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... )
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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