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ximilialog2021-10-27 03:14 pm
peasant) wrote in ximilialog2021-10-27 03:14 pm
Entry tags:
open ☀️ he said don't put all your eggs in one basket
CHARACTERS: alina & you
LOCATION: various places on the station
DATE: throughout october & until the start of the next mission
CONTENT: post-mission catchall
WARNINGS: none aside from mentions of injuries, but will update if any others pop up!
LOCATION: various places on the station
DATE: throughout october & until the start of the next mission
CONTENT: post-mission catchall
WARNINGS: none aside from mentions of injuries, but will update if any others pop up!
I. INFIRMARY
[ it takes her one entire night to find herself in the infirmary, waiting for a quiet silence to fall over the ship before stepping inside. a deliberate move, on alina's part; if nothing else, keramzin had given her a valuable life lesson in hiding her weaknesses, locking her vulnerabilities away to guard them from sight. save your pain for later, before someone comes along to make it worse. coupled with the first army's education in basic first aid —
she slips toward the cabinets with the confidence of someone who has found herself in this situation too often: licking her wounds clean in private, thieving from supplies to bandage her hidden wounds and scrapes without ana kuya becoming wise to alina's mishaps. caring for herself when she had been that sickly, straw-thin girl. not much has changed, since then — even the looming height of the cabinets, too tall for alina to reach on her own.
this routine is familiar, too: scaling up onto the countertop on her knees to swing the cupboard of medical supplies open, just to be able to reach the top shelf. as her luck would have it, though, there's nothing silent about her scavenging, much as she tries to keep the station from waking. a few pill bottles fall out in her search for a curative to soothe her aches and pains, rattling as they collide onto the counter.
alina winces, flashing an accusatory look at the jumbled bottles crashing to the floor. for the moment, she chooses to ignore the chaotic mess she's leaving behind, as her good arm reaches for the gauze at the very top of the shelf — the movement revealing a starburst pattern of fading bruises stretching along her ribcage, those wine-red blemishes disappearing beneath the hem of her pajamas. ]
II. SUNLIGHT ROOM.
[ the sunlight room's sprawling meadows have nearly become a second home. more often than not, alina can be found among the fields of wildflowers — escaping to what feels familiar, despite the empty space next to her that mal had once occupied. a permanent reminder of their separation, of the grief burrowing into her chest to nest there — not unlike how alina herself has nested here, claiming this spot for herself, with a circle of art supplies around her.
her sketchbook lays abandoned to the side, a half-formed outline of a boy open on the page. in front of her, there are often splashes of paints in varying colors and a canvas of watercolors dripping down into its white, blank space. on some days, her paintings are views of the flowerbushes in front of her, of the simulation room's streaming lakes; on others, there are portraits of unknown faces and some that might be more familiar, painting other orbers from memory — or from where they might be sitting ahead of her, oblivious to her study of them.
what remains a constant is that she's always messy and disheveled, her fingers and strands of her hair coated in drying paints. if someone sneaks up on her, her sweaters find themselves condemned to the same fate, trying to hide her work from view by (not so) subtly hugging it to her chest. especially if she's been painting you, looking extremely sheepish to be caught in the act.
other times, she can be found sitting cross-legged in the grass, practicing with her abilities. a single snap of her fingers seems to draw the light to her, the air around her flickering as sunlight gathers in her palms. that fiery orb hovers, slowly drifting down a path in front of her, dodging past anyone in its way.
after some particularly drawn-out training sessions, she eventually dozes off, so hidden in the grass that stepping on some part of her is ... well, inevitable.
with a huff from below, ] Ow.
III. WILDCARD
[ feel free to bump into alina on any other place on the station! other than the places above, she can be found lingering in her room or stuffing her face like a gremlin in the kitchens. ♥ cool with any ideas, if you want to fling a different starter at me in the comments or plot vianereids. ]
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he likes the image she paints — ever the artist, even with only words as her tools to carve the statue from marble, the art of their lovemaking. grinning, he presses a kiss to the shy top of her head, not hesitating to feed her cunt two fingers as she bounces against them. it's easy now, her body used to the shape of his. )
Well, ( there's a relaxation to his fingering her, unhurried as if time is a construct he's never once abided by. fair enough, the lives of fae are often long and drawn out — why wouldn't he take this as a chance to explore it? to see how long a moment can last, truly? ) you bring the sun and I'll bring the stars, and we'll make our own eternity inside each other, in our little room.
( they live among the stars now, anyway. the sky isn't a dream — it's right here living between them, floating beside the places where their bodies don't fully touch. not yet.
keeping his fingers pressed inside her, rhys' other hand lifts, trailing the pronounced curve of her breast before finding the tightened ribbon of her bodice. perhaps on another day he'll rip it to shreds and ravage alina with all the obvious implications of a real bodice ripper novel. but for this time he remembers his composure, appreciating every slip through an eyehole as he pulls her freer and freer from her tightened bounds. his little fae darling, packaged like a pistil, all her petals waiting to be pulled away. )
You can take it. ( something he's sure of — or he wouldn't have offered it, at the risk of hurting her. he might trust her with the safety of the world and every small, insignificant worm hiding in the dirt of it, but he does not trust her to take her own bodily wellness into consideration. therefore — he has. painstakingly. sometimes at the cost of his own sanity. ) I know you can.
( he manages to wrestle the ribbon off her entirely, pushing the chest of her dress down until one hand can paw her tits, thumbs rubbing teasingly over each hungry peak. )
Pretty little Lina. ( huffing, he splays his thumb out, rolling the boast of her clit in slow, too gentle circles. ) I'm going to make you come. And then I'm going to fuck you exactly how you want me to, like the good girl you are. Do you know why? ( goofily, he nips at her ear. ) Because you're a saint, and I'm terrified of holy smiting.
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nothing, it seems, is too much — too questionable, too sinful, too excessive for him to deny her. saints, she had thought the little palace was keen on turning her into a spoiled thing, until she had been dropped into rhys' lap of luxury. doted upon with no ulterior motive, beyond enchanting her dreams into a reality, stealing her hazy images until he's painted in all of the finer details in sprinkled rose petals and sweet, unhurried worship.
appreciative, alina's sweeping kisses chase the shadows in the indents of his collarbone, that sharp slice of a cheekbone, with all of the sun-baked heat of a summer's day — lazy and basking. you can take it is the gift that continues to give, a faithful belief — not in her divinity, but the resilient spirit that has held her together for so long. it only instills her with that much more determination, to conquer that thick stretch of him, hear the praise sliding like molasses from his tongue. to look him in the eye and say, see? i told you we would fit perfectly together.
the tight clench of her body gives away her satisfaction, fluttering around his fingers with his validation, all strangling heat and teary gasps at finding herself suddenly filled. overwhelmed, her teeth sink weakly into his shoulder, lapping away at salt and sweat. no, not at salt and sweat — at something distinctly inhuman, feeling the tingle of rainwater on her lips, morning dew on ripening citrus trees flooding her parched throat.
hungry, she chases the flavor along the stem of his throat. ]
Ah — [ what begins as a playful joke twists in on itself and turns into a tease against her. the air punches itself out of her lungs, a wrecked whimper that spills and scatters over his cheek, like a revelation. it's too patient, those languid circles made to madden her. slick swirls over the pearl of her clit, polishing a treasure in the riptide of her arousal. her body knows how to beg, even futilely, rocking with stilted bounces and arching her breasts into his warrior-calloused palms. ] Is that the only reason?
[ in deliberate revenge, her hips grind down to push the backs of his knuckles into the covered jut of his erection. fingertips spanning out like their own little wings, she skirts the edges of his, running her fingers down its satiny slats. and though the answer is written in every line of his body, in the scenery of this room — she is still desperate to hear it, to know she's as wanted, when she nudges her temple to his and breathes: ]
Have you thought of it? You, having me — you, inside of me.
no subject
such clever little fingers, pulling a pant of hot breath from his mouth. such things would pull a wave of warm air through the city of velaris at him — and he wonders if they can feel it anyway, even at a distance. their high lord's happiness, the heat of summer and spring settling into their wintery court. )
Mm. ( is that the only reason? he looks contemplative for a moment, as if he has to think about it, before shaking his head. ) No. Shall I list all the reasons? How much time do you have?
( all of it and none of it at once. here, they're unbound by responsibility, which is something rhys still struggles to accept — here, they have nothing but free time at their fingers, waiting for the next orb to reveal itself. rhys could perch on her stomach with all the lazy indulgence of a cat lifting belly up to a warm patch of sun, and weave his words for hours into something resembling the whole truth of them. his honest, most raw places — that which doesn't often see the light of day, but that alina tricks into revealing itself, as if any man mortal or otherwise could stand firm in the presence of her radiant smile. isn't he supposed to be the mysterious high lord of the night court, basked in shadows and cruelty? yet beside the sun summoner, he wants to peel back his veneer or varnish, show off the wood grain beneath the paint. pour his heart like wine onto her skin, staining her with the truth his feelings.
at the same time, he isn't sure alina would tolerate such a slow descent into the depths of his heart — not when he could just show her in the best way he knows how, in how he's learned alina likes to be told. she likes big, fancy words that make her giggle in their grandeur as if to say such things could never be for me, but she likes the effort of actions even more — having her and holding her in ways that not even she can deny. the physicality of being wanted. for the touch-starved souls that they are, actions say the truth of a thousand words. )
I have.
( it doesn't cost him to admit. gently, he rolls them over, pushing alina onto the bed while his fingers fall from her depths, long enough that he can pull the skirt from her hips, caressing the skin of her legs all the way down. )
I thought — very often, I might add — about how tight and perfect you'll be, around me. How embarrassingly short I'll last, buried inside you. How you'd tease me. ( tossing her clothes from her in some wide arch to avoid the flames of candles, he heaves down between her legs, drawing the tip of his painted nose against her thigh. ) Luckily, I considered this, so while you were plunging your greedy fingers through cake icing, I was using mine to stroke myself. To take the edge off. ( into a pair of alina's panties, but — she needn't know that for now. rhys huffs, leaning in to press an all too brief, wet kiss on her slit — sighing to the scent of her, the richness of her cunt. but, she said fingers, so. ) You have no idea how easy it was, Alina. How quickly I came, thinking about your pussy. Thinking about how good you are to me.
( arching over her, his fingers trail back between her legs, two fingers smoothly sliding into her. wet, his little alina, like he already dropped that load off inside her, like she's already gushing and swelling with him. with delicacy, he leans his head off to the side, flicking his tongue against her nipple — his teeth edging a tease, scraping the peaked skin. )
I thought about it, and it made me come in ribbons around my fist. It was so messy ...
( he hums, popping her tit into his mouth. the motion makes his headband of cat ears fall down the slope of his nose, blocking his eyes. )
no subject
for now, the world is a dizzying spiral above her, the night sky exploding with the flickering stars their candles cast toward the ceiling in a fiery haze. none, she finds, shine brighter than rhys — the center of her universe as he comes back into view, once she's descended to the bed with a little oof, landing comfortably despite the crushed wings at her back. perhaps she should be frightened, a hare in the shadow of a beast with a hungry maw — but there's an excitement rabbiting in her chest, matching the little hops of her hips into his hand. like she has been waiting for him to catch her all along, tempting him with a feast he hasn't taken.
until now. she grins a breathless grin and splays her legs wider, the way a wolf might bare its throat — pliant, trusting. welcoming him to sink teeth into the soft bend of her thighs, the peak of her pink pussy waiting beyond, stuffed and puffy around his two fingers. ]
Without me? [ if it's possible to pout about cum spilled elsewhere, alina achieves it. it's ridiculous to be so envious of his fist, painted in the same creamy splashes he's stroked into her skin time and time again. especially now, especially here, when she's a kaleidoscope of colors — powdery with glitter that beams gold in the candlelight, the charcoal of his nose leaving a black smudge down one thigh. but — ] I would have helped you.
[ she shakes her head, disrupting the dark halo of hair floating around her head, and knocks his headband loose with a swipe of her hand. her fingers tiptoe along the bridge of his nose and sink into his dark fur, ruffling it with a teasing giggle. ]
Hm. No. You couldn't wait for me to help you, could you. [ taunting, she clicks her tongue — but even her fake scolding can't conceal how her voice has gone giddy with delight. she sighs, fake exasperation thawing into a melting murmur once his teeth scrape her pebbling nipple. ] I bet you were watching me lick frosting off of cupcakes and wishing it was you in my mouth instead. That's filthy, Rhys.
[ she laughs again, a sound that twinkles in the air, and twists onto her stomach — away from where her wings are crushed and pinned uncomfortably into her spine. it's the wrong move, for how it swirls his fingers inside of her, rotating pirouettes that leave her face-down and gasping into the sheets. her fingers wring, crumpling linens and sprinkled rose-petals, before she pushes up in a languid, feline arch of her back.
so much for turning over to remove her wings, suddenly forgotten as her walls pulse frantically around him, tipping herself closer to orgasm. ]
Fuck. [ ragged from a full-bodied shudder, she pushes her fingers through her hair, tilting her head to smush her cheek into the bed. it's an alina starkov habit that, even in the haze of pleasure, she teases him with a pointed wiggle of her hips. ] Were you thinking of making me messy? Giving me your come where it belongs?
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( it's a breathless uttering, pulled from him like alina's wantonness is a magic spell that siphons the truth from his lying, hungry tongue. all he wants, all he has the capacity to think about on his perch between the mounds of her breasts, idly nuzzling the soft skin there — is how to drag more from her. how to make her feel more. how he might flay himself open, just to feel alina's fingers on his veins, her lips kissing melodies between his bones. he doesn't mind the sense of vulnerability he finds, peeling layers of skin to show his viscera of devotion, revealing more and more of the reality of his wanting. that disgusting, greedy part of him that almost understands the darkling's need to own her — the conqueror's urge to see land and want to claim, to see alina and want to have.
but it's as far as he goes, down the rabbit hole of nasty thoughts. he could have her, make her body a battlefield, stick flags in her slopes to claim i was here and here and here. but — for rhys' want of a free, peaceful world, he's never held more ambition for carving out a larger piece of it for himself. he's content with his keep, too aware of the fleeting nature in all things to want for more than what he has. sturdy walls, a hidden city, a family he loves. at one point in time, even all that seemed more than his deserved comeuppance, but.
still, he doesn't close his fist. free birds are allowed to fly wherever they desire, and sometimes they land in the palm of your hand, chirpy and content.
smiling sheepishly, rhys slides his opposite hand down to his trousers, palming his cock for all of a moment before fetching a tuft of fabric from his pocket. some delicate, white thing that he lifts up with little flourish, holding it before alina for her easy observation — something she should recognize as yesterday's underwear, now defiled by the sticky extent of his cum hidden in the lace. laughing, at himself more than anything, he rubs her cunt with more fervor, the memory of her panties around his dick making him feral for her pleasure.
that's filthy, rhys. )
I've never claimed otherwise.
( if anything, he's proven time and time again how perverse he is — and how grateful he is that alina seems to like it. grunting, he drags his teeth over her nipple, teetering off to the side to suck a bruise boldly on her tit. )
It was still wet from you, you know. I rubbed my cock right against that slick patch and thought about — how you're always so wet, every time I touch you. How messy your pretty cunt gets, and how that mess is nothing compared to what I'm going to leave inside you. I'm going to fill you up, until you can't take anymore.
( his fingers swivel, his thumb rolling her pink clit in rough little circles, sliding back and forth against the slick she pulls out for him. )
I bet you like that. Huh? Daddy's come inside you, where it belongs. That's right, my darling. You already know.
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perhaps she's as much the goddess he had claimed her to be, elevated in his eyes, gaining her strength from his whispered offerings. alina's charmed laugh beams, joining the chorus of his own rumbling chuckle, bouncing her ribcage as he suckles a bruise into the soft curve of her tit. because he has never shied away from carving out these pieces of himself, has never crushed them in his hand before she could snatch them for herself. because she has never been an active participant in the grand fantasies created in her name, of saints and saviors and sun queens, but in his —
she's only a woman wanted, so terribly he couldn't control himself from wrapping a reminder of her around his cock, aching and urgent. her hand reaches up, slaps itself around the headboard for the leverage she needs to grind her cunt into his fingers, a writhing fever of movement. like he's infected her with his fantasy, his desire, burning hot as her wet heat strangles his fingers. like the only curative, the only sweet release from that torment, can be found in him.
her other hand inches up, pinching tightly at her nipple until it swells blossom-pink, mimicking the sharp sting of his teeth. ]
For you. I'm always so wet for you. [ she corrects on the panting burst of a breath, squalling through her throat. ] You make me insane, Rhys.
[ insane enough that it takes no more than the images he paints with his promises, the vow to fill her until she doesn't know what it is to be empty anymore — to be without him anymore — for her to come with a ragged, plaintive cry. and even as she's still pulsing, still murmuring mewls from the back of her throat, her fingers weakly snag on the band of those panties. ]
I like everything you do to me. Do you know what else I'd like, Daddy? [ a belated, hushed admission as she steals that white lace away, tickling it down her stomach. her head tilts to peer up at him, a smile stretching across her mouth, nearly predatory, luxuriating in how his desire has emboldened her. ] If you used me to take the edge off. Once isn't enough, is it?
[ her knees bend up to her chest as she fumbles her abused underwear over her ankles, slides it up her thighs, secures it with a snap around her hips. and a shiver to match, finding it's still sticky against her. those knees spread to the sides of her, unfolding like butterfly wings near her ribcage, as her palm flits fleetingly down his covered cock. ]
Come here. [ a pull on his trouser's waistband as she tugs the band of her panties to the side, a shameless invitation for him to make room for himself inside of their lacy trappings. ] Show me how you used them.
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utterly devilish. the image strikes him — virginal, perfectly white underwear ruined by a beast like him. as ruined as she permits him to make her body underneath, a stain for her panties, a stain for her cunt.
huffing, he quickly undoes the fastenings of his pants, a graceless and too eager motion as alina parts her legs, wearing his cum against her like it's another article of clothing to put on — except this one, he doesn't want to strip her of. freeing his cock pulls a sigh from his chest, his fist wrapping around his dick and slickening himself up with her wet, teeth bitten into his lower lip to bite off any whimpers. they're both filthy. made complete messes of each other, and they'll get messier yet, a thought which pulls a smile up on his mouth. )
Oh, you want to know? ( he shakes his head, disbelieving, rubbing his blunt cockhead against her covered pussy, all of it wet and tarnished and perfect. smushing his cum further into her, spreading his mess unapologetically around. ) You want to hear about me wrapping them around my cock, still soaked by your scent. Peaches and cream. I can't get enough of it.
( angling his cock, he slides it underneath her offered lace, rutting hotly on top of her mound. the lace is as scratchy and soft as it was when he came earlier — but now it's warmed by her skin, now it's effectively trapping him against her, and it's so much better. it's her saying use me, giving him permission with her body, trusting him with it. shuddering, rhys rocks against her, bat wings flaring on either side of his back as he finds an especially good spot. )
I came so much, Lina. I was so excited — it just kept coming, I kept coming, thinking about you. ( rolling his hips, he leans in, pressing their foreheads together. ) Your mouth. Your little fingers — the way I knew you'd pout, when you found out I dropped my come off somewhere else. You're so hungry for it, aren't you? You don't want it anywhere else. You want it right here, right on your pretty pussy.
( he can barely manage a kiss moving as he is, but he does the closest proximation of one — their mouths aligned and his heaving breaths, sweat gathering on his temple from effort. moaning, rhys pleads. ) Touch me. Please. Make me come, baby. Let me give you what you want.
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never, she thinks. not for any other reason but to forge himself as the night court's shield, bearing the marks of amarantha's claws in the steel of his warrior's bones, choosing fallen pride over a fallen city. not with the devoted sincerity he comes to her with, as though this is worship itself, devout and spiritual — not two bodies entangled, but two souls. even playful, she can't deny him as the world has denied her — as the world has denied them both, trapping his echoes of pain under the mountain to ensure his voice would never reach the outside world.
and so she grants him the mercy he had never received, wetting her palm with a messy swipe of her tongue, adding to the sticky candy-coating of her arousal clinging to his cock as she takes him in hand. little fingers, he had called them; it feels truer now, filling her hand like he'll fill her cunt — straining against the tight clutch of her, too thick for her fingertips to brush together. her thighs slip over his hips, a clasping decoration at the thought, gauzy lace rasping against her knuckle with every clumsy stroke upward. ]
Like this? Does that feel good, kotyonok?
[ gaze darting between his eyes, she studies him in wide-eyed rapture, their breathless mouths feathering together with each grind of his thrusts. his pleasure is always something sacred to watch, no part of it hidden from her, presented as an offering to her: let me give you what you want, begging as worshipers do in the presence of divinity. alina searches the expanse of his eyes, blown-black as though the night has swallowed the stars, the praise that always relights them. for the approval she craves, her boldness discolored by her inexperience.
her thumb gathers slick, glazes it over the swollen tip of his cock as she guides him down to slip against her slit. leading his cockhead to dip inside of her, notched in her fluttering heat, and out again — sliding against her cunt only to sink an inch into her soaked entrance again and again in an endless rhythm, as her teasing hands demand. ]
Does working me open get you excited? Is it going to make you come? [ air washes over her flushed skin, glistening with sweat, wind catching in the sails of his wings as they flare. a shiver pebbles across her, even as she tracks him in the skies of his bliss with watchful eyes, reaching out to tug down on his wing's pendulous talon. sloppy, overexcitable, she tips her forehead further against the brush of his to nip at his lip, on his next rock forward. ] Come for me again, Rhys. Please?
no subject
he's not worth the kindness she offers, but he greedily takes it anyway, breath hitching on some rugged part of his lung as alina takes him in hand. deft, grisha fingers, slowly growing more graceful the more often they take each other in hand. it's not the grace of the movement than tickles him, though — it's her callouses, her soft fingertips, the fact that it's a girl who he's seen shatter glass through her power alone, handling him like he's something to be taken care of. the same gentle coaxing as a wounded bird, offering worms to see the extent of a broken wing.
so, he breaks in the name of healing. it's nothing as much as it is flustering, rhys grinning under the feeling of alina's soft, yielding hole, making way for the very tip of him. )
Yes. ( he lets alina take control of the movement, hips tossed against hers, not wanting to accidentally push further than she wants him to go. he leaves himself in her clever hands, already knowing — it's a minimal effort thing, something she could do without even trying. ) Good girl. Just like that. I'm gonna come.
( or — i'm coming, as something a little more accurate, a breathless groan wedged in the space behind his heart as he shoots off, decorating alina's cunt in the pearls of his orgasm, each dripping line ribboning exactly where she puts it. rhys doesn't have the spare brain power to care, body tensing under the thralls of his own pleasure, rocking against her enough to pant hot, wayward breaths against her throat, wings twitching her hand in the oversensitivity of the moment. he doesn't pull away, unwilling to break that binding even as it makes him shudder and squirm against her. it's a pleasant vulnerability. his weakest parts in each of her hands.
after a moment, he laughs as heartily as he can muster, mushing his face further into her throat to hide it from her ears. not that it's much use — the room is quiet except for his laughter, the silent creaks of the bed as he settles more of his weight on top of her. )
I should've known you'd throw a wrench in my plans.
( in recompense, he moves a hand to meanly pinch her nipple. )
Do you know how difficult it is to tell you "no"? Me either, I've never tried.
no subject
but she has what rhys has shown her. how to touch something so valuable, so fragile, without worrying she'll shatter it into pieces — a lesson she takes to heart, applying the same light pressure he had shown her that first night his wings had unfolded before her eyes. her fingers tickle along those smooth, leather slopes like a breeze sailing across his wingspan — an airy, flitting thing, rubbing tiny circles where they connect into the skin of his shoulder blades. working out the shuddering in his bunched muscles, waiting for her feral beast to become a docile, purring thing atop her chest.
he's shown her this, too — how to hold him, when he lands from a flight. once he's calmed into laughter, melting into her in a pleasured puddle, alina stretches open her arms and winds them around the trunk of his torso, pillowing him to her. gently, she rocks them both from side to side like singing a silent lullaby, his warm laughter flurrying into the sensitive skin of her neck. goosebumps race along her arms as she nudges her nose into his hair, inhaling the scent of him and —
squealing out a surprised gasp, her entire body jolting and jumping with the unforgiving pinch. her nipple throbs in protest, in pleasure-pain, swelling to a flushed ripe berry-red from his plucking fingers. squirming away from it only makes her keenly aware of the shape of him, fitted between her thighs. the hot mess of icing dripping down her slit, soaking into her underwear. with a splotchy blush, embarrassed and excited by it in equal measure, alina's thighs clamp tighter around his carved hipbones, her toes curling against the backs of his thighs. ]
Oi! [ despite the crease summoning frown lines between her brows, her lips yield to the incredulous giggle bubbling from her throat, effervescent and bright. she sniffs in false offense, smacking at his wrist with all of the effort of a kitten learning to playfight with weak swats. ] Be nice.
[ two can play that way, anyway. she pinches the feathery edge of his wing, unapologetic in her relentless tugging. let him see how he likes that payback. ]
It wasn't a wrench. It was ... a detour. [ yes, that sounds much better. exploring elsewhere before returning toward their set path. with one last pull, she drops her hands over her head, a picture of surrendered innocence as she grins up at him, radiantly wide. and maybe just a bit too pleased with herself. ] I'll behave now. Promise.
no subject
( such is the just rewards for those that fly too close to the sun — he knows the pinch is earned but squirms nonetheless, wings straightening out in an escape from a certain saint's cruel fingers. of course, there's only one way to get back on a saint's good side, and rhys has since learned how to better improve his prayers — softening them with the apologetic nuzzles of kisses despite her antlers poking his throat, peach fuzzy and warm, the heat of their bodies melted together with sweat tricking the eye to a summer night, heat and love woven into a loose, lazy braid. the leisure of his spend between her legs, as lax as melted ice cream painting her. making her sweeter, sticky, a mess.
alina appreciates a mess — splattered paint and icing liberated from cupcake tops, her favorite accessory being cream at the corner of her mouth. he finds lazy, unhurried mouthing at her neck, as slow dripping as cum down her cunt, a suitable offering for the summer saint — sunshine and heat, their bodies rutting, hands at her hips to lift and swirl and smudge his mess across her, inside her. a gentleman would probably offer a towel, but the thought wedges itself into something sacrilegious in the deeply devout corner of his mind — his offering to the altar of her cunt, to be taken away. no, he'd rather keep it smudged and sloppy against her, safe in the curves of her thighs, a present for his sultry saint, his generous goddess.
leaning back, he looks down at the stretch of her given body, arms cradling her head like the frame of a painting, the speckled glitter across her flushing face part of the masterpiece that is her. grinning, rhys palms his hands up to warmly squeeze her wrists — how long, before such manners are surrendered? )
Fool me twice, Alina Starkov.
( sitting back on his heels, rhysand props her hips up against his, snapping his fingers once before his pants are miraculously gone from his legs — banished to some corner of the room luckily not covered in candles. on the bounds between minds, in the room where alina always leaves the door slightly ajar, she lays just as pliant on the bed, her body bloodied but her smile soft. every shade of coppery brown in her eyes as apparent to him as they are in twinkling candlelight — and he kisses her the same despite the gore, halving over to kiss each of them warmly. it's nice. bodies and minds in sync, each wanting the same thing. each getting to have it.
he takes a gracious moment to palm the length of her body, sliding from her arms down to her breasts, the small dip of her waist, her curvy hips. deftly he sneaks a hand over to rub his knuckles against her cunt, the fabric of her panties so soaked it's translucent, pussy pink and obvious through the white. everything about it is as obscene as a lewd picture, but — it's intimate too, alina wearing her wings and stockings, a wedding ring still posed on her finger, excitement palpable through the threads of their connection. )
Hm. ( his fingers dip in, pushing her panties to the side to glide through the filthy length of her feverous slit, wet sounds emanating as he presses two fingers back inside her, pushing his cum once again towards her inner walls. the feral beast inside of him purrs, content. ) Tell me a secret, and I will tell you one.
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over the small swell of her breasts, where she has found herself to be lacking. down the delicate divot her waist creates, made small by the power she hadn't known she was stifling. around curves that have only begun to shape themselves, now that she's come alive, free from the sickly shackles she had unknowingly forced upon herself. alina squirms in place, restless from his mapping — all of her shivery sighs locked in her chest, those breaths hitching and hiccuping behind her sternum, making her fingers clench and coil in the dark waves of her hair spilling out atop their pillows. he doesn't help, minds curled together like the night sky cradles moonbeams, until she can feel his eager heartbeat pounding in her own ribcage.
her hips tip for him on their own accord as alina's fingers reach, latching into the back of her thighs to bring her knees up to her chest. keeping his spend locked inside of her, walls tightening to lock its warmth — lock him deeper, where his fingers swirl through the sticky mess of her cunt. her stockinged toes settle onto his chest, shoulders straining as she angles her head to watch over her knees, delighting in the sight of his unhurried, plunging strokes as though he's dipping his fingers through creamy-white paint. stroking over the colors in his own creation, to make her the lewd portait of his. ]
Rhys ...
[ it leaves her on the wings of a whisper, hushed and hoarse. a secret prayer to be heard in the middle of the night as she whimpers, needy — hugs her knees tighter to her once her thighs begin to quiver in fidgety anticipation, turning herself into a small thing folded in half. in some futile effort to gather herself, sort through her secrets to find one worthy of plucking from the pages of her life — pressed and preserved there like little blooming buds — her eyes squeeze closed, eyebrows pinching together in blissful torture. hers. his. theirs. shared in body and in mind, tangled as close as two souls can get, sensations and thoughts echoing down an open connection. ]
Sometimes I wish I was born into your world instead.
[ finding her freedom among fae, that dawn court he had claimed she would belong to with others that shine like her, rather than having her fate foisted upon her by so-called prophecy. it's a sad little confession to make, as though they've switched roles: rhysand the saint, as he takes her admissions and prayers and keeps them safe.
but he had demanded it, all the same. for rhys, she is not in the habit of offering piecemeal parts of herself. ]
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it doesn't matter because alina says she wishes for his world, and it's suddenly not a game at all. it's her truth. the rawness of wanting something she cannot have.
except. )
Alina.
( a third finger presses inside her — tighter, a bigger pinch. rhys watches her body encasing him, before his eyes flicker to hers, need and desire and blinding hope lighting the points of his stars, each twinkling in her name. he takes a breath, something raggedy and rough, but he doesn't hesitate. )
In my world ... in my home, the Night Court, I house many wronged females in a structure called the library. Well, ( he huffs a laugh, a soaked thumb gliding over her glistening clit. ) it is a library. It's beside the point. All that to say — there's a brilliant female who works there named Merrill. Merrill had a breakthrough, the depths of which I cannot fully comprehend, but she discovered something — different worlds and different universes alongside ours. The very thing that pulled all of us together, here on the ship. A friend of mine named Amren is even from one of those different worlds, and she lives on as a member of my Inner Circle. So.
( he pulls back, wet fingers soothing down the sides of alina's cunt as he takes them away, reaching instead to the waistband of her deeply tarnished panties and pulling them up and off her long legs. he resets her feet onto his chest, one hand cupping her ankle, while the other presses his steadily hardening cock to her clit, rubbing himself to full length against her.
he flushes, and he can't be too sure if it's the sensation, or the words falling out of his mouth. )
I have every reason to think we'd be able to find your world. Find you. ( almost mousy, he ducks in to press a kiss against alina's stockinged knee, pushing his nose against the length of a lavender ribbon. ) So. While I can't change the details of your birth ( at least, not without all the other high lords and their power, or using the cauldron which seems to rhysand to be asking for trouble ) if you really wanted to see Prythian — I think I could make that happen. After all this. If that would interest you.
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— where alina feels she's floating now, dizzied and soaring high above the ground, fearing what will become of her if that hope plummets.
the mechanics of how feel insignificant, in the grander scheme of the escape he's offered. no, not an escape — but the promise of home, somewhere to rest her tired head and her weary heart, and those legs that have exhausted themselves by searching for what she could never truly find. not anywhere but mal's hands — the hands that have housed her for so long, building walls around one another. light teardrops cling to her eyelashes, clustered there like dangling diamonds, shining — with the relief that comes with being found, of seeing the sun rise anew, after she's been lost in lonely darkness for so long. ]
Yes.
[ her answer leaves her in a billowing sigh, no denser than a warm breath in the dead of winter, fogging the air. an interjection breezing over the tops of his words, long before he's finished presenting his idea — too distracted by the slippery slide of his cock, writing promises into the bloom of her clit, using the nectar of her arousal to sign this contract between them. and too unwilling to let him have the space to wonder if — if she wants this, if she wants him, or if he is just a detour in her journey too.
her throat bobs with a swallow, chin softly striking her collarbone with how quickly she nods again, a stubborn thing that must have her voice heard. ]
Yes. [ the echo wavers of it her, drifts on the wings of a sighing, shuddering moan as her hips tilt into his rocking — a tide shifting against his own, creating gentle waves. alina's fingers reach to loop through the dark fall of his hair, stockinged legs sweeping up to rest on the perches of his shoulders, so she can make room for him between her legs — so she can drag him down into her gasping, greedy mouth as his body above her coaxes her into a deeper bend. with fluttery, approving breaths, ] Yes, yes.
[ a small hand scrabbles between them, parting the puffy lips of her cunt like petals for him in offering. the other travels across his cheek, cups his jawline as she finds his eyes with the doe-eyed hope sparkling behind her own — timid, as if fearing he'll take it back, the moment the heat in the air between them has cooled. ]
You would really do that? Come find me?
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it isn't. keening into her, pressing his mouth to hers while he smushes her body into a fold is about the easiest thing he's ever done. breath hot on her, he nods in kind, matching her fervent agreement with some of his own. )
I would. ( there isn't a price rhysand wouldn't pay, to keep the people he loves safe beside him. if alina would permit him the honor — he'd make quite a charmed bodyguard. ) I will. I promise.
( he'd sleep with her even if she didn't agree — even if their time together was meant to only be as long as they were living in the stars, chasing orbs, living out the adventures of storybook tales. rhys isn't the kind to bind a relationship based solely on the length of it's life, all too aware of just how quickly someone can be stolen out from under you. but — her wanting it, him, with an indefinite time tied around it doesn't hurt the ache in his heart that seems ever present with her. it makes it worse — it makes it better, her cunt a slick heat that greases his cock as he moves himself over her, between her offering fingers, drawing his cockhead to her hole. hitching, a gasp in his throat.
he nods again, pushing barely inside. two hands come like the covers to a book, gripping alina's waist, holding her steady as he pushes more, deeper, further than either of them have allowed him before. )
Okay?
( moments like these weren't made for blinking. rhys, unbroken in his stare, watches alina as he flexes his hips in, in, sinking down deep where only his fingers have wandered before. inside alina, his favorite place — where peach trees grow wild, and every fruit is perfectly ripe. where it's always summer. where the sun always shines. alina. )
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it's nothing close to the gruesome warnings she had heard other girls give, threats of blood and bodily aches. the first press of him inside only burns, a pinch of a sting as her cunt clenches, struggling to accommodate him — in a way that only seizes the breath from her lungs until she forgets to draw in air. alina gulps in a desperate intake of breath where she's drowned in sensation, brows furrowing through the initial discomfort. it fades, as all things do, with the gentle grace of a sunrise — giving way to something softer, something warmer, sparking in her middle.
losing her virginity doesn't feel like losing at all. it feels like — the beginning of an eternity, the seal of a promise through hot, melted wax. it feels like a rebirth, peering up at rhys through awed, glazed eyes and knowing she's had the freedom to choose him. it feels like blue irises sprouting where they had once withered in her ribcage, vining up her throat until she's choking on the fullness of him inside of her blossoming heart, inside of her blooming cunt. it feels like seeing stars behind her eyelids when they flutter closed, like seeing stars above her when she coaxes them open to look into the bright blue galaxies she finds in his unwavering stare.
speechless, she can only cling to the tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. can only crane her head to rest against his temple, dipping her gaze to watch where she's spread around him, pinned full of his cock. hot puffs of her breath strike the tips of his ears as she nudges a path up to his cheek, murmuring a reassuring hum into the carved edge of his cheekbone as she feels her body begin to gradually relax to take him, slow inch by slow inch. ]
More than okay. [ a hushed whisper, as though she's afraid to disturb the sanctity of what's happened here. afraid to interrupt the drumming song of her heartbeat racing in her ears, the rhythm of their panting breaths dancing in the air, the crackling tempo of candlelight spinning along the walls. ] Perfect. It's perfect. Everything I've wanted.
[ like it's made of pure light, the birthplace of sunshine low between her thighs. her skin shimmers with more than just glitter, now; hazy, soft rays bathe them in the warm glow flickering out of her, illuminating her in creamy yellow. a recognition of her power, feeling his — reaching out for it, looking to tangle itself in his shadow the same way he's tangled himself within her, nestled deep. like, calling to like.
her own hips tip in that search for closeness, lower back bowing down into the mattress as she slides down another fraction of an inch, fucking herself on his length — to find that fullness becomes more. a burst of molten pleasure that has her clutching at his back, a little overwhelmed, as her lips part in surprise. ]
Is it — Are you — [ okay? she grinds her hips again, sinks him deeper — and hopes he takes the hint, hopes she's not entirely alone in that shock of pleasure to her system when she breathes out, dazed and ragged, ] Is it okay for you?
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the dark rises to meet her, summoned in part by the rays of his light, like calling to like. the candles all fade from view as a blanket of night settles above them, the room made an entirety of black sky to fill every corner, to make them infinite. stars twinkle on his shoulder, balanced by strong muscles as he flexes against her, more in restraint than in any real weight of hers. rhysand knows all about waiting, but damn him if alina doesn't manage to test that fortitude with her warm body, her huffing breaths, her words that ask is it okay? like anything about this is just okay at all.
an impossible effort — he passes a breathless kiss to her mouth before leaning away, taking her legs off his shoulders one at a time to give alina a better view of where he divides her, where her cunt parts to make room, each side of her bloomed petals cupping him closer, coddled. )
It's perfect. ( he echoes, stealing one of her hand to kiss her knuckles, to draw her fingers down the length of his chest, until her fingers frame that bit of unity they share — feeling him as he pulls barely away, only to slide home once again, filling her little belly with the blunt of his cock. ) Look at you. Look at how well you take me. Like you were made for this, Lina. Made for me. It's a perfect fit.
( at least, it feels that way. like nothing could ever be more perfect than the collide of their two bodies, war hardened and scarred, but soft when they come together. a solar eclipse. him blocking the shine of her body as if to greedily say, no, i want that for me, i want it to be be mine. like he's running in some steady competition with the invisible walls of their room, like even bratishka in the corner bearing witness to their lovemaking is too much of an offering from these selfish, hungry fingers. ) Watch. ( he insists, hands gripping alina's waist and lifting her down on his cock, stuffing her until she's full of him, until there's no deeper her can go. rhys chokes out a groan, eyes staring at the bounce of her tits as he does it again, before blinking up at her, blackened eyes glazed over with the sweetness of all alina's favorite desserts. )
You feel like — like a dream. One I don't especially want to wake up from.
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no, she wasn't made in his image. there are no strings that bind them aside from the promises they've stitched together by their own hands, solid and strong and sturdy. there are no songs or stories that will be written by the gods — but that suits her ever-present lust for freedom. it means more to her, this way — to build this from scratch with their own hands, rather than the creaky floorboards that come with the misaligned destiny she shares with aleksander. to labor away at the foundation of what she and rhys have created for themselves with blood and sweat and tears — and a little drop of what could be love.
it makes it hopelessly, eternally real. it makes it an endless choice, to choose one another and continue to choose one another, every day they fall together like this.
]
Because you made me yours.
[ a gentle, breathless correction as her fingers sail in his hands, landing where he places them — the seam of where he splits her open, wrapped puffy and pink around his cock, like the ripe cut of a peach leaking drips of juice down her thighs and into a sweet puddle beneath her. she doesn't just see it, dropping her gaze to watch at his awed insistence, like he can't believe the miracle of her body accepting him inside of her sacred parts; she can feel it, every plunge of him inside of her — every slick parting of her cunt as he coaxes more of her sweet wetness to spill between them.
it's a slippery thing, barely gaining friction as she draws swirls around her clit, knuckles grazing his cock. teeth sinking into a kiss-swollen mouth in focus, rubbing slow and messy circles, until — ]
Oh. [ she squeaks out a moan, thighs flexing as he bottoms out. her back slides up the mattress from the impact, her tiny body bouncing — but she's quick to dig her fingers into his hips. binding them together, even if fate won't. ] That's — come here. Do it again.
[ not that she gives him the chance to echo it, yet, when her impatient desire for skin-on-skin outweighs her greed for more; he's too far for alina's taste, unabashed by the needy way she coils her arms around his neck and lifts herself up — a clumsy and clingy climb into his lap, just to have his heartbeat tattoo its rhythm into her chest. just to nestle her face into his shoulder, bearing down in a feeble kitten's bite to muffle the little cry clawing up her throat at the strike of his cock at this new angle. just to hold him, arms weighed around his torso like chains refusing to release in their embrace.
testing, her hips grind down, swirling him inside of her in a gentle stream — as if pleasure is an afterthought to clutching him nearer to her body, ensuring he's as deep and as close to her as one body can possibly be. ]
It's not a dream. It's real, [ she mumbles, a swipe of her tongue soothing her bite. ] It's the realest thing there is.
[ he and her, them, this. ]
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Hold tight.
( murmured to the height of her shoulder, scattered with freckles and the remains of her glitter. he thumbs the band of her fake wings between her shoulder blades, debating taking them off for all of a moment before deciding he likes them where they are — cute and small and flattering. instead, rhys takes a moment to scoot his hips in as close as he can, wedging himself deeper deeper by fractions of inches, before turning the two of them around, sitting back on the bed with alina in his lap. he only kicks up a minimal fuss, laying his back to the headboard, wings lazily flaring out on either side of him.
there. not they don't have to be parted, as he holds alina down on him, their hips pressed together, his hands paying brief homage to the heights of her breasts. it's not about sex at all, all of a sudden. it's just about getting as close as you physically can to someone, sharing breath and blood and soft, sweet touches that might be construed otherwise as innocent in their reverence, awed by alina even as she sits on his cock. somehow, even buried inside her, she remains an enigma — her sweetness and her wanting all gifts he has no idea why he's receiving, but he's grateful all the same. to share this moment with her, indulging in her generous body. )
Move like this.
( she wanted instructions and rhysand is nothing if not a mentor, settling his hands on her hips and moving her is slow, grinding waves, back and forth against him. too addicted now to let even an inch of him exit her. his breath comes out in stutters, alina's body a tight cinch as it rolls and moves against him, making an airy smile pull up on his lips. )
— Good girl. Just like that. ( still, he's in no rush. leaving alina to move as she pleases, rhys bends forward, burying his nose against her neck and breathing her in, open mouthed kisses laid across the sweetness of her skin, peachy even up here. he dots his lips against the height of her shoulder, endlessly affectionate. ) You're so beautiful, my little vila.
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and just as the sky beholds the moon, he looks at her as though she's the only light source in his world, lifting her to ascend above him. alina's eyes go gooey, a melty brown softened by warm affection, as her head tilts lazily back in a stream of black hair swinging back and forth at her back. an indulgent invitation for the little nests he makes of her body — burrowing into her neck with drugging kisses, nestling into a cunt that welcomes him home. her sigh is an unhurried, intoxicated thing, luxurious and molten, dripping like chocolate from her tongue. like she's taken a lick of the sweetest treat just from his pampering, drizzling mouth along her skin. ]
Mm. You're so deep like this.
[ it's a distracted note of obedience, made pliant by the promise of more. another time, another day, she might have allowed those instructions to unkindly scrape against her raw insecurities. the part of her that knows herself to be limited in experience, compared to a long-lived fae who knows how to lead her, how to grip her slim hips and guide her into a soft, graceful rhythm.
but there is no room for doubt, for self-deprecation; he chases it away with the rush of praise to her head, feeling like she's floating when she stirs forward. the gentle beats of a bird's wings, taking its first flight — or perhaps a vila, learning the tiny wings that flutter at her back with the breezes she creates with her hips. flowing forward and ebbing back — spinning slow little whirling circles in his lap, surprised breaths stuttering in her throat at the friction it creates on her clit. ]
I think I like this best. [ her teeth snag on her lip, nibbling back a giddy smile that bursts forward anyway. it's an easy declaration to make when she's only dipped her fingers into two cakes, and found them both to her tastes. still — she basks, eyes closed with face tipped toward the ceiling as though soaking in the rays flickering from her own skin like twinkling fireflies in the dark. absently, her hands paw at his chest — and wander, perfectly finding the swirling shadows of the inked patterns on his skin, even without her sight. a known trail, beneath her fingers, following them down to —
pinch at the perk of his nipple, light and twisting. testing, as one eyelid flutters open to watch him, take in his expression as she combines it with the slow slide of her cunt upward and the hopping bounce she gives back onto his twitching length, fake faerie wings flitting wildly behind her. again, she moves — only for him to slip out of her completely from her own inelegant ambitiousness, with a slick slap of his cock against his belly. embarrassed, a splotchy blush bleeds down into span of her sternum, giggling out a girlish laugh she buries in the messy forest of his hair, tickled further by those unruly strands. playfully, she teases at her own expense, ] Just like that?
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he likes the heat seeping off of her, likes pressing his nose against her collar and feeling the tangent oddity of her cold antlers — something that never assimilated to the rest of her, like it never got the memo that summery sweetness, that sweat, is what comprises alina. nuzzling, his lips draw down against the ashy, cool bone, because it's important even knowing where they came from, to kiss every part of alina. even the oddly morose, decorative bits.
his hands come as snares against her waist, not moving her but feeling her as she moves against him, how her body circles in inexperience, in clumsy swirls that wreck rhysand all the same. breath huffing on her collar, he peels back only when her wayward fingers pinch at him — a bitten lip look of adoration and arousal. clearly not against the harder touch, tearing an orange peel. )
Alina —
( he gets a little ahead of himself, caught in the moment — only for his cock to fall wetly, lamely back on his stomach. he laughs, a bright and amused thing, sliding his hands down alina's body to cup her ass, lifting her with no effort at all. maneuvering, he presses his messy cock to tease her opening, juice spilling down his hand in syrupy drops. )
Close. More like ...
( flattening his feet on the bed, rhys thrusts up into her without encumbrance, her body wet and willing. he doesn't stop, throwing his shoulders back against the headboard ( frowning, as he pinches his poor wings ) for leverage as he fucks up into her, again and again, some dumbly awed look resting upon his features. lips parted, eyes glossy with stars and heat. once she gets the idea he relents control again, huffing in the effort it takes not to rail her — he slaps her ass lightly, tossing the reins back in her explorative hands. )
Like that, doe eyes. Don't let me fall out. I don't want to be out of you for a second. ( he grins and it's distinctly male — a preening lion, being doted upon. ) Feels too good.
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perhaps.
perhaps alina has never been the most well-behaved student. and so she buries her nails in his shoulders, overwhelmed and choking on her cries, and chooses to focus on another precious lesson altogether. faith. trusting him with her vulnerabilities, trusting him to use her body to get them both off — knowing only the sweet ache in her cunt awaits her. trusting her with his vulnerabilities as she teeters off-balance into his chest, sinking her teeth into the slope of his shoulder — trusting him to know the edge of pain is brought on by a feral streak that runs in the veins of animals set free, and not the point of a blade pinning his wings. all of their bloodied, wounded parts, handled with care. grotesque scars turned into beautiful, worshipful things.
a cool balm, her tongue soothes over the imprints she's left in quiet apology, the way wolves lick wounds clean. it gives her the opportunity to catch her breath, hold air in her lungs again, find the strength when her thighs are quaking devastatingly — all squirmy legs around him, squeaking out a sobbing laugh at the impact of his palm. that shaking is as eternal as the darkness that curtains them, the veil of her hair cascading around their faces when she leans his forehead to his like she's joined the night sky — become it, embodied his realm. endless, as the muscles in her thighs flex and strain with the effort it takes to ride him, and alina —
has never been a decent rider, atop any steed. she doesn't have the necessary might for it, the endurance to impale herself again and again as she leads their bodies together in a wet, slapping strike. her eyebrows knit in frustration with the burning exertion in her muscles as she struggles, offering weak hops on his cock, and curls her fingers atop his hips — slick with the trickling nectar of her, spilling out fresh each time she sheathes him to the hilt. ]
Rhys. I can't — [ it's undeniably a whine, colored bratty by her own need and the burn in those delicate, willowy muscles. her fingers fumble for his, clasping them like keys to a latch — and the key to her own winded, struggling thrusts. alina settles them over her slim hips, only recently filled out from her new appetite — the blossoming hunger of her power, the bloom of her flourishing health — and squeezes, urging him to help guide her to a steady rhythm she can't reach alone. not without the tempo of his own beneath her, leading her to find where their bodies seamlessly sync in a perfect slide. ] Together?
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the baser of animal instincts all pound in his ears to take, to flip animal over and fuck her full, fuck her messy, until all the peaches in the world are drowned out by the smell of rain and sleet. it's not what rhys desires, to doubtlessly in love with summer to ever want winter rains — but the beast lives on in his belly, with taloned claws and leather wings, clawing by the molten heat of arousal pooling in his gut. alina's face soothes him, pretty thing that she is, her mouth parted in a louder gasp that makes rhysand remember why you must be delicate with mortals — because they're sweet, and peaches taste better in the sun, and he'd hurt her if he wasn't careful. he could hurt her so badly.
it's better like this, anyway. the sun blocking out the night. alina, the orbital center of the universe. )
Mm. Together.
( he agrees, tapping one of her hands to the smushed button of her clit, before grabbing hold of her hips thickly. he could lay back and thrust into her, but the most important thing really is keeping their foreheads glued together, their eyes locked in a battle that has no losers. instead, he slides each of his arms under her legs, until her stockinged knees bend over his forearms — until his hands clasp down on her thin waist, and he effectively lifts her up and up and down for every thrust. it doesn't slow him. he carries on as if alina's weight is effortless, pounding into her to the sound of his heartbeat drumming, rapid fire and loud. )
Don't look away, ( insisted. he wants to watch her when she comes, when he comes, filling out her cunt with his cream. ) Alina. Like that, is that how you want it? You have no idea —
( he snarls into his own vigor, cutting himself off. how much i want you. how long i've wanted this. how deeply i love you. )
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alina starkov was never meant to be a tamed pet, quiet and aimless and muzzled. she feels those last chains fall away with his fierce grip at her waist, pulling her down onto his cock and holding her prisoner there — like she's broken his leash, too. her fingers sink into his skin as anchors do, digging into the sturdy musculature of his bicep — feeling how it shifts as though it can barely contain the strength bursting from him, reveling in how easily he manhandles her to his (their) liking. how he overpowers her without ever placing her in a cage, rocking her body again and again — claiming her on his cock as he leads her into fucking him, relentlessly wanting and yet.
never unkind. never cruel. though he could be, though every new slip of strength he's shown tonight has revealed how truly delicate he has been with her — and how simple it would be for him to break her. alina's knees knock together suddenly as her legs fold forward in all of her writhing, unable to stay still from the onslaught — overwhelmed, with no spare breath for a moment of merciful relief from the pleasure fluttering frantically in her cunt, a frenzy of wet heat that strangles his dick impossibly tighter with every collision he guides them into. her cries bubble up, fraught and raw — a chorus of broken moans she presses into his mouth, burying them like shared treasures between them. for him and only him, not the empty space of their room — not the vacant hallways and prying ears beyond their door. ]
Rhys, I'm —
[ gonna come. it's a sentence she never has the opportunity to finish, though she's certain it trickles down the connection between them, echoes around the space of the gory palace that houses her mind. her fingers slip and slide, painting circles into her clit — glazed and glossy as the rapture in her gaze as she holds his, as if looking away was ever a choice. as if she would rather have anything else but the sight of him painted golden behind her eyelids when she comes, twitching and sobbing into his mouth, with a flare of gentle light erupting beneath her skin like a solar flare.
(it's a mystery, in the end, if it's truly the unspoken words she imagines he might say that push her to the edge.)
her hands fly to the contours of his cheekbone, a desperate remapping of him, reaching for whatever part of him she can find — her kisses long and drugging before their lips part, saliva-slick, to leave her room to find shelter in his shoulder. with clinging arms, she bands them around his torso — tipping her head to nibble on the ledge of his wings, tongue darting out to trace its leathery slope, at the command of some hazy, half-baked instinct inside of her. ]
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if he had a mind about him, he would've at least thought of pulling out and painting their sheets with his spend instead. as it stands, he doesn't have even half a thought towards anything other than stuffing her like her favorite pastries, doting her in cream and honey, in salty sweet things. he empties out everything he has to give, overwhelmed by what's been made of his third orgasm tonight — utter ruination, his cock stubbornly staying hard in defiance of biology, fucking it deeper in her through his oversensitivity, through the toe curling pleasure of her body gripping his, saying don't let go, don't you dare. he doesn't. he grips her and fucks her, moans into her mouth and against her shoulder, milking every drop of his orgasm until it's buried as far into her as it'll go.
and then? satisfaction takes grip of his arousal, soul deep contentment settling into his bones. languidly, his hands loosen their tight hold on her, easing her legs back down to coil around his waist. he shudders by the kittenish nips of her teeth, wriggling beneath her, his wings batting somewhat pathetically in instinct — but the instinct not to disturb her is there twice as intensely, and he ultimately does nothing but release a breathless laugh, hand surging up to push her hair back, laying a kiss down on the height of her cheek. )
Little Lili.
( gently, his hand soothes down the slope of her curvy body, palming her from shoulder to hip, back again. touching because he wants to. touching because he can't stop. )
Hey. ( he gives her a small bounce on his lap. ) You're amazing.
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