You've Broken Through, Byzantium (2013), Eleanor Webb/Frank, hand holding, nails, veinunityficFebruary 2 2014, 16:55:38 UTC
She had used to hold his hand walking down the street, more to support him than to show she was his girlfriend or anything else. Her sharpest nail would trace the vein in his wrist and she would force herself to believe that was the extent of her desire.
On emerging from the cave, he's a lot stronger (still not as strong as her though, he never will be) and it isn't his blood she wants. She just wants Frank, his sweetness, his unconscious shuddering, his awkward way of talking which is slowly going, now. For a fleeting second, Eleanor regrets.
“Please, Eleanor.” He says, although he's not pleading, really. “Stop thinking, will you?”
“All right.” She smiles, and turns back from the window.
They went to the city because there are no old hotels like Byzantium. There's a TV in their room and a phone, the coffee machine, a view of soaring modern towers instead of the faded seafront peeling paint.
Frank sits on their bed and holds his hand out to her, the one she'd often taken just to help him put one foot in front of the other. She finds his cold pulse point with her thumb and rubs, and he still falls back in pleasure, pulling her with him, to balance between his legs.
“Saved my life.” He mutters, into his own shoulder, as she scrapes her nails along his inner arm, making him stretch against her.
Eleanor shrugs, because she doesn't know if that's exactly right. “Changed it.” She amends, gently. “I do hope you're happy with that, Frank.”
“I'm the happiest I've ever been with you.”
He leans up to kiss her, and she responds gladly until his thighs brace around her hips and roll her over into the mattress. Her mother only told Eleanor what men could do to women after she experienced it herself; perhaps someday, she would like to see Frank's freckled back tense as she makes love to him. But for now, she is content with this, his hot breath on her neck as he fumbles to get her free of her jeans. She reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and wraps around him, feeling the release of all her thoughts along with her limbs and the sheer need for it.
Neither of them are really used to moving together yet, it's not quite like going out with their fingers intertwined. Her blood-letting talon unfurls against his skin without cutting as he thrusts into her, dragging down his throat. Frank gasps when she scratches his chest accidentally and collapses, groaning an apology. Eleanor laughs and climaxes clasping his hand, rocking on him until the hunger subsides.
Sometime later that same night, she rises and puts on her clothes, her coat. It seems these days she can leave his side for a little while and he won't be gone, dead and buried, when she gets back. She will always come back.
“Ella.” He whispers, “Ella, don't be too long.”
She nods, knowing he depends on her, and strokes his face in a wordless promise to return. They are still running from the Brotherhood. She wonders if her crime is less than Clara's because she has created a man, but she doesn't think so. Now she has someone else to protect, she understands that, she cares for them both so much. Clara is her past, and Frank is her future, and Eleanor's not torn anymore.
Re: You've Broken Through, Byzantium (2013), Eleanor Webb/Frank, hand holding, nails, veinscorpiod1February 3 2014, 11:55:49 UTC
This was lovely, and a perfect follow up to end of the movie! You write them so well, with Frank full of affection and almost clinginess for Eleanor and the awkwardness of them together, because this is so new for them, but also so sincere. I loved the ending, with Eleanor moving forward. I prompted some of these words, and I didn't actually expect anyone would write it, so thank you so much!
Re: You've Broken Through, Byzantium (2013), Eleanor Webb/Frank, hand holding, nails, veinunityficFebruary 3 2014, 18:15:11 UTC
Oh gosh, I love your icon, their snuggling thing, just ugh. And thank you very much for the prompts! I left some for them too, but I saw yours and got to work straight away. I'm so glad you like it!
On emerging from the cave, he's a lot stronger (still not as strong as her though, he never will be) and it isn't his blood she wants. She just wants Frank, his sweetness, his unconscious shuddering, his awkward way of talking which is slowly going, now. For a fleeting second, Eleanor regrets.
“Please, Eleanor.” He says, although he's not pleading, really. “Stop thinking, will you?”
“All right.” She smiles, and turns back from the window.
They went to the city because there are no old hotels like Byzantium. There's a TV in their room and a phone, the coffee machine, a view of soaring modern towers instead of the faded seafront peeling paint.
Frank sits on their bed and holds his hand out to her, the one she'd often taken just to help him put one foot in front of the other. She finds his cold pulse point with her thumb and rubs, and he still falls back in pleasure, pulling her with him, to balance between his legs.
“Saved my life.” He mutters, into his own shoulder, as she scrapes her nails along his inner arm, making him stretch against her.
Eleanor shrugs, because she doesn't know if that's exactly right. “Changed it.” She amends, gently. “I do hope you're happy with that, Frank.”
“I'm the happiest I've ever been with you.”
He leans up to kiss her, and she responds gladly until his thighs brace around her hips and roll her over into the mattress. Her mother only told Eleanor what men could do to women after she experienced it herself; perhaps someday, she would like to see Frank's freckled back tense as she makes love to him. But for now, she is content with this, his hot breath on her neck as he fumbles to get her free of her jeans. She reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and wraps around him, feeling the release of all her thoughts along with her limbs and the sheer need for it.
Neither of them are really used to moving together yet, it's not quite like going out with their fingers intertwined. Her blood-letting talon unfurls against his skin without cutting as he thrusts into her, dragging down his throat. Frank gasps when she scratches his chest accidentally and collapses, groaning an apology. Eleanor laughs and climaxes clasping his hand, rocking on him until the hunger subsides.
Sometime later that same night, she rises and puts on her clothes, her coat. It seems these days she can leave his side for a little while and he won't be gone, dead and buried, when she gets back. She will always come back.
“Ella.” He whispers, “Ella, don't be too long.”
She nods, knowing he depends on her, and strokes his face in a wordless promise to return. They are still running from the Brotherhood. She wonders if her crime is less than Clara's because she has created a man, but she doesn't think so. Now she has someone else to protect, she understands that, she cares for them both so much. Clara is her past, and Frank is her future, and Eleanor's not torn anymore.
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