song_tra_bong | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Mary Anne is pretty sure she's found the right world. That knowledge isn't as comforting as she'd thought it would be.

The trail leads her to a hotel, where she almost drops the ball. The description of the man sounds like Ramon, but the presence of two kids throw her. She almost lets it go.

Almost.

But then she figures the guy could be mistaken, or maybe it's part of Ramon's cover, or maybe...

She follows the lead.

Ramon (she's assuming it's Ramon) did a good job of covering his tracks. But there are still things to point the way: someone cleaned the cabin, stocked it with food. Even false names on rental paperwork are names, and they're names she's seen before.

(Spain, France, Switzerland)

She doesn't think she's assuming any more.

She rents a motorcycle, an offroad number with chunky tires and an engine that growls like a bear. She rides it most of the way up the mountain, before parking it and hiding it off the side of the road. She continues the rest of the distance on foot.

There's a gun in the small of her back, money and ammo in the bag at her hip; knives in all the usual places. She thinks she's right, but it's important to be prepared.

She steps up onto the porch, careful not to let the boards creak, then knocks on the door.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She groans in frustration.

"Is this where I have to start begging?"

He laughs quietly and lifts his head, but doesn't stop using his fingers.

'No. This is where you get to enjoy a whole night of fucking. Did you think I was going to let you off easy?'

Harderfaster, then slowing to practically nothing and a tug on her clit with his lips.

'Or do you just want my cock, Mary Anne? You can fucking have it if that's what you want.'

It's what it wants.

"I--aaaAH--"

What was she saying? She pauses, licks her lips, starts again.

"I juuust want you to make me come, however you want."

Ohhhh, decisions decisions. He spends a good few minutes thinking about that, alternating between conversation ('you taste sweet, might just stay down here for a few days'), trying not to think about how desperate he's getting (wantinwantinwantin) and, oh yeah, touching her exactly where she's show him she likes it, not teasing now, taking it seriously while pretending not to.

He's wanted to see her come for years, he's not about to deny her forever. So he toys with her but not too much, just helping her get ready.

"God damnnnnn..."

She grits her teeth, hips jerking into his hand.

(Thats'sitthat'sitthatis'it)

No joking now and no stopping either. His eyes lock on her face and don't move, he follows every expression while his breathing gets heavier, matching hers, pushing her along, building her up.

"'M so close, please I--I--"

The words cut off and her mouth works soundlessly, breath hitching as she teeters on the edge.

He keeps going, doesn't break rhythm, just speeds up a touch, a bit more pressure here and there and not taking his eyes off her, wanting to see it all (yeah come on, comeforme, let me see it), harder now, feeling her tense, hoping she (comeforme comeforme) doesn't lose it.

She screams.

Fingers so tight in the sheets, they look almost bloodless. Back arching into a half-moon and holding, head thrown back, she screams until her lungs are empty and she's sobbing with the aftershocks.

He sees her through it with careful touches, slowing down, eyes shining and heavy breathing and trying to remember to do the nice things - kisses and smiles and an arm around her and all he can think of is what he needs now, how he doesn't want to hold off but he does and it's kiling him.

'Are you OK?'

"I am all kinds of okay."

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a kiss to demonstrate.

He smiles into it, reciprocates, enjoys the idea that she can probably taste herself in his mouth and then sits back, keeping her legs apart with his knees while he unbuckles his belt.

'You are sexy as hell,' he says and there's no romance in his tone, only lust.

"Damn straight," she purrs, stretching her arms out over her head.

'Maybe I didn't make you come hard enough,' he says, unbuttoning his fly with a dark smirk. 'You're still full of yourself.'

His jeans are pushed down to mid-thigh and left there, one arm pins hers down as he leans forward. There is no preamble; she can probably tell by the state of him that he's edging past desperate now. He just pushes into her with an appreciative groan amd his free arm grabs her leg to hold it up so he can get deeper.

'Stop me if it hurts.'

(Dontstopme,fuck)

"Gonna have to fuck me pretty hard to train that out of me."

She moans, wrapping her other leg around his his waist to pull him closer.

"Doesn't hurt," she pants. "God, you feel so good."

'God, you're so tight.' Like his voice, vacuum-packed, keeping everything in.

He does fuck her hard, rough, past caring already because there's nothing in the world but breathing and pleasure and moans and the bed banging hard against the wall.

She cries out with every thrust, rocking her hips into his.

She's going to be sore in the morning and she doesn't care; she just wants him to keep going, urging him on with strings of words both needy and profane.

He kisses her to stop her talking pretty soon, the words threaten to finish this for him. He's trying not to focus on it because it'll be over if he does, if he thinks about warmth and wet and the grip around him and....he screws his eyes shut, forces it away because it's too good to end yet.

She rakes her teeth over his lower lip, then lets her head fall back, eyes closed and a moan rumbling low in her throat.

'I can't...can't...Dios...'

He's trying, he's trying but he can't keep it out anymore. Defences crumble and the moans get louder, rising in cresendo until there is sudden, abrubt silence as his muscles tense, rocking into her hard as he comes. It's too intense to even enjoy properly, all about release of tension, a years worth of pent up frustration erupting at once.

He stays where he is for a while, just releasing her arms and letting his head drop forward onto her shoulder as he tries to get his breath back.

She cards her fingers through his hair while her other hand rubs his back, murmuring soothing strings of nonsense syllables, just enjoying the weight of him.

He stays there a minute or so, then rolls off her. He kicks off his jeans the rest of the way then lies back, his head resting on a bent arm.

Doesn't say anything. Not sure what there is to say.

She props herself up on one elbow, chin resting on her hand, and spends a moment just watching his face.

Slowly, tentatively, she reaches out and trails her fingertips through his hair.

He doesn't stop her but doesn't really move either. Just lets her.

Her movements become less tentative, the rhythm steady, but she doesn't touch him anywhere else yet.