  It’s such a strong feeling that she can only lay there beneath him and breathe.
He sinks down against her, laying his body over hers.  Skin on skin – his cock drags over her folds and she keens against him, rocking her hips up to feel more of him, desperate for the friction he offers.  It doesn’t take much more than that before he’s breathing out that ragged sigh again and lining himself up to her.  When his tip breaches her cunt, she all but thrusts up to take more of him, and he sinks down inside her with a moan.
Fully hilted within her tight heat, Spock pauses only a moment before every last shard of his logic disintegrates into a glorious display of uncontrolled lust.
He drags himself out of her before thrusting back in without pause.  There is no hesitation at all as he sets a fast pace, nearly rutting into her as he pins her hips to the mattress with the force of his own.  Thalia drowns against him, gasping against the side of his neck, lips shifting over his shoulder, teeth scraping against his skin – her fingers fly over his body, spinning down his back before grasping his ass and pulling him roughly into her.  He groans at that move.  It sounds almost like a grunt, savage and animalistic as his pace increases to an almost inhuman thrum.
It doesn’t take long at all for her to orgasm.  She sobs into him, feeling as savage as he does – perhaps more, she doesn’t know.  Doesn’t care to find out.  All she can do is lose herself to him as her inner walls flutter around his cock and she comes hard and strong and so quickly that she can’t see anything but him.  His scent around her, his taste, his body – it all makes her forget everything but the delicious way he takes her.
She cries out his name, exhausted but still aroused.  He spurns her on quickly and even after her orgasm flutters away, she feels another one building up mere minutes later.  She’s never come so quickly before, and to come a second time in barely five minutes?  He’s good.  He’s so good that she can’t even question it.  To be honest, rational thought seems to have disappeared entirely for them both.
“Oh my God,” she cries, one hand clenching down on his ass while the other grasps at his shoulder blades.  Her fingers scrabble at him, nails digging into his skin.  She can’t control the desire in her voice or in her body or anywhere, really, when she sobs, “I’m gonna come again – Spock – “
He growls out and orders, “Then come.”
The simplicity of his words coupled with the unflinching arousal fettered between each syllable has her bending into him with another cry.
This time, though, his own orgasm bursts through him at the same time.  The feeling of her muscles once more fluttering down around his erection has him collapsing into her, gathering her up against him as his hips ram down into hers.  He pulls his cock through the fluctuating clench of her heat and waits until the very last moment before he jerks back and unloads himself against her cunt, fingers twisting over his cock as he brushes his tip against her folds.
She watches him with barely retrained desire and reaches out for him when he lets go, face tired with the satisfied expression of bliss.
He nestles down against her with a long sigh and pulls her against him.  They don’t even question the way they so easily tangle together, shifting into an intricate coil of limbs.  Thalia turns her head to kiss him, taking his lips against hers with a breathy, pleased sigh.  He kisses her back deeply, sighing out too as his hand trails down her back.
It seems that she has gotten her Christmas wish after all.  They spend the rest of the evening in her quarters, and instead of listening to the gentle lilt of a cello delivering Christmas music, they listen to the subtle shift of each other’s heartbeats burning in their chests.

Extended Ending

Kirk has a strange feeling when he enters the Bridge the next morning.  His head is pounding with a hangover that even his usual cure can’t fix, and he’s not the only one suffering.  He doesn’t expect his Commander to have any such symptoms – he can’t remember the last time Spock drank – but he doesn’t expect him to be so…happy either.
It’s scary.
“You look…cheerful,” Kirk remarks when he catches sight of Spock, already working in his station.  Perhaps ‘cheerful’ isn’t quite the right word.  Spock looks as stoic as always.  But there is something light about him this morning that Kirk can’t quite put a finger on. 
“I did not partake in as much alcohol as you did, Captain,” Spock responds crisply, and hands him a report to read over. 
Kirk glowers at him but doesn’t argue, despite not wanting to read such a large report so early in the morning (and with a massive hangover ricocheting through his head).  He settles down in his chair and flips the report open regardless, sighing out in exhaustion as he reads the opening page.
He’s fairly certain that Spock just wants to make him suffer.
Kirk gets halfway through the first page before sighing out again and tilting his head back.  His eyes briefly land on Lieutenant Thalia, who is currently at the helm working in Sulu’s place, as he has the morning off (lucky bastard) – and that’s when he notices where her eyes are directed.
She’s staring at Spock.
And he’s staring back.
And there’s something…weird between them, like they’re sharing some kind of mental communication, some strange conversation to be had through their eyes alone.
Kirk sits up so fast that his report flutters several feet away.
“You got laid!” he exclaims, pointing accusingly at Spock.  The Vulcan’s back immediately straightens into stiff wariness.  Thalia turns bright red.  Her head jerks back to face her station and Kirk grins.  They are so obvious.  He doesn’t know how he missed it.
“I guess that mistletoe scheme worked after all,” he sings, though thankfully he doesn’t drag Thalia into the matter.  She’s already embarrassed as it is.  The entire Bridge is staring at Spock and Kirk with varying degrees of amusement and horror.  Kirk isn’t cruel enough to point out that Thalia is apparently the one who did the deed with his Commander.  That’s not the say he isn’t cruel enough to poke fun at said Vulcan though.
Spock is silent for a moment, obviously wondering how he is going to maneuver his way out of this with as much dignity as possible.  Finally he says in his most logical voice, “Human traditions like the one you unsuccessfully attempted to force me into are entirely illogical.”
He probably would have gone on to refute Kirk’s accusation, but the captain smirks and cuts in, “That doesn’t mean it didn’t work.”
Spock flounders in silence for a moment too long, and Kirk laughs.
Thalia just rubs a hand over her forehead nervously and hopes that her captain hadn’t just ruined the one good thing she has going for her now – that Spock won’t allow this impropriety to overcome the desire he had so thoroughly showed her the night before.
She doesn’t have to worry though, because later that night he returns to her door, and she realizes that even Kirk’s silly words could not dampen the things he feels for her – the things that his human side cannot ignore.
"Good evening, Lieutenant," he murmurs when she opens the door and sees him standing outside.  The grin that quickly spreads over her face is matched in its entirety in his eyes alone.
"Commander Spock.  To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" she asks with a tiny smirk.  
He pauses only a moment before tilting his head and bringing his hands from where they were being his back.  In them, he's holding what looks like - 
"Is that mistletoe?" she laughs, and the corner of his mouth tips upward into the hint of a smile.
He steps inside and drawls, "It occurred to me that I know very little of these human traditions the captain is so fond of.  It would be...logical to familiarize myself with them."
Thalia can't close the door fast enough, and when she reaches for him, he is already halfway to her - bridging the gap between their bodies with a determination that makes her heart sing.