![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
I Won't Pretend to Fall Down Anymore
1363 words
NC17
well I never want to land
'cause I'm high on you beyond all sleight of hand
- The Frames
What Spike feels like inside her is heat.
She hadn’t expected that. It doesn’t make sense and yet it’s true. He has no body heat of his own, but from beneath her he’s pouring heat up into her as she rides him slowly, his hands moving from her hips to her breasts and back again, her hands on his chest where no heart beats, her head thrown back and her breath coming in gasps. He doesn’t need to breathe, he has no reason to be gasping with her, but he is, his face twisted with pleasure, looking almost close to pain. Two minutes ago she let him pull her down, straddled him, he slipped inside her, and it’s already so fucking good.
He’s beautiful. She can barely look at him.
He kisses her. Bites at her lips--slowly, gently, with a total absence of savagery. Bites that are actually tender. She loosens with each one, folding against him, rocking her hips. His arms slide around her back, and she’s fucking a goddamn vampire and she’s not sure she ever recalls feeling this kind of safe before.
And there’s another set of hands on her. Sliding down her spine, closing on her ass and squeezing her. She jerks, twists--it’s a surprise and it sends a jolt down from her brain into her cunt.
She’d honestly forgotten he was there.
She can’t forget now, though. She moans against Spike’s mouth and Mike breathes into her ear, biting gently at her earlobe, bent over her body with his dick nudging at her ass. She’s sandwiched between hot, lean muscle and her mind is starting to unravel.
They want her. She doesn’t think she really appreciated how much before now.
“That’s right, pet,” Spike murmurs, lifting his head and looking over her shoulder with a smile pulling at his kiss-swollen lips. “You deserve a taste.”
“Fucking right, I do.” Not that he hasn’t already had a taste of her, and then some. Not that he doesn’t seem ravenous with her, like he can’t get enough, teasing her with his lips and tongue until she’s gripping him and crying out, Spike holding her and murmuring directions and approval. But he wants more, she's been able to sense it, and now she can feel it in how hard his hands are on her. His teeth.
She turns her head, trying to see him, but Spike grips her by the jaw and turns her head to face him again. “You look at me, love. Only me.” Another kiss, softer; his teeth are so sharp as he coaxes her lips apart.
“You got any idea how long he's been teasing me with this?” Mike is settling behind her, hands still moving over her; his cock is nudging the crack of her ass, leaving slick trails of precome. His mouth against her ear, soft laughter. “When he fucks me? Just hold on, pet, just take it a little longer and I'll let you have her.” It's actually a passable imitation and she almost laughs in spite of herself. It chokes off into another moan—hard and almost shocked—as his mouth slides down her back. His whole body is sliding down, and Spike is laughing against her, rocking his dick up hard into her, and now she has a better idea of what he meant by taste.
She's bent forward, lying flush against Spike's chest as he fucks her slow and hard and deep. She's exposed. And Mike's tongue is working its way down beneath her tailbone.
“Fuck,” she manages, wrenching her mouth free long enough to say it. She doesn't even know what she's pleading for. She feels lightheaded. “Oh fuck please--”
Mike's tongue slips down into the crack of her ass and she almost grays out.
Spike is laughing against her again, sounding pleased and warm, fingers working through her hair. Mike laps at her, spreading her wide with his hands, tongue working in those same wicked little circles that always send her over the top in the end. She angles her hips down, grinding her clit as hard as she can against Spike's pubic bone, and she thinks she might come just like this when Mike pulls away and she feels slick fingers where his tongue was, one pushing its way slowly into her.
She jerks. Arches back and lets out a cry. It's too much, suddenly—and then she's babbling it, one hand against Spike's chest and the other reaching back for Mike, It'stoomuchit'stoomuch. Mike curls one arm around her, grinning against the back of her neck as he slowly works her open.
“No, it's not.” Him. Spike. She doesn't even know. “It's not. You can take it. You love it, Andrea. You love it.”
“You want both of us,” Spike murmurs against her, mouth against one of her breasts and his tongue flicking her nipple as he speaks. “No reason why you have to pick one or the other, love.”
“You're a bastard,” she gasps. She's still riding him, riding him harder now, and with every roll of her hips she's fucking herself deeper on Mike's fingers. It should hurt, at least a little, but he's going so slow, so careful, his fingers so wet, and it doesn't hurt at all. It only burns a little, faint and sweet, and they're right, she loves it.
“Tell me when you're ready,” Mike whispers. He's scattering kisses over the back of her neck, steadying her with his free hand. Does he have two fingers in her ass now? Three? “I won't do it 'til you're ready.”
Ready for—oh, fuck. She cries out, pressing back against him, lifting her hips and slamming her body back down again—she wants to make Spike cry out, and he does as she digs her nails into his chest.
She's fought to stay alive. Fought beyond what she thought was possible. She's owned herself and that hasn't changed.
They're in her because that's exactly where she wants them to be.
“Now,” she hisses, craning her neck and baring her teeth against Mike's jaw. “Do it.”
She screams when he pushes into her. It's short, choked, because together they're both so much bigger than they are separate. Now it hurts, just a little, but more than that she feels so full, held between them with their gasps of pleasure and the hard sound of their flesh smacking against her as they fuck her so loud in her ears. It's clumsy, not at all a smooth rhythm, but she doesn't care. Nothing about the three of them has ever been simple. Fuck simple. Simple isn't real. If she's learned one thing by now it's that.
Be with me. Be in me.
She stares down at Spike as she rides it out. She's past coming and when she does it feels almost like an afterthought, like something entirely beside the point. She's watching his face, his perfect, almost delicate face, his neck arched and his eyes squeezed shut as his orgasm takes him and wrenches through him and into her. She wishes she could see his eyes. See what this is really about. What he really wants.
Oh, fuck, Andrea, Mike groans in her ear, and then he's coming too, one hand on her throat and his mouth open and gasping against her shoulder. She moves, guiding him through it. It always feels like this in the end, like whatever is rough and hungry and violent in him soothes and weakens inside her, becoming pure aching need.
Spike can't fuck her without wanting all of her. Mike can't fuck her without being skinned alive.
How does this work? she thinks as they slow, going limp against her. They roll to the side, both of them somehow still inside her, lying in a tangle in damp sheets. How the fuck does this work?
Spike is kissing her again, long and slow and languid. Mike slides out of her, making her gasp softly, and then it's his mouth too, all three of them as tangled as their limbs are, all the walls down.
It does work. It does.
1363 words
NC17
well I never want to land
'cause I'm high on you beyond all sleight of hand
- The Frames
What Spike feels like inside her is heat.
She hadn’t expected that. It doesn’t make sense and yet it’s true. He has no body heat of his own, but from beneath her he’s pouring heat up into her as she rides him slowly, his hands moving from her hips to her breasts and back again, her hands on his chest where no heart beats, her head thrown back and her breath coming in gasps. He doesn’t need to breathe, he has no reason to be gasping with her, but he is, his face twisted with pleasure, looking almost close to pain. Two minutes ago she let him pull her down, straddled him, he slipped inside her, and it’s already so fucking good.
He’s beautiful. She can barely look at him.
He kisses her. Bites at her lips--slowly, gently, with a total absence of savagery. Bites that are actually tender. She loosens with each one, folding against him, rocking her hips. His arms slide around her back, and she’s fucking a goddamn vampire and she’s not sure she ever recalls feeling this kind of safe before.
And there’s another set of hands on her. Sliding down her spine, closing on her ass and squeezing her. She jerks, twists--it’s a surprise and it sends a jolt down from her brain into her cunt.
She’d honestly forgotten he was there.
She can’t forget now, though. She moans against Spike’s mouth and Mike breathes into her ear, biting gently at her earlobe, bent over her body with his dick nudging at her ass. She’s sandwiched between hot, lean muscle and her mind is starting to unravel.
They want her. She doesn’t think she really appreciated how much before now.
“That’s right, pet,” Spike murmurs, lifting his head and looking over her shoulder with a smile pulling at his kiss-swollen lips. “You deserve a taste.”
“Fucking right, I do.” Not that he hasn’t already had a taste of her, and then some. Not that he doesn’t seem ravenous with her, like he can’t get enough, teasing her with his lips and tongue until she’s gripping him and crying out, Spike holding her and murmuring directions and approval. But he wants more, she's been able to sense it, and now she can feel it in how hard his hands are on her. His teeth.
She turns her head, trying to see him, but Spike grips her by the jaw and turns her head to face him again. “You look at me, love. Only me.” Another kiss, softer; his teeth are so sharp as he coaxes her lips apart.
“You got any idea how long he's been teasing me with this?” Mike is settling behind her, hands still moving over her; his cock is nudging the crack of her ass, leaving slick trails of precome. His mouth against her ear, soft laughter. “When he fucks me? Just hold on, pet, just take it a little longer and I'll let you have her.” It's actually a passable imitation and she almost laughs in spite of herself. It chokes off into another moan—hard and almost shocked—as his mouth slides down her back. His whole body is sliding down, and Spike is laughing against her, rocking his dick up hard into her, and now she has a better idea of what he meant by taste.
She's bent forward, lying flush against Spike's chest as he fucks her slow and hard and deep. She's exposed. And Mike's tongue is working its way down beneath her tailbone.
“Fuck,” she manages, wrenching her mouth free long enough to say it. She doesn't even know what she's pleading for. She feels lightheaded. “Oh fuck please--”
Mike's tongue slips down into the crack of her ass and she almost grays out.
Spike is laughing against her again, sounding pleased and warm, fingers working through her hair. Mike laps at her, spreading her wide with his hands, tongue working in those same wicked little circles that always send her over the top in the end. She angles her hips down, grinding her clit as hard as she can against Spike's pubic bone, and she thinks she might come just like this when Mike pulls away and she feels slick fingers where his tongue was, one pushing its way slowly into her.
She jerks. Arches back and lets out a cry. It's too much, suddenly—and then she's babbling it, one hand against Spike's chest and the other reaching back for Mike, It'stoomuchit'stoomuch. Mike curls one arm around her, grinning against the back of her neck as he slowly works her open.
“No, it's not.” Him. Spike. She doesn't even know. “It's not. You can take it. You love it, Andrea. You love it.”
“You want both of us,” Spike murmurs against her, mouth against one of her breasts and his tongue flicking her nipple as he speaks. “No reason why you have to pick one or the other, love.”
“You're a bastard,” she gasps. She's still riding him, riding him harder now, and with every roll of her hips she's fucking herself deeper on Mike's fingers. It should hurt, at least a little, but he's going so slow, so careful, his fingers so wet, and it doesn't hurt at all. It only burns a little, faint and sweet, and they're right, she loves it.
“Tell me when you're ready,” Mike whispers. He's scattering kisses over the back of her neck, steadying her with his free hand. Does he have two fingers in her ass now? Three? “I won't do it 'til you're ready.”
Ready for—oh, fuck. She cries out, pressing back against him, lifting her hips and slamming her body back down again—she wants to make Spike cry out, and he does as she digs her nails into his chest.
She's fought to stay alive. Fought beyond what she thought was possible. She's owned herself and that hasn't changed.
They're in her because that's exactly where she wants them to be.
“Now,” she hisses, craning her neck and baring her teeth against Mike's jaw. “Do it.”
She screams when he pushes into her. It's short, choked, because together they're both so much bigger than they are separate. Now it hurts, just a little, but more than that she feels so full, held between them with their gasps of pleasure and the hard sound of their flesh smacking against her as they fuck her so loud in her ears. It's clumsy, not at all a smooth rhythm, but she doesn't care. Nothing about the three of them has ever been simple. Fuck simple. Simple isn't real. If she's learned one thing by now it's that.
Be with me. Be in me.
She stares down at Spike as she rides it out. She's past coming and when she does it feels almost like an afterthought, like something entirely beside the point. She's watching his face, his perfect, almost delicate face, his neck arched and his eyes squeezed shut as his orgasm takes him and wrenches through him and into her. She wishes she could see his eyes. See what this is really about. What he really wants.
Oh, fuck, Andrea, Mike groans in her ear, and then he's coming too, one hand on her throat and his mouth open and gasping against her shoulder. She moves, guiding him through it. It always feels like this in the end, like whatever is rough and hungry and violent in him soothes and weakens inside her, becoming pure aching need.
Spike can't fuck her without wanting all of her. Mike can't fuck her without being skinned alive.
How does this work? she thinks as they slow, going limp against her. They roll to the side, both of them somehow still inside her, lying in a tangle in damp sheets. How the fuck does this work?
Spike is kissing her again, long and slow and languid. Mike slides out of her, making her gasp softly, and then it's his mouth too, all three of them as tangled as their limbs are, all the walls down.
It does work. It does.