[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]

"Well, one, don't ever call me that ever again." She's heard it from too many people. Not from him. Not ever from him.

Her hands across his shoulders, smiling.

"I'd have you be nice."

A kiss to the tip of his nose. She glances down between them and smiles a little, then looks back up at him, grinning like a kid doing something she shouldn't be doing.

[mnt_raph]

*The hand behind her neck slowly drifts to just under her bottom, holding her more securely on his lap.*

Yes ma'am. Can I call you schnooky-ookums instead?

*Heart racing, skin flush, and yet he still finds time for jokes. For that she shifts and squeezes. His breath catches.*

aren't...are...aren't i always nice?

[locks_it_up]

"For a given value of nice."

She leans over to kiss the underside of his jaw, fingers tracing over his chest, hovering over his heart.

She takes comfort in the rhythm.

Her lips near his ear. "And I meant... on the floor. If you would. Please."

[mnt_raph]

*You can almost see him mouth the words on the floor before the idea integrates into a format he understands. Blushing slightly, which is impressive when he's already quite pink to begin with, he lowers her back to the comfort of the bed, her legs hanging over the side where he has disappeared. Or rather, where most of him has disappeared.

Hands tracing a winding route across her shins, up towards her knees, and over to the outsides of her thighs, ending with one hand on each hip.

A kiss placed on the inside of each knee. His The warmth of his torso on her legs. Warm breath on warmer flesh. Nestled kisses. Languid exploration.*

[locks_it_up]

Now, breathing is not an act that she usually participates in. But she does it now. With great difficulty.

His lips... oh lord. That nose does come in quite handy, doesn't it? The warm sweep of his tongue across the center of her-- it forces a strangled cry from her throat.

She tries to watch him, to see this in action, but it's impossible. There is only this incredible sensation.

[mnt_raph]

*One hand drifts from her hip to the center of her chest. It pushes her down flat on the bed. An action that tells her no watching. The hand lingers a moment, before retreating.

And with that a new sensation joins the fray. Keeping time with the rest of him, as he tries to keep in time with her.

All the while there's one hand making lazy circles on the skin just slightly above her hip.*

[locks_it_up]

It takes quite a bit of willpower to stop her hips from bucking wildly.

Hands and mouth and sweet, sweet rhythm and she tightens around his fingers, her own hands clawing for some sort of purchase in the rumpled sheets of the bed.

She moans in time with what he's doing to her. There's no heaven she can cry to, so she cries his name instead, when she can get her throat to make noises that can loosely be identified as words.

[mnt_raph]

*Every cry from her makes it that much more difficult for him to concentrate. Hearing her like that. Seeing her like this. Spread out before him. Calling his name. It's a good thing he's already on his knees.

He doesn't deviate from his course or his timing. He can't, not with a response this good.*

[locks_it_up]

Her back arches off the bed, and she cries like a thing in pain.

Her head is thrown back, and her eyes, not truly focused, nonetheless land on the stuffed turtle that has sadly been knocked into a corner.

She tries to gasp against that sensual assault, that wet-on-wet and sweet depth, almost touching something deep within her. So very close.

If words make it out, they might well be something like 'you' 'inside' 'me' and 'please.'

[mnt_raph]

*It's just one of those orders/commands that you can't refuse.

There is one final loving kiss, before he rocks backwards, weight shifting from his knees to his feet. One hand maintains its stride, while the back of the other indelicately wipes at his mouth.

On unsteady legs, knees weak at the sight of her, he moves from the floor to the bed. Flesh on flesh, slick with perspiration. An arm bracing himself so as to save her from his full weight.

Slow and gentle, anticipation killing them both, he presses flesh into flesh. Any illusion of control is now lost.*

[locks_it_up]

She tries, again, to breathe.

It catches in her throat.

The warmth, yes, and the slickness of her skin on his, yes, and she can feel the throbbing pulse of him all through her, yes, hard and hot and yes.

She moves with him now, in a dance that she has seen from the beginning, and oh how lovely the steps, moving now with him, around him, fingers splayed over that battered and brief flesh that she knows so well.

The syllables that try to find their way out of her throat are all affirmation.

[mnt_raph]

*It's all her. Every sight. Every smell. Every sensation. All her. He would gladly lose himself in her. In this. It could be almost discribed as pure joy, if not for the driving need for more.

More pressure. More friction. More of those sweet noises that escape from her lips, the ones that sound like his name.*

[locks_it_up]

She takes her time with this. Takes him deep within her, moves her hips in time with a pulse and a rhythm almost as old as she is.

She's shaking, her arms around him, her body pressed against his, and she arches her throat up to moan his name into his ear. His real name.

Oh the depth. Oh. Oh, lord, he's inside of her and moving, moving, and she can feel every inch of him and it's still not quite enough and she strains her hips against his and--

--and they fit. Against all logic and against her brother's book, they fit.

The sound from her throat is like a song. The way her body shudders and the way she tightens around him is the warmest embrace she can give.

[mnt_raph]

*Every part of him is awake and alive. Nerves he didn't know existed are firing away in combinations he's never dreamed. It's like flying and being rooted to the ground at the same time. Falling and being caught. Danger without the fear.

It's like that kiss from the time he'd rather forget. His whole life at once. Rushing past him. Through him.

He tries to tell himself to slow down, but it's too late for that. He's too close for that. The edge is with in his grasp. The breaking point.

It overtakes him, seizes him, and is not gentle in doing so. He can't even cry out, doing so would require breath that he can't even begin to draw.*

[locks_it_up]

One final arch of back and shudder of body and twitching squeeze of him, one final gasping moan, and she breaks like a tidal wave, a wave of warmth and wet and oh oh oh yes...

...and it's done.

And she's left gasping, reaching for breath that she does not own, has no claim to.

They lay like that for some little time, her hands still running gentle over his back before he extricates himself from her, leaving an emptiness she mourns for a moment before turning and snuggling against him.

She smiles down and takes his face in her hands, thumbs brushing over cheekbones, tips of fingers in his hair. So very brief, and so precious.

"I love you."

And then... then she lowers her lips to his, and kisses him.

In this way, she takes him into her, in a way that no man but him has been through and come back to tell of it.

She swallows him whole.