forthedog | For Eostre.

Current Location: compound, first level bathroom

Entry tags:

eostre,
pr0n

For Eostre.

The door does indeed lock, and he does this first before pushing her up against the wall, firmly but not hard, kissing her deeply this time and tangling one hand in the white gold of her hair as his other hand curves over her waist. It's every bit as wonderful as he thought it would be.

"I have to say," he says, a bit breathless, "I didn't really expect this today."

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His pants finally come undone, sliding down over his hips (he doesn't think he lost a button on that one but who really gives a fuck if he did) and kicks them aside, and then with a low sound that's close to a growl he nearly falls against her, reaching down under her thighs and lifting her, bracing her against the wall and pushing up, in, and she's so hot and slick and and tight around him that a cry tears out of him. He buries his face in her hair and stills, just for a second, feeling her and them and everything spinning around them.

This isn't real, he thinks. It can't be. I am not ever this lucky.

"Oh, gods." She manages to force that much out between her teeth as he lifts her and pushes up into her, fills her. He holds her still which gives her time to adjust, and she wraps her arms around his neck, and her legs up around his thighs.

He raises his head and tries to look in her eyes for a moment, tries to say something, thank you, maybe, or something along those lines, but all he gets out is her name before his eyes close and he gasps as they begin to move.

With her back pressed against the wall, she squirms and rocks against him, around him, thighs tight around him, her hand at the back of his head, biting her lip.

He could take this slowly, but that wouldn't be keeping with the rest of this, so he moves faster, plunging hard into her, fucking her against the wall, harder, faster, more, more, God.

For the first time since he stepped onto the sand and everything changed, he isn't thinking about home. He isn't thinking about Hobbes, or Florence, or how to get back to them or whether or not they're even alive. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters right now but the woman in his arms and the high sweetness pulsing through his head, growing and swelling.

She groans as he starts to fuck her harder, her back sliding against the wall, her fingers making white marks on his skin. Yes, yes, fucking yes, she needed this, she'd been needing this, and she was going to be grateful to him for a long time after this.

He's close, too goddamn close. Tries to back away from the edge, because he wants to see her fall first, wants to be able to look at her face while it happens. He wants her, wanted her, is loving every fucking second of this, but on some deeper level he's aware that this is fundamentally about her, or it should be. Really, her fingers in his hair would have been enough to make everything so much better. A smile from her would have done it.

He bends to her perfect ear, biting the lobe. "Come for me," he gasps. "Come for me, beautiful."

She groans, electric shock going through her at his words, moaning as he fucks her, as she slips her hand between them, rubbing, adding, and it's enough, it is and she's coming against him, groaning and trembling, riding him as hard as she can.

He holds her tight as she shakes against him and the look on her face is enough to send him up and out to join her, muffling a yell against her neck as the pulse in his head contracts to a hot bright singularity and explodes outward and he spasms hard into her, clinging onto her for dear fucking life. Because that's exactly what she is.

Eostre.

She clings to him, the aftershocks of her climax shuddering through her even as he follows her. She moans his name softly, hair clinging to the side of her face.

He slows, stills, feels all his bones starting to go away. Still holding onto her, he sinks to the floor and gently sets her down, arms still wrapped around her. It's like he can't quite make himself let go. They're tangled and damp and a bit of a mess, and he can't help laughing a little as he opens his eyes and looks at her. He reaches up and strokes a finger down her cheek, lifting aside a strand of hair.

"You okay?"

She looks at him dumbly and her face is flushed and she's sweating, but she smiles and turns her face to catch his finger wtih a kiss.

"I'm alright."

"I..." he starts, and then stops and shakes his head. He isn't sure what he wants to say. He feels slightly giddy.

"You're amazing," seems to be the only coherent thought he can express.

"Hush, you," she says, stretching her nude body like a cat, flexing her toes.

He sees no reason not to comply with this, so he does hush, leaning back against her, his head pillowed on her breast. Her heartbeat is soothing in his ear. Everything feels warm and loose and comfortable, almost as if they're not on a bathroom floor, surrounded by the wreckage of their clothes.

It feels nice there, with him lying back against her, and she brushes her fingers through his hair again and feels it settling, feels that girl that she was while he was fucking her slipping away. She stretches her toes, rotating her ankle.

The fingers in his hair are back, and this time coaxing him towards sleep. He rubs his eyes; he can't sleep now, here; they're on the floor in a room that someone else is probably going to want to use at some point.

And whatever was between them is going. Not disappearing, not at all, but fading and becoming less potent. And that's fine.

"We should maybe go soon," he says quietly.

"Get dressed. See if my legs still work." She grins. "I think you broke me. Or you didn't break me enough. I can't decide, lover."

Mike laughs again and sits up a bit gingerly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around for his scattered clothes. "Anytime. I mean that." He hands her her jeans, pulling on his own pants. Buttons all intact. Great.

"I told you I didn't expect anything, and I don't. But if you ever want me for anything, I'm here." His smile fades a bit. "For now, anyway."

She narrows her eyes at him, pulling her shirt on over her head (A flash of belly through missing buttons).

"I'm going to be keeping an eye on you."

She purses her lips, rubbing her hands down her bare shin.

His eyes hit the buttons, or rather, the distinct lack of buttons. "Shit, sorry about that." He pulls on his own shirt. "And I could probably use someone keeping an eye on me. Won't try to stop you, anyway."

He gets a bit shakily to his feet and bends down, offering her a hand.

She takes his head, bringing her dungarees with her and slipping into them without panties, pulling the straps up over her shoulder.

"Good. I don't stop easily."

"Knew I liked you for a reason." He pulls her close for just a moment, pressing his lips to her forehead. He can taste the salt of her sweat on his mouth.

Reluctantly, he reaches around her and unlocks the door.

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For Eostre.

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