[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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[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?

[locks_it_up]

"Good toaster..."

It's her turn to squirm, evidently. She rises up under his fingers, head tilted back.

"If you could... up and to the left...
oh--!"

She's helpless under his touch. Oh, his hands. His hands... deft and sure and strong and filled with the knowledge of her...

It's not fair, what he's doing to her.

[mnt_raph]

your toaster.

*As ever, he follows her lead. Unrelenting. His other hand slides up her thigh and rests on the curve of her hip.

One day he would love to see her lose herself in this. Call it a morbid curiosity, if you will. For now though, this is more than enough.*

[locks_it_up]

She moves with his hands, unable or unwilling to stop herself.

She might look down at him and laugh with the sheer sensory overload of what he's doing to her.

His fingers-- in this part of her... maybe she cries out. Rough-skinned hands with terribly subtle actions. There. There.

She gives herself over to it.

[mnt_raph]

*She cries out as the waves overtake her. Hands firmly clenched in the blankets that lay beneath them.

She very nearly brings him with her. Tumbling over the edge. It is one of the rare moments where his focus is properly directed. He owes her this. She needs this.*

[locks_it_up]

White hands in red sheets.

Somewhere, stars go out.

She finds herself with her forehead on the pillow next to him, panting. Sweating, even.

She takes his hand and brings it to her mouth, still trembling from the force of it.

Her eyes don't leave his as she presses a kiss to his palm... and proceeds to do evil things to his fingers.

[mnt_raph]

*His wicked smirk is now heavily tinged with pride. That is, until she begins to torment his hand.

He was breathing heavy to begin with, it's just now he's stupidly attempting to talk.*

is..is that the answer?

[locks_it_up]

She releases his hand after a long time, during which arcane and evil things are done with her tongue, and smiles.

"Not yet it's not."

She pulls him close, and kisses his lips. Chastely.

If you listen close, there might well be a purr in there somewhere.

"Thank you. That was lovely."

[mnt_raph]

*He doesn't try to disguise the punctuated gasps for air her attention is causing him to take. He also can't stop the cartoon-style hard swallow her answer induces.

It's his turn to tremble, and he does. At first all he can do is kiss her, words are unattainable at this point in time. Eventually, they do return.*

you...you're ...you're welcome. and evil. very very evil.

[locks_it_up]

She smiles. It's a little bit wicked.

She presses a kiss to his forehead. Then again to his lips. And then her fingers skittering down his throat, another kiss settling on the hollow.
A kiss over his heart, now. His belly.

And then her fingers find the fly of his jeans. She takes the zipper a tooth at a time. In the time it takes her to peel away the denim from his hips, whole lifetimes have happened.

"Lift your butt up. Thank you."

The pants are tossed in a corner, her kneeling on the bed between his legs.

Smoke-dark eyes stay fixed on his as she flutters her fingers near his navel and starts to drag inexorably downard...

[mnt_raph]

*When she kissed his lips, he purred.
When she moved down his body, he watched. An amused smile playing on his lips.
When she removed his pants he started to lose control of his breathing.
Now, with her leaning over him, he's beyond purring. He can't watch as his head has flopped back on the pillows. He's not breathing.

Anticipation. The killer of men.*

[locks_it_up]

The contrast of fabric and this velvet-soft stiff flesh... it's fascinating, really.

She looks down and smiles, because, truly, boy-parts are absurd-looking. Her hand around him, small and white and gentle.

Her eyes go back up to meet his.

"Don't you dare move."

And then she lowers her mouth to him. Lips sliding, tongue caressing-- there. Yes. And moving from that part to this, slow and savoring.

Her eyes do not leave his.

[mnt_raph]

*He had closed his eyes as he flopped back on the pillow. The sound of her voice calls him back. He lifts his head up and looks to her; poised ready to pounce.

She's said something, he's sure of it. He can still hear her voice echoing in his ears, but there's no comprehension of what she's said. The words have no meaning.

There is only her eyes, and the sensation. The overwhelming overload of sensation that makes this atheist cry for heaven.

Warm. Deliberate. Teasing, and yet not.*

[locks_it_up]

There's this thing that human-shaped bodies have called a gag reflex. She forgot about it.

She turns her face away, recoiling. A deliberate breath, in and blown out.

Eyes of bottomless dark turn back to regard him stretched out before her, battered and bruised.
Dirty or clean, he is her creature, and she will always, always claim him as such.

With a sheepish smile and a half-nervous laugh, she turns back to her task, this supremely warm part of him still safe in her hand.

She will give him this. Warmth and wet, lips and tongue and mouth and throat.

[mnt_raph]

*The sound of his own pulse stops roaring in his ears long enough for him to catch his bearings. He hears her cough and attempts to sit up, but is thwarted. A serious glance, and a serious grip are all it takes to keep him stationary.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he calls her name. A whisper that melts into a whimper. He belongs to her. Lock, stock and barrel.*

[locks_it_up]

If she could smile at him in this position, she would. She can't. Instead, she intensifies her ministrations.

Her eyes, though, are warm, and laughing.

From the base of him to the head, lingering for the slickness and the salt there, before she goes back again.