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Chapter Text

"Baby!" Steve called out as he nudged the door behind him closed with his butt. He could hear the faint sound of the shower running as he walked over to the kitchen counter, making sure the disproportionately packed paper bag didn't topple over before discarding his jacket. 

Seating himself comfortably on the sofa, he heard the water turn off, giving way to a woman's voice dipping into a low, husky note as she sang, almost identical to the song that was softly playing in the background.

So caught up with the things I don't need. So-oh-oh fast...

Then the bass descending in the way he knew drove her into a frenzy only true music lovers would understand. Hands raised a little to make what he called her "air piano fingers", her bottom lip partially caught in her teeth and the right side of her upper lip raised into a grinning snarl.

The world spin fast...

He smiled in amusement when he heard a resounding, "YAASSS!" from the bedroom. He wouldn't be surprised if she's had this song on repeat since she stepped in the shower

My world spin faster. Your world spin. Our worlds spin. The world spin faster.

Steve eventually got up to go put his shoes in their bedroom, figured he could use a shower himself. The song was at what she called it's 'climax,' violins drawing out a series of long serenading symphonies while the heavy modern bass drum dropped rhythmically in formation with the tap-tap-tap of a cymbal. The violins always reminded him of Japanese cherry blossoms blooming beautifully in the summer. Delicate and soft just like her brown skin. He'd plucked one and placed it in her hair when they were being irritating tourists 2 years ago - Steve knows there's a picture he drew of her somewhere in one of the albums. 

When he entered the bedroom and headed over to the walk-in closet, she was in the bathroom again, singing in a hushed voice while she busied herself with the small pleasures of fixing her hair for bed, or splashing her face with cold water - or maybe she was putting his favourite black cherry lip balm on. During the day she'd worn some eyeliner, mascara and a deep shaded lipstick, said she was feeling ambitious when he teased her about it.

They both happened to walk into the bedroom from opposite ends at the same time and Steve felt himself come to a stop as his heart began to beat a little faster. Holy hell.

She was clad in a charcoal grey bodysuit that was actually pretty modest by some standard, depending on whether she paired it with fitting jeans or shorts that showed off her shapely thighs and legs. But right now it was the only thing that kept her between naked and dressed, although the way it was cut and clung to her body left nothing to the imagination. A lavender kimono emblazoned with small green dragons and gold threaded flowers hung open from her shoulders. 

Her hair was up in a fluffy ball and with her skin bare of any product, he was reminded of just how much younger than him she was. Regardless, her body was all the motivation he needed. Steve felt the muscles in his thighs and pelvis twitch, as his blue ringed eyes raked over her once, twice then settled on the face he'd take a thousand bullets for if it meant he would live to see it at sunrise.

"Hey baby." The greeting was so innocent and cheerful, an electric bright smile lighting up her eyes and the whole room. "Ok now before you judge me...I just needed to put this on one more time before going to bed, because I'm feelin' maself." She rolled her neck and snapped her fingers in the air jokingly. The song was still playing in the background.

Blind. I'm blind. I'm blind. I couldn't follow rules if I tried...

When he didn't say anything, only staring hard at her with his eyebrows knit together and his jaw ticking, she tilted her head in confusion. In another setting he would have found it cute and showered her with sweet kisses on her face until her brows straightened out and she was a giddy, giggling mess in his arms. But instead it made her seem even more irresistable, churning a wanton fire in the pit of his stomach. 

Her favourite part of the song played again and she gracefully swayed her head side to side, eyes closed and full lips pouted as the bassline hummed over the speakers and the vibration coursed through his body, from the tail of his spine to the base of his neck. The feeling caused the nerve endings in his skin to prickle, perspiration gathering above his brow, and when she did that thing with her lip, he couldn't restrain himself anymore.

He was on her in two large strides, grabbing her hips and tugging them forward as he dove straight into the crook of her neck, hungrily attacking it with his lips, tongue and teeth. Her first reaction was to gasp and she tried to pull away, then push him off when he bit harshly at her pulse point.

His growl was muffled against her neck as he slid his hands to her pliant ass and tightened his grip this side of too tight, effectively grinding his firm excitement into her cotton covered core. That caused her to stop struggling and elicited a soft moan from her lips, head tilted sideways as another pleased gasp filled her lungs with the faint smell of his cologne mixed with oxygen.

The kimono that had been cooling against Steve's body slipped off her shoulders as his hands travelled to the dip of her waist using it as leverage to hoist her up effortlessly, her legs snapping around his body instinctively, her lips crashed against his. While Steve carried her to the recliner sitting in the corner, tongues moving in sync, he thought about how weird it must've been for her to suddenly get jumped by him without so much as a word from his side. Ehhh, he'd fuck now and she can ask questions later.

He seated himelf with her straddling his lap whilst her delicate hands ran up and down his chest and abdomen, an appreciative groan escaping from the confines of his throat. Finally her cool fingers slipped under the hem of his  shirt and she paused the kiss to pull it over his head, tossing it God knows where. She then moved down to the button and zip of his jeans, fingers making quick work of them with one hand, while the other firmly palmed the erection that was nudging at her mound, moist with want. Finally, Steve spoke.

"Take it off." His voice was low and husky, a little gruff from vocal deprivation. He tugged and let go of the point where the v-neckline took a deep plunge against her chest. It gave him a generous view of her cleavage and the two pointed peaks that were stiff from arousal and he couldn't help when he lunged forward and pressed the lower half of his face into the valley of her warm brown breasts, deeply inhaling the scent of vanilla, shea butter and...powder? He chuckled lowly, his breath fluttering against her chest.

"What? What is it?" 

"Nothin'. Now take this off before I do it for you." He was getting impatient. She knew he was getting impatient, which was why she slowly pried his stubborn head and hands away from her body and scooted off his lap with a cheeky smirk pasted on her face.

Slooooowly running her hands up over her hips, her stomach, up to her breasts - with Steve's eyes trailing the path with great concentration marking and mapping her anatomy - she twirled around in rhythm with the song, repeating itself for the upteenth time.

Watching the cats lined in her room. Catching eyes and full set zoom...

He watched her as she swayed her hips seductively. Serpentine and sultry in her movements pressing her rounded chestnut coloured ass into his lap, wiggling and grinding against his cock that was looking for some sort of release, both from the confines of his clothing and the overwhelming amount of pent up sexual tension.

His hands gripped the arms of the recliner hard as she wound her hips and pushed her ass hard into his crotch at a perfect angle. It was the final push over the edge. Steve was done fucking around and letting her feel like she was in control. His arms snaked around her waist as one headed south while the other went to fondle a glorious tit. He leaned into her ear.

"I told you to take this thing off, sweetheart. But you chose to be a fucking dick tease instead." His hand started going to work on her clothed clit and she threw her head back in ecstacy, mouth open in a silent moan. "So now, I'm gonna do the honours. And then I'm going to remind you why you never disobey orders."

And before she could even register his firm touch disappearing from the apex of her thighs, Steve grabbed either side of the neckline of her bodysuit and pulled. The sound of ripping filled the room, hot and humid and electric as Steve pushed at the flimsy item, off of her shoulders, down her arms, over her hips and thighs with her finishing by kicking it off her ankles in anger. That thing cost quite a considerable amount of money AND - it was Balmain! He knew it was Balmain, there was no need to be barbaric. She told him that too with a cute scowl on her face and pouted lips.

"Are you being sassy with me? I'll fuck that bad temper out of you so hard you won't be able to remember your own name." He littered her neck with kisses and nuzzled her neck, tickling her with the shadow of his beard and eliciting a fit of giggles, simultaneously slipping two fingers into her. Her core tightened and she lifted off of him with a rasping inhale, long enough for him to free his throbbing member from his unzipped pants. Going commando had its conveniences.

After delicately fucking her with his fingers, he slid them out of her dripping cunt and up the soft folds spreading her essence, his digits landing on the sensitive, priceless pearl that was her clit. Steve hissed through gritted teeth and pressed down on the button of pleasure firmly as he finally felt her tight, wet warmth engulf his length. He looked down to watch as her ass sat against his hips, knowing and feeling her take all of him in. Goddamn, they'd done this so many times but she always managed to feel so good!

The song looped again.

And as the beat kicked in, he bucked up and listened, as a ragged gasp escaped from her throat and her abdominal muscles tensed ever so slightly. Then he thrust again, harder this time, and her loins contracted even tighter, from her stomach through her pelvis and down into her groin. Steve could only imagine the way her face must have contorted at the way he was making her feel, so he thrust again and again, building up a steady pace that started to awaken his own pool of coital pressure deep inside the pit of his body.

She was moving in sync with him, head thrown back, mouth open as her strained moans grew louder and more desperate for something, anything explosive enough to make her see the stars littering the sky and him cherry blossoms bursting pink and white and delicately soft - like her skin. The coil twisting inside of her had wound so tight she started uttering his name.

"Steve..." 

Racing day by day...

"Steve?.."

Post the work you share...

"Steve."

Drowning in a lifetime...

His name and those lyrics entwined to become what sounded like a beautiful mantra, a whispered worship echoing; praising him, begging him and soothing him all at once. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed a release, he needed her to release, to let go of her inhibitions while also clinging to him and around him desperately as waves of chimera washed over her.

So Steve did as he'd previously promised when she'd teased and aroused him. His long and muscular arm wrapped around her waist and the hand lodged itself underneath her dark tit, the other hand creeped up her spine, over her shoulder and around her throat - effectively anchoring her tightly to his broad, heaving chest. Once he was comfortable that she wouldn't escape his grip, Steve sat back in his seat, bringing her with him and began a relentless rhythmic assault on her body. 

His cock pistoning straight up into her with so much vigor that she let out a yelp of surprise and then a string of "fucks" as their bodies bumped and skin slapped with every rising thrust. Tears were now rolling down her hot and flustered cheeks and she was scrambling to free her pussy and repetitively stroked G-spot from the sweet torture that the man beneath her was enacting upon her. Brown arms flailing this way and that as her hands gripped on to anything she could find - conveniently it was Steve's arm - her nails digging into his skin, leaving red half cresent shaped indents before dragging one hand down his large bisep that flexed with its effort to keep her still, that too would leave stinging trails of red in its wake once this was all finished.

Electric clouds of information tumble down. Too fast...

When he felt her inner thigh muscles begin to tremor, a sign that she was trying her utmost to hold back on the orgasm he so deeply desired, his hand retreated from her neck and made its way down her brown, sweat slick body until it found her clit again like before, except this time he began rubbing circles against her furiously. She sobbed, literally sobbed at the over sensitive nub being attacked with his skilled fingers and when she felt his hot, panting breath against her ear and heard his low voice grit out: "Come on baby, come for Daddy," she felt what could only be described as an out of body experience.

My world spin faster...

She released a low gutteral groan and her back arched as far away from his body as it would allow and then her entire demeanor changed as her devastating euphoria was amplified further by Steve's fingers still exploiting her clit and his erratic, choppy thrusts. The groan suddenly descended into a series of choked sobs or gasps as her body slumped into him and convulsed violently, eyes rolled back, head turned away. 

Your world spin faster...

It left him in awe knowing that he was the cause of her literal undoing - but what really pushed him over the edge was the fist tight clenching of her cunt against his length as he thrust up one more time and the pool burst with so much force he cursed under his breath and his hands tightened, both around her ribcage and her clit as he spilled over into her.

My world spin. Your world spin... 

The crescendo was too much, she felt her soul leave her body momentarily only for it to slam back into her at high impact and velocity. She saw white light and even though she was still tremoring, she was hit with another impactful wave of orgasm, resulting in her body reacting the only way it knew how - she squirted. Briefly.

Our world spin faster...

Steve couldn't help his own shock at the strength of this orgasm. It wasn't that he was bothered by it, although clean up was going to be a bitch with the carpets! But it was the singlemost emphatic, mind-blowing, hottest thing he'd ever seen. And knowing he was responsible for that, kinda made him feel a great deal of masculine pride. For her; the entire thing was so unexpected and so intense and so insanely amazing her brain short-circuited and shut down, taking her consciousness with it as the music faded out along with her sense of hearing. 

Leave mankind for machine, leaving souls, staring screens...

***

She awoke to the sun filtering through a small slit in the curtains and landing on her face - that was obviously Steve's shady way of getting her to wake up. She stirred slightly, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips before reaching over for her phone on the bedside table. 

"06:30? Too early," she lay her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. "Steve's probably on his way back from his morning jog so I still have another...30 minutes or so before he starts irritating me with his morning routine." She giggled. "Cheerful ass Captain America."

She opted to roll onto her other side so the sheets could cool her warm body. 

She was met with a pair of blue-green eyes, half lidded and heavy with sleep, but there was a fond and loving smile on his face. 

"You think blueberry pancakes and hazelnut coffee are irritating?" His voice was somewhat croaky and he canted an eyebrow.

"No. I think you banging pots and plates and the cupboard doors, while trying and failing to sing Marvin Gaye, is irritating. 

You're a terrible singer Steven."

He burst out laughing and enwrapped her in an embrace, kissing her lovingly on the forehead and then twice on the lips.

"Good mornin' baby."

"Mernin'."

They giggled stupidly at their little inside joke and Steve reached up to touch her face tenderly, staring into those doe like eyes as though he'd never see them again. 

90 plus years on ice.

He'd lost his best friend, found him, lost him again and found him once more, only to come to the realisation that he was not same man, that he never would be. 

Then he lost Peggy. Twice. Before, he would've been overcome with unspeakable pain and grief. But now, as he looked in the eyes of the new love of his life, he didn't feel any pain or grief or a sense of loss.

He felt - at home. And for a simple man like Steve, that was more than enough. He said her name and she looked at him with a small smile on her youthful face.

"I love you." He said.

"I love you too." She closed her eyes and sidled up against him.

He only chuckled, smiled and felt like he was on cloud 9. An orange tinted, pink cloud 9 - the colours ascribed with the sunset. Chuckling, he rubbed her back repeatedly and under the assumption that she'd drifted off to sleep again, his eyelids shut. They lay there, two battered and bruised but sated bodies curled up in their bed.  Everything was perfect and quiet except for the distant sound of cars in the heart of the city and...

"You owe me a new Balmain."

Chapter Text

She listened as a heavy, almost dark beat dropped and a sultry, seductive voice crooned over the large speakers drowning out the sound of the crowded club. 

Perhaps faith is overrated and my intuition is complicated. Cause letting go seems harder than I anticipated...

Yes. She could resonate with these words. She began to step-touch in her high heels, shoulders bumping forward as she bopped her head side to side, the clingy purple and black dress creeping up her thighs.

She didn't even bother to pull it down. She'd been doing it most of the night and now, as she moved and swayed with the sea of hot and clammy bodies, like seaweed in the bottom of the dark blue ocean, she was too sauced and feeling a little too sexy to even care. 

Blue. God she hated that colour.

The beat was cool. It didn't require any unnecessary dancefloor stunts and she was more than happy to feel the bass thumping in her ears, tuning out the chatter of annoying friends she'd chosen to ignore a couple shots ago. 

She spun slowly, winding her hips and pelvis in a seductive circular motion, palms pressed together in a praying gesture, in front of her sweaty face. Everything was too hazy and the air was stuffy with the partygoers breath intermingling. The amount of alcohol in her blood stream didn't help either, and soon she began to feel nauseous.

She'd probably need to head home if she wanted to at least reduce some of the hangover she would be subjected to in the morning. 

Home...alone.

Her heart tugged a little there. Okay, so maybe she could resonate a little too well with these words. In as little as 30 seconds this song was starting to become a little too depressing for her, but she continued to dance, her mind and feet wandering in a million directions as she stumbled slightly and backed up ass first into something solid. 

Afraid that she'd pulverized the person's feet by accident with her torturously high shoes, she turned around, already apologising profusely at her clumsiness. He'd always told me I was such as clutz.

But when her warm brown eyes lifted up and met a pair of all-too-painfully-familiar dark grey-blue ones underneath the dusky shadows of eyebrows she'd caressed so many times - everything stopped. Her face fell, the feeling of people moving around her was gone, and she was standing in the middle of the dark room face to face with someone she'd vowed to never so much as think of again.

Perhaps love is complicated and my intuition is overrated. Cause letting go...

She didn't like this song anymore. The words hit too close to home and the deep house bass was as heavy and as dark and brooding as he was. How twisted fate could be; to have her broken hearted self staring into those enticingly blue eyes, coinciding with these depressing lyrics. It was as though the DJ had somehow singled them out, knowing exactly why she had come here tonight, towing timidly behind her girlfriends. 

But she was very intoxicated. Somewhere - between the Goose and the blunt she'd gingerly puffed on - she'd lost her self-control and sense of awareness, her guards were down and suddenly she was very turned on by how his hot and cold palms felt familiar against her body. He pulled her into his overwhelming presence and his strong, bulky arms tightened around her waist possessively.

"You're drunk." He said. And she merely giggled her response. No shit, dumbass. He pulled back, hands returning to her waist and gave her a tantilizingly slow once over, his eyebrows knit together and his mouth reflecting his concern and slight disapproval. He never liked her friends.

"Come on."

No 'ands', 'ifs' or 'buts'. Those two words had managed to reign her into some sort of common sense and he guided her through the throng of suspiscious, untrustworthy people, narrowing his cobalt eyes at anyone who dared to come within an inch of her. Male or female, he didn't care, clenching the fist of his metal arm as it glistened and gleamed red, green, blue and yellow, challenging anyone brave enough to defy him. They made it out the club without any incident, wordlessly walking to his car - the human hand, warm and protective against her lower back. 

Then on the fifth day, I swear, I heard you say that I'm the only one who makes you feel that way...

He opened the door for her and she slid in, her face devoid of any expression but her dilated eyes communicating just how far gone she was. Or was it lust and want? She was feeling oddly warm as she removed her heels, wiggling her stiff toes as he shut her side of the door and then strutted across the front of the vehicle to the driver's side.

Soon they were driving in silence and out the corner of his eye, he saw her steal a glance at him before she relaxed into her seat and drifted off to sleep. 

-

The door flew open with enough violence to slam it against the wall and swing back to shut itself. Two souls had given into their desires and words that went unspoken for so long were now being expressed with rough but crystal clarity through lips and tongues.

His shirt was half undone at the top, four buttons gone, violently ripped from the fabric in a desperate bid to feel his hot, creamy skin under her honied fingers. Her dress had been forcefully hiked all the way up by greedy hands that knew their way around her body, kneading her breasts, groping her thighs, squeezing her squishy-firm ass cheeks in order to draw her even closer to him - to the hardening bulge in his pants.

Their lips detached and he moved his mouthy interests to the erogenous zones on her flower scented neck and jaw, his teeth serving as a means to re-mark what was once his. What is his, right now, in this moment. Where she had once been drunk from shots of bitter burning vodka, was now replaced by getting a high off of the unforgettable smell of him: soap and spicy wood overtones of cologne competing with a barely there hint of gunpowder.

Lost myself in your way...

He unzipped the back of her dress as he sat her on the large dining room table in the middle of the room. He slid it down her body, watching as more of that gorgeous chocolate skin unveiled itself to his dark, hungry eyes. He tossed the flimsy thing to fuck off, it was a layer of clothing that was prohibitting him from gaining the skin-on-skin contact he'd spent sleepless nights thinking of all these months. 

She'd always been able to do that - put him to sleep. Feeling her warm and breathing and there...it made him feel like he had everything he'd ever needed and wanted in that moment. When she left, she took that valuable gift with her.

But he wasn't about to make that mistake again. He'd learned his lesson well enough not to fuck up this second chance. He would show her that he'd learned his lesson.

"I'm sorry." He breathed the words into her neck, kisses peppering her pulse to cement his sincerity. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Tell me what to do...

"Bucky," she sighed into his ear. He could hear the inklings of hesitation and second guessing in her voice. Could feel the conflict in her hands, torn between wanting to push him away or pull him close. So she listened as his metal arm whirred and slid down the front of her body, causing her skin to raise with goosebumps, a result of the contrast between his cold hand and limb with her searing and over-sensitive skin.

His needy lips crashed into hers again and as he pushed her panties to the side and pressed his silver fingers to her swollen clit, rubbing it up and down, he slid his tongue into her gasping mouth. Their mouths worked against one another as he coated his robotesque digits with her womanly, human fluids. He could hear how wet and ready she was so he took it a step further and slid one finger into her slit, his thumb moving against her clit.

"Oh my Goood, fuck!" It came out as a sinful whisper, hissing when he started pumping in and out of her soaked cunt. He was working her last damn nerve and she wasn't 100% sure she would be able to resist for much longer. But what was the point anyway? She'd already gone too far by letting him kiss her.

Lost myself in your way...

When she felt him insert a second, thick and cold finger she made the prettiest sound he thought he'd heard all night. He started thrusting his fingers faster, not too much, but just enough to render her speechless as he curled them against her tight walls, his bionic fingers feeling the ridges of muscle; the pressure of her clenching and twitching as he coaxed her into a tight coil of pleasure. He pulled away just enough to look at her face, beautifully ruined by lust, with his half-lidded eyes.

"Yeah, you always liked it when I fucked your pussy with my cold fingers. You like that? Tell me you like it." He increased the pace and pressure, rolling her nub around his thumb harder, building up the tension in her stomach and filling it with an unbelievable sensation in its pit.

"Nnngh, yes! Fuck yes. Just like that, Buck - ooh shit!!" That was indication enough for him, but instead of working her above and beyond the release she needed, he slowed down again and placed his forehead against hers.

"Do you forgive me, doll? Please tell me you forgive me." He placed a chaste but meaningful kiss on her plump lips and pulled his slick fingers out of her tight cunt. She huffed in frustration, eyes firing daggers at his handsome face, if looks could kill she probably wouldn't off him - but she would deck him in the face for being so stingy and denying her orgasm.

"What d' ya want? Tell me what it is and I'll give it t' ya, I promise. You're priority number one - I'll never make you second best again. 

Just say it, baby."

Tell me what to do...

Her dark chocolate eyes darted between his and she saw enough conviction behind his pleading gaze to say fuck being the jilted lover. She needed to feel him again kissing, groping, fucking, loving.

She reached down and unbuckled his belt, leaving it open and moving on to the button and zipper of his pants with a great deal of fury because they were wasting precious time. She leaned in and devoured his lips hungrily, the roles switching temporarily in which she was the hungry and primal one. She gingerly slid her hand down his boxers as he shimmied them along with his pants down to the floor and stepped out of them along with his shoes in one swift movement. Damn, he'd always been such an efficient lover and she loved that about him. Had missed it.

"I don't believe you." 

She rubbed his hard cock deliciously slow, up and down along the thick shaft, squeezing it momentarily. 

"Prove it."

It caused him to growl and the roles righted themselves again, him biting down on her soft and swollen lower lip as his hands roughly pulled her closer to the edge of the table. It caused her to squeak in surprise and he grinned, her lip still caught in his teeth. Prying her thick thighs open with his hands hooked behind her knees and widening the gap with his hips, blood engorged cock teasing her slick and sopping entrance, he spoke through gritted teeth, still holding onto that sweet and plump brown lip. 

"Raspravit' kryl'la, moya malen'kaya babochka."  

And within an instant he buried himself deep into her, pussy wet and welcoming but a lot tighter than when he last explored these walls. She released a drawn out cry of both pain and pleasure as her taut cunt made room for the sudden intrusion, tugging and milking at his satisfyingly filling length. They remained like this for a brief moment, panting heavily as he revelled inside her body, a cavernous comfort for which he would sail the seven seas and fight wars if it could keep him coming back to her over and over again just to be like this.

When she stopped tensing and clinching around him, he began to move.

Lost myself...

The feel of her! 

She felt like heaven. She was heaven. Brown and radiant and perfect - but she was also a sweet fiery pit of hellish temptation, it was what caused him to man up and walk to her on the crowded dancefloor. He'd seen how she gyrated and wound her waist and hips to the music, all purple haze and hypnotic in her ministrations and seeing how other men - inadequate competitors - oggled her made him disgustingly jealous and wanting to claim his woman.

I don't wanna lose again, somehow you just pull me in...

His brown hair curtained his flustered face as he dropped his forehead onto her shoulder and thrust himself in and out of her viciously, grunting over and over as he sheathed himself to the hilt and pulled back to within an inch of their lives, only to rut back in driving himself to the edge of delirium when she'd mewl or moan as she tightened her slit and trembled in ecstasy.

"Fuck, doll, is it me or did you get tighter?" The question was more of a reflex resulting from him letting go and giving into the feeling of his release edging closer. He did not expect a response.

"Because you were the last - oh, fucking God - motherfucker I had sex with. After that I di-didn't want anybody else." She ended her sentence with a beautiful moan and if he was merely in love and just wanted his best girl back before when he'd seen her on the dank, dirty dancefloor - he sure as hell was ready to wife the fuck out of her now. 

Just when I thought I had you figured out. You turn and pull some shit that makes me doubt...

He upped the ante and watched her sit back on her forearms, her hair frizzy and shaggy against her face, perfect tits bouncing up and down her perspirated brown body that glowed as the moonlight beamed through the blinds into the dark room, her skin blending with the table - he thought she looked ethereal, beautiful and out of this world. 

This woman! She'd worked that black girl magic on him so well, he thought he'd managed to finally get an idea on what made her tick, how her mind worked, thought he had her all figured out like clockwork - he'd been able to do it so many times before with other people, it was imprinted on him during his time at Hydra. But not with her, no. She was dynamic and multidimensional and that was why he couldn't seem to detoxify himself of her no matter who he'd fucked over the course of their brief break-up. 

God he was so fucking stupid for letting that happen. 

Just how loyal (loyal could you be). Possibly or maybe (could you be the one for me?)...

Soon things went from seperate and scattered to coming together into one big picture as he felt her pussy clenching in short intervals, bringing him back to Earth and into the room in time to hear her begging moans get louder and more needy as her pelvic walls tightened and the coil twisted. He grabbed her hips and fucked her harder, her ass smacking obscenely against his muscular thighs as she lay on her back, eyelids fluttered shut and mouth open to sing her praise as his twitching cock deepend and stroked her there - she writhed in sweet agony.

"Mine! You're mine. Your pussy is mine. Your tits are mine. Your whole fucking mind, soul and body belong to me! You're mine - you're. Fucking. MINE!!

His own muscles were straining, working double time to get her closer and closer to the cliff edge and then his still cold metal hand rested on top of the tightly packed tuft of dark coily hair on her pubic bone while his thumb began to roll her over-sensitive, over-exploited clit in small circles. Her yelps and groans reached a record high pitch as the feeling of his cold meeting her smouldering hot threw her into a daze and over the cliff.

She saw bright flashes behind her closed eyelids bursting all over as she crashed and burned all over him. Everything tensing so hard her muscles quivered in delicious cramping pain as her back lifted off the hard, flat surface of the table. Her toes curled, her thighs shaking and her cunt abruptly snapping around his dick with such an intensity he started to experience equal parts of pleasure and pain.

I'm starting to doubt. Can't seem to figure it out...

He couldn't even thrust with nearly as much vigor and ease as before, it felt like she'd shrunk in size and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if this is what it felt like being trapped in the tight squeeze of a python's musculature. With one final, out-of-tempo push, he came. Literally roaring in satisfaction as he felt that perfect pussy devouring and milking him for all of his priceless and electric-train-crashing-hard orgasm. He collapsed on top of her. Breathless but sated. This was long overdue.

This was both fucking and making love: it was raw and primal in its nature but there was an underlying vulnerability they both shared that bonded them and fused them into one - a hot mess of her legs tangling around his body; his rise closer to the heavens coinciding with her fall deeper into sexual, emotional insanity; his white against her black coming together to create a bursting technicolor kaleidoscope of pure, unadultered bliss and unrefined love.

Everything went silent save for the deep breaths that were slowly beginning to even out into steady, rhythmic inhale-exhales. The haze lifted from their minds and everything started to come into focus, clearer and more sharp as though they'd taken some kind of substance that enhanced their senses. The room smelled like sex and musk, he tasted her lips on his tongue, she could feel his cold chrome arm trailing up and down her self-regualting skin. And he could hear her saying the words he so desperately needed to hear: "I forgive you, James. I forgive you and I believe your body. I miss you. 

And I love you."

Once he'd gathered himself together enough to regain his strength, his limbs and body no longer shaking, he lifted his brunette head up from her bossom. She wasn't looking at him but he could see the undeniable twinkle in her warm eyes. He planted sweet kisses from the valley of her chest to the hinge of her jaw and placed his full lips to the shell of her ear.

"On the list of 5 things that I love, you are the first three - followed by screwing you and rounding it off with plums."

"Oh, my God..." she said, shaking with a genuine, deep-bellied laughter. 

Okay, make that a list of 6 things he loved. 

His grey-blue eyes, enhanced by the moonlight, stared at her blissed-out face and willed her to look at him. She could feel his intense stare and she tilted her gaze down, a well manicured dark eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Please have my babies?" She burst out laughing again, teeth glistening, eyes crinkling and chest convulsing as she struggled to find her breath, instead hiccup-laugh-inhaling herself into control.

Yep. 6 things.

Chapter Text

Dean had roamed through the darkness, a chilling breeze whistling, the snow covered ground painting the scenery an incandesent blue-black as the moon shone down on the tall buildings. He knew traversing the streets wasn't necessary considering his supernatural abilities, but he walked nonetheless. Biding his time. Using the eerie silence offered by the sleeping town to think.

Stranded in this spooky town, stoplights are swaying and the phone lines are down...

Thinking. He found himself doing that a lot more than he liked. Sometimes, he thought about senseless things: such as the weather and how strange it was the way these mortals of this era found pleasure in the most trivial and meaningless things. Other times, it was more personal. He'd think about his life before he was turned, of his younger brother, Sam, and what would've become of him had his life not been cut so tragically short. 

Nowadays, he thought about the girl he'd spotted at the crowded bus stop, and how she'd smiled at him when their eyes met. It was genuine and sincere, made him feel as though he actually belonged in the throng of the simple-minded and their mediocre lives. He remembered how she had approached him, striking up a conversation with that big, bright smile on her brown face. She was so youthful and whimsical in her ways, and made him feel alive again.

His thoughts drifted to the night they'd stood under a large tree near the woods, the ground a thin sheet of white as she leaned up against the rough bark and he threaded his hands through her soft braids and pressed his cold lips to her warm ones. The moment she sighed and Dean felt those soft lips move against his with great fervor, Dean knew he never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again.

Floor is crackling cold, she took my heart I think she took my soul...

Now, as his jade eyes watched her turn over in the comfort of her bed and heavy blankets, a bare, brown shoulder peeking out just above the hem of the duvet, Dean knew there was no going back. He could make out the outline of her body, where her waist dipped and then widened out, one leg bent in front of the other giving a small hint to her firm and rounded bottom, accentuating her hip as it curved and then flattened into a descending slope giving way to a smooth thigh. He swallowed thickly and took a step out of the shadows cast in one corner of the room.

All he wanted, all he needed, would be his tonight.

He waved his hand and the covers gently pulled back over her shoulder and down to the valley of her waist, he didn't want to wake her just yet - not until he had completely drunk her in and memorised her, naked and radiant. She heaved sleepily as the chilly atmosphere of the room danced over her soft skin, a wave of chills rising as if to protest the sudden cold.

His eyes darkened as he stalked his pray. Bloodthirsty and aroused, he watched the pulse in her neck, a steady ticking rhythm beckoning him to sink his teeth into her delicate flesh whilst a half hidden brown nipple peaked from underneath her arm. Licking his lips, Dean felt the familiar dull itch in his gums. Not now, he thought. He wanted to take his time, cherish the final moments when he would hold and caress her body. Where she'd be warm, breathing and alive, before bonding her to him for eternity.

It was selfish. He knew. 

But he was growing tired of the aching hunger in the pit of his stomach, the hollow emptiness in his chest. He was caught between his insatiable need to feed and an immense desire for the girl with skin as brown as the earthy soil on which he'd roamed for centuries.

With the moon I run, far from the carnage of the fiery sun...

He sat on the bed, her back to him, and lifted his hand. Cold fingertips traced her ribs lightly, chilling her to the bone. She shuddered, prompting him to stop briefly - his eyes fixated on the profile her peaceful face - before continuing, a long cold line connecting from the outline of her breast to a firm hip bone hidden just beneath the covers. He changed the angle of his wrist and his hand slowly made its way down to the lacy hem of her panties.

"Dean?" Her voice was hoarse and heavy, sleep still evident by the way she slurred the "D" and her squinted eyes. 

Dean paused for less than a second and then slipped his cold hand under the delicate material, pressing his fingers in between her folds. The stinging cold of his hand and the feeling of his fingers sliding up and down her sex caused her to gasp. She began shifting in the blankets, making to sit up and ask him how he got into her apartment, but Dean leaned over and captured her lips in a searing kiss before she could say anything.

Still taken aback by his intrusion and the way he was making her feel, she took a moment to process everything before kissing him back. It started off innocent leaning into his lips, but soon they became more hungry and feverish, Dean's other hand groping her breast under the light cotton shirt, a thumb teasing over an already pebbled nipple. 

She moaned against his mouth and tore away from him to pull her shirt over her head, braids escaping from a loose bun and toppling over her shoulders, down her back and chest. She looked wild and exotic like this and for a moment, Dean felt his arousal winning over his appetite as he lunged forward and pulled her onto his lap, claiming her swollen lips.

They stopped when she tugged at the bottom of Dean's shirt and he obliged, removing the item of clothing before diving into the junction of her neck and shoulder. She smelled like lotus flowers and calendula, the scent overwhelming him as high levels of heat emitted from the core of her body. The pulse in her neck throbbing against his lips as he lavished her with stinging bites and soothing kisses. He could smell and taste the faint hint of iron in her blood where he'd marked her brown skin, and suddenly his hunger returned twofold.

Driven by the strangle of vein...

The sound of his pants being unzipped pulled Dean from his tormenting thirst. She was standing now, jerking at the waistband of his trousers and he lifted off the bed a little so she could pull them and his boxers off, tossing them to the side. She was about to remove her underwear when he put a hand on her wrist and tugged her forward, his eyes focusing on the spot where the heady smell of her arousal lingered. He wanted to taste everything, not just her blood.

He slid her panties off of her curves and let them cascade to her ankles, allowing her to step out of them before grasping at her ass and burying his face between her legs, his hand leaving an ass cheek to fist his cock, stiff with arousal. Her eyes slammed shut and her head lolled forward, a hand grasping his hair as she struggled to hold herself up on her trembling legs.

His tongue went to work on her clit, alternating between stimulating the pearl with quick, feathery flicks and slow, languid strokes, flattening his tongue and applying a little pressure. When he took it in his mouth and sucked on it twice, she threw her head back in ecstacy and tightened her grip on his hair. Dean shivered at the stinging feel of her nails digging into his scalp and thrust into his hand hard, groaning against her core.

"Oh fuck, yes! Right there!" The way she said it, erotic and dripping with pleasure, caused Dean to stop and look up at her with his fully blown eyes. She righted her head and looked down at him through half-lidded eyes, the sudden feeling of cold air brushing her thighs. 

She was about to open her mouth to protest, when his fingers found themselves in her folds again. Rubbing at her clit before dipping into her aching pussy. 

Showin' no mercy I do it again...

This time she let out an audible gasp and her knees buckled, hands reaching out to use Dean's broad shoulders as leverage as he rotated his fingers and thrust them in and out of her. Her breathing became laboured and she hunched over, mewling and whimpering her praise when Dean started to curl his fingers against the ridged muscle near her pubic bone. His mouth ravaged her clit once again and she felt her inner thighs, abdomen and slick walls tense as the pool of pleasure started to rise above the pit of her stomach, overflowing into the rest of her shaking body.

Just as she felt the wave starting to slowly wash over her, Dean pulled his mouth away from her pelvis and his fingers from inside of her, both of them mourning the loss of hot on cold contact. He rested a large, pale hand on the valley of her brown hip and pulled her towards him, her warm hands still braced on his cold shoulders as she straddled him. Grinding his hips and thick erection up against her, an array of butterfly kisses decorated her collarbone, shoulder and neck as Dean coated himself in her juicy nectar, cold hands pressing and pulling her body closer to him. He felt her heart pounding against his chest, causing a lapse in discipline as his canines began to push through the fleshy pink of his gums, creating a dull, thudding ache in the back of his head. He nipped her skin with a desperate moan, taking care not to break the surface.

"I want you." It was a hot and heavy, a bedroom confession whispered against her cold-sweat skin, glistening in the flourescent moonlight filtering through the blinds. I want your body. I want your soul.

Open up your eyes. You keep on cryin' baby I'll bleed you dry...

Dean, growing tired and frustrated of the dull, hungry ache of want, captured her lips in a deep kiss, her warm tongue occassionally licking his teeth as it danced against his. Her thighs trembled with the burn of lactic acid as she lifted up enough for him to reach between their bodies, positioning his hard cock at her opening. Without warning, she lowered herself slowly down his length, eyes locked on his face, his parted lips flushed and swollen as he gasped and shivered with pleasure.

His hands slipped from their firm hold on her ass and hips, snaking against the lines and curves that connected just right, shaping and painting her - a canvas of warm ebony and a crown made of onyx, she was beautiful. She purred with content as Dean bottomed out inside of her. She was warm and fluid, her grip almost perfect as he felt her pussy working itself into a mould to house his filling girth.

Suddenly she began moving. Her groin straining and abdomen crunching as she rose up halfway, welcoming the familiar burn in her muscles, and slid back down, her clit to his pelvis, an entirely new but wonderful sensation coursing through her spine.

Once he got over the initial shock that this was really happening - that Dean, in all of his immortal and hungry daze was moving inside of her - he dug his fingers into her waist so it was somewhat rigid as he began thrusting up into her. He lifted his gaze from the spot where he connected to her and watched in awe as she tilted her face to the sky with her mouth hanging open in the form of an 'o', a breathy moan echoing into the night.

Skies are blinking at me. I see a storm bubbling from the sea...

She arched her back and looked down when he pulled her closer to him, their respective arms snaking around his neck and her waist. Her elbows grinding hard into his shoulders, their rutting going from deliriously slow to recklessly fast and then back to slow again, driving her wild. His cold palms and fingers pressing, digging and surely bruising as he felt the bubbling tremor in the whimpering puffs of air leaving her lungs. He enjoyed seeing her like this, restraining herself into silence as thrust after deep thrust beat against her.

And it's coming closer...

Deep within Dean's cold and dead pit, the slow stirring of coital heat began to intensify. It felt like fiery flames tickling the tips of his fingers, as the warmth gradually spread from his stomach and pelvis into his chest - running through his hands and into his arms. Like blood. His embrace around her tightened, rooting her low and steady on his cock as he began a thumping rhythm into her cinched cunt. Whimpers becoming moans and moans becoming wanton cries.

And it's coming closer...

She could feel the signs of her orgasm nearing as her heart began to pump frantically, plasma and blood growing hotter and travelling faster through veins hidden beneath her skin. The blissful tide was creeping up into her curling toes, like that of the sea, calling and beckoning her closer to the edge where the shore disappeared and became a vast expanse of liquid blue. 

You shimmy-shook my boat, leaving me stranded all in love on my own...

Their bodies rocked and ebbed in greedy desperation as Dean's wall of discipline dissolved into ash - a greed of his own pushing through as sharp and pearly fangs ejected, barely visible under his top lip as his eyes began to glow dimly in the dark. For so long he needed to control his urges. To fuck her into a state of oblivious euphoria so he could drink from her cup without so much as a protesting sound from her lips. And now he was so close. Close to the taste of metal in his mouth, close to splitting her in two as sex and satisfaction washed over her...closer to nights where he would no longer venture alone, crusading for a cause that at time was either unknown or long forgotten over evolving generations that shaped the world.

He had finally found what looking for.

Do you think of me? Where am I now, baby where do I sleep?

The pace of their love-making quickened. Dean's pistoning cock rubbing repeatedly against her clit and inside of her quivering walls as she began to wriggle and squirm in his strong arms, all the while crying out in hoarse, sensual delight as tears pooled behind her closed eyes.

She stifled her loud groans against the crooked of his perspirated neck, her breath moist and hot as she dispelled shallow exhales with every inward thrust of Dean into her. The way he made her feel was almost too overwhelming! He was inside of her, around her, but still felt as though she had to reach out and touch him, to know and feel that this man, this super being, was real and not some figment of her erotic imagination. The snapping of Dean's hips became more frantic, hacking and chopping against her contrasting skin as she began to twitch from within, clamping down on his cock. He was nearing the end, the moment where he would finally leave a scorched mark on her lovely earthy skin - his way of showing how much he loved and desired her. It would hurt them both, her twice as much, but it surpassed the pain of loneliness and solitude that filled his cavernous chest. 

Feels so good but I'm old. Two thousand years of chasing taking its toll...

His sensitive ears perked at the sound of her heartbeat thudding in her chest, veins and arteries pulsing as the precious gold liquid that would sate his hunger rushed to feed every organ and limb. 

And it's coming closer...

Her damp forehead rested on a broad shoulder as the serpent-like coil tightening in her body twisted agonisingly in her stomach. She clenched her teeth, holding back a throaty groan as Dean beat furiously into her sopping cunt, the lewd sound of her essence leaking out onto him filling the room. Her eyes still shut.

And it's coming closer...

Dean loosened the constricting grip around her torso, turning his head and placing soft, apologetic kisses from her shoulder and up into her graceful neck. His cold lips found her jugular, throbbing as blood rushed through its channel, supplying much needed oxygen. He kissed it repeatedly. You will hate me for this. I'm sorry. But I need you. 

And it's coming closer...

And then, he exploded. One last plunge into her pussy, as he bared his carnivorous teeth and sunk them into her salty skin. His eyes suddenly became milk white as the first taste of zinc and iron seeped into his mouth, traversed his tongue. His muscles flexed, thick and python-like as they tightened against her ribcage, Dean taking care not to shatter her bones. Mind swimming in centuries of emotions that could never be explained as he felt his body submerging in a rogue wave of euphoria. It left him breathless, his cloudy eyes flickered emerald again as they rolled into his head. Letting go of his grip on sanity, he closed his eyes and let the wave take him, focusing on the feel of her - the taste. She was delicious. So beautifully, hauntingly delicious.

And it's coming closer... 

She opened her mouth to scream, yet no sound came. Her whole body became racked with confusion, struggling in agony as the faint line between pain and pleasure merged, blurring in the back of her mind as she grimaced, her cheeks moist and glistening with tears. The white-hot coil that had wound so tight snapped, lunging out to strike her core as Dean's needle sharp fangs buried deeper. Toxic bliss injected deep in her body and surged through her spine as he sheathed himself to the hilt. Sharp fingernails dug into Dean's skin, leaving nothing but half-crescent indentations when her cunt clamped down on his cock, greedily taking it all as he spent himself inside of her.

He grunted in agitation, as gulp upon refreshing gulp drained her of blood, sucking and swallowing in tandem with her weakening heartbeat. Her arms eventually fell limp on either side of her, still trapped as she sagged into his cold embrace, her lungs deflating, a final wheezing breath leaving her lungs. The writhing ceased. The flame of her life extinguished as everything - save for the occassional twitch of fingers and muscles - stilled and the atmosphere of the room shifted from hot to warm to cold. 

Finally, Dean relented, lips and teeth tinged scarlet and the aftertaste of iron stuck in the back of his throat as he collapsed onto her bed. His eyes, now restored to their pool of murky green, fell on the girl laying on top of him - cold. Lifeless.

He tenderly brushed the dark braids that tickled his skin from her face and gently rolled her onto her back, sinking into the covers splayed haphazardously on the matress. Dean took another moment to gaze upon her: skin still brown but sallow - the radiance gone, her shoulders and chest unmoving, eyes closed as barely-there darkened veins webbed her eyelids. It seemed as though she was sleeping peacefully, the trails of dry, cracked blood leading down her chin saying otherwise. He kissed her once more.

Slowly, achingly, he sat up, closing his eyes momentarily as he raised his wrist to his rouge lips, bracing for the sharp nick of fangs piercing skin. He turned to his love and slid a large hand under her head, lifting it to the blood-stained hand hovering above her chilling, parted lips. He watched in anticipation as the first red drop coloured her teeth and teased her tongue. Followed by another, and then another. 

Worry began to set in. It wasn't supposed to take so long! He pressed his wrist against her mouth and urged her to feed. Precious seconds ticking by. If she remained this way any longer, he would lose her forever, unless...Dean's worst fear had materialised into a reality that hit him hard. He had been careless, the desire to feed so great even he wasn't aware nor prepared for it. And now, it had cost him. He wanted to scream, wanted to break every window and rip the monster inside of him until there was nothing left but bloody chunks scattered around the darkness of his mind. 

Trapped in a prison of numb sorrow and despair, Dean's hand retreated from her dead lips and stroked her treat stricken, bloodied face. He glared at the wall in front of him, willing it to come crumbling down in a pile of brick and flames, dousing this house of horror with him inside. For hundreds of years he'd searched! And he had come so close! It was a cruel and harsh reality that he would have to deal with. Alone - again.

He seethed. She twitched.

Chapter Text

"Sam..." A thin finger poked him lightly in the ribs, urging him to wake up. All she got was a light snore in response. "SAM!!" 

"Hmph?"  The bed shifted as he jolted awake, his hair flopping over his half-closed eyes as he turned his head, to look at the silhouette leaning into his face. "Wha-What, is it?" 

What do I do when there's too much of me, too little of you?

She giggled airily.

"I'm...horny," her index and middle fingers were creeping up the defined line down the centre of his naked back, coming to a teasing rest at the nape of his neck, toying with his hair. She knew how much he loved the tingling sensation it sent shooting up his spine and into his skull, fanning out across the surface and dilating his pupils. Although they were enveloped by darkness right now, so she couldn't see if her ministrations were having any effect on him. Sam sat up, the bed springs creaking under his bulky weight and her mass subtly bouncing up and down on the mattress, as he leaned over the bedside table and flicked the lamp switch on. 

She was doing that thing again!

Sam nearly did a double-take when his hazel eyes landed on her, topless - and a little dishevelled, but still as beautiful as the first time he'd laid his sights on her, and the first time he'd taken her in these very same sheets. His eyes dropped down to the hand that had disappeared under the waistband of her sleep shorts, and suddenly he felt very awake. Her back arched a little and she moaned, when her fingers began to work faster against her clit. It had been far too long since she felt him touching her in a way that made her thighs tremble, and she'd forgotten the feel of Sam move against the hips he called home. God, she really wanted- no, needed him! 

Why did I let this get out of hand?

The thought of him all up in, and on her - or, maybe her on him - was making her head spin into an aroused daze and she could feel her wet heat begin to stain the seat of her shorts. She shifted and was about to ease her cool fingers into her slit, when she felt a large, warm hand wrap around her wrist, completely prying her own hand from her panties. Before she could ask any questions, he tugged on her gently, coaxing her towards him. She crawled over her side of the bed with a foxy smile on her face, making to straddle his lap, and ride him till kingdom come. But, Sam had other plans, suddenly raising his arm and wrapping it around her body tightly, effectively trapping her at his side, and her other arm against her ribs. She'd lost her balance in the fracas, stumbling a little on her knees, which caused the side of her face to plant against his chest with a little "oof". She put up a pointless struggle, but soon realised she was way out of her depth when his other arm locked her in place, his free hand clasping on to the forearm that held her down. He chuckled.

"Hey. Babe?" She squirmed in his trapping embrace, grunting softly and slumping in defeat when he only tightened his hold around her. She needed to think of another way out of this. 

"Saaaam!" She whined in protest, snuggling her head against his chest so her satin headscarf would rub gently on him. She turned her head so her lips could touch his skin, warm and clean, the traces of his cologne poisoning her lungs. Sweet fancy Francis, this man was so fine! And he smelled so damn good! She began placing sweet-nothing kisses, craning her neck as far as it was comfortable, so she could reach his collarbone - his sweet spot. He released a shuddering breath and hugged her even closer to him.

Maybe I'll get you out of my head.

"Would you quit doin' that? I'm tryna have a midnight-" he looked over at the digital clock next to her side of the bed, "-2:34am conversation with you." She didn't say anything, but Sam felt her smiling into his chest, trying to supress a chuckle. He bowed and tilted his head to smack a big, sloppy kiss on her forehead, to which she exclaimed in whimsical delight before dissolving into a fit of giggles. His heart made a strange, twitching somersault at the sound and he felt himself become warm and mushy inside. The way he was so in love with this woman he got to call his wife, had him feeling so - what was that expression she loved using? - shook!

"Sam Winchester, I haven't seen you in over 4 days! Do you know how many years that is on Mars?" She looked up at him and he shook his head.

"Well, I don't either - but, I'm sure it's a lot! I just- I miss you. And when you go away for so long, those are the days when I worry. I don't like sitting around, praying that 'I love you' isn't the last thing I hear whenever you have to leave.

And now there's another person who'll constantly be waiting on 'I love you' the moment you walk through the door."

Maybe I'll forget you some other time.

Something inside Sam's chest moved as he thought about what she said. In short, she needed him now more than all the years they'd been together. Her and the little, cherubic bundle of heaven that was his baby boy. 

Marlo.

She'd given birth to him a month ago, and although he really didn't do much except sleep, eat, need his diaper changed every 15 seconds and cry 10 seconds after that, the precious little boy - with his mother's eyes and pouty, pink lips - literally shifted Sam's entire world. Sam was a completely different person with his son and it quite honestly took everyone by surprise, including his own damn wife! He told Dean he was no longer going to be as invested in being a hunter - although, he'd said the same thing once he'd married the woman of his dreams (and sometimes - when she got really pissed at him - his nightmares). 

But, the moment Marlo came along, crying at the top of his tiny little lungs, Sam knew his days of being a hunter were coming to a definite, albeit slow, end. Just as his wife had said, his son - their son - needed the younger Winchester in his newly born life. It would be downright selfish and unfair of Sam to simply put his life as a hunter first, before that as a father and a husband. It was time that chapter came to a close. Sam was so caught up in his reverie, he didn't notice he'd released her from the confines of his arms, now tracing random swirls and lines on the side of her body, just under her ribs - her sweet spot. 

Right on your skin, I know that love used to glow.

He only realised this when he felt her hand slowly descending towards the waistband of his boxers, pressing kiss after kiss along his strong jaw and down into his neck, her tongue teasing at the fluttering pulse there. There was a moment where he swallowed thickly, contemplating as to whether he would allow her to get him up, so he could make sweet, grateful love to her. Show how thankful he was for her presence in his life, for her selflessness in gifting him with that sweet, chubby cheeked, little boy that Sam could spend hours watching, as his tiny chest rose and fell while he slept peacefully. That thought alone was motivation enough, and he fixed his whiskey eyes on her, as she stroked him through the cotton fabric, before picking up where she left off, straddling his lap and grinding firmly into him.

Why do I let you cross the line every time?

His large hands went straight to her chest, his fingers tweaking at her nipples lightly - she moaned her approval - before pulling her down into a hot, heartfelt kiss. She moaned again and tangled her fingers in his hair, pushing his lips hungrily against hers as she began to rub her mound against his hardening length a little faster, desperate for some friction there. Sam got the message, and slid his hand between them, finding the drawstrings of her silk shorts (who puts drawstrings on sleep shorts?) and tugging at one of the ends, loosening the knot. He immediately went to work against her pussy through her panties, pushing and probing at her clit and giving her teasingly slow but firm strokes whenever she got a little impatient, groaning in sexual frustration. Uh-uh, 9 fucking months! She'd be damned if Sam was going to have any control. He was going to make love to her now! Come hell or high water, and, in Poppa Pope's infamous words "I am the hell and the high water!" 

How could I let you go if I know I'm so close?

She was just beginning to get him equally riled up, lavishing his shoulder and collarbone with her mouth and tongue, when there was a faint muffle sounding through the baby monitor on Sam's bedside table. He immediately flew to alert attention, one-quarter ignoring, and three-quarters enjoying what his wife was doing with that sexy tongue of hers, imagining her doing the same thing to his dick. Thinking he'd probably imagined it - because he was the father to a 3 and a half week old baby, so naturally he would be paranoid - Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headboard as she began moving her hot kisses down to his stomach, when suddenly there was a very clear sneeze, followed by the very clear sound of Marlo becoming agitated, obviously startled by his own sensitive sinuses. It didn't take long before he started to cry softly, and Sam's rich, dark eyes looked down at his wife whose tongue was partially hanging out, fixing to dart into his navel. She withdrew and scooted off of him, sitting next to Sam and banging the back of her head against the wooden structure three times, disgruntled.

Maybe I'll forget all the things you said.

"Our son doesn't want us putting in a few practice rounds before giving him a baby sister." Sam gave her a sideways glance. The idea of a beautiful, amber-eyed, curly haired little girl - with her mom's sass - running around and breaking boys' hearts, was already giving him anxiety issues. But, he'd have to talk to her about that later, because Marlo was getting a little louder than Ciara's struggle vocals - his wife's words, not his! She looked at him with a smirk on her face. "Better go check on him, baby."

Sam gave her a mock incredulous look, about to protest, when she said, "before sunrise, he's your son."

They both laughed, but it was cut short when Marlo hit a note that, by baby standards, was pretty impressive. He was crying on key. Rihanna could never - again, all her words, not his. Sam actually liked Love on the Brain, and Kiss it Better was exactly why they were in this situation in the first place, not that he minded. Thank you, Ms. Fenty! 

With a sigh, he sprang into action, but not before giving her a long kiss on her soft, wonderful lips. "Shut up, Mufasa."

As he opened their bedroom door, making to go attend to his groggy, grumpy, and probably hungry son, Sam heard her burst into laughter, try to regain composure, only to guffaw again. All she could muster was a meek, "the shade! I fucking hate you!" And she began hooting and hollering in laughter as he shut the door.

Lies on your lips...

The sound behind him grew faint as he headed towards Marlo's nursery room, his cries muffled but audible from behind the closed door. Sam gently opened it and waltzed over to his son's crib. He leaned over and picked him up, supporting him under his tush with one strong forearm and cradling his delicate head on his shoulder with his other hand. Marlo's wailing instantly began to settle when Sam bounced him up and down gently. Sam smiled and turned his head to kiss his darling little boy on his head, he got a yawn in response followed by a small gurgle. That got a chuckle out of the large Winchester and he turned around to make his way back to his wife.

...but there's love in your eyes.

"You're just like your mom. Super cranky when you're hungry and sleepy, but irresistable all the same." Marlo blinked and Sam brushed his lips to his head again. 

"Come on buddy, let's go get us a late night snack."

Chapter Text

She was seated on the bed, legs crossed, engulfed by the darkness of the room, now bitten by the cold filtering through the open window. Bucky - who should have been accustomed to these conditions - shivered a little. He took a hesitant step forward, momentarily wondering why she would subject herself to such this kind of torture. Her back was towards him, a heavy blanket barely covering her left thigh, and as he neared the bed, his blue eyes settled on the chills along her arms.

He could hear the music blaring from her headphones, her entire body uncharacteristically stiff. 

I think I've had enough. Might get a little drunk.

The muscles in her arms quivered when a fairly strong breeze seeped through the lace curtain, the light material billowing like waves as the cold washed over her skin.

Just as he was rounding the corner of the large bed, leaning over a bit with a lopsided grin to see if she was okay, Bucky heard a sniff, then saw the moisture that had gathered in her half-lidded eyes, lining her lower lashes. He did a quick onceover of the scene before him; the bottle of Jack in the careless embrace of a shaky, brown hand; her phone laying face down in front her; the fingers of her unoccupied hand toying with her lips - she looked as though she were decades away in her mind, and his face fell. It was one of those days.

He decided to take care of the window first, 'cause goddamit, it was cold! He wasn't too worried about getting sick - super soldier serum and the like - he just didn't like the thought of her catching a nasty cold - or the desolate look in her eyes that matched the chill of the room. It reminded him too much of the days where he'd forgotten himself, and only knew The Winter Soldier. He almost snorted at how overprotective and dramatic he thought was being - almost. Once the window was shut, he turned to face her.

The city skyscrapers and buildings provided him with enough light to see she was looking at him - a hollow, ghostly emptiness coinciding with the shimmer and twinkle of the lights captured in her gaze. There were dark, shadowed half-moons under her eyes, the yellow-white filtering through the blinds, against the nighttime dark of their room emphasising her exhaustion - the amount of crying she had done. Bucky felt his chest become tight as something shifted in his own darkness - his own mind.

Wordlessly, he strutted towards the bed and within a few short strides, he was seated next to her, the bed dipping under his weight. She didn't look at him, not even when he pried the three-quarters full glass vessel of burning amber - that had seen its own dark days, sitting in the warm comfort of oak barrels. Once the liquor was placed on the bedside table, he gently pulled the headband of her headphones, cushioned neatly against the thick crown of her dark hair - it slid of her ears easily. He caught some of the words, just as he pulled them from the headset jack in her phone.

Woke up an optimist. Sun was shining - I'm positive. 

Bucky simply sat there, his cloudy-grey eyes focused on her. He felt as though he could paint her like this, appreciate the features of her face and the blank look in those big, sparkling eyes. He didn't want to admit it, but, strangely, there was something eerily beautiful about her. Perhaps, it was the way in which she seemed so sad and alone, and how, with just one touch - one word - Bucky could paint her world in bursting colours of yellow, pink and pale blue, blended watercolours of joy and love and beaming smiles. He could fill her emptiness, until her cup flowed over in abundance and he became too much for her, and even then, she would always want him, need him whenever she thought he was tapering off, worried that she'd become too overwhelmed by his presence.

They remained silent and savoured in the moment, sharing enough issues between the two of them to power a 10ft. replica of the Statue of Liberty. After a few minutes, she sighed and he felt the weight of her head on his shoulder. He relaxed, his chrome arm glimmering in the lights, and whirring as he took her hand. He felt the familiar pressure of her hand squeezing his, anchoring herself so she wouldn't sink into the inky quicksand of her unstable emotions.

I say what's on my mind.

"Have you ever felt like you were going crazy?" 

Bucky turned his head and looked at her. Despite the small smile on her face, little streams flowed over her wispy lashes and cascaded down the smooth planes of her cheeks. Her voice was thick, forcing the words past the confines of her throat, now blocked by the lump residing there. She lifted her head and looked at him.

"Have you ever felt like you were going crazy, Buck? And there's no one to talk to, because they won't understand?" She asked him, knowing that the bond between them ran deep enough for him understand the meaning behind those words. Have you ever shown the darkest parts of you to people who didn't deserve to know, or see you like that? 

Cause all of my kindness is taken for weakness.

She could count on her hand, the number of times she'd opened herself up to men with velvet tongues and soft hands. Her lips would move, but the hungry light in their eyes travelled faster than the sound she made - so it was inevitable that they would see her, but not hear her. And those same tongues and hands would try to soothe her pain with words they thought she wanted to hear, all the while, selfishly sating themselves in ways that left her jewel-filled temple of a body, emptier than when she sat down to have dinner with them. 

She watched them come, but never felt them leave. 

So she boarded up the windows to her soul, and kept her words in the back of her throat, until the hinges of her jaw rusted and locked. And, that was how Bucky found her. Always willing to talk about everything, but herself.

See, they wanna buy my pride. But that just ain't up for sale.

The warmth in her eyes was now a narrow ring, obscured by the black pits of her pupils. It was unsettling how her eyes could hold nothing but unconditional love for him, unbridled lust when she was hungry for his touch and danced when she laughed or smiled because of him - but there were days when they were empty, expressionless, as she battled with her own ghosts and shadows. It seemed today was the worst of those days. Bucky knew he could never give her a 'right answer', so he cradled the nape of her neck with his flesh hand and leaned over to plant a firm kiss on her temple.

She closed her eyes as his lips moved down and kissed the salt trail of fresh tears that now escaped her eyes, first her left cheek, then her right. He could smell the faint scent of shea butter on her skin.

Yeah, I'm 'bout four, five seconds from wil'in...

He hated seeing her like this. He desperately wanted to slay the monsters wandering the folds of her brain. But he could only offer her comfort in the solitude lingering in the room. Yeah, he knew what it was like to go crazy. Bucky knew what it was like to have no autonomy over his mind and body, as every decision was made for him - every death suffered at the blade or gun in his hand. They could never compare how fucked up their respective lives were, but they were similar in a way - they had their demons and regrets.

Only when he pulled her into the warmth of his chest, and she could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, did she relax with a sigh. He had said nothing, but she understood the unspoken message conveyed in this simple act. I'm here now.

I'm just tryna make it back home by Monday morning.

Bucky wrapped his large arms around her and rested his chin in the fluffy crown of her head, while her fragile fingers traced lazily on his knee. He, in turn, soothed the crease between her brows with a cold thumb, swiping back and forth over the supple flesh of her cheekbone. The ebb and flow of his warm chest and the oddly comforting caress of his metallic thumb - along with some of that Jack starting to take its effect - slowly began to lull her to sleep, putting an end to the many thoughts that had been ricocheting within the confines of her brain. Everything in her mind was still dark, but it was quiet. The incessant condescending whispers gone - at least for tonight. 

"Thank you," she slurred quietly, almost unintelligible, as her eyelids fluttered once, twice and finally slid shut, Bucky's human hand that laid flat against her left side began to feel the slowing of her heart, her ribcage expanding and contracting in a consistent, recognisable pattern - deep and even. Just to be sure - he always had to be sure - Bucky's head lifted from her creamsicle scented hair and peered at the woman that lay sleeping against his chest. The slumped weight of her upper body tucked into his side, and her head nestled between a protective arm and his firm pectoral, provided him with some relief, and he mentally thanked the heavens when he finally managed to lay themselves down comfortably, without rousing her. All the while, still holding on to the peacefully sleeping being in his embrace, shielding her from the unseen troubles that occasionally came knocking.

She didn't need to thank him, his love for her meant that he'd always be there to help her - to save her. For as long as she wanted and needed him, reciprocating his love; saving her would always be a never-ending duty - because he loved her! And Bucky knew that she couldn't ask for anything more.

Cause that's all I want...

Chapter Text

He fixed his eyes on the pristine glass in his hand. The intricate, yet simple patterns carved into the polished surface glinted softly in the dim lights. He raised it to his lips, two blocks of ice clinking softly as rich, dark liquor swirled and slipped past his lips, rolling over his tongue. Rich aromas of dried fruit, laced with dense notes of dark chocolate and black pepper filled his nostrils, amplifying the taste on his palate; round and robust with the fragrance of oak. 

As he swallowed, the sultry sound of music filled the room.

Yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah

I ain't tryna think about it, no

Something stirred in the shroud of darkness cast beyond his seat in the centre of the lounge, before the soft lights illuminated the swell of a hip, the gentle curve of a shoulder. Kylo's gaze zoned in on the figure emerging from the shadows. He slowly lowered his hand as she stalked her way towards him, the glass swaying at his fingertips while he sized her up hungrily; observing the swing in her hips, the sexy black and red little number leaving nothing to the imagination, how the valley of her breasts moved with every fluid step.

She now towered over him, their eyes locked on one another as she proceeded to bend at the hip, poking her ass out. There was a mischievous grin on her lips, face just inches away from his as her hand ran down his arm, the subtle but hard muscles hidden underneath his deep red shirt twitching beneath her touch. He wasn't sure why, but in moments like these, everything about her seemed so delicate - although in other circumstances, she was anything but. Always one to never allow his emotions to surface, Kylo Ren only raised a brow in curiosity and amusement, the corner of his lip barely twitching.

"You won't be needing that anymore." she explained, her voice was cool and controlled, not a hint of seduction present in the pleasant murmur that began to fan small flames licking at loins. 

She leaned in and softly bit at the curved underside of his jaw, licked the shell of his ear, as her fingers brushed on his before ridding Kylo of the expensive drink on the deep, brown table located next to him. He caught a whiff of the scent in her hair and on her neck as she pulled away - vanilla, cardamom and something spicy. Aromas and notes that complemented her brown skin, just like the harmonised aftertaste of the cognac that had been abandoned a moment ago.

She stood to her height again, raising her arms and reaching behind her neck to fluff her hair. Earlier on, it was bone straight, regular. But now, it was styled into effortless waves that only added to her allure, made her sexier and his fingers itched to bury themselves into the loose tendrils - to expose and mark the skin on her neck. Her hands travelled from her neck, down her shoulders and followed the dip of her waist, deliberately feathering her fingers over breasts. His dark eyes tracked the route slowly, eyeing the two dark peaks poking through the sheer bralette, before finding her hands again, now rubbing on her hips and thighs as she slowly twirled on the balls of her feet.

Kylo - having drawn a rather loud breath in at the beautiful sight before him - was sure he heard the unmistakeable sound of a low huff meant to mask a sneaky chuckle. 

That ass! 

Undoubtedly one of his favourite things about her, he sat up straight, loosening the first three buttons of his shirt as he shifted forward in his seat. Licking his lips, he watched the way it perted out when she swayed it side to side, and then bounced it up and down. Throwing it in a circle. Fucking hell!

In an effort to ignore the heat broiling up and into his belly, Kylo began to tap his thick fingers on the leather armrest. It wasn't much help, he'd much prefer it if he were busy pinching and kneading the tender, pliant muscle, weighing each cheek in his large hands as he fucked her mercilessly against the wall. Or, maybe, watch the skin ripple lightly under the sharp tap of his hand, her surprised squeal when he would repeat the action.

His full lips curled when he noticed how close in proximity she was, stationed between his long, widespread legs, that goddamn gorgeous ass within his reach.

Without hesitance, Kylo's arm shot out, and a loud thwack resonated around the room.

Yeah, I said it, boy get up inside it

"Kylo Ren!" she admonished halfheartedly.

A chuckle rumbled deep within his chest. He smoothed his palm over the stinging spot and around her curve, tugging at her waist and effectively turning her around. With both hands groping just above her ass, Kylo leaned forward and pressed his lips to her hip bone.  

"Then stop being such a fucking tease." He raked his teeth over her soft skin as if to emphasise his point.

"A little impatient, are we?" she said with a nervous laugh. Brown fingers carding through his thick hair, she almost shuddered when he slid his tongue down, down towards the lacy hem of her thong. He finished off with another wet kiss, right where he could feel the deep throbbing of lust in her veins. Finally, he sat back and resumed his earlier position.

She continued to wind her hips and waist, deliberate and slow, biding her time as she faced her back to him again and slid her fingers up one arm to pull the thin bra strap down, leaving her shoulder bare. She threw a seductive glance at him, and repeated the motion on the other side, leaning all her weight on one leg and bumping her hip out repeatedly to the beat.

Dragging her hands up her waist and towards her chest, she faced him once again just as her dainty finger ran over her tits once again, this time pushing them up and together to create a deep well right in the centre. Her eyes concentrated on his face; searching, scanning for any microexpressions that served as an indicator of his level of arousal. He remained as frustratingly stoic as though he were watching the news, but when his eyes locked with hers, she saw the pits of black eclipsing his usual fiery brown. She smiled triumphantly.

I want you to homicide it

Go in slow but I want you to pipe it

Kylo arched a thick brow. This particular song choice was... interesting. He wouldn't have penned her to be a fan of such crass and flippant lyrics. Did she even know what half of these words meant? Once, when he'd had his fingers buried deep inside of her cunt, he'd told her - in no plainer terms - how much he looked forward to replacing them with something much larger. That he would indulge in having his way with her so much, she'd go cross-eyed and remain that way for hours. He could've sworn she almost burnt his lips off with the amount of heat rising in her face and neck. Needless to say, he had delivered that night!

He felt her hands running over his shoulders and focused just in time to watch her settle in his lap. The way the light softly hit her from behind and cast a somewhat heavenly glow on her earthy skin, how her ebony hair framed her face perfectly and those plump, deep-rouge lips parted when his hands moved up her back to unclasp her bra - Kylo always had a penchant for brown, black and red.

She let the him slide the bra off, the red ribbons lining the straps feathering down her limbs and shooting chills up her spine, into her neck and across her chest. Having dropped the item on the floor, Kylo then gazed longingly at her exposed breasts, wanting to take one into his mouth. To taste the sweet and sour of light vanilla and clean sweat. He tilted his head back and captured her lips instead. Later.

And I think I kinda like ya

Up against the wall, we don't need a title 

With a soft hum of pleasure, she looped her arms around his neck. The velvet taste of cinnamon and clove - a hint of black pepper - on the plush edge of his lips prompted her to dig her digits into his hair once more, pulling him closer. Enjoying his taste, and wanting to further drink him in, she sucked on his lower lip, and he allowed her tongue to dive in and explore. 

Her head swam. 

Kylo Ren!

She would never be able to explain what it was he did to her. Why, like a moth to light, she was so intrigued and drawn into his darkness. 

He was fire and ash, and she always stood dangerously close. Curiosity, and a desire to warm her bones in his burning, carnal rapture, forever trapped her in his whiskey-doused inferno. He was destructive. She knew this. Had heard of the times in which the enemy would thwart him, how allies became adversaries and how his counterinsurgency would scorch history itself. 

He would salt the Earth, but never in front of her, no. Kylo's demons could burn and bend the cages in his chest and instead, he would be calm and steadfast - Herculean arms careful not to break or burn her. In his chaos, she found solace. And in her solace, he found some resolve.

The stringy thong was now digging into her thighs as Kylo scrambled to get it off. Huffing a laugh against his lips, she unwrapped her legs from his sides and stood to let him remove it. Whilst she was using his shoulders for support and busying herself with stepping out of the lingerie - which had stubbornly caught on her rose-gold anklet - he bent in his seat and kissed the beauty spot on the wide of her hip, simultaneosly reaching down to unsnag the flimsy lace from her jewellery. Upon righting himself, he tut-tutted and popped it into his breast pocket with a cheeky grin.

"Underwear. Such an unnecessary layer of clothing." 

She stood with a hand on her hip and her lips pouted. She was about to ask him what he proposes she wear underneath her airy dresses, when he reached out and hooked his hand on her wrist. Looking up at her with a laser heat that caused her stomach to lurch, he spoke again. "Come closer."

When she did, he buried his face in her sweet skin, lavishing her with a path of wet kisses mapped by his tongue and lips. They both shared the common factor of one approving in the taste of the other. She had barely managed to swallow a sharp breath, when she felt the familiar warmth of his fingers stroking her folds, sodden to the point of dripping heady trails down his digits. Her breathing became laboured as expert fingers teased and traced, switching between her entrance and clit, always keeping her on edge. 

"Aah, God, you're so wet." he mouthed in between kisses scattered across her stomach. "I wonder - would you silently shiver, or make a sound if I..." he trailed off, and she tensed and hunched over him at the feeling of a long, thick finger slipping into her. His forehead rested against her tummy and he nearly groaned when he felt her abdominal muscles quiver and twitch in response to his touch.

Not fully satisfied with her silence, he filled her with a second finger and crooked them. Moving his fingers in and out, she began to unravel, and behind the red and orange blurs shooting across her skull, bursting behind her closed eyes; she realised that Kylo was going to flay and singe every fucking layer of her until she was fluid, molten glass - and then, he would mould and sculpt her again. Into something new and beautiful. 

He always did.

Yeah, I said it

Yeah, I said it, babe

Yeah, I said it, man, fuck the title

Not wanting to wind her up too much, he gave her one last pump and removed his fingers. She released a deep breath and looked down at him with a crooked smile. God, she was already halfway there!

Stepping back and bending over to seal his snarky mouth with a feral kiss, she began unbuckling his belt, popping the button and tugging at the zip hastily. Sensing her frustration, Kylo took over and made quick work of the offending zipper. It was only when she heard a moan in the back of his throat, that she reluctantly pulled away and glanced down, her eyes flashing with anticipation at the sight of him thumbing his cock. It was deliciously thick, flushed - but still hardening. She frowned.

Suddenly, with a lick of her lips and the tucking of fly-away hairs behind each ear, she was on her knees, her hands rubbing on his clothed thighs. Now, it was Kylo's turn to frown, his eyebrows furrowed.

"You know that's not neces-"

"Peace, Kylo." It was the way her voice was soft but commanding, the spark in her eyes as they looked into his and ignited something within him. "We are equals. Mentally, emotionally... sexually. I want you to know just how good you make me feel, my love." 

The dull thrumming of his heart became more pronounced and sharp when her hands began to work his cock, squeezing the weight of him in her fingers and looking up to guage his reaction. He could count every quickened beat as he watched her lower her lips to his length, and she felt a twitch in him when she licked the underside, from base to tip. A large, strong hand found itself in her hair.

Kylo didn't know what turned him on more - the sight of that pink tongue swirling up his length and teasing his head; or those soft, plump red lips enveloping him in the warm dankness of her mouth. It took the willpower of a saint to resist the urge to fuck into her mouth, when she surprised him by unexpectedly taking most of his length in. It became even more difficult to hold back his grunts at the feeling of her moving up and sinking down onto his cock, teeth lightly grazing him and eliciting an altogether new sensation.

"Jesus H. Christ, I wish you could see just how beautiful you look, working that pretty mouth of yours!" 

Take it home on your camera phone

Get a little bad, baby, watch me blow it down

Her head bobbing up and down was, hands down, the hottest thing he'd ever seen, and he was starting to twitch and coil, feeling those little flames beginning to grow into something more intense in his gut with every lick against his slit. Jolts of pleasure surging through his body like electric shocks. Charging him up, sparking his nerves and sending his brain into overload. Gone was the taste of vanilla and the scent of dried fruit and oak. They were all burning under her touch, leaving fire and lightning in her wake. 

Not sure if he could hold on any longer, he screwed his eyes shut and threw his head back on the back of his leather seat. 

And then, she sucked gingerly on his tip and hummed. Okay! That's enough!

Tugging gently on her hair, Kylo had her release his dick with a soft smack. She smiled at him with an expectant glimmer in her eyes, as if to ask, "Good?" He thumbed her cheek and gave a hoarse chuckle.

"Where'd you learn that?" She only turned her head and kissed his warm palm. She'd never tell him.

With her hands using his thighs as leverage, she clambered up, and took her place in his lap once more. Instantly latching onto his fleshy lips, she unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, her finger running over the subtle ridges of bone and hard muscle in his chest, over his abdomen, and down to his manhood.

Once again, Kylo let her take control. More than happy to just sit back, and watch her, all brazen and bronze, dark but sweet. Just the thought of her, expertly riding his cock, panting and moaning as she wound herself up until the tension snapped - God, she was stunning!

Propping herself up on her knees, she carefully aligned his tip with her slick entrance, and slowly - agonisingly - sat herself down, her cunt making room for his still unfamiliar intrusion. It wasn't that there was any discomfort, and she wasn't feeling as stiff and hesitant as the first time, but, she was still growing accustomed to his filling thickness, her walls fluttering around him. 

Yeah, I said it

Yeah, I said it, bae

Yeah, I said it

Oooohh

Although they had known one another for what most would consider a significantly long period of time - so long that they should've done this ages ago, once it was evident that they both shared the same heart stuttering, intense, burning feelings for the other - Kylo was her first. And, hopefully her only.

Upon bottoming out on the base of his cock, she languidly moved her hips in a circular motion, her clit brushing against the flat of his pelvic area, sending minute shocks of pleasure into her core. Once she was pleased and her wet channel relaxed against his shaft, her hips rotated and she began fucking him. 

Tightening his grip on her waist, Kylo closed his eyes briefly, and allowed himself to get lost in the lush feeling of her tight heat, the air almost humid as the smell of sex and alcohol intermingled and her shallow breaths clouded his mind. When he opened them, the sweet aching in his belly tripled and he felt all the nerve endings in his body start to prickle. There she was, gloriously caught in the throes of passion, moving up and down, savouring in whatever new and delightful feeling every impale on his cock spread through her.

No longer able to restrain himself, he begun matching her rhythm, driving hard and sharp into her twitching pussy. She keened when he took one of her generous tits into his mouth, clamping his teeth around a nipple and sucking with every thrust into her, running his tongue over the nub repeatedly. In a cheeky bid to throw back what he was serving, she tightened her lower abdomen and inner thighs testily, holding it for a moment.

"Fucking, unngh" he let out a growl which skittered against her chest, "you cheeky little minx! I'm going to fucking devastate you.

You're going to be a... quivering mess, once I'm done with you!"

You can be rough, boy, but you won't...

Staying true to his promise, his arms encircled her waist and pulled her flush against him, barely giving her any space to move. His rutting quickened and he pounded up and into her cunt, slamming into her pearly clit. With a sharp intake of moist air, followed by a clipped sob, she bowed her neck and rested her chin in his thick mop of hair, yowling over and over as Kylo took her apart, layer by layer. Lord, she didn't want to sound like a pornstar, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold her breath in an effort to avoid being explicitly loud. 

His stamina, his hot-blooded sexual prowess - the sexy, carnal grunts and wet slap-slap of their skin - it all became too much and her half-lidded vision became an incoherent pool of red and black and shades of brown whirling together, and matching the heat that was now sparking and crackling like fireworks in her core. 

...give me some love...

She placed her sweaty forehead on his and between short, panting breaths stammered, "Ben, I think I'm gonna- I'm going to..." 

He cut her off with a particular buck into her tremoring pussy that sent her over the edge and soaring into new heights of rapture. Before she could so much as scream, he swallowed the sounds of her orgasm with a deep kiss, the taste and smell of fruit, spice and burning liquor still lingering on his lips as held his hand cradled the back of her head. 

...boy, give it to me 'til the morn'

With his other arm wrapped tight around her body, he fucked her through bliss, before the well known feeling of his cock twitching eagerly caused his thrusts to stutter and hack, finally spilling and flowing deep inside of her with a breathy moan.

Everything stilled and with her head settling in the crook of his neck, and his arm laying slack on her ass, they remained a tangled, breathing mess of limbs. 

Her sweet seeping into, and tempering his rough.

She began to stir when he lightly traced patterns in between her shoulder blades, turning her face towards his neck and snuggling into his cooling skin. Her left hand curled on his chest. She expelled a spent breath.

Yeah, I said it

Yeah, I said it, babe

Yeah, I said it, uh

"Was I that great?" he inquired with mirth lilting in his voice. He felt her cheek swell in what he assumed was a smile.

"No. Why?"

He moved his head to the side a bit to catch a glimpse of her now frizzy, slightly shrunken hair. 

"You called me by my real name. Only mum calls me Ben when I'm about to catch an L, or the dog's escaped."

Yeah, I said it

Yeah, I said it, babe

Her shoulders shook and she laughed herself breathless, asking, "what do you know about catching Ls, Kylo?" She continued to giggle as he toyed with her soft hair.

"Were you aware your hair would frizz in the midst of our dalliance?" She stayed silent, choosing to submerge herself in the relaxing feeling of Kylo now massaging her scalp. "Hey, fuzzball, don't go falling asleep on me. At least not in this put-your-legs-to-sleep position."

Her head shot up from its place nestled on his shoulder

"Who you calling a fuzzball? Boy, you don't wanna catch these hands!" she sassed with an incredulous look on her face. Kylo lifted his free hand and placed it over the small, brown one on his chest, bringing it to his lips.

"Well, technically speaking," he kissed her knuckles before stroking them with his thumb, "I did catch one of them. Put a ring on it, too."

With a humourous scoff, she lifted her head off his shoulder and planted a loving kiss on the corner of his grin. "Yes, you did. Now, if you don't mind, this fuzzball is going to take a shower."

Squirming in his lap, she tried to regain some feeling in her thighs, finally scooting off of him on the third attempt. She began sauntering away and he stared longingly at her retreating naked form. 

Tucking himself back in and zipping his pants, Kylo drained he last of his drink and followed her. 

A few seconds later, there was a loud smack, followed by a startled yelp and an exasperated, "BEN SOLO-SKYWALKER, YOU ARE EXHAUSTING!!" 

Yeah, I said it

Chapter Text

According to the girls who sat crowded in one of the booths in the local diner, love was meant to be nothing but butterflies, flowers and happiness. That it was strong and steadfast. Secure and comforting. 

But Steve's kind of love was not that... simple. Nor mundane for that matter.

Then dawn came and I stayed and was laughing with you

There was no feeling that trumped that of waking up to the sound of rain showering the roof, and pattering against the windows, whilst the warmth and weight of my handsome Stevie blanketed me. I would have spent the previous night trying to ease my restless mind as a thousand thoughts lit up the dark, grey matter in my brain during midnight. Laying stock-still on my side of the bed, I'd blink at the white wall and count the tick-tocks of the grandfather clock nearby, remaining awake for hours until Steve would notice the rigidness of my spine and uneven breathing. 

Then, his weight would shift momentarily before I'd feel a very warm and hefty arm curl around my waist, pulling me in close. Steve would prop his other arm into a makeshift pillow, and I would rest my head on the firmness, closing my eyes upon the feeling of Steve's lips brushing the back of my neck. 

Within moments, I'd fall asleep to the feeling of his deep and heavy puffs fanning across my skin and easing me into the crush of comfort and slumber. 

Boy, was he ever so warm!

By dawn, I would awake to his legs tangled with mine, and a change in our positions. Tucked securely in his arm, my head would now be resting on his shoulder with my arm thrown protectively across his chest. A peculiar sight, considering the sheer difference in our respective sizes. But for Steve, I was willing to take on any challenge or task, how ever daunting, just to wake up to the simplicity of these quiet mornings. And I would gaze on in anticipation, as the sound of birds chirping somewhere behind the closed curtains roused my darling Stevie, and he'd slowly begin to open those austere eyes.

It was during these moments that my heart would flutter against the cage of my ribs, and gratitude would flow in abundance and wash over me, just like how the rain washed over the empty streets of New York City.

The smoke love, then I dove and was kissing with you

My past erase as we lay in a daze, ohoaoo

If there was one thing I knew about Steve, it was that he'd always stayed true to consistency. 

That was evident in the tight-knit friendship he had with that charming fella, Bucky Barnes, who lived two doors down from my apartment. It was also in his hard-headed defiance against the other boys who would shamelessly bully him for his fragile stature - I even had the bloody rags and used up tubes of salve to prove it. 

And so, it was no surprise when I'd heard from Bucky how, for the umpteenth time, Steve had tried to enlist with the army under another false name. 

What did surprise me, however, was that in this instance, he was successful. A few weeks after he'd enlisted and went off to a secret camp for rigorous training, my surprise turned into open-mouthed shock, when I opened my apartment door to find Steve standing there awkwardly with a bouquet of flowers in his hand - all six feet and four inches of him.

I suppose I'm rambling now. But that was Steven Grant Rogers for you. He did things that kept me laughing and talking for hours. Although he'd undergone a drastic physical change and then some, he was still my lil ol' Stevie - and he still loved me. 

He waited for me one warm Friday night under the tall lamp post across the street. The orange light casting a large shadow on the concrete pavement as it fell on his muscular frame. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, and upon hearing the bell chiming as I opened the door to the street corner diner, he looked up, smiling with thoughts of a brighter tomorrow dazzling in his eyes. 

"Steve?" I asked, crossing the street quickly as I pulled on a light grey cardigan. "What are you doing here?"

"We," he said pulling his hands from his pockets and taking both my hands, "are going dancin' tonight, doll."

I giggled as he raised one of my hands high in the air, and twirled me around, the skirt of my buttercup yellow dress flaring and billowing as the breeze caught beneath the light fabric.

The two of us had a knack for hitting the old blues cigar lounge just two blocks from the diner where I worked. Every second night, we would find ourselves lost in the swell of jazz and laughing women with their arms wound around their lover's neck. Glasses clinking as people, who were not afraid to challenge society's rule, came together in a blur of pearly smiles and boisterous roars of laughter.

In this swirling and sweltering blur, we shared our first kiss. 

The music was slow and sensual. The saxophone crooning smoothly as the songstress sang a sweet melody that filled the room and drove couples into a swaying trance.

"Please say nothing of yesterdays, no-ohoaooo."

And it was under the soft haze of iridescent lights and cigar smoke, that Steve rested his hand on my waist and held me real close to his manly body. Gazing down on me with an unfamiliar, yet heart-stopping twinkle in his blues, he held my face gently and dipped his head to slant his lips over mine. 

My lungs burst with the overwhelming crash of joy and love, like fireworks booming on the Fourth of July. I believed that God Himself was bellowing in rapturous laughter at the union of His beloved children, as we kissed for what felt like an eternity, our tongues becoming familiar, as we tasted one another for the first time. And as his warm, precious lips parted from mine, I was overcome with an odd sense of peace and finality. 

Through the rose coloured whirlwind of our romance - I concluded that I would never want to kiss another man's lips. 

I knew, that through thick and thin, I would be devoted to this man for as long as I walked the earth.

I'm gonna sleep 

I'm gonna sleep under the stars until the end

I had always known the day would come, where he would be expected to serve for his country; to be at the mercy of war in the name of our freedom and safety. But I still couldn't ignore the feeling of dread that sat deep in the pit of my stomach as he touched his thumb to my cheek and wiped the tear that had strayed from a closed eye.

"I promise to write you twice a month - three times if luck is on my side." He pressed his lips to mine and said, with a slight chuckle, "And I think I just got all the luck I need from you, doll." 

I couldn't resist the small laugh that escaped my throat, before sorrow and despair filled my chest once more. His face softened at the look of fear and concern in my eyes as I reached up to flatten invisible wrinkles in his tan button up shirt.

"Please, don't die out there... and try not to get hurt - or else I'll tear you a new one." I stopped my fussing and looked up at him, doing my best to remember the planes of his face; the deep blue glimmer of promise and hope in his eyes. I closed my eyes and kissed him, memorising the feel of his velvet lips and the scent of his soap; sea-salt and foaming ocean water wafting through the air. "Come back to me Stevie." 

The kiss was a final declaration to him of my everlasting love. I wanted him to know that no matter how far he was, and no matter how long he would be gone: he would always come back to find that I loved him no less than I had yesterday, or the days before that.

Till your touch say time will it begin

With one last sincere kiss that seemed to linger at my temple, Steve stooped down to pick up his suitcase and turned to make his way towards the large hoard of soldiers boarding the ship.

I had begun to head off in the opposite direction, failing to hold back the tears as they finally cascaded down my flustered face, when I felt a strong hand tug at my arm and familiar lips crashed into mine. I bit back a sob, arms thrown carelessly around his neck as we kissed with reckless abandon, Steve pressing me close to him with as much strength as he would allow, putting my worries to rest. We only let up when our lungs were burning and a gruff voice called out, "ROGERS!" somewhere in our surroundings. 

He removed his dog tags from around his neck and draped them over mine. I remember how his thumb traced my trembling lower lip, and with a small smile and easy confidence, he said, "wait for me."

And then, I watched him disappear into the crowd.

I'm gonna love until the bitter end

~

Working days get in my way as I'm thinking of you

Smoke love, keep dreaming of when I was kissing with you

The first few weeks without him were the hardest. It felt as though the world around me had changed, gazing on from behind a looking glass consisting of dull hues of grey and blue as I trudged on with the usual humdrum of my life without Steve.

I spent my shifts at the diner in limbo, my thoughts a cluttered mess of explicit images of my beloved Stevie laying on the cold, hard ground, the unbearable sun beating down on his broken body in some foreign country - his handsome face caked with dried up mud mixed with the brown streaks of day old blood. On the surface, I made sure I maintained the pretentious visage of a calm and diligent waitress; but below I was in constant tempestuous turmoil. My gut would plunge and twist as I imagined the worst of Steve's circumstance - but then it would ease as I began to filter through crystal clear memories of us standing beneath the mistletoe at Father Raymond's church, with Steve too afraid to act on the age old tradition of kissing my lips in fear that he might heat up so much, he'd trigger an asthma attack. A chuckle would escape my lips, and suddenly, it wasn't such a bad day.

It was only when I was left alone in the deafening silence of our home that my brain would become wracked with uncertainty and unease. A series of "what ifs"  stretching into long hours where I would sit alone on our kitchen counter, a cigarette clutched in between my fingers, daydreaming of the day when Steve would return and take his place, safe in my arms. I wasn't even an avid smoker, yet in his absence, Steve had managed to have such an adverse effect on me, that I developed the habit in an effort to ease my nerves.

I no longer cared to differentiate between the moon and the sun. I went to sleep with bedsheets soaked in salt tears, and woke up to those same damn birds chirping cheerfully outside, making a mockery of my loneliness.

But then, as promised, the letters came and the flood gates of relief flew open. With a Cheshire-cat-smile plastered on my face and tears probing my eyes, I would read the half-neat chicken scratch etched on partially soiled, yellowed pages. 

First, I would be with Steve, righteous and brave in his Captain America uniform, seated on his motorbike with the beautiful piece of engineering growling as he rolled up to headquarters for debriefing. Then, I was fighting beside him in the most intense of battles that stretched further than the state of New York.

I shed tears for the heartbreaking loss of his best friend, Bucky, who was the catalyst of our relationship - and for that, I would be forever thankful to him.

Please say nothing of yesterdays, no-ohoaoo

However, I couldn't resist the panic that settled in my beating chest. Bucky had fallen in the line of duty, and despite all of the scientific enhancements that Stark had bestowed upon his once fragile anatomy, the reality was, even as Captain America, Steve was not invincible. 

In a desperate attempt to calm myself, I would pull out his artwork from the days of our blossoming relationship. He drew flowers that burst with colour, and panting Labradors with golden fur - I could almost smell the scent of the flora hanging in the air, and hear the laboured breath of overly-friendly and energetic dogs running wild and free in the nearby park.

These pictures that he illustrated - they were a reminder of just how far we had come in a world where there was only black and white, where we were expected to remain separate, like oil and water. We could almost share the same space, and not once think of reasoning with one another, or uniting as equals in the times of terror and turmoil that threatened to throw our country into chaos. The irony.

In fact, it had been our differences that drew us together. I had an appreciation for the small man with silky, blonde hair and a stubborn glint in sea-blue eyes that saw past my racial background and the many personal flaws I struggled to balance on my broken shoulders. In return, Steve was merely thankful that I was the only girl who had given him the time of day; as he fostered nearly every chronic disease or allergy under the sun - for that, he was willing to carry my burdens and make then his own. The modesty! In the depths of our societal ugly, we found beauty; unpolished diamonds of perfection.

My past erase as we lay in a daze, ohoaoo

The letters from Steve, alongside the piles of sketchbooks filled with colourful artwork were my anchor. Somehow keeping me grounded and afloat, so I wouldn't drown in over-consuming emotions nor take erratic flight as a result of my fears and haunting thoughts. All that was gruesome and grotesque, that ran rampant in my head, and threatened to transform me into a quivering mess experiencing a nervous breakdown, finally evaporated into that familiar fuzzy, warm, pink haze. 

But life has a funny way of dishing out lessons in reality. I now know this, as I hold onto the last part of the past, and refuse to let go. 

I'm gonna sleep

Memories, pictures and letters are all I have left. The very last inch of us. 

Gone are the hopeful days spent waiting for letters that have since stopped coming. Even after having received confirmation of the biggest loss of my life, I continued to sit by the window, delusions of grandeur convincing me that this was somehow a lucid dream, that they had made a mistake. I sat by and watched, as imaginations of future days spent lazing about on peaceful Sunday mornings burned to ash. The golden glint of a wedding band on his finger, catching the sunlight and reflecting in my smiling eyes dulling. They were a young woman's innocent musings, filled with love and a simple desire for it to last forever. False hope that all would be right and well.

But in reality, forever and hope are but a trick that the devil plays on you. 

It's been years since the war, and Hydra, robbed the world of its innocence. Years that have been spent rebuilding cities that were ruined, and allowed time to heal wounds inflicted on flesh and families. 

They set up an exhibit at The Smithsonian, to cannonise the heroes who died whilst making history, so that we could live to rewrite it. Some of them unnamed soldiers; others I had come to know in the little diner; my cousin Curtis; Bucky...

... Steve.

At his funeral, they gave me his formal army uniform and a neatly trianguated flag. Both take residence next to silver framed pictures of him lining the dresser in my room. I even finished the mural he had started painting as a surprise for my birthday, just after his super soldier enhancement. It was a beautiful swirling centrepiece of ink-blue, black and pink fused with purple. A galaxy that was, ironically, missing stars.

I'm gonna sleep under the stars until the end

I shall die here. Every last inch shall perish in this very house. I will sleep in this galactic room, and dream of stars and Steve Rogers' eye crinckling laughter, and a love that has come to pass - trapped in a lucid slumber. Till your touch say time will it begin.

I'm gonna love until the bitter end.

Pure, beautiful love is hard to come by, and even harder to let go. The love I shared with Steve was as invigorating as it was breathtaking. 

It was wholesome and it was righteous. Forever leaving me to wonder how my already full vessel of a body could ever make space for the sweet caresses and loving glances over breakfast in the morning, or the nights in which Steve's hands were somehow gentle, yet possessive - the black in his lust-addled eyes blooming, until there was nothing but night time hunger in his gaze, hot like fire. 

And the moon was always our spotlight, beaming down through partially opened windows and lighting up two intertwined lovers, who danced a familiar dance to the hard drumming of our hearts. And as our bodies found themselves beautifully mangled beneath the sheets, and I listened with careless comfort to the steady beating in his chest, he would whisper gently in the night, "I love you, Moonbeam."

Even after losing him to the war, I can still feel it. Our love. It burns in my chest when I cry for him during sleepless summer nights, and weighs heavy in the morning when I wake up to nothing in my arms. 

Yes, our love was, and will always be, thunder love. It was tumultuous under the night sky and beamed a bright yellow-gold at sunrise. 

It made waves and rocked the boat, but dammit, we always made it to shore...

Chapter Text

"Hey, Winchester." 

Sam's amber eyes continued to bounce around on the work on his laptop, responding with a distracted, "yeah?"

"When was the last time you saw me in lingerie?"

And the peaches and the mangos 

That you could sell for me

He paused his typing to think for a moment. When was the last time he'd seen her in lingerie? Looking all sensual and setting the stage for a night so wild, it would send even the most devout nun into a hot flush. Nowadays, sex was a spur of a moment thing. It involved someone initiating it in the most inappropriate of places - such as the kitchen floor - and it would be messy and sloppy and hasty, the two of them chasing satisfaction with what little amount of time they could steal, before the baby started crying, or some other interruption required their attention. But actual love making in their shared bed? That was non-existent. 

Not that either of them minded an impromptu fuck in the car or against the wall cause, you know, Sam thought it was kind of hot seeing her all flustered and ready for a much needed release. 

What he could remember, however, was nine months of her throwing up on his Diesel jeans, crying during a Courage the Cowardly Dog marathon and craving anything that had mayonnaise; coleslaw with extra mayonnaise, sticky wings and mayonnaise... peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich. He shook his head with a small smile.

In short, it had been a long time since she'd deliberately dressed up in something racy, delicate and sexy. Showing off what only he had access to.

What do you think my brain is made for

Is it just a container for the mind?

This great grey matter

"Honestly, I can't remember, baby. I haven't seen you in a lacy set since, well, the night Marlo was probably conceived." His fingers returned to working away on the keyboard again, dancing over the letters as he searched for information on a new case he'd be taking on with his brother, Dean.

He couldn't see the frown etched on her face. 

Sensei replied, "What is your woman?

Is she just a container for the child?"

The fact that he hadn't even looked up to see the revealing surprise she had prepared for him got under her skin. Since Marlo was born Sam had become all business and no action, which was understandable considering his line of work. But the lack of his full, undivided attention made her feel as though she wasn't much of a priority anymore - well, maybe as a wife and mother, the appreciation was still there. But the special spark, the heat they once shared before their lives got a little crazy, was slowly fizzling out. And so, on a mission to literally bring sexy back, she'd dug out Sam's favourite bra and panty set.

She had decided that tonight, she wouldn't be Marlo's mom... well, sort of. She wouldn't be the pregnant woman who'd lounged around in Sam's large, dark green flannel, buttoned up to her neck and making her look like a watermelon with an afro puff and two brown arms and legs.  The mama bear who had taken a liking to adorning loose fitting sweatshirts and snug pants once their son was born. Nope. 

Tonight, was a throwback to the sultry siren that he'd nearly bruised when they were still newlyweds and wrapped up in the honeymoon phase. She remembered how she had told Sam that dinner was ready, while he removed his thick jacket and hung it on the coat rack. He followed the relaxing sound of music floating through the house, leading him to the dining room, and when his warm eyes settled on her - half naked and laid out on the table - well, it's been 11 and a half months.

That soft pink matter

The set she chose to wear was deep violet, offset by pink lace trimming lining the tops of her bra cups and the side panels of her panties. The bra pushed her ample bossom up and together, forming a devishly plunging valley of cleavage; the panties hugging her hips and cut in such a way that you got a great view of and access to ass, but not at the expense of her walking around with an eternal wedgie. 

Cotton candy. Majin Buu, oh oh

The soft and girly pink was a stark contrast from the depth of purple against her brown skin - sinful and sexy and oh-so-tempting. Innocence inked by a dark dash of sensual decadence. The sheer stockings she wore lead all the way up to her thighs, with a black seam running up the back of each leg. Each sock was topped off with a purple bow at the back and black suspender belts connecting to a garter belt that clung to her dark skin. She figured this was the sexiest she has ever looked, and Sam's dumb ass wasn't even acknowledging her. She pouted.

Close my eyes and fall into you

It was her uncharacteristic silence that caused him to pause, looking up from the bright glare of his computer screen with a quirked eyebrow. His jaw slackened as he trained his eyes along the familiar lines and curves of her body, silently praising the Heaven's for the beautiful creation that stood before him, clad in dark violet that complemented the warm brown of her skin. His sights settled on the plump lower lip sticking out slightly, just begging to be caught between his teeth, and suddenly the lower half of his body flooded with hot-blooded arousal. Lust and longing flowed through his body like lava and up into his face, colouring it a flustered shade of red and prompting him to close his eyes, and shake his head a little. There was no way what he had seen was real.

My God, she's giving me pleasure

When he felt as though he'd cooled down some, Sam opened his brown eyes and took a deep breath in. Jesus, but this woman was beautiful!

What if the sky and stars are for show

And the aliens are watching live

From the purple matter?

Sam hadn't realised, until then, just how much he missed her. How much he missed loving her uninterrupted. 

It wasn't that he had been away from her for long, or that his love for her had dwindled - but their lives had become a whirlwind once their son was born and they'd resembled something of a family. Add to that: the constant threat of monsters and ghosts, the Winchesters spontaneously disappearing every two weeks or so, and her having to juggle motherhood and her business from home - and you had the makings of a supernatural drama series. And somehow, through all of the crazy and scary, she remained by his side - which is exactly why Sam loved her. Beyond words.

Knowing that she loved him unconditionally, devoting her heart, body and soul to him, was overwhelming. Anyone who knew Sam and what he did for all these years - keeping the world safe from things that went bump in the night - knew that his life, this dalliance with death, held no prisoners and came with heaps of uncertainty. And yet, somehow, she was crazy enough to accept him. She managed to kiss away his battle scars, both physical and mental, never flinching.

She gave everything, trusted him not to break it, and expected nothing in return. It was the most unselfish thing anyone could have ever done for him, further amplified by her gifting him with a beautiful baby boy. She was a goddess, and Sam was a helplessly, hopelessly devout disciple. Worshipping her like the sun; bright and beaming and smiling in the morning, lighting up the room when she walked in to find him huddled over a book. Her eyes were like stars, twinkling in the night as he watched her battle heavy eyelids and protesting waves of exhaustion brought on by her new and busy life, eventually pulling her under the crushes of sleep. Always held comfortably in his arms.

This love they shared was nothing short of other worldy. Swirling high above the night sky dotted by stars and illuminated by the moon - as beautiful as the Nothern Lights. Universal. Big.

Sensei went quiet, then violent

And we sparred until we both grew tired

Nothing mattered

She stood there with her arms folded over her chest. She'd asked him a question, in a subtle bid to get him to acknowledge her and his response was lacklustre. It had made her feel unimportant and a little insecure, as if she was bothering him. But her doubts withered away when she watched Sam glance up. His wide-eyed gaze and stunned silence - the bulge growing in his denim pants - causing her to shift her weight to one foot, sticking her hip out and straightening her posture with a little more confident. 

She let her hands fall to her side and slinked across the room, swaying her hips with a seductive smile on her face as he watched intently, struggling to swallow because, holy shit, this was fucking hot and sexy; and he couldn't promise he wouldn't shred the fuck out of her skimpy outfit. The closer she got to him, crawling over his body and rubbing against his crotch as she settled in his lap, the easier it was to see light brown hue in Sam's eyes become darker, richer than the finest chocolate. She rid him of his laptop, placing it on the night stand before caressing her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, grinding hard against his length, Sam's large hands shooting up to grip her generous hips.

"Hmmm, about 5 minutes ago, that laptop was the only thing that was of interest to you." She leaned in about an inch away from his face, and murmured, "you forget who got that good-good for you, Sammy?"

Sam, rendered speechless by the seductive use of his nickname, could only shake his head no before bucking his hips and breathing a little heavier under the feeling of her warm palm settling over his throbbing manhood - rubbing sinfully at his length. His eyes darted down to her full lips, which parted as she spoke again. "Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't get up and leave you with your right hand."

This woman couldn't possibly expect him to answer, not when her hand kept working its magic on his cock. He grunted when she squeezed him gently, shifting his hips so he could gain some friction under her touch. Slowly, he came back to his senses.

"Goddammit, woman! I can't think straight with you rilin' me up like this." His voice was low, gruff. He was already wrecked and he wouldn't last any longer if she continued being a sexy nuisance with these flimsy, stringy items obstructing him. He wanted her naked. Now. 

She laughed. A short, feminine chuckle that shook her chest and stabbed pleasantly in Sam's chest, his heartbeat heightened by the sound.

"I promise to let up if you make it worth my while, Winchester."

Sam didn't waste time in leaning forward to shut her up with a kiss, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her in close. She made a little noise of content when he ground his hips up into her, the rough grain of denim material concealing his zipper rubbing against the lace of her panties and sending sharp lightning sparks of pleasure through her mound, flaring in her core. His tongue slid deep and hungry into her mouth, matching the desperation and thirst of hers as they vied for control over the other. His kiss was fast but heavy, deep breaths highlighting his need to feel her on him; while hers was slow and riddled with passionate longing, slick and pulsing just like her cunt.

Sam's hands slowly raked up her sides and settled on the strap of her bra that ran across her back, his hands and fingers fumbling in search of the usual hooks and eyes that held it together. Placing a hand on his shoulder and halting their kiss, she sat back on her haunches, took his hands in hers and slowly guided them over her stomach, shuddering when he reached her tits and paused to squeeze them. It was then that he noticed the clasp sitting perfectly in between the plunge of her breasts. 

Cotton candy. Majin Buu, oh oh, oh-oh

Dim the lights and fall into you, you, you

Sam held the clasp between his fingers and flicked his wrists, instantly opening the bra up to reveal more of her honeysuckle scented skin. The bra disappeared to some corner of the room. Her panties followed soon after. Naked - save for the stockings that Sam asked her to keep on - she found herself nestled against the cool, cotton pillow as she watched her husband caress her thighs softly, kissing a wet trail from her navel down her lower stomach, and over the triangle of her pubic area - which she just happened to shave. Scooting down to lay flat on his stomach, Sam wrapped his arms around her thighs and jerked her down so that the heady scent of her soaked heat filled his nostrils, clouding his brain. 

Closing his eyes, he took a deep drink from her pussy, plunging his tongue into her channel before dragging it up her slit to flick at her nub. She gasped in surprise, screwing her eyes shut and nearly screaming at the fierce surge of ecstasy that coursed throughout her body and rolled over her spine. There were chills on her skin as she felt pleasure crash and burst in her skull, yellow and fiery red exploding against the black backdrop of her closed eyelids. She knew she would be coming all over him soon. Sam was alternating between fucking her cunt with the strong muscle that was his tongue, and sucking at her clit with a ferosity she'd never witnessed.

A well timed hum vibrated from his mouth - wrapped around her pearl - and sent her body into a spasm, thighs clenching and knees raised slightly from her pelvic floor contracting. Feeling her clench around his tongue drove him into a frenzy of messy slurps and breathy grunts as he covered every inch of her sex. She tasted unbelievably good, and Sam wanted to feast on her, leaving no part unexplored as he lapped up her honey. Manners be damned - Sam loved eating her out nearly as much as he loved her. He would have delved deeper into her wetness and pushed her over the edge, but the feeling of her fingers tugging at his hair forced him to look up at her, the lower half of his face glistening and a ravenous gleam in his eyes, almost black from lust under the dim light of the room.

"Whoa, there tiger! Don't go making me come before the special finale." There was a warning weaved into the soft, almost airy, lilt of her voice. With one final, testy kiss to her clit, Sam removed himself from between her legs and stood at the foot of their bed, ridding himself of his jeans and boxers in one smooth move. 

He clambered on to the mattress, the springs giving slightly under his moose-like weight as he settled between her widespread legs, supporting his upper body on one bent elbows. Dipping his head so their lips were almost touching, he lined himself up with her welcoming heat and asked, "you ready?"

She said nothing, only smiling and rolling her hips to slide his cock in, but he wasn't meeting her halfway and she huffed in frustration when she only managed to get him in some of the way. 

"Oh, you thought I was gonna let you get away with that cute little stunt you pulled earlier on?" He ran a hand along her side, cupping a tit and rubbing the pad of his thumb around her nipple. When she released a whiny huff, he chuckled, whispered "I gotcha", and touched his lips to hers, thrusting the rest of his length into her slit, open and waiting. 

He nearly lost his balance, almost collapsing his full weight on top of her as he felt her dank walls engulf him, moulding to fit the firm length and girth of his cock as he bottomed out. "Fuuuuck..."

The clutch of her pussy was a feeling he could only describe as his own personal Nirvana. Barely opening his eyes, Sam pulled out completely, watching her facial expression change as he dove back in and sheathed himself to the hilt. He moaned as he captured those lovely lips again, repeating the action and snapping his hips so hard, her body inched up the bed and she softly grunted behind his kiss. 

Slowly, he began to set a gruelling pace that bordered between fucking and loving her body. Thrusting slow but hard, plunging as deep as her cunt would allow. He loved how she opened up for him so easily, slick but somehow still tight, welcoming him into the warm grip of her muscles as he drove into her firmly, over and over. 

Her sex consumed him. Just as his love for her consumed him. 

My God, she's giving me pleasure...

She dug her heels into the back of his thighs, running her nails down his back, the muscles rippling as he adjusted so that he was now holding himself up by his hands and rutting into her a little faster. 

Pleasure...

The sudden change in speed and angle had her crying out repeatedly - not caring if the neighbours could hear her - as Sam's dick brushed against her ridged G-spot. She felt as though she were beginning to float, unable to comprehend anything except the comfortable weight of him above her, his cock pulling the lewdest of noises from her throat. Before she knew it, she came. Keening and calling his name out loud and high, her voice cracking. 

Pleasure. Pleasure...

When Sam felt her pussy pop and snap hard around him, heard the way in which she said his name like it meant everything to her in that moment - like it was all she knew - he cursed under his breath. Pistoning his cock ferociously into her already gushing cunt, another unexpected wave of orgasm took over, astro-projecting electricity flashing through her brain as her eyes rolled back and her body was no longer her own, convulsing uncontrollably beneath him. The bed was creaking something fierce while Sam pounded away, practically fucking her through the matress. But this wasn't Sam anymore. 

Somewhere between tasting her nectar and the two crushes of heavenly orgasm wrought upon her, Sam's primal beast was unleased; the pink matter that was her severely pulsing, throbbing, milking cunt a sweet, sweet confectionary blessing and a dangerously, delirium inducing curse.

Hissing through grit teeth, the coil that had torqued in his loins and stomach snapped. Sam's hips stuttered and he spilled his warm seed into her, coating her walls.

Pleasure over matter...

For a moment, everything was dark and she could barely register the sound of breathing, her chest heaving as the tips of her fingers tingled and her limbs felt heavy and limp on the covers. There was something hot, damp and heavy on her chest, but she didn't care, too lazy and too satisfied to use the jelly-like muscles in her body. Her head was swimming and when she cracked her eyes open, two slits that barely granted any visibility, there was a transparent orange, hazy tunnel surrounding her vision. She blinked slowly, clearing the haze from her sight.

Eyes closed, Sam took a deep breath in, allowing the oxygen to fill his lungs and slowly ebb away the post-coital high that had him submerged. His head was resting below her collarbone, strong arms wrapped around her waist as he held tightly on to her. He wanted to remain this way forever, his dark hair splayed on her sweaty skin as he pressed his ear to her chest and listened to the thud-thud of her heart, winding down from all the exersion. Lulling him to sleep.

Naked and vulnerable, they lay there in just-fucked bliss, waiting for their hazy-highs to disipate. 

Eventually, she mustered up the energy to lift a shaky hand, placing it over his head and brushing some of the hair from his face. Once she was done, her hand came to rest on the curve of his neck. She couldn't help but smile when a purring snore accompanied a deep sigh. Looking down, she found him to be peacefully asleep; lips parted ever so slightly, his dark lashes throwing long shadows over the fair skin just beneath his eyes in the dimly lit room. She stroked the nape of his neck with her fingertips and he nuzzled further into the comfort of her chest. Her heart wanted to break.

Sam was beautiful. No matter how much he got under her skin and frustrated her with his bitch face, no matter how many times he left her wanting to smack him upside the head twice a day - he was painfully beautiful. Both inside and out.

He was a good brother, a great husband - and he was an amazing father. 

But most importantly, he was hers. 

And that mattered...

Chapter Text

Everything is fallin' darker every day and every night

Like I thought it would.

The low roar of Baby's engine dies down as Dean parks in the driveway. The ignition keyslot clicking as he pulls the key out and pockets it in his jacket. He swings the door open, setting a heavy boot down in the rough gravel as he steps out and pauses to take a deep breath. The air is humid, the earthy smell of fresh rain having dampened the soil filling his lungs and settling in his chest, offering him some calm before heading inside the red brickhouse from which he stood a few feet away.

Dean pretends not to notice the small movement from behind the white curtain as he makes his way to the front door. The rhythmic crunching of small, brown stones and pebbles beneath his shoes accompanying the hiss of cicadas hiding in the long grass skirting the bubbling stream behind the house.

She focuses on the novel in her hand, legs curled up sideways as she sags into the corner of the three-seater couch. But she can barely get past the first line, reading it three times over as she hears Dean's footsteps become louder and heavier, coming to a stop when he reaches the door. Her eyes momentarily leave the book, bouncing around the coffee table as she tries to locate the TV remote. Just as she spots it, hanging precariously on the other unoccupied armrest, the door shuts with a soft rattle, soon followed by the familiar click of the security lock. She releases a breath she wasn't even aware of holding, trying to look as comfortable and natural as possible - like she wasn't spying on him through the kitchen window when she heard Baby turning up the driveway.

Things go silent for a moment, and she figures he's probably taking his shoes off - somthing she's grown accustomed to over the course of their relationship. It's also one of the few things that remain consistent, unlike the amount of times she's been able to stay in this house for longer than two months. Before one of them disturbs the rare, much needed peace - also another constant occurence for the last couple of months.

Everything I ever had was part of you and I

Now there's nothing good.

Dean suddenly appears in front of her, running his fingers through his tawny hair as he sits down on the opposite end of the couch, inevitably knocking the remote from its dangerous perch the small device saved by the thick carpet covering the living room floor. 

"Shit," he curses quietly, looking over his shoulder to see it's landed too far away for him to reach. He sighs in resignation and decides to settle with what's blaring on the screen right now, not realising that she'd been watching him the entire time. Just because they're not in each other's good books at the moment, doesn't mean she can't appreciate the weathered, brown leather jacket that makes the older Winchester seem ruggedly handsome. His eyebrows are drawn solemnly and his jaw is ticking, she knows it's not because of the loss of the remote control. But she can't help the slow stirring of want and longing mixed with something heavier and more sombre in the pit of her stomach. He looks so damn good, and yet she can't bring herself to touch him, because pride is one hell of a drug and she's gonna ride this high until it wears off so she can at least bring herself to tell him she left his dinner in the microwave. She returns her eyes to the book in her lap.

There's a beat of silence before Dean glances over to see she hasn't turned a single page since he walked in and sat down.

"You okay?" he asks, an eyebrow going up when she replies with the typical monosyllabic, "yeah".

He shifts in his seat now, turning himself to face her before leaning over and placing his hand over the top of her book and covering the upper half of its contents. Her eyes shoot up, the anger in them reminds him of fire doused in liquor, the flames dancing high and lighting up the darkness spreading in her irises. It's there; that fiesty hunger that's been building up inside, just waiting to blow from the sheer pressure of keeping it restrained and subdued. She's managed to keep it very well hidden these last few weeks, but it's starting to seep and Dean can see it in the way in which her frown doesn't deepen enough to twist her lovely face.

"What the fuck, Dean?" 

Her tone is annoyed, but it's soft, and he thinks it's safe to respond without inciting another heated argument over something petty. "How are you reading that, if the book is upside down, sweetheart?"

She narrows her eyes at him, draws a sharp breath in through her nose so the air can settle in her lungs and quell the storm raging in her gut. She doesn't trust her lips, lest they part and she further opens her mouth to echo her feelings - that she needs him right now, warm and whispering against the shell of her ear. She doesn't care that they've gone back and forth, spearing each other with harpoon-sharp words and insults for the past two weeks, the tears flowing down her face causing her mascara and eyeliner to bleed. She's more than willing to ignore the silver scars on her heart right now. Fuck the independent, self-healing crap right now. Dean can heal her. The same way she can heal him. 

Sitting on this couch, and refusing to relent from the current stare-down; they both know it.

If I survive

If I survive

I'll be barely alive.

His green eyes fall on her pursed lips, swallowing when her pink tongue darts out to moisten the fleshy, tender skin. There's a dull sheen in her skin as the soft planes of her muscles shift beneath the earthy brown. She's tense, her arms barely quivering as she holds herself stock still, the book between their hands the only thing connecting them. Dean's fingers covering the book twitch slightly - he wants to touch her. Desperately. Wants to forget the harsh sparring that forced him out of the threshold just three hours before - a soft brush here, a gentle caress there and her steely defences would crumble. The hard edges of her proud resolve would melt and bend beneath his molten heat, but he's waiting for something, anything that would grant him permission to lean in and stretch his arm out to brush a long, dark lash that had fallen just beneath her eye.

But these silent urges are nothing new. They've been dancing around each other for days now. No, not days. Weeks more like it. But neither of them seem to have the balls to speak, much less make the first move.

So, they wait. And watch. Feel the energy mounting, rising and coiling, bringing their orbits closer and closer. It's only a matter of time before they crash and something likened to a supernova collision of bodies ensues.

Every time I take a drink of whiskey just to get me by

I think of you.

"I- Your dinner is in the microwave. I'll go get it for you real quick." 

And there it is. Folded beneath the smooth whisper of words tumbling from her mouth. He casts his eyes down to the book she's no longer holding as she stands up and quickly slips past him, a bare leg brushing Dean's thigh.

His hand shoots out to wrap around her hip and he halts her steps before she can escape him, turning her to face him. Her heart flutters erratically when she stands in front of him and he buries his face in her stomach, both of his hands pulling closer, almost too tight. He takes a whiff of her peachy scent and it warms him. Fills his nostrils and causes him to salivate. There's hesitation on her part, her eyes widening as she looks down at the crown of his short, brown hair. The leather of his jacket creaks lightly when he wraps his arms around her ass and he brings her in even closer. She's breathless - both from the air he's squeezing from her abdomen and the sorrow in her chest. They can't keep doing this. This emotional self-harm. There's too much hurt flowing between them, however, that's what draws them in like moths to warm light.

She braces herself. 

Tonight, she thinks as she raises a hand and runs thin fingers through his hair, cupping the back of his head. She'll have him tonight, on this couch. Hell, on the floor! It will soothe the burning behind her eyes where moisture gathers. Quell the want from earlier, now manifesting itself in the depth of her gut. The constant fighting and branding of skin with red-hot angry words would be forgotten, only if for tonight.

She clutches his hair and Dean raises his head. Their eyes lock. His, a swimming murky green that reminds her of the swampy grasslands swaying in the Louisiana bayou. And she's drowning in those eyes. Trapped and breathless in the darkness that's dimming their luster. She cups his bristly face in her trembling hands, watching as he dips his chin to brush his lips against the strip of skin exposed by the seam of her slightly risen tank top. 

Every night that I don't lay down by your side

Girl, I think of you.

She shudders under the heat that connects and spreads through her body, nearly stumbles forward when he kisses again and again, his rough stubble scraping against her stomach as his kisses grow hungrier. Her fingers grip the edge of her shirt, lifting and pulling it off, tossing it aside and feeling her nipples stiffen under the cold air gracing over her hot, sensitive skin.

She's only half aware of Dean unbuttoning her distressed shorts, but he doesn't pull them down yet. Instead, he rises to his feet and she cranes her neck to close the distance between their lips, sighing when she tastes the faint spice and fruit of whiskey on his lips and tongue - which slips in to explore the crevices of her wanton mouth.

Dean's hands slide down her waist, moving over her lower back and dipping under the loose waistband of her shorts to grope her ass, rubbing his thigh against the junction between her thighs. Her senses heighten when the charge on her clothed sex torpedos through her gut and ignites in her chest. Running the palms of her hands up his torso, she reaches his broad shoulders and shucks his jacket off. Her hands continue to roam his body, seeking for any part of him to hold on to: balling his shirt into her hands, clutching the back of his neck and kissing him harder, standing on her toes and wrapping her arms around his shoulders - never wanting to let go. Fearing she might lose him.

And right now, right now she didn't want to lose him. Feels that she might die if she does.

If I survive

If I survive

I'll be barely alive.

She feels Dean squeezing her ass and she removes his shirt before pushing him down to lay across the couch. While he's situating himself against the armrest, he unfastens his belt and the button of his jeans. He's hastily tugging at his zipper, when he notices she's stopped moving. She's just standing there, naked, and worrying a lower lip between her teeth, and rubbing a hand up and down her arm. There's a dull twinkling in her downcast eyes, and Dean knows that look. There's hesitance - and there's guilt - and he can't afford to let her drift away from him in the rising tides of those feelings.

"Hey," he murmurs, holding his hand out to grasp at her sweaty palm. The light comes back into her orbs and she refocuses, gazing down at him from half-lidded eyes. "Come 'ere."

She relents, taking slow, tentative steps to him and settling in his lap. She closes her eyes and rests her forehead against his, bottom lip trembling when he runs his thumb along the closed seam of her lips.

"Don't. Please, don't," he pleads quietly. "I can't stand seein' you hurtin' like this - not tonight, baby."

He caresses her cheek and smears a lone tear with his thumb. Leans in to press his lips - a little cracked from the cold, dry air circulating around the room - firmly, assuredly to hers.

"It's alright, we're alright. I still love you. I'll always love you."

She nearly sobs in relief. She's been waiting to hear those words for a little over two weeks, and when she finally does - straddling Dean and feeling his firm reaffirmation nudging against her inner thigh - something in her shifts dramatically. It's molten-hot and more than she can handle. Overwhelming even. It violently pushes her inhibitions aside when she lunges forward to crash her lips into his, kissing Dean with fervor, so much so, that the rhythm is an out of sync, sloppy, teeth-clattering mess. He can feel her overheating body slide up the length of his, her hips driving forward ferociously to grind against his hard cock. Dean clamps his hands on her ass again and squeezes the soft flesh and muscle to rub her mound even harder along his achingly stiff length - this is what she does to him. When they're not yelling over one another and she bats her lashes seductively, or sways her hips like a honied pendulum - this is what she does to him. She makes him hurt in his jeans; gets him all hot and bothered and desperate. 

She's breathing heavily, each inhale more intoxicating than the last. He smells of motor oil and sunbaked clay, neither of which preside over the masculine scent he always leaves imprinted on her skin after they've had sex. Nearly moaning, she pushes her tongue against his, and it's as though she's pouring all that relief down his throat. He can tell she's frustrated. Flustered. Pent up tension now snapping as he grinds her pussy against his still clothed dick.

Tell me what it is you needed me to say

Tell me what it is you needed me to do

Tell me what it is you needed me to be

He pulls back from her - which pains him, because she's nibbling on his lip - looking her dead in her dark, ravenous eyes.

"What do ya want?" he asks, his breath fanning against her lips. A large hand leaves her rear to situate itself between her legs. She jumps at the feeling of two rough fingers unexpectedly delving into her cunt, curling once he reaches the last knuckle. Instead of the usual in and out pumping of her tight walls, Dean opts to crook his digits, pulsing the lightly callused pads of his fingers against the hard wall of muscle that has her tucking her chin into her chest and keening. He slows, bringing the speed of her pleasurable writhing to a slow, slithering rut against his open hand, smouldering the fire in his eyes she looks down at him through heavy eyelids. Their lips are touching, parted, and they're panting; Dean is mesmerized by how he's managed to move and bend her to his will with just his fingers. His lips move against hers. "Tell me what you want, Bright Eyes."

She doesn't hesitate, instantly blurting out, "I want you to fuck me, Dean."

He begins moving his fingers again, pressing the heel of his palm against her clit and thrusting in and out of her cunt, she throws her head back and his eyes flit down to the exposed column of her neck. A sharp cry fills the room, louder than the television, when he buries his nose in her neck and sinks his teeth into the skin of her collarbone, countering the stinging pain with the sweet motion of his fingers fucking her. 

"You know how long I've been waiting to hear those words?" He slips his thick fingers from her pussy and spreads her essence along her soft folds, rubbing her clit on slow circles and she bucks along his hard cock. "Look how fuckin' wet you are. I can give you what you want baby, you know this, but you're too goddamn stubborn. Too fucking proud to realise that I need you just as much."

Can't you see the pain I'm going through?

I'm just barely alive.

Her heart swells, and she feels gratitude spreading warm and thick within her chest. She's grateful for this intimate confession; grateful that he still wants her. Still has enough room for love to move inside him, seeping through the barbed wire sharp words wrapped tight around his heart and the salt of her cold glares burning the seeping wounds. Tears well up and she shuts her eyes rather than blinking them away, hiding behind the facade of a lingering kiss to his forehead. Another down the slim bridge of his nose and finally finding his lips again. 

She's messing with his jeans now, clawing at the rough fabric along with the elastic band of his underwear - pushing, pulling, fumbling with the items that obstruct her from feeling the heat of his cock in her hands. She lifts up enough to free his legs and he kicks the clothes off, allowing them to settle at his feet where they won't get in the way. Before he can even get his bearings, she's taken his thickness in her cool hands and pumping him slowly, rubbing her folds on the tip of him and readying herself for the pressure kissing her lips.

She releases a sigh when she sinks down on his cock, whispers "fuck" when she feels full and he bottoms out, literally joined at the hips. There's a sly little roll and wind of her waist as she circles her hot pussy against him, mouth unhinged and mewling softly from the confines of her throat. Dean sits back and looks on, not bothering to remind her that she wants to be fucked. She needs this. It's been plaguing her since she watched him walk around in his white vest as he worked on Baby outside in the hot southern sun, further reinforced by him leaving and then reenteering the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist after a steaming shower - on the mother fucking daily. So, yeah, Dean figures she needs this - maybe more than he does.

Planting her tender palms onto his chest, she rotates her hips and raises her ass, lowering her head to bite on his lip when she lowers on his cock and Dean thrusts up to meet her. And so they begin fucking. 

She's riding him expertly, at a pace that's neither frustratingly slow, nor too hasty, tits swaying in his face like pendulums - it brings the pool of heat in his gut to a steady broil, slowly building him up with every fall on his length.

"Yeah, that's it, ya little firecracker, work that tight pussy," he grits out. He's not ashamed in the least. There's pent up rage and sexual deprivation, and if this is how he's gonna blow off all that scalding steam, he may as well vocalise his relief as she glides and pulses around him. Works the kinks out of the twitching, throbbing tightening of muscles in his thighs and cock.

Everything is fallin' darker every day and every night

Like I thought it would.

"God, I've missed fucking you."

She's unwinding. Unravelling for him like she so often does when he gets all up in her head and fiils it with filthy appraisals and bitter-sweet nothings. He can feel it in the flex of her inner thighs, the tight convulsing of her walls as she rides his dick and moans; real loud and drawn out, just the way he likes. 

"Fuck, if only you could feel yourself! Nice and tight and eager to come for me. 

How many times did you go to sleep thinking about me fucking you like this - making you moan like this, huh?"

Dean leans his head on her shoulder, glances down to watch himself slick and glistening, rutting into her cunt. He mentally curses grips her ass tighter and guides the pace of her pussy sliding on his cock: short, hard bumps of her clit against his pelvis sending sweet little trills of pleasure through her spine, tickling her ribs and heating her core.

The mouth on him! It amazes her just how easily Dean hooks her in. How he can just swagger into the room and break her concrete will - which had been rock solid and sustainable this whole time until his hand shot out and cupped her hip. After that everything came tumbling down. But she knows it's all her. She's the one who winds him up, and somehow manages to slip her allure in there as well. So when they fight and lock heads, and she begins to go off at him, Dean is also watching the way her full lips move and briefly imagining those soft puckers wrapped around his cock.

Their relationship is... very complicated. People don't seem to understand how or why they're still together. And he can understand why. Especially when they yell and scream and holler, and then ignore one another from Sunday to Sunday. Hell, sometimes Dean feels the same, wonders how he's been able to endure carrying all this heavy hurt and some of her resentment towards the relationship. The pain of their conflict fills the room and causes it to get sweltering hot under all that tension, it never really leaves them only grows and stretches and becomes tighter until it snaps, and they hurtle towards each other like a fiery spark igniting a trail of oil. And that's the part that makes this whole thing seem even more bizarre from a third point of view. Why torture and hurt the one you love? How do you allow them to do the same, and then agree to lay together in all that unhealthy toxicity?

But that's the beauty of it. The give and take of their volatile bond. He's the spark, and she's the accelerant; sometimes it's her, sometimes it's him. But above all, there's a commonality: they provide a reciprocal comfort. She licks her thumb and forefinger and pinches his flame before it ignites her and they both wind up too burnt to recognise the other. Before their unstable nucleus blows up, explodes into fireball smithereens taking everything with it including themselves. Lost in the inferno. 

She's moving faster now, snaking her hips, bumping and griding her lower body into him as she digs her fingernails into his shoulders and rides herself to that long awaited coital peak. Dean wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, holds her steady as he bends his knees and digs his heels into the couch, leveraging himself to thrust into her trembling tightness. 

She slumps her head into the crook of his shoulder when he speeds up, pounding at a precise angle to hit her sweet spot. She's gasping and gulping shallow breaths of air, shaking from both the exersion and pleasure roiling across every fibre of her muscles, working overtime to push her towards climax.

"Nnngh, shit Dean," she whimpers as his rise meets her fall. "Right fucking there, baby, yes!"

He feels excitement coursing through his veins, can feel every pore pushing sweat through his skin as he listens to and feels her expel short, feverish puffs of air against his shoulder. Tries to hold off the inevitable.

"Oh, no. Don't hold back on me, Bright Eyes." He rears his head back, the one hand that was gripping her hip is cusping her chin to tug her down for a heart rendering kiss before she focuses her attention on those dimly glimmering, mossy greens. "Don't be shy, girl. You're too beautiful to be hiding from me."

She groans in the back of her throat, yelps in surprised delight when his fingers press her clit and rub in rhythm with his plunging cock, strumming the tense strings of her sex and heat, winding them tight, until something akin to multiple coils finally snaps. 

 "Oh, fuck!" she exclaims, her hips ramming into him and sliding along his twitching length. She sits herself against his body, liquid heat penetrating her vertebrae as her back bows and she barely manages a chocked hiccup before she's grinding her clit on the bony base of his dick, riding out the orgasm she's been craving all week. Dean closes his eyes and loses himself in the warm-wet squeezing, pulsing sensation around him; choosing to let himself feel and hear her falling apart. She tenses, shudders and then relaxes onto his chest with a sigh.

Everything I ever had was part of you and I

Now there's nothing good.

"You're too good to me, Dean, too good for me," she says after a minute of silence.

Dean, who had been tracing a lazy swirl on her left shoulder blade, looks down to find she's resting her chin on her hand and looking at him with a blissed out gleam in her eyes. But the usual brightness, synonymous with the pet name he gave her, is gone and he finds himself feeling frowning with guilt. Sorrow. She's beating herself up over something they're both responsible for. 

He runs a hand over her hair, his heart shattering when she lulls her head to the side and closes her eyes; because he still remembers one of her favourite things, which makes it difficult for him to just up and leave and pretend to forget her. To forget all of this - the grand glass castle they built in which to seek shelter, warmth and love, and yet they're throwing rocks at it.

"But, I'm still here. Ain't I?" 

She remains silent. Chooses to look at him a moment, furrowing her dark brows and squinting her eyes in thought before realisation flickers and flashes across her face.

"You didn't come." It's not a question, in fact, Dean thinks he can hear a touch of guilt and disappointment there in the quiet rumble of her voice.

He is about to say he doesn't care, that her pleasure and release were all that mattered to him at the time. But he soon realises, she would feel more at ease knowing they're both fully immersed in the carnal, satiated comfort their bodies provide. And so he only pretends to make a half-assed attempt at stopping her when she scrambles onto shaky hands and knees, and marks a heated path down his body. 

If I survive

If I survive

He's still a little hard after she came all over his cock, but watching her drop random kisses on the sensitive spots of his torso, along the subtle line of his oblique, and feeling his length slide between her tits as she lowers herself to kiss across his pelvis - it all has his heart pumping pints upon pints of blood into his .

She takes his cock into her hands just like she did in the beginning, pumping him in her soft, warm hands and twisting expertly when she reaches the tip of him. It pulls a needy moan from his lips, and where he was once brushing his fingers over her head, he now has them tangled in the dark strands of her hair.

"You know, you don't need to-"

He's suddenly cut off by the need to suck in air through his teeth, sitting up slightly when she wraps her plump lips around the head of his cock. She's got her eyes trained on his face, watching his next reaction when she flattens her tongue and relaxes her throat muscles to take more of him into her mouth. The surface of her tongue stroking the underside of him, her teeth feathering the taut skin of his length, hands cupping his balls and squeezing - he grunts low in his chest and barely suppresses an eager thrust into her mouth.

"Ah, fuck! You tryin' to kill me with that mouth of yours?"

She somehow manages to giggle, the fluttering vibrations causing his thighs to flex and jump beneath her hand, where its splayed across his tanned skin. She slowly rises, the spit gathering in her mouth smearing along the weight of his cock against her tongue, making it easier for her to send waves of pleasure scurrying down his legs and flickering up his spine in one swooping plunge. Dean screws his eyes shut and tries to restrain the urge to thrust deeply into her when he hits the back of her throat.

She's vaguely aware of his hand balling her hair in his fist, the sting spreading across her scalp and tingling in her brain. Seeing Dean like this offers her a great measure of happy relief, she loves seeing him this way. Grunting, gritting his teeth and trying his best not to hurt her by harshly bucking into her mouth as a result of the intense pleasure that's steadily rising to the brim of his resolute core. It's one thing to be able to discipline himself and endure the feeling of her pussy gushing and clenching around him; it's a whole new ball game when he's watching her lips go to work on his cock, faintly tasting herself on the clean-sweat musk wafting from his skin.

He's getting closer to completion with every drag and swirl of her tongue at the tip of his cock.

I'll be barely alive.

I'll be barely alive.

"That's a fucking beautiful sight," he rasps when he cracks an eye open to catch her head bobbing up and down his slick shaft. His hand releases the handful of hair to stroke a thumb over the peak of her cheek, her eyes dance when he flashes a praising, loving smile at her. 

"Such a good, good girl. Yeah, just like that. You keep workin' that sweet little tongue of yours, darlin', I'm right behind you."

She searches his eyes and sees the beautiful devastation radiating in his eyes, feels pride swelling within her because she knows that he knows, no other woman can break him, shatter him, and then piece him back together again. Perfectly complete.

His entire lower abdomen and thighs contract and begin to tremble when she massages his balls and squeezes and twists his thickness in her hands. Those lips are closed around him and she's focusing her efforts on the lush head of his cock, suckling on it and swiping her tongue on his slit. It's enough to fling him headfirst into the churning rush of his orgasm, and Dean comes with a long, low groan. 

"Fuck!" he yells as she lowers herself down to swallow the hot jets of him releasing into her throat, swallowing every last drop. Well, this is certainly a rather new and pleasant development!

I'll be barely alive.

When he's relaxed his muscles, she detaches from his softening member and crawls up to settle on his chest again, splaying the rest of her limbs carelessly on the couch. 

"Uh, thank you."

She doesn't respond, and after seconds of relaxed silence pass, Dean gathering himself within that period, he assumes she's drifted off to sleep. He returns his hand to her back, opting to stroke the single line of her spine slowly.

"Dean... I don't want us to fight anymore. I'm losing a piece of myself every time, and- I'd never be able to live with myself if something happened to you, and last words you hear from me is 'I hate you'," she sniffles drily. "I'm sorry."

It's quiet, not too overbearingly emotional and tear-filled, but the sincerity is there, and it's moments like this where Dean realises he'd rather die than leave her side. Arguments and bitter battles could never outweigh the love and almost systematic understanding they have for one another. It's evident in how she forgets herself and makes his coffee the way he likes it, in spite of him calling her a bitch two days before. Moves around the room and never leaves when Dean shoots her a text he thinks is indifferent, only for him to put a red heart emoji at the end of his message.

He wraps her in a tight embrace, kisses her forehead - lingering there for a second or two - before resting his head on the top of hers and staring up blankly at the ceiling. Blinking away his tears.

"Not as much as I am, Bright Eyes."

Girl, I'm barely alive.

Chapter Text

"Steve..."

I said I'm geeked and I'm fired up

All I want tonight is just to get high up 

He can't hear her over the muffled bassline pounding through the wall, nor the blood rushing in his ears. He's buzzed, high off a joint shared between three other people in a corner that wasn't the most discreet. And, he's turned on. All of this makes his head spin, dizzies him so much so, that he nearly bruises her back when he picks her up and shoves her against the door. Her chest caves, heaves, when Steve pulls away from sucking on the pulse jumping in her throat, murmuring "what?" before licking a thick, long line up the column of her neck.

"We shouldn't do this."

That gives him a reason to pause. Pale eyes falling on her. She's resting her head against the wall, eyes shut and the shadows of her brows furrowed. She's breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggles to take slow, deep gulps of air. Soothe the burning in her chest. 

She had barely allowed him a chance to shut the door before balling the lapels of his shirt in her fists and pulling him down for a hungry kiss. Her tongue sweeping the seam of his lips, chasing the sweet, pungent-smoke taste lingering there. Slides it into his mouth, hot and waiting, slipping her eyes shut and humming when his steely-hard erection glides along her folds. She's so soft there. Wet. Ready and willing to open for him when he finally slips into her cunt. Steve curses softly when he rears back and plunges into her again.

Five days. 

That's how long she'd kept him waiting. Yearning to feel the cool touch of her fingers along his jawline. She'd been out of town for the first two - a short getaway in which she was most likely pampered and deservedly spoiled by her boyfriend - and had frustrated him for the remaining three leading up to now. Teased him with subtle silhouetted curves of her body beneath flowing chiffon blouses and sun dresses on Tuesday. Her ass rolling in the confines of her jeans when she strutted past him in the library on Wednesday. He licked his lips when she exposed the hollow of her graceful neck as she threw her head back in laughter, no doubt laughing at a joke shared by her partner. Steve had noticed the dark, purple bruise flowering there. 

A claiming. Mine.

It mocked him, reminded him that there would always be someone else. Touching that earthy skin. Stroking her hair. Her soft, soft hair.

Five fucking days.

She's right. They shouldn't be doing this. Yet here they are in a poorly lit janitor closet that smells of cleaning fluid - a hint of sex wafting just beneath the musty stench of dirty rags and mops. He knows that what they're doing is wrong on so many levels - that there's more at stake than just their reputations - but Steve, quite honestly, couldn't give a fuck. He refuses to pretend as though he doesn't know the way her thighs give when he caresses them. How he loves the feel of her skin beneath his weathered hands. Can't help but feel a small sense of pride in the fact that her eyes glimmer when they fall on his crisp blue ones in public. He's lost count on the number of social gatherings they've attended together, and she gives him a smile that's meant for someone else.

No. She doesn't belong to him. Shouldn't be naked from the waist down sandwiched between the cold surface of the wooden door and Steve's firm body, a thin film of perspiration across her forehead. But she is. Droplets cascading down the side of her face, down the curved neckline of her top and in between her breasts - making her skin glow and shimmer when the light hits her just right. Steve drops his gaze to her parted lips. They're swollen from all the suckling, kissing and nipping, juicy looking, and he swears he could nibble on them all night if they weren't pressed for time.

Girl, you look so good, it's to die for

She gasps in surprise when he angles his head to catch the skin on her neck with his teeth, groans and shudders when she feels him push his body roughly into the space created by her parted legs; his cock slipping repeatedly into the slick apex of her heat. It sends red waves of pleasure rolling throughout her body, starting at the tips of her toes and creeping up the length of her legs, licking the tightened wall of her stomach. She rolls her hips up to meet him thrust for thrust and Steve flexes his fingers and grips the handfuls of her plump ass tighter, the dull sting countering the pleasure in her cunt. Pounds frantically into her pussy as she teeters closer to her orgasm.

Suddenly, the unannounced click-clack of heels echo as three women strut down the corridor outside. The distinct sound grows louder as they near, and one stumbles in their shoes, rattles the door slightly as they use the brass doorknob to support themsleves. Steve stiffens, slows his strokes to a halt, pulls her towards him rather than rutting into her and causing the door to stir. He feels a burst of air brush his cheek, can hear the frustration and annoyance in the way she huffs. She rolls her eyes, feeling very inconvenienced by the three bitches ruining the moment, bucks her hips and smirks when he clenches his jaw. She's testing him, squeezes around his girth and forces him to take a deep breath - nostrils flaring - to steady himself. Steve gives her a smouldering glare; something akin to a dark warning flashing in his darkened eyes. And she finds it sexy.

There's a beat of silence, followed by the clicking of stilettos to concrete once again. Drunken laughs fading into the distance until everything is quiet, save for the loud music still vibrating, humming in both of their chests. That, and Steve's relieved sigh.

"Well, that was close," she says with an airy chuckle. Stops and furrows well-manicured eyebrows, looks at him with a playful scowl. "Why'd you slow down?"

He sits his forehead against her clammy skin, right between the wings of her collarbone, slowly resumes fucking her. Sinking his throbbing length into her pussy, breath laboured and fanning across her chest. It toils with the feverish heat rising off her body, raising two stiff peaks beneath the fabric of her crop top. Raising his head, Steve holds her gaze and raises a brow - pale and thick, scruffy in comparison to hers - rolls his hips and thrusts deep, whispers, "I thought you said we shouldn't do this."

Ooh, that pussy good, it's to die for

A hitched breath escapes her. She wants to answer him, but swallows her response. Fears she'll utter words that aren't meant for his ears. Mention the heavy churn of feelings he stirs inside of her, swirling around heavily and seeping through partially opened cracks in her heart. Silver lines overlapping old ones that never fully healed. 

It overwhelms her. These emotions should be reserved solely for her other lover.

Other lover, or main lover? 

She can't tell anymore. Not right now anyway, because Steve has her all fucked up - he's too much and not enough, and she feels herself beginning to unravel for him like a ribbon. But only just.

She squeezes his shoulders, a sly grin teasing the corners of her lips. "Faster."

Making a small, choked noise of content, her eyes nearly roll back when he snaps his hips against hers, jostling the door on its hinges.

"Nnngh, fuck. Fuck, yes, Stevie!"

The way she says it - with a breathless, lust-frantic quality to her voice. Something, a feral hunger, stirs within Steve and he begins to increase his tempo, stifles her moans by slanting his lips over hers as he fucks her faster. Almost catches a cramp in his bicep when he hitches her up a little higher, taking a hard, unexpected bite into her red lace covered breast as he pounds into her cunt. 

Her breath becomes shallow. Her fingernails digging deep into his shoulders.

"I'm gonna come, Steve! I'm gonna... oh- fuck!" 

Bowing her head and burying her face in the silky blonde of his hair, she keens long and low, almost in relief when she feels the familiar snap of tension stretching from the pit of her stomach to the quivering depths of her cunt. It's hard, long and drawn out, and Steve grunts; grinding once, twice, three times into her before his hips still and he groans shakily, holds on to the growl threatening to escape him when he coats the warm channel of her pussy fluttering around him.

It's a secret society

All we ask is trust

All we got is us

They don't know what to call all of this: these covert romps, in-house dinners and discreet phonecalls. Texts and pictures too inappropriate to be exchanged between people who are meant to be mutual friends. It's become dangerously, almost deliciously, complicated. And she's not sure what it is that keeps her wrapped so tightly around Steve's finger, so much so that she's willing to risk more than just her relationship to spend moments like these with him.

Trust.

Bucky's trust. His feelings. 

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty

He doesn't deserve any of this, her unfaithful bullshit, the same way she doesn't deserve him. Doesn't deserve the beautiful darkness that seems to smoulder beneath his cool, icy exterior - she can almost imagine thin tendrils of smoke rising from him. Can remember each tattoo; every single piece of meticulously detailed, black art wrapping around the muscular length of his left arm - a harsh, stark contrast to the cream colour barely visible beneath the shadows, intricate lines and patterns decorating his skin.

He smells of pine cones and fresh December snow. Leaves a crisp, winter taste on her lips. He's flawed, but beautiful. Reminds her of a rose too stubborn to wither in the cold, sparkling drops of dew sprinkled on it's jagged-edge petals; she plucks it. Admires it. Turns its stem in her fingers and pierces her skin on a thorn she hadn't realised was there. Being with him stings and thrills her all at once, and she's kept her rose all this time. Held him close to her and loved his frayed edges and sharp thorns - her gentle hands stroking the parts of him that are tender and soft. 

Ain't no other love like the one I know

Appreciates that he's invested so much into their relationship - has done right by her the entire time. And she still loves him. Dearly. Deeply, achingly so. But she's become selfish. Has found something similar and altogether different in another man. Picked a bright yellow sunflower and placed it in the same vase.

God knows how many times she's admonished herself, shamed herself for being so fucking selfish. And greedy. Thirsting for the blue crush of Bucky's eyes in the morning and hungry, needy for the weed-and-wine taste of Steve on the tip of her tongue when darkness falls.

10-4, no switchin' sides 

Feel somethin' wrong

You actin' shifty, you don't ride

With me no more, I need

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty

Steven Grant Rogers. Everyone's golden boy.

Being around him was easy in the beginning. Straightforward and innocent.

They were simply mutual friends who coincidentally shared a love for 90s hip hop and early morning jogs. Steve offering to help with her history assignment, and the favour later returned when he needed a muse for an art project. Cafeteria debates over WWII soon turned into innocent flirting as the pair took long strolls to the art museum. He cracked jokes that made her laugh - his breath faltering when he realised just how pretty she was when she wore that dazzling smile, how the sound pleasantly rang in his ears for the rest of day. Her mood seemed to perk up whenever she saw him, put a little more effort into her makeup once, only for it to be ruined by a big blow up over the phone with her boyfriend. 

Tell me who you loyal to

Is it love for the streets when the lights get dark?

She can't even recall what they argued about, something petty - something that didn't require her standing outside Steve's apartment late at night. But there she was, keeping him company in a kitchen that seemed far too small for the both of them, basking in a comfortable silence as Steve moved around with a grace that was surprisingly fitting for a man of his large, athletic stature. 

"Would you like something to drink?" 

She said nothing, only made a noncomittal sound that caused him to drop the large scoop of whey powder back in its container, his eyes searching for her briefly when he realised she was no longer standing beside him. Located on a table in the corner, he watched her swing a dangling brown leg back and forth as she stared at a plump, round plum in her hand. 

She was thinking. Deeply. He could tell by the minute twitch in her brows, deep set frown tugging at her lips. There was a glassy look in her eyes, moisture brimming along her waterline with unshed tears; a wave of emotions clouding her face as she held a silent debate with herself.

Why was she even here? She should be with a girl friend. Or at her man's apartment giving him a piece of her mind. What the fuck did Steve have to do with her personal problems? 

Tell me when your loyalty is comin' from the heart

Not noticing the tall, dark shadow cast over her, she took a generous bite of the deep violet plum. Pearly teeth sinking into the smooth flesh and puckering her lips as the acidic tart taste assaulted her tongue. Steve called her name, pulling her from the toiling recesses of her mind, and she looked up at him with a start, quickly swallowing the sweet morsel she'd been chewing in her mouth. Whatever internal conflict seemed to be plaguing her, she resolved it with a blink of her eyes, quirking a well-manicured brow in curiosity. 

"Sorry. What?" she asked, nibbling on the sour skin of her fruity snack.

Tell me who you loyal to

His words caught in his throat when she chased a wayward drop of plum juice with her tongue. Suddenly he felt hot, licking his lips and struggling to form a cohesive sentence as he watched her slowly lave the curve and length of her thumb. Temptation beckoned him closer, dwarfing her with his size and the intense lust collecting in his eyes. Suddenly this kitchen corner felt a little claustrophobic. 

He overwhelmed her, left her speechless, breathless with the smell of sandalwood and summer rain. She never bothered to notice it before, but now that he was so close, positively radiating with heat, she felt as though she could wrap herself in his scent. Laze about and get lost in the sky blue of his eyes. He reminded her of freedom. Of running through sunflower fields and drenching her hair as she danced through water sprinklers. 

"I said, I like your dress. The color suits you." That was a lie. He asked if she was okay, if she wanted to talk about the little tiff with her boyfriend - had called her sweetheart - all of which had fallen on deaf ears. There were chills along her shoulders and arms - two stiff peaks poking beneath the bodice of her bright orange dress. Steve's brows were knit in concern, "are you feeling cold?"

He touched her arm and relished in how warm she felt, wanted to pull the earthy brown around him and let the heartbeat pulsing in her neck lull him to sleep. Soon, his hand was cupping her face and he traced a thumb over the outline of her glistening lips, gathering a drop of plum juice that had gone unnoticed on her chin. When all she could do was draw a quiet breath in, Steve eased the pad of the finger into her mouth, steeling himself and resisting the urge to take her right there when she looked at him from beneath those dark lashes and wrapped her lips around his thumb. 

Do it start with your woman or your man?

Her eyes locked on his, watching the pupils blow and eclipse the colour there as she gingerly sucked on his digit before releasing it with a pop, feeling the rough texture of his skin gently drag her lower lip before he ducked his head and pressed his lips against hers. He lodged his hands under her thighs and tugged her forward, pressing his body - the hardening anticipation in his sweatpants - into hers.

She melted into him, relaxed all the tension in her spine when his hands rested on the small of her back. In the back of her mind, a series of alarms and bells went off. They chimed and rang and blared and told her to stop, to pull away, for the hands braced on his chest to shove him far across the kitchen. To slap him hard and hop off the table, tell him he should know better and high-tail it the fuck out of there. Instead, she ignored them and shivered when one of his hands crept up her thigh, pushing the fabric of her dress high up her hip and squeezing the pliant flesh beneath his palm. Rubbing his hard, confined cock against her pussy. 

When his fingers crept along the elastic waistband of her underwear and she felt him dip his hand into her panties, finding her clit and stroking it at a lazy rhythm, she knew they were both goners. 

Do it end with your family and friends? 

Or you're loyal to yourself in advance?

Their tongues moved like languid lovers, slow and sensual as she moved her hips and ground against his fingers, a sound of disapproval leaving her lips when her teased her folds - wouldn't bury his fingers in her slick heat and send pleasure creeping up her spine. She deepened the kiss by placing her hand on the back of his neck, the other tightly gripping his shoulder, before pulling back and gasping when he finally stretched her open with two fingers sliding into her cunt - crooking his fingers and pressing a sweet spot of pleasure.

He watched the look of euphoria pass over her face: her eyes closed, a sinful smile on her pretty lips... those goddamn, motherfucking, pretty lips! 

Fuck. 

What simply started off as a friendly introduction of mutual friends - her cool hand in his firm grip - quickly transformed into the two of them being accomplices in a love crime. Neither one of them knows who pulled the trigger first, only that she was seeping down his fingers and he had been curious to know how his name would sound on the tip of her tongue. 

I said, tell me who you loyal to

Is it anybody that you would lie for?

Anybody you would slide for?

Anybody you would die for?

~

She can't sleep. Hasn't been able to do so for a number of weeks now.

There's a heavy weight sitting in the pit of her stomach, feels light-headed and dizzy as wave after wave of dull pain rolls beneath her skull. This thing with Steve is beginning to take its toll on her, she thinks. Hiding in the night time shadows, splitting herself in three - dedicating her mind to finals, laying her body next to Steve's whilst her heart swings between two men. There's thoughts. Questions. Doubts. 

I done been down so long lost hope

I done came down so hard I slowed

Three and a half months of Steve's summery light has interwoven itself into years of Bucky and his stormy-eyed winter. The lines are blurry and bleeding, she rubs her hands on Steve and leaves ink-black trails along his back - leaves blotches of red, white and blue and stains the intricate lines and patterns decorating Bucky's arm and shoulder. And now she can't tell if she's enhanced what makes each man unique and different, or if she's ruined her canvases. Isn't sure if it's love or lust or guilt that leaves dark circles beneath her eyes and has her more quiet and reserved than usual. She's suffering silently, because as much as she enjoys flapjacks with Steve and strong coffee with Bucky, she doesn't know what the endgame is.

That is, until she's lounging on the couch at Bucky's one evening, fingers wrapped tightly around a steaming mug of tea as she winds down and drains her brain of information overload after writing her final exam. His TV is the only source of light in the living room, and she can sense a pulpable tension in the air. It's been hanging around them since she walked through the door, lingering in the form of him absent-mindedly stroking up and down her leg as he waits for the perfect moment in which to speak, the right words to say. Finally, his hand rests on her ankle.

"Do you love him?"

It's so hard to be humble

She thinks she's hearing things, scrunches her eyebrows and turns her head to look in him. His eyes are trained on the college football airing live from another state, his handsome face almost ghoulish as the screen flashes on his pale skin. There's a dull gleam in his irises - a rythmic tick in his stubbled jaw - that tells her he's not even remotely interested on the game. 

"Excuse me?" she asks. There's confusion in her voice, not because she has no idea what he's talking about, but rather because she's baffled, dumbfounded. 

He knows.

His focus shifts to her and suddenly she feels sick. A disgusting wave of nausea hitting her so hard, her vision grows fuzzy, white spots flashing behind her eyes when she closes them and releases a shaky breath. 

He knows. 

She's not sure if he's aware of the extent of her infidelity - doesn't care. Just the thought of Bucky knowing (for how long?) and hearing the hurt in his voice when he asks her that question... his hand is beginning to grow hot on her bare skin. The weight of her betrayal begins to sink its claws into her shoulders. Razor sharp talons of guilt and shame digging deep into her muscles and twisting them; another ghostly hands squeezing her heart so tight, she's sure Bucky can see it pounding underneath her grey sweater. His grey sweater, rather.

"Look at me." 

It's so hard to be

She opens her eyes, and upon seeing his face - the disappointment, the small amount of insecurity behind his gaze as he looks at her expectantly - they begin to water.  She doesn't cry just yet, because he's still touching her, and that gives her a small measure of comfort. Tells her that not all is lost because if he was well and truly done with her, he would've skipped unnecessary formalities and told her to get out. Would've schooled his expression into stone-faced neutrality and simply told her he never wanted to see her face again. She'd seen him do it a number of times, prefering to be calm, collected and calculating over outright rage whenever he was angry or upset. Or let down by people for whom he held a high regard. Cold, yes, but at times it was warranted.

"Buck-"

"Don't," he silences her with his left hand, "I don't want any of that runaround bullshit. It's a simple question. Yes or no.

Do you love him?"

It doesn't take her long to realise he doesn't say Steve's name, and it briefly has her mind wondering if that marks the end of their lifelong friendship. It breaks her heart. Going back to the matter at hand, she stares at the steam rising from her cup, wills it to give her an answer because, quite honestly, she doesn't know. Her heart has been entertaining the possibility for quite some time, but the reasonable part of her - the part that's managed to delude her into believing her tryst with Steve is nothing but sex - leads her back to Bucky. And so, she strikes a blank. Worries her lower lip with her teeth and thinks long and hard about the consequences of her next answer. 

Then the hand on her foot begins to twitch and she can feel her skin losing warmth as Bucky makes to pull his hand away.

"No." Yes?

Bucky halts, slackens his muscles and lets the weight of his hand gently sink against her skin. He doesn't believe her. But he doesn't hate her either. Nor does he blame her - not entirely. He saw the signs and chose to ignore them, thought that if he could pretend he was being unreasonable rather than being cautiously aware, the problem would sort itself out. He practically pushed her into his best friends arms when they argued over the phone. Bucky was far from perfect, and she'd been happy to love him wholesomely in all his moody, broody, aloof glory - but that night he'd hurt her. Branded her delicate skin with words so harsh, he still feels her breath catch in her lungs when he touches her. 

They're damaged. All three of them. Bucky's brotherhood with Steve is now a mangled, smoking mess of metal and rubber. Her secret dalliance with the tall blonde breath of fresh Spring air an echoed whisper in the wind, a soon-to-be-forgotten memory. 

Their relationship - hers and Bucky's... will it ever be the same again? She fears it won't. She fears what happens next. Tries not to panic at the thought of Bucky being mad at her and Steve being mad at her. Which ever way she turns, someone will be hurt, including herself. She's confused and frustrated. Upset because big girls don't cry and yet here she is with hot streams coursing down her cheeks. Usually there's a solution to every problem, an answer for every question, but this isn't practicals or a final exam - and she's way out of her depth.

"I'm sorry, James."

He says nothing. He's already forgiven her because it's impossible to hate someone who's loved you for shamelessly for so long. But, he figures she'll need some space to think - that he'll need space. To introspect. To recover. Repair his frazzled state of mind. 

He hugs her. Lets her mourn the loss of whatever the fuck it is she found in Steve, and she merely sniffs quietly and clings to his Henley, allows herself to get lost in the warm, rounded scent of his cologne. 

She lied. 

Lord knows I'm tryin'

She loves both men; there's familiarity in how different they are. They both have wells between their furrowed, pale and dusky brows. Summer and winter, both seasons that know the curves and swells of her naked body. Light and dark, the sun and the moon - yet they have blue eyes that dance and twinkle.

She loves them both, but something deeper, something that's hard to put in words - a bond, maybe - has her choosing Bucky.

It's in the way his breathing makes her eyelids grow heavy, the way his tattooed arm wraps around her shoulders and his other hand strokes her hair. Loyalty, perhaps.

Lord knows I'm dyin', Baby 

Whatever it is - unspoken and unseen - she chooses Bucky.

She will always choose Bucky.

Chapter Text

"Take your clothes off."

Been waiting on that sunshine 

Boy, I think I need that back

She gasps and nearly drops the phone in her hand at the sound of Bucky's gravelly voice breaking the dark solitude and silence of her bedroom, steps faltering and coming to a halt as her eyes scour her surroundings - finally locating him at the foot of her bed. He's seated on the plush comfort of the white bed covers, long denim clad legs spread wide and his hands resting casually on either side of his lean hips. 

For the hundredth time, she wonders how and when he got into her apartment without hearing him tinker with the door, or the heavy thud of his boots on the wooden floor. Finds his stealth slightly unsettling but extremely attractive. It keeps her on her toes, and the thought of Bucky's dark, imposing mass swaggering across the space of her bedroom to wait patiently for her in the dim light makes him impossibly sexy. She finds this added dynamic to their relationship thrilling. It trills up the length of her spine, spilling sharp liquid heat into the depths of her gut and pulsating deep in her cunt.

Can't do it like that

No one else gon' get it like that

She swallows thickly. Opens her mouth to say something but quickly loses the words forming in her head when he slowly rises to his feet and speaks once more. 

"I'm not gonna ask you again, Buttercup." Though he's affectionately made use of the term on a number of occasions, his words holds no such tone now. It's hard-edged and gruff, every bit the gritty, tattooed biker she's come to know and love over the years. 

The yellow-orange glow of the street lamp outside is their only source of light. It casts shadows along the lines and contours of his face, makes his eyes gleam dangerously grey as they roam hungrily over her body. She's barefoot, in nothing but a dusty pink sleep shirt with a grey elephant embroidered in the centre. It's supposed to be loose-fitting, but the wholesome proportions of her make the light fabric cling to the best parts of her body; the swell of her breasts, the curve and slope of her hips, barely brushing the tops of her plump thighs. She looks innocently sweet. Delectable. 

And he looks like sex and sin. The sharp black lines of his tattoo - cybernetic gears and hydraulics interlinking with red petaled roses and thorny vines - travelling up the thick length of his left arm to disappear beneath a broad shoulder capped by his short-sleeved shirt. The height and brawn of him standing there - hair tossed carelessly around his shoulders and darkly framing the prominence of his bristly jaw - fills the small space of her bedroom, and in that moment she knows she's a goner long before he's even laid a finger on her.

Still, she doesn't move. Only defies him and heightens his agitation when she squares her shoulders, places a hand on her hip and asks, "Why?"

So why argue? You yell, but you take me back

Why?! She knows why!

She showed up to one of the neighbourhood cookouts looking like the brightest sunflower in full bloom, nearly giving every male within the vicinity whiplash. She wasn't dressed inappropriately. On the contrary, she wore a light and airy sunburst yellow maxi-dress that cinched perfectly around the waist and fell in billowing, voluminous layers of fabric to her feet. When she moved, deliciously swaying her hips as she walked towards him with a plate of food, the humid spring breeze would catch in her skirt and make her look like a goddamn goddess amongst men. 

She was Bucky's pretty, little ray of sunshine and much to his chagrin, one of the several men who'd set their sights on her one she'd left Bucky's side, sidled up to her on the makeshift dance floor and began moving with her from a distance. Bucky only sat back and observed, knowing fully well she wouldn't do anything too outlandish - would never think to hurt him like that. Yet he still had to resist the urge to crush a can of beer in his hand when the other man curled a hand on her hip and drew her in close. They swayed easily in the crowd, skirt vibrantly swirling when she turned on her dance partner and found Bucky staring intently at them. Flashing a foxy smirk in his direction, she threw her head back against her companion's chest exposing the long line and column of her neck as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

It was all for show, a deliberate effort in trying to goad him. To spurn his jealousy. Awaken within him something primal and beastly and needy at the sight of her brown skin shimmering and fluttering under the haze of pink and orange sunset in the arms of an inadequate nobody.

It worked.

Bucky was all hot and bothered watching her wind those full, luscious hips to the rhythm of reggae, clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes in envy when her dance partner came up from behind to splay his hands on her waist. Indulging in her warmth. 

Bucky's warmth.

"You know damn well why," he says sharply, impatience briefly flashing in his glare before it disipates into the cloudy grey swirl of his eyes. Wordlessly, he slinks across the soft carpet like a giant predatory cat with a gaze so striking, it leaves her enamoured and rooted to the spot. He's stunning. Gorgeously crafted with thick thighs that threaten to rip the seam of his jeans and a hard, surly upper body that's carried its fair share of heavy weaponry and artillery, his left shoulder a proud badge - and the worst - of all his military battle scars. Honourable discharge. Purple Heart.

Who cares when it feels like crack?

Bucky's in front of her now. Smelling like night time spring air and leather, motor oil dabbled with his masculine cologne. The scent is sharp and bungent, a rounded note that makes her lungs burn pleasantly with every inhale, frays the edges of her vision as she cranes her neck to drink him in. Though the light falls behind him - completely shrouding him in darkness - she's still able to make out the fullness of his lips drawn down in a disapproving frown. His eyes, however, tell a different story. They're spine chillingly dark; two obsidian moons eclipsing the thunderstorm perpetually brewing in them. Pitch black as they are, there's no room for emptiness there, only something ravenous and hungry that moves and shifts with thoughts of how much power his beloved holds over him.

Everything about him is dark. Almost malevolent. Everything about him is exactly what her momma warned her against. He looks like the best and worst decisions she's ever made in her life, and she wants to climb him like a tree.

His hands clench loosely at his side, rough and weathered fists that once handled brick and mortar, metal and machine - yet they're gentle, soft when he lifts one hand and unfurls his fingers to brush his knuckles along her jaw and down her neck. He knows how easily he could move and bend her beneath his touch, how prettily she sighs his name with every pattern drawn into her skin.

She responds instantaneously, breath slowly passing through her lungs when Bucky feathers his fingertips along the delicate curvature of her collarbone. Thin hands clutch fistfuls of his shirt to avoid stumbling when he hooks two fingers into the neckline of her shirt to tug her forward. Bowing his head, Bucky nuzzles the tip of his nose along the junction of her neck and shoulder, rubbing a stubbled cheek against the softness of her own. She smells sweet. Cocoa powder. He briefly recalls filling his nostrils with the smell of hot, freshly baked brownies while he slipped unnoticed past her kitchenette.

"You looked real pretty today, darlin'," he murmurs against the shell of her ear. "Couldn't keep my eyes off of you."

She gasps when he slowly skims his other hand up her thigh, creeping under the thin layer of fabric and roaming over the length of her torso, leaving a searing path that rises and dips along the curved planes of her body. "You liked my dress, Buck?" she asks longingly.

"Yeah," his lips find the pulse beating rampant but sturdy in her throat, "I did. I liked it a lot. Made my cock real rock hard just thinkin' about fucking you in it."

Boy you know that you always do it right

Before she can respond, Bucky winds his arms around her waist and closes his lips over hers, possessive hands finding her ass and grabbing generous handfuls of pliant flesh in each palm. He rocks his hips into her, places a well-muscled thigh between her legs and squeezes, holding her mound flush against his distressed jeans. She mewls and clamours for air when the bumps, ridges and tears in his jeans coupled with his tongue slicking hot and heavy in her mouth begin to wind her up a little too tight for comfort. 

A deep grunt from deep within Bucky's chest filters through the air when he feels a dainty hand caress the crotch of his jeans, growling when there's a bit of pressure encasing the curved line of his restrained cock. God knows, he doesn't want to stop but he can't forget the point behind his unexpected presence in her apartment. Behind the order he'd given her when she'd unsuspectingly waltz into her bedroom. So he reluctantly pulls away, even manages to cluck his tongue in amusement when she huffs in frustration at the sudden loss of, well, all of him. "Goddamit, Barnes!"

Man, fuck your pride, just take it on back, boy

Take it on back boy. Take it back all night

"Clothes. Off." 

Her jaw ticks. She wants to shout at him for being a selfish dick. Tricking her body and winding her up past the point of no return, only to rudely snatch ecstasy from the tips of her fingers. He walks backwards, removing his t-shirt in one seamlessly swooping motion with his eyes still trained on her, can almost see tendrils of steam rising from her bare arms; can almost hear her heart rattling and banging in her chest while sexual frustration vibrates and courses through every fiber of her being. They continue to stare one another down until his calves hit the blockade of her bed. 

He resumes his seat and looks on expectantly. Finally, she concedes, gritting her teeth and gripping the hem of her sleep shirt. But before she can whip it up and over her head, Bucky intervenes. "Do it slowly. Keep your panties on."

For a brief moment, she entertains the thought of telling him to get the fuck out. But then she sees the way his arousal strains behind the zipper of his denims, how he tries to breathe deep and even in a desperate bid to hold a reign over his own lust. The golden tint to the beautifully scarred skin of a man who is nothing but hard, purely defined muscle and solid bone... 

Just take it on back, take it on back

Mmm, do what you gotta do, keep me all night

Her hands first caress her thighs, the gentle sound of her palms rubbing against skin filling his ears and setting something explosively orange and red and bright and hot off inside his chest. His grip on the edge of the bed hardens, just as much as his cock, when her half-lidded eyes zero in on him and she begins to wind her hips and chest to the tune of his laboured breaths. She's putting on a show for him. Again. She's flipped the script and is using what once set Bucky's jealousy in motion against him. 

She gives him that teasing smile again - the same smile that stretched slowly across her face when she fleetingly pushed her ass into the crotch of Bucky's unnamed adversary - and sensually struts her way over to Bucky, hiking the edge of her shirt over her hips to reveal a pair of lacy, cobalt blue boy-shorts. His lips part and he draws a silent breath at the sight. They're his favourite pair, in his favourite colour and they look damn perfect clinging to her skin and wrapping around her body like that. He wants to hold her down and bury his face deep between her thighs until she can't feel anything from the waist down. Pushing those thoughts aside, he continues to map the rest of her as she crosses her arms and raises the shirt over her chest, exposing chocolate-tipped tits that bounce invitingly when they finally come free from the item of clothing. When she's about a meter away from him, she arches her back and pushes her chest forward, presents herself to him whilst pulling the bottom end of the shirt up and over, momentarily loses sight of Bucky while the rest of the pesky material slides over her head.

Finally, freeing herself with a relieved sigh, she nonchalantly discards herself of the sleepshirt while opening her eyes. What she sees immediately stops her dead in her tracks, fearing her knees might buckle from beneath her weight.

Hurting vibe, man, and it hurts inside when I look you in your eye

She doesn't know how or when it happened, can't bring herself to care, really, because now, she's extremely turned on and has to bite down on her lip to muffle the sound that threatens to escape her.

Bucky. Half-naked. Reclined against the headboard with his pants unzipped and his tattooed hand stroking his cock. Long, impressively thick and hard, completely flushed and beaded with precum at the tip.

What are you willing to do?

Oh, tell me what you're willing to do?

Her chest moves, heaving as she fills her lungs with oxygen when his hand glides over the smooth length of him. On the upstroke, Bucky swipes his thumb over the plush head of his cock, the muscles in his abdomen tensing and rippling beneath the surface of his skin when he bucks his hips and growls low in the back of his throat. It takes a monumental amount of self-control to resist the temptation to sprint the short distance across the room and pounce on him. 

Ravenous austeres slide up to capture the longing etched crystal clear on her face. Her gaze is glassy, hungrily eyeing Bucky's sizeable cock as the pink of her tongue darts out to moisten the soft flesh of her parted lips.  

Cooly, casually, she closes the gap between them. The bed dips beneath the weight of her knee, creaks and bounces gently as she crawls slowly along the cooling covers and stations herself between his legs. 

He frowns slightly, displeased at the fact that she's still too far away for him to touch her. To feel her sweat-slick body moving against his. "Hey, Buttercup," he disengages from himself to wrap an artfully decorated hand around her arm. "C'mere."

She obliges, manouvers her legs so her thighs bracket his hips and her knees are planted firmly on either side of him, scoots forward a little so she can straddle his waist comfortably. The rough pads of Bucky's fingers begin to trace a pattern up and down her ass, toying with the lacy waistband of her panties - pulling the elastic taut and letting it snap sharply against her skin. The sweet sound of her giggles beckons him to sit up and slant his lips of her luscious ones, prompts her to stop worrying the fleshy, tender flesh of her lower lip between her teeth. 

Bucky thinks he hears her purr, or maybe she cooes, when he angles his head to deepen the kiss while he hooks his thumbs in her boy-shorts and slowly, teasingly eases them down her thighs. He comes to a stop when there's no longer room to move her panties any further, unexpectedly suckles on her upper lip before pulling away a fraction to murmur, "how much do you like 'em?"

Brows furrowed, she blinks - still buzzing from the high of another one of his kisses. "What?" she asks.

"Wrong answer." With an effortless flex of his arms, the easy flick of his wrists, Bucky rips her panties right through the side seams. The fabric, though flimsy and light, sharply biting into the backs of her thighs.

Kiss it, kiss it better, baby

"Bucky, what the f- " he cuts her off with ravishing kiss, landing a firm, sharp swat on her ass that ripples across the surface of her skin and causes her thighs and cunt to clench. She squeals in surprised delight, the sound swallowed by an unrelenting Bucky who smacks the another rounded ass cheek and grunts when she shifts back and sits her slick heat on his cock. Kneading her ass, he bares his teeth and bites down on her lower lip, tugs at it before lapping and nipping up the gentle curve of her jawline to press his lips against the shell of her ear.

His breath is hot and heavy on her skin, voice gritty and raspy when he speaks. "I'm still mad at you." He digs his fingers deep into her thighs, groans at how easily the flesh and muscle of her gives and drives her hips forward to grind hard along his length. 

"I haven't forgotten what you've done. Watching you dance all hot and dirty, making me so hard I could cut diamonds. Were you tryin' ta make me jealous, Doll? Cause it worked.

"Now I'm gonna fuck you up, Buttercup." 

"God, you're pure filth, Bucky!" She gasps when he sinks his teeth into the sensitive spot hiding the pulse thrumming in her throat, hisses when he sucks hard on her skin and most definitely marks her, claims her as his own. "Fuck!" She exclaims.

"You like that? 'Course ya do, doll. You're so fucking wet, you're practically dripping all over me." One hand works its way into the apex of her thighs, thick fingers burrowing into the dark patch of coily hair and slicking into the soft, wet petals of her pussy. She squirms, keens softly when he repeatedly teases her clit as he coats the length of his digits in her essence. "Yeah. Nice and wet, just for me." 

He pulls his hand from between her legs, looks her dead in the eyes and slips two glistening fingers past his swollen lips.

Oh, what are you willing to do

Bucky hums his approval. Tastes just like heaven, he thinks. Swirls his tongue between his fingers to get more of that sweet nectar. She huffs impatiently, rears her hips back and rocks steadily against Bucky to remind him she's still here. On edge, waiting for his full attention; hand, lips, body; to be on her. She's still in her feelings, mourning the loss of yet another item of clothing lost at the hands of Bucky. As if reading her mind, he releases his fingers with a wet pop, curling his hand behind her neck to press a long, apologetic kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

He's been playing his game far too long - plotting her punishment - and now, now with her tight heat nudging the tip of his cock and the taste of her still lingering on his lips, he knows exactly how to have her panting out repentance and begging for both forgiveness and release. "You still mad about ya panties, doll? How's about you get on all fours... and I make it up to you?"

She gives him a pleased, almost relieved smile. She doubts she's ever been this high-strung before - watching Bucky stroke his cock, ripping her panties and spanking her ass. It's more than she can handle, too much sexual stimulation and too little action from a man who overwhelms her with the sheer size of him dwarfing her kitchen, yet places her high on a pedestal for him to worship.

Quickly, she removes herself from him, not forgetting to work his jeans down those muscular thighs and legs and tossing them at the foot of her bed. They rearrange themselves; her leaning her weight on bent elbows and knees and perking her ass out for Bucky to finally hold her hips and slip his cock into her aching cunt. Except he doesn't.

Instead she feels hefty arms snake around her thighs, peering down between her legs in time see Bucky's tongue work its way into her core. He licks at her with so much pressure, her forehead drops onto the matress as the first surge of sweet pleasure flares in her thighs and shoots up her spine. Whimpering when he flicks her clit with a quick flourish of his tongue and uttering his name when he flattens the muscle against her slit and drinks down more of her honey. It's barely been two minutes, and she can already feel herelf beginning to come undone at the seams.

She doesn't expect the sound that rips from her throat when he roughly clamps her thighs and forces her to sit on his face, his tongue delving deep into the clutch of her slick walls. 

The orgasm is immediate. Her thighs squeezing and her back bowing as one intense wave of pleasure washes over her. She keens, ruts against Bucky's mouth while his tongue works inside of her. He eases off, but doesn't stop, kissing at her sex and probing his tongue against her opening. In the back of her mind she begins to realise what's happening. He's building her up so he can tear her down again. Hold her open for his perusal, allow him to have his fill. To leave her raw and trembling, repeating his name enough times to completely push the other man from her mind for good. 

The routine is random. Hard licks and soft kisses, thick stripes from cunt to clit followed by rapid flickers that cause her to whine and clutch at the bed covers so hard she thinks they'll rip. Bucky focuses solely on the hooded bundle of nerves, his conscience telling him to stop licking her clit before he puts her in a coma; his twitching cock telling him otherwise. He wraps his lips around her clit, closes his eyes to indulge in the heady scent of her filling and clouding his brain.

She trembles and moans beautifully for him, the coil wound into a knot so tight, the walls of her stomach twitch violently. 

"I'm gonna come... Bucky, I'm gonna fucking come... "

Oh, tell me what you're willing to do?

Bucky grunts hungrily, wants her to come for him again and swears he would do it over and over until the sun came up if it were possible. He opens his mouth wide, undulating his tongue over the clenching wetness of her one last time before enveloping her clit in his wanting mouth. He sucks her pussy hard, groaning when her essence flows down the back of his throat and that sound - the vibrations that shockwave through her core - ignites a bright spark of pleasure and ecstasy that fires off electric blue pops of colour at the base of her skull.

"Unngh, Jesus, fuuuuuuck!" she cries, voice hoarse and cracking as she moans and moans, cursing "fuck" more times than she can count as she rides out yet another orgasm brought on by her lover's mouth. Bucky remains steady in his ways, continues to hold her down while she gushes past the corners of his lips and over his chin. Laps up every last drop like a man who's gone without water for years, making sure to leave nothing behind.

When her body tenses and relaxes with a shuddering sigh, and Bucky is satisfied that he's licked her clean, his grip around her loosens and he carefully places her limp legs to the side. He reaches for the box of tissues and pulls a few with which to clean his face, after which he rolls onto his stomach - mindful of the fact that he's still painfully hard - and finds her peering at him with glazed eyes from beneath a thicket of braids. She's completely blissed-out - a dopey, lopsided smile plastered on her beautiful face. "You alright there, Buttercup?" 

Her smile widens. "Mhmm."

He chuckles, cups a clammy cheek in his callused palm and leans over to brush his lips against hers twice before tugging on her bent leg to rest atop his hip. Draping his inked arm over her shoulder he pulls her in close and asks, "You know I love you, right?"

"Mhmm," she repeats, lashes fluttering heavily because he's so warm and perfect and lulls her to sleep even when they aren't getting frisky. She curls her fingers against his ribs and cants her head to place her lips on his scar. It's a habit she's come to love, tonight is no exception and so he merely basks in the warmth of her body and breath fanning over his cooling skin.

Kiss it, kiss it better, baby

The night air, along with their body heat, is warm enough for him to forego the plush blankets beneath them.

"G'night, Buttercup," he mutters sleepily, tightening his arm protectively around her and falling asleep to the light ebb and flow of her chest.

Chapter Text

“Henry…”

“Hmm?” he hums low in her ear, fingers toying with the hem of her skirt and barely brushing her thigh, the whiskers of his beard and heavy warmth of his breath tickling her skin - already hot and sensitive - and causing her to giggle. 

“What? What is it?" 

Got a 20 pound note rolled up, rolled up

A lil squashed in my pocket

Her response is on the tip of her tongue, parting her lips to answer him, but the sharp nip of his teeth at the hinge of her jaw only leaves her breathlessly gasping, snapping her mouth shut when he does it again and follows up by laving the spot with his tongue and lips. When she exhales, it’s more of a muffled whimper, and Henry thinks it’s the prettiest, sweetest thing he’s heard all night, besides her laughter, of course.

She calls him again, a little more insistent this time when his fingers begin to creep a little higher and work their way beneath her skirt. "Dammit, woman. Why? You look so fucking good, I can’t help myself."  

"Yes, but we’re in the back of a chaperone’s car and I don’t think our kind driver would take kindly to washing the smell of sex from the seats.”

Henry huffs in amusement. “Point taken." 

Before pulling away from her, he leans in real close and presses his lips to the shell of her ear, a weighty arm draped across her shoulders flexing so as to squeeze her in close to his body. "Although, I would gladly buy this car, just so I could fuck you whenever I want, wherever I want.”

Finally, he sits back, a smug look on his face after having left a wet path of kisses along the line of her shoulder and planting one firmly on her flustered cheek. In a fleeting attempt to calm the rapid thumping of her heart, she chuckles. Airily, tinkling, almost strained, and a swell of pride blooms in his chest and washes over him knowing that beneath that calm exterior, he’s got her riding on the same wavelength as him; all hot like a pressure cooker and moist in her panties. 

They ride the rest of the way home in tense silence. 

Henry’s hand never leaves her thigh, and she almost winds up in his lap having fussed over scooting in as close to his warmth as possible.

Don’t you gimme those eyes

We could stop by the shop get some rum if you want it, want it

When they eventually, finally, make it to their elaborate home, Henry is practically buzzing in anticipation. 

He hasn’t seen her in over 5 months, has spent the past three weeks since getting back from China running from one place to the next, this interview and that promo. It bugs him that they’ve only had a handful of phone conversations during that time, even fewer video calls. Wondering if she still wore the same fragrance, still preferred cleansing with apple cider vinegar as opposed to brand name shampoo - still loved watching cartoons early Saturday morning in one of his shirts while munching on a granola bar pilfered from his stash of fitness foods. He imagined she would fall asleep curled up on the couch as she always did, his shirt falling over the soft valley of her hips and thighs and a batch of thick braids falling over her shoulder and covering her peaceful face. It bothers him even more knowing that he wasn’t there to lay a blanket over her body while keeping her company in the golden silence of the room. Or, to simply lift her in his arms and take her back to her rightful spot where she lay next to him every night. 

I’m tired tryna fight it

Fight you, fight this and fight it all

“You’re staring, Henry.” His cool, blue eyes rise to lock on hers, warm and filled with mirth and a hint of something a little deeper, something that looks like a woman who’s been aching to smell and touch and taste him. Love and longing, the deepest kind. It’s reassuring and reaffirming, making space for a wave of relief that washes over him and raises a smile beneath the rugged scruff of his beard. When she smiles back, big and bright and as beautiful as he last remembers it, her head tilting a little while batting her lashes prettily, he’s all but tempted to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the bedroom. “Home, sweet home,” she simply says, and she reaches out to grab his hand in hers.

Let’s get out of the rain

Get a cab to my house, we can snuggle up

Henry allows her to lead him through the house, her heels clicking on the tiled floor of the grand entrance and echoing off the artfully decorated walls of each hallway and passage passed on the way to their little sanctuary. All of this is for her. Every single piece of artwork hanging from the tall walls, the jewellery that seems to glitter and wink even brighter against her brown skin. The designer clothes, the cars, the getaways to places people only ever see in their dreams… all of it. It’s all hers. And, funny enough, she doesn’t want it. Make no mistake, she isn’t ungrateful for what she has - for what he’s done - simply that all she ever really wants, all she ever needs, is right behind her holding her hand and centering her usually excitable, sometimes exuberant and slightly off-kilter demeanour. Jesus, but she loves him!

When they finally reach the bedroom, she’s barely able to turn and face him before he’s instantly on her. He wraps his fingers around her shoulders, pulling her towards him and sealing his lips over hers in a kiss that’s equally as loving as is passionate. Henry briefly holds her that way, inhaling sharply through his nose and pressing into her with closed mouth before finally unlatching with a soft smack. 

Dipping his head to drag the tip of his nose up the column of her throat, Henry slowly slides his hand up the back of her thigh, his rough palm coasting the soft expanse of skin as he goes higher and higher. “I’ve missed you, darling,” he’s finally kneading the generous, rounded swell of her ass, rubbing a scruffy cheek along the line of her jaw as he asks, “Have you missed me nearly as much as I have you?”

Oo hoo hoo, oo hoo hoo, it’s yours

Oo hoo hoo, oo hoo hoo, all yours

Her eyes flutter shut and the breath she takes to answer him stilts in her lungs when he latches onto the spot of skin under which her vein ticks hard and rampant. Burying thick fingers into the thicket of dark braids that fall just beneath her shoulders, Henry tugs softly, coaxing her head to fall back - to expose more of that sweet-smelling skin he could only ever touch and taste in his sleep. 

“Have you, love?” he repeats.

This time, he straightens his posture to stand looking down the bridge of his nose at his significant other, who’s panting heavily through plump parted lips, thick lashes lining half-lidded eyelids that bat slowly as her gaze follows dainty hands which begin to roam over his broad chest. 

“Oh, yes, I have,” she says, revelling in the solid planes of muscle shifting beneath his navy-blue velvet blazer. Despite its rich fabric and the expensive cotton shirt he’s wearing underneath, she can still make out every rise and dip of his surly build as she smooths her hands up his body. They slip beneath the lapels of his blazer and effortlessly shuck the item of clothing from his large shoulders, falling to the floor in a rumpled heap. “I’ve missed you more than words can describe, Baby.”

While she occupies herself with hastily unbuckling his belt, she leans forward to steal a kiss from him, a wanton moan slipping past her when he curls his fingers around the back of her neck to slick his warm tongue into her mouth. He hums against her lips, a deep rumbling that moves through his chest when he tastes sweet chocolate and tart wine in every crevice of her mouth, unexpectedly suckling on her tongue which draws a shallow gasp from her. But he’s not ready when she bites hard on his kiss-swollen lip, one hand dipping into his trousers and past the waistband of his briefs to squeeze his stiff cock. She exclaims in delight at the harsh sting of his large calloused hand landing a swift smack on her ass, digging his fingers into the soft flesh and rolling her hips forward to rub his arousal against her mound. 

Oo hoo hoo, oo hoo hoo, it’s yours

Oo hoo hoo, oo hoo hoo, all yours

All too suddenly, she steps back and away from him, too far for him to reach. With a smouldering gleam in her gaze, she makes quick work of dropping her pink-holo skirt to the floor, stepping out of her heels and walking towards him once more. His cock twitches at the sight of her smooth, shapely thighs shimmering in the low light as they move with every step. He can imagine showering the tender pliancy of each leg with affection, working his way down to the apex of her hot core where he would bury his head for all eternity if possible, working her to the height of bliss before sending her tumbling over with a quick flick of his tongue. The feeling of her fingers feathering down his forearm pulls him from deep within his thoughts.

Tilting her head to the side, she flashes him a grin and says, “let me show how much I’ve missed you - Daddy.” The term sends blood surging straight to the pit of his stomach and she swears she sees the blue of his eyes all but disappear as they cloud with carnal lust, lacing her delicately soft fingers in his weathered ones and gently tugging him forward; guiding him towards their bed. Seating herself on the very edge of the plush mattress, she hooks her fingers into the loops of his pants and pulls him to stand between the space created by her legs, now parted wide and sitting on either side of his long, lean legs. She hunkers his pants down past his lithe hips, his boxers following shortly after to release his length - flushed and preening with pre-cum, which drips thick from his slit and trickles down the lush head of his cock. She can’t help licking her lips, the sight of her pink tongue darting out to moisten the flesh causing Henry to ache in his loins, eager to have the velveteen muscle trace her name along his thick shaft.

Luckily, neither of them are in the mood to delay any further. She wraps a hand at the base of him and twists expertly, her mouth opening to take his cock. She flattens her tongue and slowly swallows him down, half of him at first because she’s a cheeky tease and likes to see the frustration ticking in his brows. She retracts a fraction, running her hand up along his length and squeezing just below his head - eyes glinting wickedly when he grunts and impatiently thrusts forward. Cheeky, little minx. There’s something dangerous in the way his lips curl at the corners and it forces her cunt to tighten. 

Got your hands in my head

And the door starts to ring, I’m guessing that’s the pizza

Henry allows her to stroke him twice, taking him deep into her throat on the third down stroke and hollowing her cheeks as he hits the soft spot in the back of her, before balling her hair in his fist and tilting her chin high to look up at him. He thumbs the glistening seam of her lips, collecting a small drop of his essence that threatens to fall past her lower lip and onto her chin. As if in silent agreement, she sucks his thumb, savouring in the taste of him on her tongue. It’s enough to break the resolve he’s been struggling to uphold, growing tired of the dull throb that settles deep in his thighs and builds an aching pressure in his core and cock. The bond between them runs strong, strong enough for her to read between the lines easily as she begins to scoot backwards to make space for when he’ll pin her beneath his weight and bury himself deep within her walls. But Henry has other ideas.

Thinking she’s being an elusive tease, he catches his lip between his teeth and grabs her ankle before she can get any further up the bed, muscles bulging as they flex with powerful exertion and he yanks her entire body back to its previous spot in front of him. She squeaks in surprise, breasts jiggling when she comes to a stop with her ass half hanging off the edge of the bed. Using her hips as a handle, he lifts the lower half of her body to line up with the tip of his dick and he begins to thrust his hips forward, coasting along her pussy and coating himself in more of her sweet nectar as he repeatedly stimulates her clit with the underside of his length. She twitches a little, tries her best to hold her legs open for him but fails dismally when one stroke hits a little too perfectly and her inner thighs tremble and almost slam shut. 

“Unf, Henry,” she almost whines, voice strained and slightly pitched as she grows more and more desperate. 

This time he laughs, albeit brief. “So demanding. Haven’t you heard of how good things come to those who wait?”

“Yeah, well this good thing wants to come, alright,” she grumbles with a pout. She looks… so beautiful, just splayed there wide open and clamouring for him - far from the woman who’d admonished him just moments ago for being overly amorous in the back seat, skin already beginning to bead with sweat and eyes barely open, begging for him to end their months long misery.

He’s more than happy to oblige.

Without warning, he retreats his hips enough to let the tip of his thick length fall at her slick entrance. He squeezes her hip lightly, braces himself for what heaven or paradise he’ll find himself lost and slowly pushes forward. 

Well, let him quiver in the cold

‘Cause all that I want is a piece now of you love, hold us

For him, the pleasure is instant. He feels it curving bright hot up the length of his spine and it urges him to close his eyes when he feels himself half buried in her cunt. He releases a deep breath he wasn’t aware was bottled deep inside his chest, wondering how in the fuck he’s managed to survive this long knowing what kind of woman he had waiting for him back home. 

Home. 

That’s exactly how he feels – how she makes him feel; at home and far away from prying eyes in the privacy of these four walls, in the walls of her quivering clutch where she welcomes him with a kind of ease that always stirs the strongest of emotions in his heart. Stars alive, if only she knew the kind of power she wields over him. It’s enough to put his head into a spin, already on the brink of release when he hasn’t even bottomed out yet. The sound of the bed covers shuffling about has him opening his eyes to find her sitting upright, and those eyes, they’re fixated on him appreciatively, reaching out and calling to him without a single sound leaving her lips. She calls for him right now, fingers resting over the pale skin of his one of the hands that grip her bruisingly tight. 

Henry answers the only way he knows how when they’re like this – by bowing forward and slanting his lips to fit over her full ones, burying the remainder of his length deep inside her with a sighing moan. He smites himself for forgetting how the magnificently soft exterior of his woman matches perfectly with the inside – smooth satin wrapped around surly, solid steel.

“Have you any idea just how spectacular you feel?” 

I’m tired tryna fight it and fight you 

And fight this and fight it all

The slight waiver in his voice warms her some, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and fists his hair between her fingers, their lips and tongues colliding as she falls back with him. Henry braces himself with his hands on either side of her head, rolling his hips to sit himself deeper in her warmth. It sparks heat in her core, a little flame that licks at the walls of her stomach and has her heart pounding hard behind her rib cage. “Hmph… Henry-” she hesitates, the words catching in her throat. It’s silly, she thinks, 5 and a half months away from someone shouldn’t have such an adverse effect.

But then, she remembers that this isn’t just anyone. This is Henry fucking Cavill. Her man, the light of her gotdamn life; and not a single man on God’s green Earth could ever compare. 

Cupping his rugged cheek and swiping her thumb back and forth, she wraps her legs around his thick waist and whispers a plea that’s quiet and meant for his ears, but echoes - rattles - resolutely through his entire being. “Make love to me… please?" 

Let’s get out of the rain

Get a cab to my house, we can snuggle up

Whatever slow burn there was between them instantly flares into a carnal inferno; Henry retreats his cock far enough to slam back into her with a blinding vigor, literally forcing a hitched breath from her lungs as her nails dig into his shoulders. He repeats the motion again, growling when her cunt pulses around his length, his dick so thick, it fills her completely and pushes all her senses into an overdrive. She curses when he does it again, and again.

"Fuck… oh, fuck…” she sighs between each steady yet bone shaking thrust, hissing when he buries his face in the crook of her neck and nips sharply at her skin with each rut. “Shit!”

Kinda like that

He smiles salaciously hearing the shrill pitch of her voice swearing aloud. He has a chocolate tipped nipple caught between his teeth, a hefty hand reaching for her throat but coming to rest splayed across the wings of her collarbone. The rhythm of his hips changes now, hard and sharp - relentless. With every pleasured cry, he feels his chest swell with pride; pride at knowing that, despite all this time, living oceans away and in a different timezone, he can still come home to melt and mold her beneath the brush of his rough fingers on her body. 

He takes her breast into his mouth, licks and sucks on the generous swell to to further heighten the coil of heat pulling and twisting taut in her gut before using the other free hand to dislodge her vice grip from his shoulder. 

The chill of cold air hitting her chest and peaking her tits brings her back to the present. She struggles to open her eyes, managing to at least pry them apart to look through two narrow slits where she’s able to make out the blurred outline of Henry shifting to adjust his position. He shuffles forward onto bent knees, her intertwined legs moving higher up and lifting her ass off the mattress. She feels the searing heat of his palm on her wrist, the weight that sits along her collarbone. But, she’s already so far gone, she fails to realise what’s happening until Henry leans his entire upper body forward - pinning her hand above her head. Her ankles disengage as bows his head to kiss her mouth feverishly, followed by his beard prickling against her cheek as his lips tickle the shell of her ear and he grouses, “I have every intention of hearing you scream my name, my pretty little rose." 

Oo hoo hoo, oo hoo hoo, it’s yours

Oo hoo hoo. oo hoo hoo, all yours

There’s very little time for her clouded mind to comprehend what he’s said before the weight that was once on her chest finds its rightful place wrapped firmly around her throat and before she can prepare herself, Henry resumes fucking her. This time, much harder and much faster, exploiting how the wide gait of her legs holds her hot cunt open for his primal exploitation. It’s lewd, obscenely rough and sloppy, the sound of her slick essence squelching as he repeatedly plunges into her slit, sinking further and further until he’s finally hitting a spot she believed was well beyond his reach. Her toes curl and she bites down on her lip to contain whatever embarrassing sound threatens to tumble from her mouth. It’s something Henry doesn’t like.

When he says she’ll scream - she. will. scream!

He traces a long line up the length of her throat with his thumb, testing how soft and fragile it is so as to not hurt her. Satisfied, he extends his thumb out and has his palm laying flush over her neck, hacking his hips against her in earnest and filling the room with their skin slapping and the light tap of his balls on her ass. She whines when he angles himself accordingly, her face screwing up in intense pleasure as her walls begin to quiver around him.

Henry then squeezes her throat.

Oo hoo hoo, oo hoo hoo, it’s yours

Oo hoo hoo, oo hoo hoo, all yours

Everything suddenly becomes a frenzied mess of his loud grunts and her soundless sobs, his eyes lose focus as he fucks her ferociously into the bed, the rhythmic "thump-thump-thump” stacatto of the wooden headboard against the wall adding to the noises piercing the once peaceful quiet of the room. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as her ears fill with the gushing throb of blood rushing past her ears, heat rising to her face, rising in her core, as she feebly clamps the hand that isn’t held down around Henry’s wrist. 

Her mouth hangs open and pulled up into a crazed smile, gasping and sobbing as he fucks her into a stupour. Her limbs become lead, the weight of her bent knees holding her legs open like butterfly wings and just the sheen of her sweat slick skin shifting in the light, tits bouncing as he pounds into her, causes his cock to jump. He applies more pressure around her wind pipe, releases her limp hand to snake his arm between their bodies where he then assaults her clit with his thumb.

Her back arches, almost painfully so, she releases a guttural sort of sound and clutches the sheets tight, bringing it towards her mouth where she bites on the curve of her thumb. She digs her heels into his lower back to pull him closer, her inner thighs and stomach tremoring. Henry has now slumped forward to rest his damp forehead on her shoulder, his dark hair clinging to his skin. It’s as torturous on him as it is on her, she’s clamped tight around his ploughing cock and all he can register is the sweet, sweet beginnings of his impending release.

It’s yours, na

“Fuck. Fuck, come for me… ” he rasps, and her face twists up uncontrollably. Her hips surge foward to meet his, snaking sloppily as every single fiber of muscle contracts and she wraps herself around his body, fingernails burrowing into his shoulder blades and leaving angry furrows in their wake. And just as he’d expected, just as he’d warned, she lets out a loud, glass shattering keen. She attempts to stifle the noise by biting into his shoulder, but fails when he rubs her clit faster and chases his own orgasm by greedily pistoning into her clutching folds. Instead of riding out her wave, it swells and she no longer holds a reign over her body when she gushes all over his cock and on to the sheets. “Jesus, fuck!" 

Na na na, na na na, all yours

He rocks his hips forward with so much force she’s pushed several inches up the bed, pulling his cock out just in time to shoot hot jets of cum on to her chest and stomach, decorating her skin with his seed. She uses what little energy she has left to grope him in her hand, stroking along his emptying length painstakingly slow and pumping every last drop from him.

No, oo oo ha, hey hey hey, it’s yours

On shaky arms, Henry lowers himself onto her spent body, careful not to absolutely crush her beneath his weight, and brushes his lips against hers. They’re content to lay there for a while, sharing lazy kiss after kiss in the afterglow until she holds his face in her hands and studies him for a second - the dopiest of smiles forms on her lips. "That, was great.”

“I see what you meant about messing up the car seats,” he says with a slight slur in his accent. “Although it was well worth the wait.”

She lets her head slump against the mattress, giggling beneath him. But it comes to an abrupt stop when she sees the way in which he watches her every move, sees the abundant amount of love in his bright eyes. This time she pulls him into a deeper, more meaningful kiss, releasing him with a smack and murmuring, "I love you,” against him lips.

Oh no, oo oo oo, ah ah ah, all yours

Henry huffs light-heartedly and returns the affectionate gesture. “I love you more.”

Chapter Text

“Hmmm, what you readin’ on now, Whiz?”

My breath hitches the moment the low timbre of his voice fills the silence of the room, my eyes darting up from the organised chaos of my laptop, books and notes scattered across the bed to fall on my, unexpected, uninvited, company. He absolutely fills the doorway, all broad shoulders and imposing height, pushing up from his place leaning against the door frame to casually close the short distance between us.

Don't come any closer, I've seen how this all works.
So, when you tell me lies, look me in the eyes first.

"What the fuck?" I say, a little startled. I swallow hard, purse my lips and will myself to look away - to avoid the swaggering gait of those long, strong legs striding towards me, his impossibly large shoulders swaying slightly with each step. At first, it proves impossible. He looks good. Dammit, he’s looks good. He’s wearing the usual garb I’ve become accustomed to - informal, but still well put-together, a dark pair of cargo pants that seem to fit perfectly around his lithe hips and athletic thighs, black combat boots and a long-sleeved midnight blue polo that I swear was sewn onto him, the way it pulls taut across his chest and torso and clings to his muscular arms.

I shake my head with a huff and chide myself, adorning a heated scowl that matches the contempt he created after leaving me with nothing but bed sheets that still smell like him; spiced wood and hard liquor, sweet and pungent. Murky tendrils of smoke-hazed memories of a man with gold-tipped teeth that cage a silver tongue.

I’m just trying to protect my heart
Showed you every single scar
Say, “It’s you not me.”
Cause that’s my favourite part

Clenching my jaw, I redirect my focus to the laptop in front of me, inserting my earbuds to block Erik out. Block his existence, the hefty weight of him dipping the mattress to the right when he sits next to me. But what I really want is to pretend as though there is no warmth of his body next to mine and no fucking familiar scent – one that conjures up way too many emotions and memories I have no interest in entertaining.

Besides hate.

Hate is an emotion I have room for. Or, at least, that’s what I fool myself into believing knowing damn well its counterpart holds that much more space in my heart and fills the little cracks and crevices of a bittersweet pain that never existed until I let him touch me.

Why does it hurt so much?
With every single touch, I thought this was love

Pen in hand and notebook sprawled across my lap, I hit ‘play’ and allow the words of the poet on my screen to captivate me and, hopefully, hold my attention long enough for Erik to realise he’s not wanted here. A valiant attempt on my part, which, sadly, fails dismally when I notice his hand out the periphery of my vision reach out to touch me. I make ready to smack him away, but, instead, he swiftly snatches my flimsy earbuds and notebook, righting himself and not bothering to gauge my reaction, repeating his initial question. “I said, what you reading?” He goes silent for a moment, his dark brown eyes scanning the page on which I was transcribing said poem before he huffs curiously. “Huh, Water by Porsha O.”

He leans back to lounge against my bent legs and I give him a look of pure incredulity. The nerve! He weasels his way in and out of my life and then, when he sees fit, intrudes on my solitude and thinks he can make himself comfortable? Add to that, stealthily swaggering into the little niche of lazy comfort I had created for myself, and almost scaring me half to death with the untimely announcement of his presence.

Why do I wanna stay numb?
I wanna be alone, I just don't know how

"Erik," I begin to protest. There's a wet, lukewarm sensation sticking to my thigh and it leads me to look down and realize that I’ve swilled my coffee cup with enough momentum to tip some of the contents onto my sweatpants. “Ugh... Erik, what are y-?”

"I’ve heard, sharks followed slave ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean, trailing black bodies thrown overboard

“I heard during slave time white masters refused to let blacks learn them to swim because a swimming slave could get away

“Could swim to freedom,” he recites aloud, completely ignoring me when I address him

“I’ve heard sharks followed slave ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean, trailing black bodies... thrown overboard…” he repeats - a little slower this time, intrigue in his voice. I can almost hear the cogs in that already brilliant mind of his turning, calculating, and it’s as though those words have sparked something inside him - a memory perhaps? A thought?

One that is so significant, I see fire ignite in his dark eyes, flickering and gleaming in the low-lit ambience of my room as though an idea has literally brightened the caverns of his mind.

Why does it hurt so much?

There’s a deliberate emphasis hanging on every word as he lowers the paper to finally acknowledge me, casually lolling his head to the side and sucking his teeth while his sharp gaze studies me slowly - raking from top, to bottom, and back up to finally rest on my face. It’s the most intense 15 seconds of my life, filled with my weighted breath and narrowed eyes that dart about my face as though trying to piece me back together - and I manage to hold his gaze, reveling in the small bit of gratification obtained from my unwavering resolve.

With every single touch, we thought this was love
Why do I wanna stay numb?

“Damn, I really got you out here thinking and acting like me now? You been thinking about me all this time?” he asks, eyes fixated on me and it feels as though he sees the answer sitting there the longer he stares. I was running up and down in that pretty, little mind of yours, huh, baby girl?”

The proverbial puff in my chest deflates, my jaw clenching in annoyance and as I reach forward for my notebook, shooting Erik a heated look which only seems to smoulder when I notice the smug glint in Erik’s eyes – I accidentally brush the tips of my fingers against the back of his hand

Love me in the morning anyways
If I’m never lonely, I won’t ever feel the pain

It’s a slip-up. I freeze. He feels the tension in my thighs; realizes there’s an open window and an ever-present third-fourth chance to clamber back into my heart.

Love me in the morning anyways, anyways

“Erik, get out,” I state, but my voice has changed. It’s no longer the one I’ve rehearsed over and over again in preparation for nights such as this. Oh, no. It’s light and airy, sounds like his name leaving my lips when he makes me ride wave upon wave of bliss, and I wish I’d kept my mouth shut because the longing in those whispered words beckons him closer, removing the items strewn across my bed to lean in, answering to the silent scream of his name.

"Really? You really want me to go?" He’s but an inch away and a moment passes, a moment in which I realise: between what little defiance I possessed when reclaiming my book, and the brief but electric spark of chemistry that passed between us when we touched, Erik had won the moment he walked through the door.

Love me in the morning anyways
If I'm never lonely, I won't ever feel the pain

So, I surrender. I sigh in defeat. Slide my eyes shut and let go, only if for tonight; or tomorrow, or a week from now, I don’t care. Because Erik has closed the distance between us and he is kissing me. He’s kissing me with lips that feel unbelievably softer than I remember, fiery-gold flashes, fireworks and familiarity the only constant that remains when he slicks his tongue into my mouth without request.

Love me in the morning anyways, anyways

We remain that way for as long as we can bear, reacquainting ourselves with smells and tastes synonymous with one another; how his rough hand secures itself at the nape of my neck and my cool fingers wrap around his wrist.

Eventually, we part with a soft smack, my lips tingling and my skin tightening when he releases a warm breath which fans flames billowing in my core and sends chills up my spine. He calls my name, traces his fingers up the back of my neck and around to rest splayed along my collarbone before hooking his fingers in the neckline of my sweater and pulling me in for another, more demanding, hungrier kiss.

I saw it in your eyes
Baby blue, like the sky

I swim in a blurred, drunken haze of his spicy cologne and the sharp nip of Erik’s gold canines in the fleshiest part of my neck, and it isn't until he has me on my back, nestled in the abundance of pillows, that I feel an all too familiar hot and heavy sensation bloom in my stomach. He holds himself up with one hand to hover over me and ask, "Bet you touched ya'self, huh?”

I’m barely able to register his question . Every square inch of my skin is on fire and I'm feverishly desperate to have him kiss me again. His other hand has slipped past the waistband of my sweatpants to work its way between my thighs, rough and weathered fingers brushing softly against my mound and instantly turning me into a pliant body of liquid heat, sex and longing. “Like this? How many times you make yo'self come, baby girl?

And all those puzzled games you played
Fucking with my mind, you would never stay

He swiftly pushes two thick fingers into my cunt, coating the length of them in nectar before withdrawing and guiding them along my slit. My toes almost curl when he commences rubbing slow circles on the hooded bud, banding one arm across his shoulders and burying my face in his neck with a low groan. "Unngh, fuck, Erik…”

His response is simple, but surprises me all the same: "I've missed you. I've missed how you feel; them pretty ass sounds you make for me. I just can’t get your smart ass and that mouth outta my mind, Whiz." I jolt in alarm when he flattens his hand and delivers an unexpected tap on my clit, confining a yelp when he kisses me yet again. Filthy, open-mouthed. Hot.

All tongue and Erik's teeth nibbling on my lower lip, suckling until it's tender and slightly swollen. And just as I begin to peak, when I become as tense as a guitar string ready to be plucked by his careless fingers, Erik removes himself from me completely. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my bottoms, impatiently jerking and tugging until I finally lay half-naked before him, his dark eyes gleaming hungrily as he mutters to himself, “all the parts of you that I wanna taste…”

I saw it coming soon
Cause when you looked at me, she would look at you
Say “it’s you not me”
Cause that’s my favourite part

It’s exactly this side of him, all out of breath and seemingly on the verge of breaking under my touch, that makes me anxious, but excited. Makes my stomach flip 180 degrees and has my blood rushing so fast, I become dizzy and drunk, and Erik is about as trustworthy as he is likely to return the warm gush in my chest – but I welcome him all the same.

“We don’t have time for that right now,” I say, sitting up and taking initiative on an Erik who seems intent on being rooted to the spot, clearly distracted by his wont to memorize my half-naked form. With his shirt removed, I run my hands up his chest and feel him twitch, trace my fingers low over every perfect pockmarked bump in his skin and hear him suck his breath in.

Why does it hurt so much?
With every single touch we thought this was love
Why do I wanna stay numb?

This, this is the Erik Stevens with whom I had the misfortune to be infatuated. This is how he conned me, completely outsmarted me with intelligent debate and endless tales of a lonely boy trying to navigate a home and a language too foreign for his ancestors .
Now in control, I remove what remains of his clothes, maneuvering myself to straddle him; my thighs hugging his waist whilst my lips explore and discover, familiarize and remember every notch and inch of his skin. I drive my hips forward, feel him hot and hard against me - wanting more and growing bold with every advance.

“Y’want this, Stevens?” I ask, teasing his length with feather light flourishes and kissing my way up his throat while I wrap my fingers around him and feel him pulse in my hand.

“C’mon, now, quit playing games,” he grouses in my ear.

I wanna be alone, I just don’t know how

I smirk, thoroughly pleased with how I still have some reign over him, this poster child for the alpha male and masculinity. Finally, when I’m ready, I shift and position the plush tip of his cock at my entrance, bearing down on him slowly and sinking my teeth into his shoulder to muffle myself. I forgot how satisfying it was to feel him seated deep within me, how he more than made up for length with breadth.

My walls flutter and grapple as they open up to welcome him with wet and warm embrace, releasing a sigh whilst, drawing a predatory growl from someplace deep inside his chest. I test his restraint and wind my hips flush against his, my clit brushing his pelvis and I just know, I won’t last long – hell, with all this teasing, he won’t allow it anyway.

Why does it hurt so much?
With every single touch we thought this was love

Which he proves to be true, because he grows impatient and counters with two palms smacking my ass and his rough fingers boring deep in the pliant flesh as he gives a rough thrust of his own. The act completely catches me off guard. It knocks the air out of my lungs and the best I can manage is a poorly vocalized hiccup as I feel him rut again from beneath me.

Why do I wanna stay numb?

He soon sets a pace of his own, the pistoning of his hips meeting the roll of mine as we meet in the middle and clash in a melodious cacophony of labored breaths and subtle sighs. I look down to find him watching me with hooded eyes, the brown in them as rich as the depth of colour in my skin – both are warm, radiant. Glimmering decadently when the light hits just right, or the tip of him brushes against a spot that has me writhing just a little higher towards bliss. It’s as though he recognizes the bitter disdain he’s planted deep within me, sees a reflection of himself in the dark liquid brown of my clouded pupils and deliberately tries to fuck every last acid drop of bitterness from my body.

“Erik…oh, fuck!”

His name slips carelessly from my parted lips. It sounds nothing like all the other times I’ve uttered it over the course of the night – it sounds more like pure, high praise and less like damnation; the steep rise before the crescendo. “That’s fucking right, baby, say it again. Say my name nice and loud, so all these other ni**as know ain’t none of ‘em who can break you off like I do!”

Love me in the morning anyways
If I’m never lonely I won’t ever feel the pain

My jaw slackens and I throw my head back as I begin to pant heftily while Erik, in all sense of the meaning, bounces me on his dick. One hand snakes it’s way up my stomach to place a firm grip on my breast, the other clamped tight to my hip as I use his wrists as handles to ride myself to bliss upon meeting and matching every advance made by the man beneath me.

Love me in the morning anyways, anyways

Bracing my hands on his chest, I place most of my weight onto my upper body, making room for Erik to plant his feet into the mattress and use that as leverage to pump his cock into me at an incredibly fast rate. It feels so unbelievably good that my labored breaths and occasional moans intermingle to become one drawn out, monotonous noise that punctuates itself with the light tap of his balls on my ass.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” I repeatedly chant, each one growing higher and louder in pitch before breaking into a whine when I reach down to stroke my clit in frantic circles. We’re both chasing to finish at this point, my face buried in the crook of his neck while I feel the grip of his fingers tighten around my hips.

“I’m gonna come,” we say in unison. The little bit of energy I have left goes into pushing myself up on one arm to look down at him, the grin on my lips clearly smug at the thought of outlasting Erik.

“Nah, fuck that,” he grunts. “I ain’t nutting first.”

He roughly grabs my ass and guides me along the thrusting length of his cock, grinding me down against the hardness of him and exploiting my clit in a way I never thought possible. The yelp that leaves me is cut off when he gives me one deep thrust followed by another, and then another.

Love me in the morning anyways
If I’m never lonely I won’t ever feel the pain (feel the pain)
Love me in the morning anyways (now I feel the pain)

Liquid heat gathers in my stomach and slowly oozes its way through my core, the familiar pull of an impending release - stretching from my cunt and up the length of my body - wrings dangerously tight.

“Come on. Lemme feel that pussy, baby girl.” He slaps a rounded ass cheek, and the sting is just this side of pleasantly painful enough to do me in. “Fucking come for me, Whiz.”

I wanna be alone I just don’t know how

“Oh, fuck- oh, FUCK!!” I yell when Erik finally unravels me with two more expert thrusts as I clamp tight around him and set off his own release. I see onyx embedded with brilliant gold embers exploding behind my closed eyelids, feeling as though the pleasure could burn right through my skin as it pulses and claws its way through every nerve and neuron to send me into a frenzied overdrive.

All of these games you play

Slumping forward I allow my body to move on its own volition, my hips gyrating and my pussy pulsating as if to want more; to take more of him before he slips through my fingers and disappears again. And he gives, and gives until he’s spent – wrapping his strong arms around me and, I swear, my skin is so sensitive to his touch that I can feel and count every single scar on him. He nips at my shoulder and marks a heated path up my neck, crooning gently in my ear: “Damn, girl, you a’ight?”

I spend a moment regulating my lungs, taking a deep and releasing it in the form of a chuckle. “Yeah, I’m ok.” Turning my head, I press my lips to his ear and jokingly add, “that nut was a tie.”

I wanna be alone I just don’t know how

“Man, get yo lyin’ ass off me!” Erik shifts his hips and gently rolls me aside with an exasperated huff, eyeing me with the most unimpressed and unamused look on his face. Eventually, my mirth dies down, and we settle into a silence that’s pregnant with the weight of hesitation sitting on our tongues.

“You cool, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.

“And, you got bomb ass pussy.”
My gaze slides sideways and I screw my face up in skepticism. “Yeah?”

He turns to look at me. “And I got a thing for you-“

“But?” I knew where this was going, I’ve heard it about a half a dozen times before and each time was like waiting for the record to skip and scratch repeatedly. I was growing tired of listening to the same old bullshit. “Erik, I’m not just here to be of convenience to you when your dick starts itching. You been knowing how I feel about you. So, what exactly are we doing?”

Fucking with my mind you would never stay

I hear him sigh and he runs a hand down his face as if frustrated by how easily things swayed the moment we disengaged from intimacy.

Finally, he settles with, “I got a lot goin’ on, Whiz. A lot of ideas and plans and shit falling into place - I’m fixin’ to change the world.”

“And I’m an unwanted distraction,” I mutter in conclusion.

I wanna be alone, I just dunno how

“Unwanted? Nah. I just don’t want yo ass getting caught up in my shit.” It’s my turn to look at him now, curiosity clearly written on my face when our eyes lock, but Erik merely rolls his eyes and adjusts himself to wrap one arm around my naked waist, pulling me in close to his body. “We can talk about it tomorrow, ‘s that a’ight witchu?”

As soon as those words leave his mouth, I know he’s shut me out and that there’s no room for further discussion on the matter. I concede with a sigh, not bothering to mask my disappointment. “Tomorrow,” I repeat.

Erik grins in satisfaction, his gold canines glinting as he leans forward and presses an uncharacteristic kiss to my forehead. “Good. Now take yo inquisitive ass to sleep.”

Tomorrow.

That’s the last thing on my mind before my eyes grow heavy and I finally immerse myself in the crush of sleep.

All of these games you play

~

I wake up the next morning and find the other side of my bed empty, the sheets ruffled as though the person who once occupied them had left in a hurry.

Love me in the morning anyways

Oddly enough, I feel no disappointment, nor hurt – more like acceptance. My head falls back onto the plush softness of my pillow and I snort-chuckle at my naivety and how it took one last fuck with the object of my desires to learn it the hard way. Erik Stevens, was destined for something bigger than myself and all of us surrounding him, and there was no way in hell he’d commit to anything other than his ideals – something to which I was willingly ignorant in favour of grand delusion.

If I’m never lonely I won’t ever feel the pain (feel the pain)

After some convincing, I find the motivation to get up and start making something of my day – wincing slightly at the lactic acid burn between my legs and yelping when I absentmindedly finger a bruise disguised as an itch.

I hastily throw my clothes, moving to grab my poetry notebook which I clearly remembered seeing Erik set aside somewhere on the little chest of drawers situated beside my bed. But when I cast my eyes upon its varnish polished surface… nothing.

It’s gone.

Love me in the morning anyways, anyways (now I feel the pain)

I open every drawer and upend every article or item strewn across the bedroom floor; move through the cramped up space of my apartment thinking of where I might have misplaced it - only to turn up empty.

Then it hits me.

Erik.

“Fucking thieving asshole,” I mutter to the emptiness of my room, but even with this slight inconvenience, there’s no longer any space left in my heart to hate him.

Erik’s fingers had worked like dark roots of magic that curled around my rib cage and held me close to his very being, burying itself beneath my skin and coursing white-hot through my veins. He weaved webs of wanting that left me searching for him in the lonely, empty corners of my home; clothed me in odd ends of longing to love someone for whom settling was the sign of a dying man.

Love me in the morning anyways (anyways, anyways, anyways)

It was only when I wasn’t looking that I found him in bottomless cups of coffee and endless African sunsets. The native tongue of the promised land and Porsha O’s calligraphy ink of black-bodied water etched on off-white paper.

Now I feel the pain

He was just like that water, and I was a slave caught in his enigma; lost in his tranquility and captured by his rage - swallowed whole when he kissed me.

Love me in the morning anyways (anyways, anyways, anyways)

And not once did I try to swim away.