Letter, Anna/Gabriel for smut_69, NC-17 (duh!)
Written for the challenge at smut_69 for prompt 43. Talking Dirty.
Quick, dirty and unbetaed. The mistakes are all mine. Have mercy on a small dyslexic and enjoy the p0rn.
Also I'm not completely sure if it wise to post this, but oh hell.
Summary: Anna has a dirty mouth. Well a dirty pen.
Letter
She had been in the Portuguese colonies for seven weeks now, and Gabriel is forced to admit to himself that he was growing more and more aggravated by her absence. Besides a few telegrams to the Order, she had not been in any communication with him. Part of him admires her resilience and commitment, but mostly he just wants to hear her voice, even in letter form. This is until her letter actually arrives.
He knows that Anna likes to write letters. He has seen the stacks of them in her study. She likes to write, likes how the ink makes words real. The letter he is holding is not what he expected. Anna’s elegant handwriting does not spell out things he wanted to hear. He wanted to know if she is allright. He wanted to know if she had been successful. If she was alive.
The air is moist and hot here, like nothing I’ve experienced before. The linen shirts glue to my skin. It is sticky and hot I miss your body in my bed. At night when it is cooler and the crickets hum in the air I lie back and push my fingers where yours should be.
She had had the letter sent to the order and he opens it in the work room, with Carl trying to peek over his shoulder of any news of Anna. He jerks the paper away from the friar’s eyes roughly. The black words are burned into his brain and he can almost see her; pen in hand, slowly composing each letter lovingly.
The priests here speak of how holy my quest is, but you know that there is nothing holy about this. About me spreading my legs for you at night in the laboratory when everyone else is asleep. I think about that now, the grainy wood and your cock and how much I want you pounding into me right this moment.
Gabriel storms through the labyrinthine hallways of the underbelly of the Vatican. His private little room is buried right in the bottom, where no one would come looking for the most wanted man in Europe. He feels like the words are becoming alive on the page; with her accented voice breathing them into his ear.
What do you want to do to me, Gabriel?
It’s just words and he should be able to be rational; to read them without feeling her hand behind every sentence. The stone wall of his room and cold and scrape against his skin. He wants to wrap both of his feverish hands around his cock but he cannot let go of the letter.
Because I want you to just stand there and look while I undress. I can even turn around for you if you ask nicely. I love the headboard of our bed. I can grab hold of it. You can come closer now, Gabriel. You can run those calloused fingers down my back and ass, and oh, I love your fingers. They are just coarse enough to make me feel everything.
It is like she is there watching him, knowing exactly what he can never deny himself. And that is why she writes to him. Because she knows him and knows that he needs this, even when she cannot be there.
You can take you clothes off now, Gabriel. I like to watch you when you do. I know the feel of you against my back, the feel of your fingers sliding in. But I want you, I want you cock. And I love it when you are fierce, you do not want to be, but still you bite me.
The grip of his hand is frantic, and he thinks he is going to die if he cannot come right this moment. But she keeps writing and the words will not let him. They make him hang on onto the edge of pain.
I hold onto to the bed, but it shakes. Sometimes we even make the wood crack, Gabriel. I can only scream in our bedroom. I howl and cry and your fingers are pushing against me relentlessly.
The words stop like she knows that here is his breaking point. He comes and spills himself all over his hands and the crumbled letter. And he thinks he can see her smile as she finishes the final strokes of the pen.
Is this what you wanted to hear? You do not care about the mission. You know I could never fail. But you miss this and you never admit it to yourself. I want you to feel it now.
Yes, yes my love, he cannot help but think. This is what he needed to hear, even if he can never tell her that. But he will feel it for her now.
with love,
Anna.
Quick, dirty and unbetaed. The mistakes are all mine. Have mercy on a small dyslexic and enjoy the p0rn.
Also I'm not completely sure if it wise to post this, but oh hell.
Summary: Anna has a dirty mouth. Well a dirty pen.
Letter
She had been in the Portuguese colonies for seven weeks now, and Gabriel is forced to admit to himself that he was growing more and more aggravated by her absence. Besides a few telegrams to the Order, she had not been in any communication with him. Part of him admires her resilience and commitment, but mostly he just wants to hear her voice, even in letter form. This is until her letter actually arrives.
He knows that Anna likes to write letters. He has seen the stacks of them in her study. She likes to write, likes how the ink makes words real. The letter he is holding is not what he expected. Anna’s elegant handwriting does not spell out things he wanted to hear. He wanted to know if she is allright. He wanted to know if she had been successful. If she was alive.
The air is moist and hot here, like nothing I’ve experienced before. The linen shirts glue to my skin. It is sticky and hot I miss your body in my bed. At night when it is cooler and the crickets hum in the air I lie back and push my fingers where yours should be.
She had had the letter sent to the order and he opens it in the work room, with Carl trying to peek over his shoulder of any news of Anna. He jerks the paper away from the friar’s eyes roughly. The black words are burned into his brain and he can almost see her; pen in hand, slowly composing each letter lovingly.
The priests here speak of how holy my quest is, but you know that there is nothing holy about this. About me spreading my legs for you at night in the laboratory when everyone else is asleep. I think about that now, the grainy wood and your cock and how much I want you pounding into me right this moment.
Gabriel storms through the labyrinthine hallways of the underbelly of the Vatican. His private little room is buried right in the bottom, where no one would come looking for the most wanted man in Europe. He feels like the words are becoming alive on the page; with her accented voice breathing them into his ear.
What do you want to do to me, Gabriel?
It’s just words and he should be able to be rational; to read them without feeling her hand behind every sentence. The stone wall of his room and cold and scrape against his skin. He wants to wrap both of his feverish hands around his cock but he cannot let go of the letter.
Because I want you to just stand there and look while I undress. I can even turn around for you if you ask nicely. I love the headboard of our bed. I can grab hold of it. You can come closer now, Gabriel. You can run those calloused fingers down my back and ass, and oh, I love your fingers. They are just coarse enough to make me feel everything.
It is like she is there watching him, knowing exactly what he can never deny himself. And that is why she writes to him. Because she knows him and knows that he needs this, even when she cannot be there.
You can take you clothes off now, Gabriel. I like to watch you when you do. I know the feel of you against my back, the feel of your fingers sliding in. But I want you, I want you cock. And I love it when you are fierce, you do not want to be, but still you bite me.
The grip of his hand is frantic, and he thinks he is going to die if he cannot come right this moment. But she keeps writing and the words will not let him. They make him hang on onto the edge of pain.
I hold onto to the bed, but it shakes. Sometimes we even make the wood crack, Gabriel. I can only scream in our bedroom. I howl and cry and your fingers are pushing against me relentlessly.
The words stop like she knows that here is his breaking point. He comes and spills himself all over his hands and the crumbled letter. And he thinks he can see her smile as she finishes the final strokes of the pen.
Is this what you wanted to hear? You do not care about the mission. You know I could never fail. But you miss this and you never admit it to yourself. I want you to feel it now.
Yes, yes my love, he cannot help but think. This is what he needed to hear, even if he can never tell her that. But he will feel it for her now.
with love,
Anna.