Strange Bedfellows
Title: Strange Bedfellows
Author: Muninn
Story: Chicago Snow
Flavors:
Word Count: 2690
Rating: R, trending towards NC-17 for so much sexual content omgwhathaveidone
Summary: Snow and Trixie get personal.
Notes: "Love is coming your way, Leo. You're likely to be more passionate than usual. Be careful that your enthusiasm for the object of your desire doesn't go overboard. It's possible that you have an unrealistic view of the situation. It also could be that someone is leading you on and making you think something that isn't completely true."
This particular peach topping carries over into the next installment as well, but I'm tired, so I'm not going to claim it.
Snow and Trixie entered his apartment, Trixie's bright blue eyes flashing to every detail in the lush apartment space. Granite countertops in the kitchen with an espresso machine, slick leather furniture in the living room, immaculate hardwood floors, heavy navy curtains to block light with diaphanous white ones to let it through. This man definitely knew how to live. "Wow," she said, struck momentarily dumb by the difference between where she'd just been and where she found herself now. Her loose purse hit the floor in the entryway with a dull thud and a quick rattle.
Snow stood slightly apart from her, striding through the apartment like a tiger in its cage. His pale, nimble hands unbuttoned his white shirt to expose a white t-shirt underneath. He watched her carefully with his icy blue eyes, such a different tone than her own. He seemed wary still, quite on his guard, though he tried hard to remain casual and calm, letting his shirt hang open and running one hand through his long white hair. It clung to his fingers momentarily, the strands drifting back to their home against his back, tips resting just below his shoulder blades.
Scapula, she thought reflexively, watching him turn to the kitchen and rubbing her largest earring nervously.
"Can I get you anything?" Snow said companionably, opening the fridge to pour icy blue-white light on his already wan face. "I've got...water and...beer. Uh, that's about it." He looked at Trixie sheepishly,
"Unless you like mustard and jam sandwiches...without bread."
She smirked. "What, no ketchup?"
"'Fraid not. Ketchup might inspire me to fry up something, and I've been told I'm not allowed to cook." He smirked right back at her.
"I'll take a beer, then." She replied, and he pulled out two bottles of 312 and popped the tops. The vapor trails wafted sinuously before dissipating as he handed one to her and strode over to the nut brown leather couch. She noticed suddenly that he didn't appear to have a television, and sat down next to him, though not too close to make either of them uncomfortable. "So, Luke, right?"
He nodded, taking a swig of the ale. She leaned forward, hands clasping the bottle and watching him closely. "What do you do besides save little girls in the middle of the night?" Trixie took a small sip of the ale. It was cold and crisp, kind of sweet and just a little bit spicy.
"I write for the Reader. I do some of the art gallery pieces and occasionally a play or two. I do a few bigger pieces for Performink every so often, but I like the staff at the Reader more." Snow shifted his position to face her, drawing one leg up to rest on the couch cushion and draping his arms over the back and arm of the couch. It squeaked and creaked under his movements. "How about you?" He took another swig. "You don't quite sound like you're from around here."
Trixie laughed and took another sip, feeling the cold beer trickle down her throat. It was so cold she could still feel it in her chest. "Yeah, I'm from California. How could you tell?"
"I think you said 'like' about five times in two minutes back there. Plus you have a bit of an accent." He scratched at his cheek with a slim index finger.
"What? No way. Californians totally do not have an accent." She curled up to face him, leaning her arm on the couch and resting the beer on her kilt.
"Jeez, listen to yourself! 'No way!' 'Totally!' That's a California accent if I've ever heard one." Snow chuckled between sips, painfully mimicking Keanu Reeves from a movie he'd prefer to forget.
"Hey, better than you! Gawd, you sound like that guy from the Blues Brothers!" She laughed, drawing her legs further up onto the couch. The side of her black Doc Marten boot dug into the frame under the cushion and her neon green knee-high stockings caught on the other boot's zipper. She pulled them apart with a swift tug, accidentally flashing him in the process.
Snow stammered, looking up and away with a slight blush to his cheeks. "I-uh-I do not! That tall guy is too nasal and the short one is too deep." He took a large pull of his beer and sneaked a glance at her again. Her eyebrow ring was quirking dangerously, along with her eyebrow, drawn into a skeptical and bemused look.
"Well I don't sound like Blossom, neither, okay?" She leaned back and winked at him, taking a long pull.
"S-sure. I didn't say you did," he muttered into his bottle, tossing the last of it back. He felt off-balance and worried, but the beer was doing its best to fuzz the edges of those hard, jagged feelings. "You want another?" He offered, getting up and kicking off his shoes.
"Sure, sounds good," Trixie replied, downing the last of her bottle and handing it to him as he went past. She shrugged her way out of the over-sized and faded black leather jacket she was wearing, pins clattering against one another and pockets swinging with payload erratically. Snow caught the phrase "Stop Snitching" on the back panel before it crumpled to the floor.
"Here ya go," he said, handing her another cold bottle, the vapor still wafting from its mouth.
"Thanks, Luke." Trixie grinned, beaming her childlike heart-shaped face at him and wrapping her hand around the bottle delicately.
"You...are twenty-one, right?" He held onto the bottle as he looked at her skeptically., eyes darting to the wavelength tattoo that wrapped around her tiny right bicep and then back to her big, too blue eyes.
"Duh, of course. Do you need to, like, see my ID or something?" She rolled her eyes at him as he released the bottle and sat down on the couch again, pulling both feet onto the couch this time.
"Just checking. You look really young, yanno?" Snow took a swig and appraised her as she followed suit. "What are you, twenty-one, twenty-two?"
"Twenty-four. You would not believe how freakin' sick I get of hearing that crap. I still get carded if I want to buy some smokes fer godssakes." She took another large pull. "It's the curse of being five-two and stick thin." She held up a pinkie finger to illustrate. "People think yer either anorexic, fourteen, or both." With her jacket off it was easier for Snow to notice that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her shirt was sleeveless, and tufts of dark hair peeked out from beneath her arms when she shifted. The room was cold, and her nipples stood out again the dirty black shirt with a cartoonish voodoo doll emblazoned on it. Goosebumps rose on her skin.
"You look cold," Snow said, taking off his crisp white shirt. "Here." He proffered the shirt to her, and she took it in slight surprise. Maybe it was because of the mere action of offering something so close to him, or maybe it was the scars that crossed his upper arms, or maybe it was the thin white sleeveless t-shirt that he wore, showing his lean chest and stomach muscles and the small beads of his nipples. He was thin, almost waifishly so, but with lean muscles that gave the suggestion of wiriness rather than frailty.
Trixie set her beer on the glass and cast iron coffeetable nearby, shrugging into the large white shirt. It hung loosely around her, and she pushed the sleeves up so she could resume drinking. The collar was cocked at an odd angle, but she seemed to take no notice of it.
"Here, let me get that for you-" Snow started, leaning towards her to flip the collar back down. Suddenly their faces were only fingertips apart, his hand at her neck. This close, he could see she didn't wear makeup, but he still couldn't smell anything about her. What was she thinking? What did she want from him?
Both questions were answered as she tenderly brushed her lips against his, hers ever so slightly ragged from sun and wind, his still wet from his last sip of beer, bittersweet and spicy. Snow froze, moving only his lips for fear of ruining the moment. It was only when she deepened the kiss that he began to move, their tongues intertwining and slinking past each other, his hands going to her arms, her neck, fingertips brushing her face. Her hands were on him too, wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling herself closer, stroking his back, diving under his shirt to stroke the soft skin of his stomach. She felt he was energetic, but not fiery, and every nip and lap at her skin felt chill and sharp like the biting arctic winds.
Snow stopped suddenly, panting slightly. "W-Wait, we j-just met. Are you su-" She broke him off with another kiss, pushing him back against the couch despite the leather's protestations. Her thin legs straddled one of his, and he could feel the heavy wool of her red and plaid kilt through his thin, pale blue jeans.
Trixie broke off the kiss, warm breath hovering in his face. "Yes, I'm sure," she said throatily, pulling his head to one side so she could lick at his neck. "Are you?"
He gasped, her tongue a firebrand up and down his neck. His voice was soft, hesitant, "I-I think so." He leaned forward just slightly, enough to lap at her ear and nuzzle the bare skin on the side of her skull. "But I'm not sure how much I trust you," he breathed into her ear.
"Mmm, I'm not asking you to trust me," she muttered wetly into the hollow at the base of his throat between flicks of her tongue. When he still seemed hesitant, she moved up to his other ear, pulling gently at the lobe and then breathing, "What are you so afraid of, Luke?"
He growled deep within his throat, breaking into a moan partway through as she found a particularly sensitive spot just behind his ear. With one motion, he swept one arm underneath her and stood, carrying her with ease. She shrugged her way out of his shirt as he stalked to the bedroom, his other hand pulling the door to, so that only a sliver of light was visible in the otherwise darkened room. The curtains were drawn, so heavy that not even the amber streetlights would penetrate this cave.
Snow slipped Trixie onto the bed gently, and she sat at the edge, lifting his shirt and kissing the smooth flesh beneath. Her fingers expertly unbuckled his black leather belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and she unzipped them with her lips, using both hands to grab and massage his ass while she nuzzled his hard cock with her nose and mouth, the soft fabric of his boxer briefs. He moaned softly, hands running across her shoulders and arms, finally lifting her chin and bending down to kiss her lips. As the kiss intensified, he pushed her back slowly, carefully, deliberately, pulling her shirt up to expose her small breasts, pushing his smooth, calloused hands over them slowly as though he was testing each one. She pushed him back for a moment, pulling her shirt off to reveal a star tattoo in the center of her chest. He stretched out of his shirt as she pulled his underwear down, licking and sucking eagerly at his excited cock.
For a few moments he scrambled to try and please her, but stopped when he realized all he could was her face, so curled up under him as she was. The only sounds in the cold cave were his mumbles and groans, and her eager wet ministrations. Finally Trixie came up for air, and Snow growled at her, sliding down to lap at her breasts, first gently, then harder, sucking and biting alternately as she gasped and whimpered. He lazily made his way further down, nuzzling and licking and biting at her belly, her hips, and as he undid the safety pins and roughly sewn ties, he licked her hip and thighs, brushing his fingertips lightly over her hot, wet, and still disturbingly scentless pussy. As he teased and toyed with her clit, which was similarly tasteless, one hand snaked up to thumb her breast. He slipped a finger into her, then unexpectedly felt wetness on his other hand, he looked up, moving his thumb to continue playing with her clit, to see her sucking emphatically on his index finger. It felt...connected, and his cock twinged sympathetically.
He started lapping at her clit again, slipping another finger into her and curling them upward, rubbing back and forth inside her. Her back arched suddenly, and her mouth broke its hold on his hand as she breathed in shuddering gasps. Every muscle in her body was taut, her legs drew up and her pussy tightened around his fingers. Snow peered over her hair, watching her come in great gasps and cries muffled by her own hand, the pillows, a bitten lip. He thought he saw something odd for a moment in the near total darkness behind her; a flick, a flutter, just brief enough that he dismissed it without any further thought. She collapsed soon after, all the muscles that had been tense now loosened, and he drew back, cock still hard and tingling with excitement, but concerned about what to do next. He grabbed at the wallet in his back pocket, flipping it open and drawing out a condom hesitantly, watching her reaction carefully.
Trixie looked up at him, catching the flickery reflection of the wrapper in the faint light from the rest of the apartment, and grabbed that hand, guiding it down to rest between her legs. Her grip was stronger than he would have expected and when she let go he shrugged out of his jeans, underwear, and socks at once, holding the wrapper between his teeth. Snow was nervous, he hadn't done this - meaning sex with a stranger - in a very long time, and while he certainly felt lucky that he'd been able to make her come once, he was nervous about his ability to do it again.
It was odd, though. As soon as he got the condom on and started to position himself, he felt lightheaded, as though this was the easiest thing in the world, and all the awkward tension and fumbling that usually came from even the most practiced partners melted away as his cock slipped into her effortlessly.
All the cold, implacable facade was gone now, and they fucked one another in a seemingly endless cycle. They rolled around his bed like dogs fighting, each seeking primacy, each seeking that new sweet spot that would feel better than all the rest. Snow's white hair stuck to his face and neck, getting in their mouths at times as his eyes stung with sweat. At times it felt as though the condom was gone, lost within her tiny cylindrical cave, at times it constrained him, too tight and holding him back from the precipice.
They shouted, they yelped, they howled as each new movement and arrangement of their bodies brought their minds closer to a vacant, unthinking state where sensation and lust were the only present synapses firing. They came together, clawing and biting and moaning and in pleasure and pain. As he watched her come, through the foggy haze of his own orgasm, he saw it again, a flicker, a faint iridescent outline behind her silhouette as she rode him roughly, but he was far past the point where critical faculties are easily engaged. As she rolled over, gasping for breath on the bed, her sweat rising off her like steam, he dispensed with the condom and immediately fell into a nearly catatonic state that lasted well into morning.
Author: Muninn
Story: Chicago Snow
Flavors:
- Blueberry Cheesecake #25 (hand to mouth)
- Cayenne #4 (below the belt)
- Maple Walnut #29 (strange bedfellows)
Word Count: 2690
Rating: R, trending towards NC-17 for so much sexual content omgwhathaveidone
Summary: Snow and Trixie get personal.
Notes: "Love is coming your way, Leo. You're likely to be more passionate than usual. Be careful that your enthusiasm for the object of your desire doesn't go overboard. It's possible that you have an unrealistic view of the situation. It also could be that someone is leading you on and making you think something that isn't completely true."
This particular peach topping carries over into the next installment as well, but I'm tired, so I'm not going to claim it.
Snow and Trixie entered his apartment, Trixie's bright blue eyes flashing to every detail in the lush apartment space. Granite countertops in the kitchen with an espresso machine, slick leather furniture in the living room, immaculate hardwood floors, heavy navy curtains to block light with diaphanous white ones to let it through. This man definitely knew how to live. "Wow," she said, struck momentarily dumb by the difference between where she'd just been and where she found herself now. Her loose purse hit the floor in the entryway with a dull thud and a quick rattle.
Snow stood slightly apart from her, striding through the apartment like a tiger in its cage. His pale, nimble hands unbuttoned his white shirt to expose a white t-shirt underneath. He watched her carefully with his icy blue eyes, such a different tone than her own. He seemed wary still, quite on his guard, though he tried hard to remain casual and calm, letting his shirt hang open and running one hand through his long white hair. It clung to his fingers momentarily, the strands drifting back to their home against his back, tips resting just below his shoulder blades.
Scapula, she thought reflexively, watching him turn to the kitchen and rubbing her largest earring nervously.
"Can I get you anything?" Snow said companionably, opening the fridge to pour icy blue-white light on his already wan face. "I've got...water and...beer. Uh, that's about it." He looked at Trixie sheepishly,
"Unless you like mustard and jam sandwiches...without bread."
She smirked. "What, no ketchup?"
"'Fraid not. Ketchup might inspire me to fry up something, and I've been told I'm not allowed to cook." He smirked right back at her.
"I'll take a beer, then." She replied, and he pulled out two bottles of 312 and popped the tops. The vapor trails wafted sinuously before dissipating as he handed one to her and strode over to the nut brown leather couch. She noticed suddenly that he didn't appear to have a television, and sat down next to him, though not too close to make either of them uncomfortable. "So, Luke, right?"
He nodded, taking a swig of the ale. She leaned forward, hands clasping the bottle and watching him closely. "What do you do besides save little girls in the middle of the night?" Trixie took a small sip of the ale. It was cold and crisp, kind of sweet and just a little bit spicy.
"I write for the Reader. I do some of the art gallery pieces and occasionally a play or two. I do a few bigger pieces for Performink every so often, but I like the staff at the Reader more." Snow shifted his position to face her, drawing one leg up to rest on the couch cushion and draping his arms over the back and arm of the couch. It squeaked and creaked under his movements. "How about you?" He took another swig. "You don't quite sound like you're from around here."
Trixie laughed and took another sip, feeling the cold beer trickle down her throat. It was so cold she could still feel it in her chest. "Yeah, I'm from California. How could you tell?"
"I think you said 'like' about five times in two minutes back there. Plus you have a bit of an accent." He scratched at his cheek with a slim index finger.
"What? No way. Californians totally do not have an accent." She curled up to face him, leaning her arm on the couch and resting the beer on her kilt.
"Jeez, listen to yourself! 'No way!' 'Totally!' That's a California accent if I've ever heard one." Snow chuckled between sips, painfully mimicking Keanu Reeves from a movie he'd prefer to forget.
"Hey, better than you! Gawd, you sound like that guy from the Blues Brothers!" She laughed, drawing her legs further up onto the couch. The side of her black Doc Marten boot dug into the frame under the cushion and her neon green knee-high stockings caught on the other boot's zipper. She pulled them apart with a swift tug, accidentally flashing him in the process.
Snow stammered, looking up and away with a slight blush to his cheeks. "I-uh-I do not! That tall guy is too nasal and the short one is too deep." He took a large pull of his beer and sneaked a glance at her again. Her eyebrow ring was quirking dangerously, along with her eyebrow, drawn into a skeptical and bemused look.
"Well I don't sound like Blossom, neither, okay?" She leaned back and winked at him, taking a long pull.
"S-sure. I didn't say you did," he muttered into his bottle, tossing the last of it back. He felt off-balance and worried, but the beer was doing its best to fuzz the edges of those hard, jagged feelings. "You want another?" He offered, getting up and kicking off his shoes.
"Sure, sounds good," Trixie replied, downing the last of her bottle and handing it to him as he went past. She shrugged her way out of the over-sized and faded black leather jacket she was wearing, pins clattering against one another and pockets swinging with payload erratically. Snow caught the phrase "Stop Snitching" on the back panel before it crumpled to the floor.
"Here ya go," he said, handing her another cold bottle, the vapor still wafting from its mouth.
"Thanks, Luke." Trixie grinned, beaming her childlike heart-shaped face at him and wrapping her hand around the bottle delicately.
"You...are twenty-one, right?" He held onto the bottle as he looked at her skeptically., eyes darting to the wavelength tattoo that wrapped around her tiny right bicep and then back to her big, too blue eyes.
"Duh, of course. Do you need to, like, see my ID or something?" She rolled her eyes at him as he released the bottle and sat down on the couch again, pulling both feet onto the couch this time.
"Just checking. You look really young, yanno?" Snow took a swig and appraised her as she followed suit. "What are you, twenty-one, twenty-two?"
"Twenty-four. You would not believe how freakin' sick I get of hearing that crap. I still get carded if I want to buy some smokes fer godssakes." She took another large pull. "It's the curse of being five-two and stick thin." She held up a pinkie finger to illustrate. "People think yer either anorexic, fourteen, or both." With her jacket off it was easier for Snow to notice that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her shirt was sleeveless, and tufts of dark hair peeked out from beneath her arms when she shifted. The room was cold, and her nipples stood out again the dirty black shirt with a cartoonish voodoo doll emblazoned on it. Goosebumps rose on her skin.
"You look cold," Snow said, taking off his crisp white shirt. "Here." He proffered the shirt to her, and she took it in slight surprise. Maybe it was because of the mere action of offering something so close to him, or maybe it was the scars that crossed his upper arms, or maybe it was the thin white sleeveless t-shirt that he wore, showing his lean chest and stomach muscles and the small beads of his nipples. He was thin, almost waifishly so, but with lean muscles that gave the suggestion of wiriness rather than frailty.
Trixie set her beer on the glass and cast iron coffeetable nearby, shrugging into the large white shirt. It hung loosely around her, and she pushed the sleeves up so she could resume drinking. The collar was cocked at an odd angle, but she seemed to take no notice of it.
"Here, let me get that for you-" Snow started, leaning towards her to flip the collar back down. Suddenly their faces were only fingertips apart, his hand at her neck. This close, he could see she didn't wear makeup, but he still couldn't smell anything about her. What was she thinking? What did she want from him?
Both questions were answered as she tenderly brushed her lips against his, hers ever so slightly ragged from sun and wind, his still wet from his last sip of beer, bittersweet and spicy. Snow froze, moving only his lips for fear of ruining the moment. It was only when she deepened the kiss that he began to move, their tongues intertwining and slinking past each other, his hands going to her arms, her neck, fingertips brushing her face. Her hands were on him too, wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling herself closer, stroking his back, diving under his shirt to stroke the soft skin of his stomach. She felt he was energetic, but not fiery, and every nip and lap at her skin felt chill and sharp like the biting arctic winds.
Snow stopped suddenly, panting slightly. "W-Wait, we j-just met. Are you su-" She broke him off with another kiss, pushing him back against the couch despite the leather's protestations. Her thin legs straddled one of his, and he could feel the heavy wool of her red and plaid kilt through his thin, pale blue jeans.
Trixie broke off the kiss, warm breath hovering in his face. "Yes, I'm sure," she said throatily, pulling his head to one side so she could lick at his neck. "Are you?"
He gasped, her tongue a firebrand up and down his neck. His voice was soft, hesitant, "I-I think so." He leaned forward just slightly, enough to lap at her ear and nuzzle the bare skin on the side of her skull. "But I'm not sure how much I trust you," he breathed into her ear.
"Mmm, I'm not asking you to trust me," she muttered wetly into the hollow at the base of his throat between flicks of her tongue. When he still seemed hesitant, she moved up to his other ear, pulling gently at the lobe and then breathing, "What are you so afraid of, Luke?"
He growled deep within his throat, breaking into a moan partway through as she found a particularly sensitive spot just behind his ear. With one motion, he swept one arm underneath her and stood, carrying her with ease. She shrugged her way out of his shirt as he stalked to the bedroom, his other hand pulling the door to, so that only a sliver of light was visible in the otherwise darkened room. The curtains were drawn, so heavy that not even the amber streetlights would penetrate this cave.
Snow slipped Trixie onto the bed gently, and she sat at the edge, lifting his shirt and kissing the smooth flesh beneath. Her fingers expertly unbuckled his black leather belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and she unzipped them with her lips, using both hands to grab and massage his ass while she nuzzled his hard cock with her nose and mouth, the soft fabric of his boxer briefs. He moaned softly, hands running across her shoulders and arms, finally lifting her chin and bending down to kiss her lips. As the kiss intensified, he pushed her back slowly, carefully, deliberately, pulling her shirt up to expose her small breasts, pushing his smooth, calloused hands over them slowly as though he was testing each one. She pushed him back for a moment, pulling her shirt off to reveal a star tattoo in the center of her chest. He stretched out of his shirt as she pulled his underwear down, licking and sucking eagerly at his excited cock.
For a few moments he scrambled to try and please her, but stopped when he realized all he could was her face, so curled up under him as she was. The only sounds in the cold cave were his mumbles and groans, and her eager wet ministrations. Finally Trixie came up for air, and Snow growled at her, sliding down to lap at her breasts, first gently, then harder, sucking and biting alternately as she gasped and whimpered. He lazily made his way further down, nuzzling and licking and biting at her belly, her hips, and as he undid the safety pins and roughly sewn ties, he licked her hip and thighs, brushing his fingertips lightly over her hot, wet, and still disturbingly scentless pussy. As he teased and toyed with her clit, which was similarly tasteless, one hand snaked up to thumb her breast. He slipped a finger into her, then unexpectedly felt wetness on his other hand, he looked up, moving his thumb to continue playing with her clit, to see her sucking emphatically on his index finger. It felt...connected, and his cock twinged sympathetically.
He started lapping at her clit again, slipping another finger into her and curling them upward, rubbing back and forth inside her. Her back arched suddenly, and her mouth broke its hold on his hand as she breathed in shuddering gasps. Every muscle in her body was taut, her legs drew up and her pussy tightened around his fingers. Snow peered over her hair, watching her come in great gasps and cries muffled by her own hand, the pillows, a bitten lip. He thought he saw something odd for a moment in the near total darkness behind her; a flick, a flutter, just brief enough that he dismissed it without any further thought. She collapsed soon after, all the muscles that had been tense now loosened, and he drew back, cock still hard and tingling with excitement, but concerned about what to do next. He grabbed at the wallet in his back pocket, flipping it open and drawing out a condom hesitantly, watching her reaction carefully.
Trixie looked up at him, catching the flickery reflection of the wrapper in the faint light from the rest of the apartment, and grabbed that hand, guiding it down to rest between her legs. Her grip was stronger than he would have expected and when she let go he shrugged out of his jeans, underwear, and socks at once, holding the wrapper between his teeth. Snow was nervous, he hadn't done this - meaning sex with a stranger - in a very long time, and while he certainly felt lucky that he'd been able to make her come once, he was nervous about his ability to do it again.
It was odd, though. As soon as he got the condom on and started to position himself, he felt lightheaded, as though this was the easiest thing in the world, and all the awkward tension and fumbling that usually came from even the most practiced partners melted away as his cock slipped into her effortlessly.
All the cold, implacable facade was gone now, and they fucked one another in a seemingly endless cycle. They rolled around his bed like dogs fighting, each seeking primacy, each seeking that new sweet spot that would feel better than all the rest. Snow's white hair stuck to his face and neck, getting in their mouths at times as his eyes stung with sweat. At times it felt as though the condom was gone, lost within her tiny cylindrical cave, at times it constrained him, too tight and holding him back from the precipice.
They shouted, they yelped, they howled as each new movement and arrangement of their bodies brought their minds closer to a vacant, unthinking state where sensation and lust were the only present synapses firing. They came together, clawing and biting and moaning and in pleasure and pain. As he watched her come, through the foggy haze of his own orgasm, he saw it again, a flicker, a faint iridescent outline behind her silhouette as she rode him roughly, but he was far past the point where critical faculties are easily engaged. As she rolled over, gasping for breath on the bed, her sweat rising off her like steam, he dispensed with the condom and immediately fell into a nearly catatonic state that lasted well into morning.