sacramentalisms | duplicity

[ they need to be careful; the furniture's only so stable, along with everything else in the ramshackle building. her hands move to his shoulders as he lowers himself onto the bed, arms around her waist as he guides her to settle on his lap, her legs draped over his hips.

her breath hitches in her throat as she feels him hard between her legs, and her hips give an involuntary grind as she tightens her grip on his shoulders. then he finds her mouth again and she redoubles her efforts in kissing him back, her hands roaming, seeing out skin. ]

[the bed audibly creaks under their weight, betraying the state of it in a way that doesn't require his enhanced senses to know; it, just like the pipes in the walls, along with everything else in this building, has experienced much better days. if it's barely able to handle two people who are (mostly) still, much more than that is likely to break the bed frame.

still, in the instant that her hips grind against him and he groans into her mouth, he decides it's worth the risk.

(anything that he can feel of her, with her, is worth the risk. he'll never make the mistake of thinking otherwise again.)

one hand reaching to thread through her hair, he lets the other brush over her hips as he arches up into the motion, seeking out more.]

[ her hips rock once again as she hears (and feels) him groan into her mouth, the corners of hers puling into a slight upward curve. there's a light gasp as she feels his fingers thread through her hair, a thrill running though her as she recalls that time in the boxing ring at fogwell's, leaving her shivering as she presses herself flush to him.

she stays there a moment, her hips giving a slow roll now as she kisses him deeply, and once the roll comes to a stop she presses further forward, encouraging him to lie back. at some point they need to pause in their kissing to breathe and she trails her mouth over his skin, kissing down his jawline and throat as her hands clutch at his shoulders. ]

[he doesn't need to breathe, does he? couldn't he be sustained just by this alone, kissing her forever? after her heart had stopped in his arms, and after he'd woken again, broken and beaten, with her name on his lips, he hadn't felt alive; there's no question, now, with her body pressed flush to his, with her shiver like it's his own, that he's exactly that. alive.

it feels good, being alive. with her. it feels good, lying back to let her come over top of him, no matter how shitty the mattress is that almost immediately sags under their combined weight.

and even if there's a light noise of protest when she breaks from his mouth, it feels good to have hers move over his skin. the noise shifts into a moan, and he grips at her with both hands, fingers curling and digging in.]

[ no one's made her feel more alive, more like a person, than he has. most everyone in her life has tried to use her, to craft her into what they needed her to be and been disappointed when she wasn't. it had started with stick, but it certainly hadn't ended with him. there had been instructors, parents, socialite friends. but never him. he'd been frightened of what was within her, but he hadn't tried to make her change. hadn't tried to have her murdered because she wasn't willing to do it for him anymore.

she pushes those thoughts aside, growling as she feels his hands grip her sides and rocking her hips down onto his with purpose. she nips at his lower lip and moves her hands down, shifting and grasping until she works off the remainder of her clothing, trying to assist him with his. ]

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