open meme: mid-fuck
mid-fuck meme
Sick of wining and dining? Do you wish you could skip the foreplay and just cut to the porn already?
Well then, this meme is for you.
1. Post with your character in the middle of fucking or being fucked. Anything goes!
You can list your character name/canon/partner preference in the subject line if you want.
2. Other characters reply as ( Read more... )
[-- Allen. Allen is Allen. He always would be Allen. It is a terrifying thought in every sense of the word. Tyki had fought It for a long, long time, and Neah before him; they all had fought It. That was why she had loved them so much. They were strong and defiant, and that was just what she loved about them.]
[But ultimately, strong, defiant, or not, it didn't matter; they weren't going to succeed.]
[However. Allen, on the other hand ---]
[His hand is warm while her own skin is, for one reason or another, cool to the touch; the feeling of his palm laying flat against her hip causes a wave of goosebumps to course over her skin, and she shivers. Shivers. It's an unnatural feeling for someone - something? What a curious thought - that was generally the thing that went bump in the night, but one that she finds is quite delightful in itself. Thrilling.]
[The irony is that it is is also such a human thing to feel.]
[And as if to punish - reward? - him for making her shiver, for making her feel so human - what a horrible thought - her hips rock harder against him, driving him deeper in a primal way to, again, attempt to put a crack in that veneer of his.]
[Rhode is very well aware of the ribbons floating above her head, and while she had had an idea a moment ago, it is gone the moment his fingers curl into her hair. And then he's pulling her closer, and all she can manage is a small, hushed sound - a gasp, very small and barely audible - against his lips. Something cool and soft falls around them; the ribbons falling like soft red streams to pile around them.]
[Her idea of a game - because this... this was supposed to be a game, wasn't it? - is utterly lost, and she feels utterly lost, and utterly human, and while it's so utterly, terribly wrong, it's also so utterly, terribly, right.]
[Somehow, as contradictory as it is, for every bit as she is moving against him, rippling into him, the whole world seems to fall still, to take her by surprise. Usually, she was the one stealing kisses, not the other way around. And after a moment of recovery she remembers herself and tries to draw away from it.]
[She can't lose the game like this; the game isn't over, and she isn't done playing - but there is something in his movement that feels so final, she can't seem to quell the thought that it really is.]
[Another soft, soft gasp - this one sounds more like his name than a gasp. It isn't questioning, but it isn't not, either.]
...Allen?
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(Don't blink.)
Because all it really takes is that and his head's jerked back a little as well, startled because (stilled for a second because)--
'...Allen.'
So yes, he does blink for a second and suddenly that is Allen despite the bit of blood mixed with sweat on his cheek staining there. The snapped both out of and to the moment kind of surprise (fingers in her hair flex for a second, the kind where he might be drawing his hand back except he doesn't quite) where he just looks for a moment up at her. Where lips are parted for a second like he's about to say something in return and--doesn't.
Just that steady, clear-eyed look for a moment even if maybe more than a little hesitant. Like--
--that was against the rules.
But you know what?
He kind of hates games.
And then--he smiles. Just that little kind, kind of almost apologetic but not really, about three shades of gray into I know and everything that goes along with that.
There's just a small shift of his hand in her hair in the pause, moving to cradle more and brush the short hairs at the nape of her neck. The sort where he shudders as well for a moment if she does because he can feel that. And then--just quietly, just tilting his chin up for a moment, just slowly--leaning up a touch awkwardly but not really to much more gently insist on pressing his lips against hers. Not a claim staked, but a reminder of some point as insistent as it is gentle. Almost a ghost of a brush, then firmly and--
And the hand at her hip: just a light, lazy drag of nails against her skin as if curious, debating, encouraging her to rise up for a moment (and then he would shudder, gripping tighter there for a moment)--
Well. Almost a chaste kiss, really. Except not quite.
--And then a tug to encourage back down as he arches his hips up. Different now, slower and gentle in something half-restrained but definite.
And perhaps why indeed everything. But Rhode, as much as you might try to play games--always games--and as much as he always steps up to the table to match and call the bluff--
Even you can't twist it and lie to yourself like this, Rhode--not when they both gasp and lock together in this give and take. Stripped and raw there's only this now: sensation and feelings which are human and nothing and everything to do with Noah. A point he will drive forward with his every action and insist with every brush of lips, drag of a fingernail, any touch inside and out:
even when they aren't human, there is humanity.
No one escapes that. ]
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[... stealing kisses and playing games had been one thing - this... this, whatever this is, it isn't a game anymore; it is something else entirely. This is completely against the grain, completely against the tides, completely against the rules - which is saying something, as Rhode isn't usually one to follow anyone's rules but her own.]
[Her fingers twitch when he smiles - as if she is about to clench them into his coat and then doesn't - and her eyes fall to the curve of his lips. She might have won the first battle of wits - the battle to keep eyes open, to keep watching - before, but she's certainly losing this war now.]
[When Allen leans forward, Rhode doesn't move at all -- except for when her eyes finally flutter shut, long dark eyelashes brushing her cheeks, and she meets his lips with another slight shiver.]
[Too much. Too much, too soon, too vulnerable, too wide open, too raw... all of it, all of this, whatever this is because it certainly isn't a game anymore, it is entirely too much.]
[Rhode's fingers twitch once again, then twice, three times, before they finally clench into his coat. The shiver coursing through her starts to crescendo almost like a wicked melody - hah, melody - until she's quivering in a strange duality of pleasure and anger.]
[He's teasing her. He's filled her to the brim. He's pulling her apart. He's got her wrapped around his finger. He's --]
[She sharply releases a breath that she hadn't even realized she was holding against his lips as her grip tightens even more into his coat and she bites, savoring the coppery taste spilling onto her tongue.]
[We can escape it. We're greater than this. We're above this.]
[Whatever this is.]
[.... right?]
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And there was just the faintest sound from him before that, at how she shivered and clenched and it was almost a surprised sound but appreciative as well; reflected with a tightened if shaky grip on her hip.
--Though what followed was something he should have expected. Maybe half did, maybe half didn't.
Either way.
'Blood of the Lamb.'
Eyes that had drifted shut snap wide with a full-body jolt at the bite and sudden taste of his own blood as well. A half-muffled and surprised (pained) 'ah-!' as his head almost jerks back even as his spine arches reflexively, along with a tiny half-panicked snap up of his hips against his will.
(Not that he actually noticed for a moment. That hurt, damnit.)
But even with the blood and half mad over it enough to pull back and spit it out with a glare--he doesn't. Just a frozen pause for a moment--and then instead he cants his head a little and parts his mouth openly against hers; just for a moment that warm shared breath, even as the fingers in her hair tighten for a moment insistently.
Not a dare, but not shying away in the slightest.
'After all, we're the 'Lambs' to be sacrificed to God.'
It's not at all loving and yet it's nothing but--it's Allen. A little forceful but caring and rebuking while forgiving and laid bare in a way where there's really no shame and only a steadfast but quiet insistence in the very definition of outpouring--
--even to his own detriment.
Dare to touch the sun and it burns you for all that his feelings are said to be blinding as light.
But his right hand winds a little more firmly around her waist, pulling her again a little roughly to meet him on the next more insistent--punctuating--drive up (a shaky exhale through his nose across her cheek with a faint sound in the back of his throat at that contact).
Nothing and no one is greater than the humanity in humans, Rhode.
'That filthy Sheep.'
That's where you'll always be wrong.
And where even if he is a living sacrifice he's not sacrificed.
No one is.]
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[Coiling, coiling, coiling...]
[And for that, Rhode lets out a withering trill.]
[Stupid boy. Such a stupid, stupid boy. How was it possible to feel like this? To feel like she's flesh and bone and blood and not the wispy, horrifying things that children feared when they crawled into their beds or drove adults into madness? How was it possible for him to make her feel this way?]
[Human?]
[Rhode is trying so, so hard to keep drawing away, to properly screw her head back on her shoulders, to properly dig her nails into his skin and rip him to pieces - because she shouldn't feel this way, she shouldn't feel human - but there's the taste of blood in her mouth again, and that trill becomes something of an insistent groan, soft in its own right, and perhaps, if one is listening close enough, submissive. It's one thing to taste blood on her own tongue, it's completely different to taste it on Allen's]
[It's sweeter, however silly that thought may be.]
[She barely has a moment to savor it before he's moving again - God, how he moves - and her arms are slipping around him into a loose embrace.]
[Loose, because she's shifting now, too, twisting around so that her right leg can hook around him and the other can serve as a means to push herself backward until her back can meet the rumple of blankets making up their little nest on the floor. She hits the floor with a gasp; it breaks their kiss ( - not-kiss? - ) for only a moment, and when she comes back to it she's biting at him again as if deliberately trying to get a reaction. Her arms and leg pull Allen with her, pull him to her, and she tips her head away from his mouth in order to take a gulp of air.]
[If he's going to make her feel this way, then he's going to have to do this right.]
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And then--
Then the actual gauntlet was thrown down.
Startled, for a moment it's all he can do to almost scramble, rolling with her and he very nearly doesn't except by some miracle of haphazard grace and managing to brace himself. And fronts and masks and everything he had been holding on stubbornly kind of falls aside in a plainly surprised expression for a moment.
Almost--awed, and holding himself very still over her for a second. ]
Rho--
[ But then it would make sense to be cut off by her cutting him, so to speak. ]
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Stop. Biting. Damnit.
Except when she rips away to gulp in air he's more than a little ragged in breath again and sucking in more air than he thought he needed (automatic lick of the lips for a moment, a little annoyed at the sensation of blood from where she bit him). ... And glaring a little for the wound, but he braces and shifts more upright for a second.
Just a small movement at first, still holding himself up and running the hand that had been at her waist down and then up along the underside of her thigh even as his brows knit a little in barely-together concentration. Just encouraging her leg up a bit more, back a little more--
--until something worked and he arched a little unconsciously with a faint sound; a little part gasp, a little part groan. And because that worked he pulled back a little--before half-falling back over her small frame as he slid back in and shuddered at it with an open-mouthed pant against her throat.
In all of it, the beads on his opened (buttons long since ripped off) and barely hung on jacket clinking together with the movement was almost lost.
But his nose faintly brushing (nuzzling?) where her jawline met her neck (distracted, a little dazed) is gentle for a moment, like someone lost somewhere briefly surreal. And like it was easy or natural then, opening his mouth against her bared throat so his teeth graze the grayed skin there. A little hesitant, sort of languid but more like testing her reaction, and then repeated a little more quickly at the next push in. ... And then again and again, rising tempo--
Kissing? Nipping? Retaliation a little rough except sweet? Hard to tell and he's too dizzy to care, moving his mouth against throat, dip of shoulder (a little harder there), pulse in distracted and half-frenzied little grazes of his teeth. Heady and punctuated by pants against her skin with the sliding rise and fall of his hips and the hand under her knee encouraging there, that insistently with small pushes back.
Reminder reminder reminder more than words could ever say or they're ever be able to convince each other of verbally. ]
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[Nevermind that a violent and messy challenge is how this had started in the first place. Nevermind that that means it might happen again.]
[Rhode is a lot of things, but accepting change is not one of them. She had been, once. Once. A long time ago. But time has a habit of making a girl wiser. Change, she learned, has a nasty habit of bringing forth lots of things, things that make even her quiver in her bed at night, afraid of the things that might be lurking in shadows, things that bring with them the memory of her family dying in growing pools of blood.]
[But that, right now, is the furthest from her mind.]
[Her skin breaks out in another wave of goosebumps under his stare - his gaze is intense, and it makes her feel like a little girl again --]
[...Such a hauntingly familiar feeling...]
[-- which is exactly why she has to cut him off with that searing kiss. The longer he looks, the more undone she'll come and more vulnerable she'll be, and she's already crumbled her own fronts and masks and walls, already opened herself up enough as it is.]
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[Because Allen has already stripped her of so much, has brought her back to a place she told herself she wouldn't ever go again - and god damn it, she isn't going to go down without a little defiance. Because that is exactly the reaction she's looking for: that one little crack in his veneer, something to unveil what's lying just beneath his surface. If he can strip her of hers, damn it all, she is going to do the same. It's only fair.]
[Rhode isn't as taken by surprise by the second kiss - not even by the intensity of it - as she is by the way she's suddenly pinned against him, and for that she manages an almost-pained squeak; another high-pitched trill. She meets his glare with an even expression - as even as she can manage, really, which isn't saying much; the sweat beading along her forehead and clinging her hair to her skin makes her look feverish - even her cheeks are starting to flush.]
[Like a little girl trying hard to not get caught doing a bad, bad thing.]
[Her toes curl at his touch, and her leg follows his hand, letting him guide it, and she rests it over his hip. Both of her hands come up to touch his face, to bring it back into her line of vision again and cup his cheeks between her palms. At first, she's staring into his right eye - clear, focused - and a then his left. The pad of her thumb brushes over part of the scar - it's almost gentle in the way she does it, as if she's simply just feeling it, just letting the motion ground her, letting it keep her tethered.]
[Or, perhaps, it's simply to keep him there.]
[ -- and then he gasps - groans? - and she lets him fall. Her fingers tangle into his hair, fingers brushing over his scalp as she musses it, and she tilts her head back and shivers at the feeling of his breath on her neck. His nose tickles when it brushes her jaw, and it actually makes her giggle, sounding not like she's making fun of him, but rather that she's half-hysterical. What are they doing, why are they doing it, why is she perfectly content to keep doing it?]
[To keep doing a bad, bad thing~]
[There's another soft giggle, one that isn't half-hysterical so much as heavy, wanting. Can you hear it, Allen? Her hands slide to his back, fingers petting the fabric of his jacket. Off. This should be off. She wants the feeling of skin beneath her fingertips, not this godforsaken thing, and everything it stood for.]
[Rhode doesn't hold back her gasp at the next roll of his hips, she's even quite shameless about it, and her hands slip down again to tug at his coat with more than just a little insistence.]
Al--Allen... [Not sing-songy, not teasing; just breathy, wanting. Almost pleading, if not for the breathlessness.]
[You're wearing too much.]
[Off. Get the damn thing off.]
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