[ this, more than anything else, finally forces her to consider that she'd misread. that he hadn't been the one who'd wanted her, not like this. that it had been her all along, shameful as it was. that maybe it was her desire that had leaked across the bond and spilled flower petals and thorns into his chest as well as hers.
the possibility does more to warm her cheeks than kissing him had. ]
( it's an adorable site, really, seeing her grapple with this. aristaeus lets the moment stretch, lets her uncertainty drag out a little more, fester, before he dips his head in a nod. )
Yes.
( unlike mavis, there's no reluctance in the admission. it's a pointless thing to fight against, now. )
[ a warmth spreads through her chest. a tingling, prickling feeling that is almost like the cold, except that it's molten and overwhelming.
for a moment, the only sound is the hitch of her breath and the shift of the blankets and the wind outside. the world feels still. then, she leans in again to close her mouth over his once more, hungrier this time, less cautious, less hesitant. devouring. ]
( there are worse ways to stave off the cold ㅡ not that he has much experience in this, in the greedy intimacy of it.
because mavis isn't just kissing him, she's laying claim to him. deepening the niche she'd carved for herself all those months ago. and he welcomes it.
ㅡ well, for a little while anyway. the cot creaks, groans, as it shifts beneath their combined weight. his injuries twinge, warning, alongside this but he is determined to do more than lie back passively and take. )
[ the pain in knee, in his shoulders as he twists to her, ache as if they were her own. but that pain is only as appealing as the tug at her scalp. she presses her body more closely against his as their mouths move together, a sloppy clacking of teeth and parting of lips that spreads warmth throughout her.
but she doesn't want this to stop, so she quickly makes room between their bodies, keeping her mouth on his, and pushes on his ribs to lay him out flat beneath her, between her thighs. her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, just long enough now to hang like curtains around their faces.
she may have lost the challenge, but she can conquer him here, like this. ]
( she's manhandling him — which annoys him a little, honestly, although it's less to do with mavis herself than the reminder of his fresh-minted (and much resented) mortality.
given his lack of experience, it makes sense to allow her to lead.
so his hands slip from her hair, down to her shoulders, and he's holding onto her. an anchor in the storm. the one thing that seems to make sense anymore. )
[ as his palms settle against the bare, warm skin of her shoulders, she becomes aware of something, suddenly clear like it has come into sharp focus. the bond she'd made between them shows her his thoughts, his feelings, like they are her own. this close, they seem to melt together even more. kossos had terrified her — the loss of herself, what she had fought so hard to preserve for so long; yet this? she relaxes into it, lets the boundaries between them bleed. ]
I haven't done this before either. [ her nose brushes his as the words come out in rasps, her breath already heavy as if it had exerted her to do any of this. why was her heart racing like this? why doesn't any of it feel like enough? ] It's not just you.
[ is that a comfort? it feels like one. they are lost, but they are lost together. all she knows is that despite the blanket slipping down her back, pooling to their hips, she doesn't feel cold. not even with her thighs exposed. ]
( there's a prickle of heat. an urge to look away from her dark, shining eyes. he seizes hold of that urge with both hands, throttling it.
he has nothing to fear, here. nothing to feel ashamed of. and he can't even retreat behind the usual wall of anger because she is reaching out to him, so gently and sweetly, and even if he doesn't know what to do, he wants to learn. )
We'll figure it out. Together. ( because that's what partners do. )
[ a prickling sensation rolls down her spine, pooling in her pelvis. together. when did she last have that? she considers darcy in the cave, the cautious trepidation with which they'd held one another. and the way darcy had jumped away, overwhelmed, and they had shivered alone until morning instead of sharing each other's warmth.
together by now sounds like something too good to be true, an impossible promise. yet it thrills her down to her very marrow.
she bites at his lip, harder. then lifts one hand to cover his at her shoulder, guides it down to her chest, as she had seen others do, because her skin aches to be touched, even through the soft fabric of her shirt. ]
( when mavis moves his hand, his fingers spread, trying to maximize the points of contact. feels the thunder of her heart beneath his fingertips, even through the fabric.
can she feel how his races to match? )
You're so warm.
( so very soft despite all her sharp edges. he used to dream about this, about touching her like this, but in the vague ways of dreams. )
[ she squeezes his hand before dropping hers back to his ribcage, exploring the dips of his muscles, the bulge of his shoulders. like claiming territory. he doesn't stop her, doesn't push, just squeezes and what soft parts of herself she gives him. it makes her stop, pressing her forehead to his. ]
( — or to have to stop. still, her question does make him pause, considering.
however, it hasn't escaped him, the position he's in. how it places her in a position of dominance and control. from there, it's not hard to move right along to their duel. the terms.
[ does it matter, what she wants? the question is dizzying.
mavis chews on her lip.
she has never had to answer these concerns before, never had to navigate the realities. she has seen couples continue to fight, glee in their eyes with the promise of a challenge. they had always seemed happiest. as aristaeus had put it: they'd seemed like partners.
it could be that he regrets the terms, that now that she was weak and defeatable, that he hadn't wanted her. maybe he thought her weak for yielding. or it could be that he is too injured, still, and she is some kind of pervert for taking advantage of his weakness.
the bond between them ripples as she probes at it. no. it's neither. it's honest. ]
You're supposed to. [ she swallows. ] You can't just give it to me without a fight. That's ... [ she's blushing. what kind of kinky shit. ]
I don't know; this sounds like an elaborate scheme to murder me while I'm weak and vulnerable.
( as close to teasing as he ever gets.
the question is how. moving too quickly pulls on his injuries. it doesn't take a genius to figure out that there's only so much luck he can count on, there.
he huffs, frustrated. then, inspired, he shifts his hand from her of her neck. ) Is this what you want?
( a rhetorical question. he can tell just how much she enjoys it. how her pulse spikes when he adds pressure. )
[ the dishonor wouldn't be in him sleeping; it'd be in her doing it after he'd already won the challenge.
it doesn't matter, in the end. his hand closes around her throat, and she tilts her chin up to give him room there, despite what she'd just finished saying about the lewdness of submission. a breathy noise eeks out of her and her fingers curl on his chest to make fists.
she shifts, and her weight on his pelvis offers a pleasant sort of friction. ] This ... [ she brings a hand to cover his, squeezes it on her throat. ] ... isn't about what I want. [ how embarrassing would it be, if it were? no. the whole point to him fighting is trying to take what he wants instead of letting her have what she does. ] What about you?
( she's honest, at least. if he'd been in her place, he can't be sure he wouldn't have gone through with it.
but then she's tilting her chin: it's an invitation that's at least half deflection. they'll be circling back to that later. )
What do I want? ( his fingers twitch around her throat, like he's testing how much she can take. ) Usually, I'd have you on your stomach by now. ( but fucking in the breeding center is absolutely nothing like fucking in the real world, it turns out. it's not neat and impersonal. there's no suppressants to smooth over all those jagged, unpleasant edges. )
But since we're improvising, I want you to take me out.
[ on her stomach. she remembers his hand in her hair and his knife around her throat and how it had reminded her of challenges she'd watched where they had not made it back to their tents or even out of the challenge circle before they were rutting together, how it made her ache to be wanted like that.
the image is disturbed by another. by black curtains and a soft robe and aristaeus, alone, in a room that he doesn't find cold but mavis does. the disparity knits a single line between her brows.
she takes his meaning, though. it is not the contest of wills and strength that her culture tells her this should be, a wrestling of control as they both try to conquer each other — but it's what she wants too. tentatively, she unfastens his pants, opens the fly and plunges her hand down inside.
his cock feels softer to the touch even than his lips, despite the stiffness of muscle, rigid like a dagger's hilt in her hand. the angle of her wrist is awkward, and the hand around her throat keeps her from looking down at him properly, but her thumb searches along the widened head, exploring the unfamiliar shape. she has never been close enough to a man to do this before. ]
( not that she needs the warning. her touch is tentative, if curious. the muscles in his stomach twitch and flutter; he is not used to this. it feels so ...indulgent.
it makes him restless. makes him want to claw his way right out of his skin. but, instead, he exhales a slow breath. tries to ground himself. )
If you're this curious, maybe next time I'll make you use your mouth.
Make me? [ she scoffs, then uses her other hand to prod at his shoulder, where she knows the wound is still healing. ] You aren't much of a challenge.
[ how willingly he surrendered. even now, with his hand squeezed around her neck, he is at her mercy. she closes her fist around his cock to remind him of this. ]
( he sucks in a breath; air hissing across his teeth, as he bucks up into the grip. there's a brief, confusing stretch of time where his body is insisting one thing while his mind is vehemently insisting on another.
they decide to split the difference. )
Big talk, ( the hand on her hip shifts, slapping down on her ass with enough force to ensure he has her attention. ) for someone whose life has been literally in my hands. Now either get me ready or get the fuck out of my bed.
[ she jolts, a shocked noise almost like a squeak erupting from her throat. higher and sharper than any she's made. it sounds like someone else's voice. this feels like someone else's life.
the cold air makes it sting worse, even after the initial pain is gone. like a burn, it prickles across her skin outward. ]
What do you mean? [ ready? she had only ever seen anyone fall into it. already fully hard, ready to press into the other. even as she asks it, her cheeks are reddening, her voice a little scratchy with the squeeze of his fingers around her throat. it's shameful, in a way. but it's not like she's conceding yet. it's not like she is eagerly complying. ]
Keep touching me. ( a memory filtering across the bond. that room, again. dark, soothing colors and a weight to his body that feels unnatural but is welcome all the same.
in the memory, he's touching himself: quick, perfunctory strokes that are meant to get the job done. what does it say that here, in reality, he's half-hard already? )
Stupid. [ she mumbles it out, even as she shifts her weight, the wet patch in her underwear made more irritating as it spreads. ] What do you think I'm doing?
[ he wants to tell himself he's in control, she decides, and she's had enough of that delusion. it is easy to intuit and mimic the stroking movements she has witnessed before — both between two rutting clan members, and in memory, with his own hand.
under her touch, he grows rigid in her hand. grows the operative word, and mavis' hips wriggle as anticipation crawls across her skin. there is a challenge in the size of him, where she has only ever had her own slim fingers to fill herself, and it begets a hunger in her. ]
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no subject
[ this, more than anything else, finally forces her to consider that she'd misread. that he hadn't been the one who'd wanted her, not like this. that it had been her all along, shameful as it was. that maybe it was her desire that had leaked across the bond and spilled flower petals and thorns into his chest as well as hers.
the possibility does more to warm her cheeks than kissing him had. ]
no subject
( he's studying her, now. a clear-eyed predator assessing potential prey. taking note of those flushed cheeks, the stuttering of her heartbeat.
she's not afraid, he doesn't think. no more than she ever is where he's concerned. )
Explain it to me.
( an order rather than a question. )
no subject
[ frustration furrows in her expression, pursing her lips, crinkling her nose. ]
To be close.
[ it sounds like something pried out of her chest, through cracked ribs. ]
no subject
Yes.
( unlike mavis, there's no reluctance in the admission. it's a pointless thing to fight against, now. )
I want that.
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for a moment, the only sound is the hitch of her breath and the shift of the blankets and the wind outside. the world feels still. then, she leans in again to close her mouth over his once more, hungrier this time, less cautious, less hesitant. devouring. ]
no subject
because mavis isn't just kissing him, she's laying claim to him. deepening the niche she'd carved for herself all those months ago. and he welcomes it.
ㅡ well, for a little while anyway. the cot creaks, groans, as it shifts beneath their combined weight. his injuries twinge, warning, alongside this but he is determined to do more than lie back passively and take. )
no subject
but she doesn't want this to stop, so she quickly makes room between their bodies, keeping her mouth on his, and pushes on his ribs to lay him out flat beneath her, between her thighs. her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, just long enough now to hang like curtains around their faces.
she may have lost the challenge, but she can conquer him here, like this. ]
no subject
given his lack of experience, it makes sense to allow her to lead.
so his hands slip from her hair, down to her shoulders, and he's holding onto her. an anchor in the storm. the one thing that seems to make sense anymore. )
no subject
I haven't done this before either. [ her nose brushes his as the words come out in rasps, her breath already heavy as if it had exerted her to do any of this. why was her heart racing like this? why doesn't any of it feel like enough? ] It's not just you.
[ is that a comfort? it feels like one. they are lost, but they are lost together. all she knows is that despite the blanket slipping down her back, pooling to their hips, she doesn't feel cold. not even with her thighs exposed. ]
no subject
he has nothing to fear, here. nothing to feel ashamed of. and he can't even retreat behind the usual wall of anger because she is reaching out to him, so gently and sweetly, and even if he doesn't know what to do, he wants to learn. )
We'll figure it out. Together. ( because that's what partners do. )
no subject
together by now sounds like something too good to be true, an impossible promise. yet it thrills her down to her very marrow.
she bites at his lip, harder. then lifts one hand to cover his at her shoulder, guides it down to her chest, as she had seen others do, because her skin aches to be touched, even through the soft fabric of her shirt. ]
no subject
can she feel how his races to match? )
You're so warm.
( so very soft despite all her sharp edges. he used to dream about this, about touching her like this, but in the vague ways of dreams. )
no subject
[ she squeezes his hand before dropping hers back to his ribcage, exploring the dips of his muscles, the bulge of his shoulders. like claiming territory. he doesn't stop her, doesn't push, just squeezes and what soft parts of herself she gives him. it makes her stop, pressing her forehead to his. ]
You're not fighting back.
no subject
( — or to have to stop. still, her question does make him pause, considering.
however, it hasn't escaped him, the position he's in. how it places her in a position of dominance and control. from there, it's not hard to move right along to their duel. the terms.
he wets his lip. ) Do you want me to fight you?
no subject
mavis chews on her lip.
she has never had to answer these concerns before, never had to navigate the realities. she has seen couples continue to fight, glee in their eyes with the promise of a challenge. they had always seemed happiest. as aristaeus had put it: they'd seemed like partners.
it could be that he regrets the terms, that now that she was weak and defeatable, that he hadn't wanted her. maybe he thought her weak for yielding. or it could be that he is too injured, still, and she is some kind of pervert for taking advantage of his weakness.
the bond between them ripples as she probes at it. no. it's neither. it's honest. ]
You're supposed to. [ she swallows. ] You can't just give it to me without a fight. That's ... [ she's blushing. what kind of kinky shit. ]
no subject
( as close to teasing as he ever gets.
the question is how. moving too quickly pulls on his injuries. it doesn't take a genius to figure out that there's only so much luck he can count on, there.
he huffs, frustrated. then, inspired, he shifts his hand from her of her neck. ) Is this what you want?
( a rhetorical question. he can tell just how much she enjoys it. how her pulse spikes when he adds pressure. )
no subject
[ the dishonor wouldn't be in him sleeping; it'd be in her doing it after he'd already won the challenge.
it doesn't matter, in the end. his hand closes around her throat, and she tilts her chin up to give him room there, despite what she'd just finished saying about the lewdness of submission. a breathy noise eeks out of her and her fingers curl on his chest to make fists.
she shifts, and her weight on his pelvis offers a pleasant sort of friction. ] This ... [ she brings a hand to cover his, squeezes it on her throat. ] ... isn't about what I want. [ how embarrassing would it be, if it were? no. the whole point to him fighting is trying to take what he wants instead of letting her have what she does. ] What about you?
no subject
but then she's tilting her chin: it's an invitation that's at least half deflection. they'll be circling back to that later. )
What do I want? ( his fingers twitch around her throat, like he's testing how much she can take. ) Usually, I'd have you on your stomach by now. ( but fucking in the breeding center is absolutely nothing like fucking in the real world, it turns out. it's not neat and impersonal. there's no suppressants to smooth over all those jagged, unpleasant edges. )
But since we're improvising, I want you to take me out.
no subject
the image is disturbed by another. by black curtains and a soft robe and aristaeus, alone, in a room that he doesn't find cold but mavis does. the disparity knits a single line between her brows.
she takes his meaning, though. it is not the contest of wills and strength that her culture tells her this should be, a wrestling of control as they both try to conquer each other — but it's what she wants too. tentatively, she unfastens his pants, opens the fly and plunges her hand down inside.
his cock feels softer to the touch even than his lips, despite the stiffness of muscle, rigid like a dagger's hilt in her hand. the angle of her wrist is awkward, and the hand around her throat keeps her from looking down at him properly, but her thumb searches along the widened head, exploring the unfamiliar shape. she has never been close enough to a man to do this before. ]
no subject
( not that she needs the warning. her touch is tentative, if curious. the muscles in his stomach twitch and flutter; he is not used to this. it feels so ...indulgent.
it makes him restless. makes him want to claw his way right out of his skin. but, instead, he exhales a slow breath. tries to ground himself. )
If you're this curious, maybe next time I'll make you use your mouth.
no subject
[ how willingly he surrendered. even now, with his hand squeezed around her neck, he is at her mercy. she closes her fist around his cock to remind him of this. ]
no subject
they decide to split the difference. )
Big talk, ( the hand on her hip shifts, slapping down on her ass with enough force to ensure he has her attention. ) for someone whose life has been literally in my hands. Now either get me ready or get the fuck out of my bed.
no subject
the cold air makes it sting worse, even after the initial pain is gone. like a burn, it prickles across her skin outward. ]
What do you mean? [ ready? she had only ever seen anyone fall into it. already fully hard, ready to press into the other. even as she asks it, her cheeks are reddening, her voice a little scratchy with the squeeze of his fingers around her throat. it's shameful, in a way. but it's not like she's conceding yet. it's not like she is eagerly complying. ]
no subject
in the memory, he's touching himself: quick, perfunctory strokes that are meant to get the job done. what does it say that here, in reality, he's half-hard already? )
no subject
[ he wants to tell himself he's in control, she decides, and she's had enough of that delusion. it is easy to intuit and mimic the stroking movements she has witnessed before — both between two rutting clan members, and in memory, with his own hand.
under her touch, he grows rigid in her hand. grows the operative word, and mavis' hips wriggle as anticipation crawls across her skin. there is a challenge in the size of him, where she has only ever had her own slim fingers to fill herself, and it begets a hunger in her. ]
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