[ooc: Warning! SMUT!]

[locks_it_up]

Her place, then.

It's not much changed, because this is the way she likes it, by and large. There's sunlight slanting through the windows, deep gold and warm, because she likes that, too.

It's almost shy, the way she leads him toward her bedroom. The bed's a little messy, red and pink and purple, with a stuffed turtle laying near the pillows.

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[mnt_raph]

*He follows, his gait a little slower than usual. What with the slight limp and all. Muscles stiff and sore from the past week's abuse, as well as his night sacked out in Mike's bathtub.

He takes in his surroundings, eyes lingering on the stuffed turtle. She tries to pull him closer to the bed, but he stops and gently pulls back. Arms wrapped low around her waist.*

That's a little disturbin' ain't it?

[locks_it_up]

The corner of her mouth creeps up, sheepishly.

"I thought it was cute. It's not like I actually sleep, you know. It's just... for the look of it."

Her fingers perched on the curve of his collarbones, hips flush with his, and that smile just grows.

"What would be disturbing is if it were an actual plush you. With the mask and everything."

[mnt_raph]

*The very idea of such a thing makes him cringe. Or it could be that she's pressing up against bruised ribs and a boxcutter slash. Either way, there's a grimace of sorts. The image of his own plush Death tap dances its way through his mind.*

Okay, point.

*Craning his neck forward, he kisses the back of one of her hands.*

[locks_it_up]

She smiles as he kisses her hand, the other sliding up his neck and into his hair. Her nails drag gently across his scalp.

She blinks at his cringe. "Are you alright?" Voice low and somehow smoky.

[mnt_raph]

*It's a reflex. He can't help but lean into her hand as she scratches lazy designs on his skin and through his hair. He nods.*

Mmmm hmm.

*When he opens his eyes again, he sees her No Nonsense look. The one that made him promise to knock off the "Macho Bullshit".*

I am. I..I will be.

[locks_it_up]

And there's the smile.

"Yes. You will."

Her other hand on his waist, now, under his shirt, the pads of her fingers tracing slow and light up his skin. Supremely careful, afraid of breaking him. There's this place right above his hip that she skirts around, agonizingly light. In fact, she might only be using the edge of her nails.

It is good to have his skin under her fingers again.

[mnt_raph]

*He gasps, and manages one very significant look at her before the sensation forces his eyes to close and his head to loll back. She's very close to tickling. It's nearly more than he can stand.

But he's not unarmed. In fact, he's got two of them. He pulls her close to the point where her arms are pinned between the two of them. He buries his head in the nape of her neck and tries to catch his breath.*

so....much....cheating....

[locks_it_up]

There might be a chuckle, way in the back of her throat.

"Never claimed to be fair."

And then she cranes her head forward and brushes her lips against his neck. She takes a breath, stirring his hair ever so lightly.

[mnt_raph]

*Sharp intake of breath. Cold air rushing in instead of warm air rushing out. The touch. The weight. The pressure. The sight. All of her.

His fingers slide underneath the hem of her shirt. Warm hands brushing the soft skin of her back.*

[locks_it_up]

And her lips move from his neck, to the juncture of his jaw, drag down the jawline, then hover over his lips for a moment, tasting his breath.

And then she kisses him, one hand free and tangling in his hair. There's something hungry in the way her lips move over his, the slickness of tongue starting to play over his mouth.

[mnt_raph]

*There's hungry, and then there's ravenous.

He gently rakes his teeth over her newly caught bottom lip.

But it's wrong. There's something wrong. Something is missing. The kissing continues as he leans his torso back, releasing her once pinned arm. His own hand leaving her back to take hers and drap it around his neck.

Much better.*

[locks_it_up]

She might shiver against him. Might.

Oh, who's she kidding. That's a full out spasmic shudder.

Her nails rake slowly down the back of his neck... There's a shirt in the way. This is no good.

She breaks away from his mouth long enough to peel the shirt off of him.

[mnt_raph]

*He doesn't fight her, though for a moment it does occur to him that he might. There are various and sundry yellowing bruises across his chest and back.
Of course, they're all paled by the long stitched up gash that cuts a diagonal from just under his left collarbone to the right of his sternum. It's easy to see where it's been stitched and restitched, though it does appear to be healing nicely.

He's hoping she won't notice. He's hoping there won't be a fuss. When he pulls her to him again, he's sure to put both of her arms around his neck.*

[locks_it_up]

No such luck.

She frowns, hunger drained from her eyes, replaced with frustration and concern.

"Goddammit, Raph."

She leans over to the scar, and very, very gently presses her lips to it, light as the silk on moth wings.

"...you moron."

[mnt_raph]

*It starts as a sigh, but ends with a hiss through clenched teeth.*

Guilty. Thought he was down. Thought wrong.

*He tips her chin up so she's looking into his eyes. His voice taking on a soothing tone not often used. She may be the only one who's heard it.*

It'll heal. I'm fine.

*Then he kisses her forehead before turning and reaching for his shirt.*

[locks_it_up]

And she sighs, close to content.

She can nag him later.

For now... she steps back and shrugs off her shirt, almost shyly, and throws it to one side. She kicks off her boots, too, and... why not? Loses the belt as well.

She doesn't take her eyes off of his as she settles onto the bed, blinding white and solid black against burgundy sheets.

There's something supremely vunerable in her eyes.

She holds out a hand to him, and maybe her fingers shake.

[mnt_raph]

*He watches her, dumbfounded. Hands wringing his tshirt into knots as he does so.

Raph kicks off his unlaced combat boots, and joins her on the bed. It's a last minute thought that tells him to drop the shirt on the floor.

He takes a seat on the bed, facing her. Eyes first tracing her features. Features that are traced a second time by an outstretched hand. Leaning over he kisses her. It has a very strong jr. high feel to it. As if he's unsure he should even be in her personal space.*

[locks_it_up]

She smiles against his lips, her hand fluttering at the juncture of jaw and neck, hands gentle and soft and strong and cool.

They hold everything, those hands.

Right now one of them curves around to the back of his neck and starts to trace down the column of his vertebrae.

[mnt_raph]

*His back rises up to meet her fingers. A low growl rumbles deep within his chest. He shifts, but does not disturb the bed as he does so.

A knee between her knees. Shoulders that straddle her own. A kiss that deepens, and picks up pace, before being broken, and going on tour.*

[locks_it_up]

Oh.

And now her fingers running down the planes of his shoulderblades, tracing patterns on his back, nerve endings dying and being reborn under her touch. It feels like fire and ice and more besides, gentle as velvet.

Her hips rise to meet his, and there's some sort of noise in the back of her throat as his lips move on that too-too unsullied flesh.

[mnt_raph]

*What started out as a gentle exploration has turned into an almost fevered need. Want. Take. Have.
Kisses turn into nibbles. Soft caresses increase in pressure.

He moans as her hips meet his. Hands sliding. Buttons unfastening.*

[locks_it_up]

And there she is, the whole expanse of her stretched out on those sheets,a white that goes beyond the whiteness of snow, white as white dwarves, white as the light behind the world.

Here she breathes. Slow and even and fighting for control.

"Eaaasy, tiger. Easy." She wants this to last.

Even her breath shudders.

[mnt_raph]

*He chuckles at Tiger. Hot breath across freshly kissed skin. Crawling back up to her, so they lay face to face. Hands trembling. Heart racing. Control is the one thing he lacks in the best of times.

He twines his legs with her, slides an arm beneath her and rolls. His skin is pale, but nothing like hers. The pinkish white of someone who hasn't seen summer sun. Scars and wounds standing out brightly against their backdrop.

A sharp breath as he adjusts to her weigh above him, and then a slow lazy smile.*

[locks_it_up]

She looks down at him, straddling his hips, fingers fluttering on his ribcage. Her touch is agonizingly gentle.

She has a look on her face like a starving woman in front of a buffet.

"Now what am I going to do with you...?"

[mnt_raph]

*Oh how the mighty now squirm. She finds herself lifted off the bed slightly as he raises his hips in a vain attempt to escape the tickling.

He brushes her hair from her face. Then his thumb traces a path from her cheek, across her lips and then under her chin to the hollow of her throat. Fingers then lightly dance on the skin between her breasts and down over her stomach, finally stopping low on her pelvis. Thumb exploring the sensitve skin there.

It's amazing the things you you can witness on the streets of New York at random hours of the day. At least his self imposed exile had it's benefits.

Voice low, and with a wicked smirk gracing his lips, he replies.*

don't look at me. smart like toaster, remember?