porn battle fic: twilight of white nights [cowboy bebop, r]
lol, i've been filling in the randomest prompts tbh.
twilight of white nights
cowboy bebop
r | faye, spike/faye | 878
spoilers/warnings: none
summary: The grate is cold and sharp at her back, the grooves pressing and marking her in ways she knows he won't.
n: second porn battle fill; prompt: absent, light. (yeah, idek either.) unbeated porn sorry!
The grate is cold and sharp at her back, the grooves pressing and marking her in ways she knows he won't. Her fingers curls into holes and she feels the bite of her nails in her palm. She'll have her marks for minutes after they're done.
His lips trail down the line of her sternum, and the stubble on the underside of his chin - the little spot he missed when shaving - scratches her skin and she bites her lip not to laugh. She wishes she could. Laugh and tease him, dig her nails into his back, but they don't mark each other. It's how this works and why it keeps working.
Spike mouths at her chest, his hands curving and cupping her breast, fingers brushing and digging into her skin; palms passing over her ribs. His touch isn't light, but it ghosts over her.
Groaning, she lifts her hips to him, wanting him to just get on with it. His smirk stretches on her stomach and one hand uncurls from the grooves on the cold floor to fist in his hair. Faye tugs, quick and sharp, twisting her lips in smile when he lips his head and narrows his gaze at her. Two tones, she thinks, and reaches down to guide in him or else her hand would drift to his face and trace his the line of his cheeks.
And they don't do that. That is something for someone else to do with him in moments like this and that someone is not her. (There are reasons she doesn't think about. They are:
Because he won't let her be.
Because she won't let him know she wants to be.
Because they are not really here.
Because if he lets her and she lets him that means something that they've already decided they can't be.
But Faye doesn't let herself think these things.)
He chokes a little, when she grips him; his Adam's apple bobs in his throat, and she lifts herself up on one arm to nip at it. He growls, hands at her hips and pushes her back down to the floor. She can already she the light mark of her teeth fading in crappy lightening of the ship. It hums under them, their ship, their not-(can't be)-home and Faye smiles as she rolls her hips.
Grins, her teeth flashing around smudged red lips, "Taking too long, Cowboy."
He glares at her, curves his hand around her ass, and thrusts in hard enough to make her gasp. "Shut up, Romani." She can see where the rest of her lipstick rubbed over his lips and jaw.
"Make me."
He doesn't laugh, but the line of his mouth softens like he wants too, "If only I could."
She tugs at his hair, again.
This is the game they play here - no lingering, no marks, no memories - and they're masters at it now. She lifts her knees and tightens her thighs around his hip. One hand hold her ass up and they don't look away from each other as her hands digs into the grooves on the ship and her nails bite into her palm. His knees get scrapped and he leans over her, propped on his forarm, and they gasp into each other's mouth.
When her eyes flutter, his hands slips and curves under her back, pulling her closer. She has to focus so her grip isn't bruising on his arms and back. Her heels drop and dig into the floor and she wants to bury her in his neck, bite down right there where his pulse hums, but that's not what they do.
"Fuck," she groans, her back bowing back. The slap of his hands against the metal barely registers and she would drop back to the floor if not for her arms around his neck.
His breath is coming in heavy in her ear - she thinks she imagines him pressing kisses too soft for their unwritten rules to skin just there - and his thrust are erratic and sharp as her muscles contract around him.
Spike presses her to her floor as they start to loose their rhythm and her arm drops from around his neck, her breath coming in heavy and uneven, as he tilts her face up. The tips of his fingers lay against her temples while his thumb frames her chin. He's panting against her lips. She's panting against his. (His elbows will get scrapped too.) She cuffs her hands around his wrists, holding him steady, as she feels him pull out and finish between their bodies. Faye sighs.
Fingers fall away from her face, as does his gaze. His nose presses against her collar bone.
She feels his tongue at the hollow of the throat, licking at her sweat and Faye closes her eyes. Her hands are both fisted, one at her side, the other in his hair. Her palms will show the marks she's made. Her back will carry the fading impression of the metal of the ship, and his knees and elbow will be scrapped come tomorrow hidden in the folds of his suits. And they will be the only marks they carry. Fading impressions of each other, because that all they can give each other right now.
That the only way these moments can work.
twilight of white nights
cowboy bebop
r | faye, spike/faye | 878
spoilers/warnings: none
summary: The grate is cold and sharp at her back, the grooves pressing and marking her in ways she knows he won't.
n: second porn battle fill; prompt: absent, light. (yeah, idek either.) unbeated porn sorry!
The grate is cold and sharp at her back, the grooves pressing and marking her in ways she knows he won't. Her fingers curls into holes and she feels the bite of her nails in her palm. She'll have her marks for minutes after they're done.
His lips trail down the line of her sternum, and the stubble on the underside of his chin - the little spot he missed when shaving - scratches her skin and she bites her lip not to laugh. She wishes she could. Laugh and tease him, dig her nails into his back, but they don't mark each other. It's how this works and why it keeps working.
Spike mouths at her chest, his hands curving and cupping her breast, fingers brushing and digging into her skin; palms passing over her ribs. His touch isn't light, but it ghosts over her.
Groaning, she lifts her hips to him, wanting him to just get on with it. His smirk stretches on her stomach and one hand uncurls from the grooves on the cold floor to fist in his hair. Faye tugs, quick and sharp, twisting her lips in smile when he lips his head and narrows his gaze at her. Two tones, she thinks, and reaches down to guide in him or else her hand would drift to his face and trace his the line of his cheeks.
And they don't do that. That is something for someone else to do with him in moments like this and that someone is not her. (There are reasons she doesn't think about. They are:
Because he won't let her be.
Because she won't let him know she wants to be.
Because they are not really here.
Because if he lets her and she lets him that means something that they've already decided they can't be.
But Faye doesn't let herself think these things.)
He chokes a little, when she grips him; his Adam's apple bobs in his throat, and she lifts herself up on one arm to nip at it. He growls, hands at her hips and pushes her back down to the floor. She can already she the light mark of her teeth fading in crappy lightening of the ship. It hums under them, their ship, their not-(can't be)-home and Faye smiles as she rolls her hips.
Grins, her teeth flashing around smudged red lips, "Taking too long, Cowboy."
He glares at her, curves his hand around her ass, and thrusts in hard enough to make her gasp. "Shut up, Romani." She can see where the rest of her lipstick rubbed over his lips and jaw.
"Make me."
He doesn't laugh, but the line of his mouth softens like he wants too, "If only I could."
She tugs at his hair, again.
This is the game they play here - no lingering, no marks, no memories - and they're masters at it now. She lifts her knees and tightens her thighs around his hip. One hand hold her ass up and they don't look away from each other as her hands digs into the grooves on the ship and her nails bite into her palm. His knees get scrapped and he leans over her, propped on his forarm, and they gasp into each other's mouth.
When her eyes flutter, his hands slips and curves under her back, pulling her closer. She has to focus so her grip isn't bruising on his arms and back. Her heels drop and dig into the floor and she wants to bury her in his neck, bite down right there where his pulse hums, but that's not what they do.
"Fuck," she groans, her back bowing back. The slap of his hands against the metal barely registers and she would drop back to the floor if not for her arms around his neck.
His breath is coming in heavy in her ear - she thinks she imagines him pressing kisses too soft for their unwritten rules to skin just there - and his thrust are erratic and sharp as her muscles contract around him.
Spike presses her to her floor as they start to loose their rhythm and her arm drops from around his neck, her breath coming in heavy and uneven, as he tilts her face up. The tips of his fingers lay against her temples while his thumb frames her chin. He's panting against her lips. She's panting against his. (His elbows will get scrapped too.) She cuffs her hands around his wrists, holding him steady, as she feels him pull out and finish between their bodies. Faye sighs.
Fingers fall away from her face, as does his gaze. His nose presses against her collar bone.
She feels his tongue at the hollow of the throat, licking at her sweat and Faye closes her eyes. Her hands are both fisted, one at her side, the other in his hair. Her palms will show the marks she's made. Her back will carry the fading impression of the metal of the ship, and his knees and elbow will be scrapped come tomorrow hidden in the folds of his suits. And they will be the only marks they carry. Fading impressions of each other, because that all they can give each other right now.
That the only way these moments can work.