Destiny - Part 3
Part of the http://zannes.livejournal.com/5304.html John/Illyria 'verse
Rating: R (overall)
Genre: Gen, Het, Supernatural/Angel/Firefly crossover
Pairing: John/Illyria
Characters: Firefly crew
Summary: John and Illyria finally have to deal with the Demon that destroyed his family. Will they be able to save John's descendants from the Demon's wrath? (bad language/sexual situations)
Author's Notes: Thanks to hakirby and lyonie17 for their continued beta-ing prowess. Hakirby is entirely responsible for all the added porn and lyonie17 is responsible for turning my modern-day English into Fireflyese. The Chinese translations are up for grabs. I trusted various websites to get those. Kripke owns the Winchesters and Whedon owns both Illyria and Firefly. The lovely icon belongs to lyonie17.
Part 3...
“We’ve got business, so amuse yourselves, but be back in three hours exactly or you’ll need to find new transport,” Mal directed John and Fred. “Dong ma?”
“Yes, Captain Reynolds,” John agreed, watching as Mal, Zoe, and Jayne drove off towards the edge of town. Fred stood calmly beside him, his bulk making her appear oddly delicate despite their similarity in dress.
“You could sightsee a little with River and me,” Simon offered, keeping an eye on the impatient River walking ahead. “Kaylee’s got ship-watch.” He looked a little uncomfortable as he shifted his feet and continued, “Blackash isn’t a large place, but I don’t want you to get lost.”
John shook his head, hiding a grin. “Thanks for the offer, but there’s no need for you to keep us entertained. Fred and I will take a look around.” John elbowed Fred, who smiled widely at Simon as John took her arm, leading her away towards the center of town.
Once they were several yards away from where they’d left Simon, John leaned down and asked, “So what do you think they’re really up to?” He indicated the dust cloud left behind the mule as it dwindled in size in the distance.
“If they truly belong to the Winchester line, it is undoubtedly something nefarious,” Fred told him with a gleam in her eye. “Shall we follow?”
“We have to keep an eye on the children, don’t we?” John agreed, arching an eyebrow. At Fred’s firm nod, they meandered their way towards the bar, hoping to find some unsupervised transport.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Do you think Dacheroff will be willing to deal?” Zoe questioned quietly.
Jayne snorted disdainfully. “Ya mean deal fairly. An’ the answer is no.” He turned to face Mal with a stubborn jut of his jaw. “Yer gorram stupid to even try.”
“I didn’t sign you up for your smarts, Jayne,” Mal replied offhandedly. “So keep quiet and look mean, like I pay you for. Dong ma?”
“Yes, Cap’n,” Jayne muttered sullenly. “But Vera’s guessin’ I’ll have to shoot somethin’.”
“Oh?” Mal arched an eyebrow. “Ask her to look into her crystal ball and predict where we’ll get money to buy that new GravThruster so we won’t be stuck in the black goin’ at half speed like we’ve been. Then we’ll skip talkin’ with Dacheroff and his boys and go have some tea and cookies.” His face went blank as his eyes hardened, staring at Jayne dead-on. “Now just do what I say and everything will be fine.”
Jayne sat back with a disgusted grunt as Zoe parked the mule near a run-down house several miles from town.
Inside, a large screen took up one wall, a horse race being called vainly over the din of the card tables and the burlesque music. A burly, muscled man with dirt crusted on his knuckles wound his way through the patrons of the establishment who were too drunk or in debt to care about the newcomers.
“Malcolm Reynolds,” he stated more than asked. “This way.” As they were drawn deeper into the back halls of the saloon, the soft sounds of laughing women, muffled grunts and squeals leaking from behind the closed doors, Zoe cast Mal a questionable glance and he nodded, shifting his long brick-brown coat back just enough so his gun would be within easy reach.
At last, they entered a spacious back room, covered with ratty red velvet wallpaper, moth-eaten drapes barely blocking the sunlight that speckled the broken antiquities littering the room. Behind the scarred wooden desk sat a reedy man trying too hard to be gentlemanly, with little success. He sat enthroned in an overly large desk chair, the leather cracked with stuffing oozing feebly through the tears. His hands were steepled under his chin, barely hiding the wildly crooked necktie. A couple of surly looking men were spaced sporadically throughout the room, taking what available chairs there were.
“I thought this here was supposed to be a private meetin’,” Mal commented, eyeing the slouching men in the nearby seats as his team stood before the desk, for all intents and purposes left standing like scolded schoolchildren.
“Ahh…,” the man sighed, laying his hands on the table. “You have your compatriots and I have mine. Fair, isn’t it?”
Jayne snorted quietly, muttering, “Fair,” under his breath.
“You said you were willin’ to do some business,” Mal reminded him.
“That I am,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair. “But the price we agreed upon is no longer satisfactory.” His eyes flicked to the door as another man slunk in, his eyes downcast as he shook his head subtly.
“We made a deal,” Mal reminded him. “An’ if you don’t have the gao wan to redeem your word, I’ll complete my dealings elsewhere.”
The old man’s eyes hardened. “I think not, Captain Reynolds. My men have already searched your conveyance and failed to find my prize, so we’ll need to make a personal trade.” In one motion, the men pulled out their guns, aiming them steadily at Mal and the crew in the center of the room.
“Wait a moment,” Mal said calmly, holding his hands up defensively. “No need for violence. Me and mine, we’re friendly sorts.” With that, he and the crew cautiously took a step backwards, forcing the men before them to cock their weapons.
Zoe asked dryly, “What’s Plan B, sir?”
“I’ll leave you know,” Mal replied with a shrug.
A loud crash echoed down the hallway, the vague sounds from the saloon suddenly rising, with smaller thuds and smashes adding an underlying melody to the clamoring voices.
“Go,” the old man nodded, sending a man out to investigate the commotion. A second later, he came flying back through the door, groaning pitifully as he landed hard on the floor.
Startled, the rest of the men swarmed out, leaving Mal and his crew alone. With a shrug, Mal calmly announced to the room, “Plan B,” and led his team back towards the saloon and the safety of outside.
The bar and the betting tables were in utter chaos, men strewn on the floor and broken tables tipped to the side, while scantily clad dancing girls and waitresses shrieked uselessly in a huddle by the wall.
The first thing Mal noticed was their passenger, John Winchester, fighting with a man at the end of the bar, using a pool cue to beat him into submission. Mal winced when, with a quick flip of the wrist, John rammed the cue between his opponent’s legs, solidly smacking his groin as he lifted it and twisted to the side, sweeping the man’s feet from beneath him and dropping the man to the floor. Twirling the cue with the panache worthy of a flag team cheerleader, John jabbed it towards the downed man’s throat, thunking him solidly on the adam’s apple and leaving him choking for air as John turned to take on the next.
The first thing Jayne noticed was the pretty brown-haired lady passenger standing on the bar and kicking approaching men in the face. Her eyes reflected blue in the lights of the saloon, her face glowing as she shattered a pitcher over a man’s head before smashing him face first into the bar, keeping him from reaching her husband. A smitten grin crossed Jayne’s face as he muttered to Mal’s back, “I wonder if she’s the same flavor crazy as River?”
The first thing Zoe noticed were the two men sneaking up behind them and she spun with weapon drawn to hold them off. Mal and Jayne turned as one to punch them in a flashy show of synchronized fisticuffs, before whirling to fight their way to the door, Zoe watching their backs.
Fred squatted on the top of the bar, leaning over to announce to John, “They fight like Winchesters.”
John smiled, looking nostalgic, “That they do.” He let the man in his grasp meet his fist for a final time, allowing his body to slump to the floor. “Let’s get goin’ before they leave us behind.”
A minute later, John and Fred stumbled through the door, cheeks flushed with excitement, coming to a stop facing a very irate Captain Reynolds. “In. Now,” he ordered. “We have things to be said.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’d purely hate to seem forbidding, but what in tyen shiao-duh did you pair picture to accomplish back there?” Mal demanded, turning to face them sitting so quietly in the back of the vehicle. “You interrupted our dealings!”
Fred arched an eyebrow at John, who chuckled and replied, “We were offerin’ a distraction since you seemed to be on the bad end of your…business meeting.”
“Hardly,” Mal scoffed as Jayne simultaneously replied, “More fucked than a $2 whore.” They glared at each other before turning back in their seats.
“Keep to your own concerns,” Mal reprimanded. “Or you should pack your personals right hasty.”
“Yes, Captain,” John replied with an overly serious expression, bringing a small smile to Fred’s face.
John elbowed Fred, who chirped, “Yes, Captain!” before slouching back into the seat, her arm firmly pressed against John’s side and her slight body trembling. John rested his hand on her thigh, using small, soothing strokes as if calming a feral dog, gazing at her with a hint of concern. Zoe sat stiffly in the front seat, twisting slightly to keep a wary eye on the passengers, her spine tingling with unease.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Once in the safety of their quarters, all pretense of normality was cast aside. “Something wrong, Illyria? Are you OK?” John asked with concern, wrapping his arms around her waist as he approached her from behind.
Illyria pulled away, turning to face him. “Nothing is wrong.”
“You sure?” he asked with a hint of worry. “You’ve been acting…off for the past few days.” He stood where she’d left him, tucking his hands into his pockets, and studied her uneasily. “Is it the Demon? I’ll be careful - promise.”
A scornful expression planted itself firmly on Illyria’s usually placid features. “And why should I be concerned with such a creature? He cannot even exist on this plane without leeching onto a soul - like a flea on a mongrel dog! Less than a mote of dust if you humans did not exist.” She sniffed with disdain, blue eyes bright.
John laughed dryly, a touch of anger and hurt crossing his face. “Your mote of dust sure was a pain in my ass. Killed my wife, hurt my sons…made our lives hell.” He glanced at her, his eyes dark and his jaw tight with tension. “Nice of you to help me keep things in perspective, I guess.”
Illyria blinked at him, her gaze unwavering, almost as if she were studying his face for a hint of something, before replying to his original question, “I am…OK. Let us sleep.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John lay propped in the corner of their broad bunk, Illyria curled against his bare chest as she idly traced her fingers over the white trails of his old scars criss-crossing his faintly tanned skin. “Still not gonna tell me?” John asked, brushing his cheek over Illyria’s tousled blue hair.
“You once said you wished to maintain some mystery. I am being compliant,” Illyria informed him, blinking to underline her point.
John laughed gently, squeezing her against his side, his hand looking even darker against the cold blue-white shading of her skin. “Well, your detailed description of eviscerating your opponent’s forces and hanging them by their own intestines until they drowned in their own filth was a little too much sharing in the midst of my attempt at seduction.” He furrowed his brow, trying to look stern. “It made me doubt my manliness…not to mention entirely ruined the mood.”
“I recall being eager to continue,” Illyria told him with a subtle shift of her brow.
John laughed, a deep rumble in his chest, before it was interrupted by a yawn. “That’s because, m’dear, you are a freak.”
“You are still bedding me. What does that make you?” Illyria asked, stroking her hand over his belly to soothe him into slumber.
“Insane,” John admitted as his grip tightened around her hip, shifting her body atop his own with a soft grunt. “If you’re trying to get me to sleep, that never works.”
Illyria smirked, the barest tilt of her lip indicating her amusement. “I am aware…but you will inevitably fall asleep afterwards, as you are prone to do.”
“Scheming woman,” he murmured, tilting his mouth up to meet hers. “Downright evil, I tell you.”
“I am kindly giving you the opportunity to prove your manliness,” Illyria told him as he dragged his teeth along the line of her jaw. She paused before adding, “This reminds me of my battle against Kro’tha. I set my dogs upon him and their teeth actually stripped the skin from his….”
“Quiet,” John growled against her throat as he bit down hard, his hand tangling in her hair. “I’m trying to seduce you.” His tongue lapped at the teeth marks denting her skin, a small thrill of satisfaction running through him at the successful marking.
“Maybe you need to try harder,” Illyria suggested, her voice lowering. The distinction between seductive Illyria and menacing Illyria was nearly nonexistent - fortunately, John had lived long enough to learn the difference, though it still led to the occasional awkward reaction when hunting.
John chuckled against her skin. “Oh, so we’re in one of those moods tonight, are we?”
He flipped her, pinning her down with the weight of his body, sliding his hands along her arms until their hands met, and he restrained them against the bed. “Damn bossy Demon-Gods. We need to find a better use for that mouth of yours.”
John trailed his lips over the bare expanse of her chest, all teeth and tongue as she arched her breasts into his mouth.
As John sharply tugged on her blue-tinted nipple with his teeth, Illyria continued with a sly quirk to her lips, “Kro’tha’s skin peeled away from the muscle like the rind of rotten fruit - one of my guards collected the scraps and made a lanyard to tie his chi’katen to his belt.”
John silenced her with a kiss, brushing his tongue against hers as he nudged her legs further open with his knee, surging inside her with one swift stroke.
“No more talking,” he panted against her open mouth, releasing her hands in order to tangle his fingers in her hair, keeping her body from sliding along the sheets from the force of his thrusts.
“As you wish,” Illyria agreed with a rumbling purr as her eyes slid closed, hand-shaped bruises already coloring the swell of his hips from the strength of her grip on his skin.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Rating: R (overall)
Genre: Gen, Het, Supernatural/Angel/Firefly crossover
Pairing: John/Illyria
Characters: Firefly crew
Summary: John and Illyria finally have to deal with the Demon that destroyed his family. Will they be able to save John's descendants from the Demon's wrath? (bad language/sexual situations)
Author's Notes: Thanks to hakirby and lyonie17 for their continued beta-ing prowess. Hakirby is entirely responsible for all the added porn and lyonie17 is responsible for turning my modern-day English into Fireflyese. The Chinese translations are up for grabs. I trusted various websites to get those. Kripke owns the Winchesters and Whedon owns both Illyria and Firefly. The lovely icon belongs to lyonie17.
Part 3...
“We’ve got business, so amuse yourselves, but be back in three hours exactly or you’ll need to find new transport,” Mal directed John and Fred. “Dong ma?”
“Yes, Captain Reynolds,” John agreed, watching as Mal, Zoe, and Jayne drove off towards the edge of town. Fred stood calmly beside him, his bulk making her appear oddly delicate despite their similarity in dress.
“You could sightsee a little with River and me,” Simon offered, keeping an eye on the impatient River walking ahead. “Kaylee’s got ship-watch.” He looked a little uncomfortable as he shifted his feet and continued, “Blackash isn’t a large place, but I don’t want you to get lost.”
John shook his head, hiding a grin. “Thanks for the offer, but there’s no need for you to keep us entertained. Fred and I will take a look around.” John elbowed Fred, who smiled widely at Simon as John took her arm, leading her away towards the center of town.
Once they were several yards away from where they’d left Simon, John leaned down and asked, “So what do you think they’re really up to?” He indicated the dust cloud left behind the mule as it dwindled in size in the distance.
“If they truly belong to the Winchester line, it is undoubtedly something nefarious,” Fred told him with a gleam in her eye. “Shall we follow?”
“We have to keep an eye on the children, don’t we?” John agreed, arching an eyebrow. At Fred’s firm nod, they meandered their way towards the bar, hoping to find some unsupervised transport.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Do you think Dacheroff will be willing to deal?” Zoe questioned quietly.
Jayne snorted disdainfully. “Ya mean deal fairly. An’ the answer is no.” He turned to face Mal with a stubborn jut of his jaw. “Yer gorram stupid to even try.”
“I didn’t sign you up for your smarts, Jayne,” Mal replied offhandedly. “So keep quiet and look mean, like I pay you for. Dong ma?”
“Yes, Cap’n,” Jayne muttered sullenly. “But Vera’s guessin’ I’ll have to shoot somethin’.”
“Oh?” Mal arched an eyebrow. “Ask her to look into her crystal ball and predict where we’ll get money to buy that new GravThruster so we won’t be stuck in the black goin’ at half speed like we’ve been. Then we’ll skip talkin’ with Dacheroff and his boys and go have some tea and cookies.” His face went blank as his eyes hardened, staring at Jayne dead-on. “Now just do what I say and everything will be fine.”
Jayne sat back with a disgusted grunt as Zoe parked the mule near a run-down house several miles from town.
Inside, a large screen took up one wall, a horse race being called vainly over the din of the card tables and the burlesque music. A burly, muscled man with dirt crusted on his knuckles wound his way through the patrons of the establishment who were too drunk or in debt to care about the newcomers.
“Malcolm Reynolds,” he stated more than asked. “This way.” As they were drawn deeper into the back halls of the saloon, the soft sounds of laughing women, muffled grunts and squeals leaking from behind the closed doors, Zoe cast Mal a questionable glance and he nodded, shifting his long brick-brown coat back just enough so his gun would be within easy reach.
At last, they entered a spacious back room, covered with ratty red velvet wallpaper, moth-eaten drapes barely blocking the sunlight that speckled the broken antiquities littering the room. Behind the scarred wooden desk sat a reedy man trying too hard to be gentlemanly, with little success. He sat enthroned in an overly large desk chair, the leather cracked with stuffing oozing feebly through the tears. His hands were steepled under his chin, barely hiding the wildly crooked necktie. A couple of surly looking men were spaced sporadically throughout the room, taking what available chairs there were.
“I thought this here was supposed to be a private meetin’,” Mal commented, eyeing the slouching men in the nearby seats as his team stood before the desk, for all intents and purposes left standing like scolded schoolchildren.
“Ahh…,” the man sighed, laying his hands on the table. “You have your compatriots and I have mine. Fair, isn’t it?”
Jayne snorted quietly, muttering, “Fair,” under his breath.
“You said you were willin’ to do some business,” Mal reminded him.
“That I am,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair. “But the price we agreed upon is no longer satisfactory.” His eyes flicked to the door as another man slunk in, his eyes downcast as he shook his head subtly.
“We made a deal,” Mal reminded him. “An’ if you don’t have the gao wan to redeem your word, I’ll complete my dealings elsewhere.”
The old man’s eyes hardened. “I think not, Captain Reynolds. My men have already searched your conveyance and failed to find my prize, so we’ll need to make a personal trade.” In one motion, the men pulled out their guns, aiming them steadily at Mal and the crew in the center of the room.
“Wait a moment,” Mal said calmly, holding his hands up defensively. “No need for violence. Me and mine, we’re friendly sorts.” With that, he and the crew cautiously took a step backwards, forcing the men before them to cock their weapons.
Zoe asked dryly, “What’s Plan B, sir?”
“I’ll leave you know,” Mal replied with a shrug.
A loud crash echoed down the hallway, the vague sounds from the saloon suddenly rising, with smaller thuds and smashes adding an underlying melody to the clamoring voices.
“Go,” the old man nodded, sending a man out to investigate the commotion. A second later, he came flying back through the door, groaning pitifully as he landed hard on the floor.
Startled, the rest of the men swarmed out, leaving Mal and his crew alone. With a shrug, Mal calmly announced to the room, “Plan B,” and led his team back towards the saloon and the safety of outside.
The bar and the betting tables were in utter chaos, men strewn on the floor and broken tables tipped to the side, while scantily clad dancing girls and waitresses shrieked uselessly in a huddle by the wall.
The first thing Mal noticed was their passenger, John Winchester, fighting with a man at the end of the bar, using a pool cue to beat him into submission. Mal winced when, with a quick flip of the wrist, John rammed the cue between his opponent’s legs, solidly smacking his groin as he lifted it and twisted to the side, sweeping the man’s feet from beneath him and dropping the man to the floor. Twirling the cue with the panache worthy of a flag team cheerleader, John jabbed it towards the downed man’s throat, thunking him solidly on the adam’s apple and leaving him choking for air as John turned to take on the next.
The first thing Jayne noticed was the pretty brown-haired lady passenger standing on the bar and kicking approaching men in the face. Her eyes reflected blue in the lights of the saloon, her face glowing as she shattered a pitcher over a man’s head before smashing him face first into the bar, keeping him from reaching her husband. A smitten grin crossed Jayne’s face as he muttered to Mal’s back, “I wonder if she’s the same flavor crazy as River?”
The first thing Zoe noticed were the two men sneaking up behind them and she spun with weapon drawn to hold them off. Mal and Jayne turned as one to punch them in a flashy show of synchronized fisticuffs, before whirling to fight their way to the door, Zoe watching their backs.
Fred squatted on the top of the bar, leaning over to announce to John, “They fight like Winchesters.”
John smiled, looking nostalgic, “That they do.” He let the man in his grasp meet his fist for a final time, allowing his body to slump to the floor. “Let’s get goin’ before they leave us behind.”
A minute later, John and Fred stumbled through the door, cheeks flushed with excitement, coming to a stop facing a very irate Captain Reynolds. “In. Now,” he ordered. “We have things to be said.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’d purely hate to seem forbidding, but what in tyen shiao-duh did you pair picture to accomplish back there?” Mal demanded, turning to face them sitting so quietly in the back of the vehicle. “You interrupted our dealings!”
Fred arched an eyebrow at John, who chuckled and replied, “We were offerin’ a distraction since you seemed to be on the bad end of your…business meeting.”
“Hardly,” Mal scoffed as Jayne simultaneously replied, “More fucked than a $2 whore.” They glared at each other before turning back in their seats.
“Keep to your own concerns,” Mal reprimanded. “Or you should pack your personals right hasty.”
“Yes, Captain,” John replied with an overly serious expression, bringing a small smile to Fred’s face.
John elbowed Fred, who chirped, “Yes, Captain!” before slouching back into the seat, her arm firmly pressed against John’s side and her slight body trembling. John rested his hand on her thigh, using small, soothing strokes as if calming a feral dog, gazing at her with a hint of concern. Zoe sat stiffly in the front seat, twisting slightly to keep a wary eye on the passengers, her spine tingling with unease.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Once in the safety of their quarters, all pretense of normality was cast aside. “Something wrong, Illyria? Are you OK?” John asked with concern, wrapping his arms around her waist as he approached her from behind.
Illyria pulled away, turning to face him. “Nothing is wrong.”
“You sure?” he asked with a hint of worry. “You’ve been acting…off for the past few days.” He stood where she’d left him, tucking his hands into his pockets, and studied her uneasily. “Is it the Demon? I’ll be careful - promise.”
A scornful expression planted itself firmly on Illyria’s usually placid features. “And why should I be concerned with such a creature? He cannot even exist on this plane without leeching onto a soul - like a flea on a mongrel dog! Less than a mote of dust if you humans did not exist.” She sniffed with disdain, blue eyes bright.
John laughed dryly, a touch of anger and hurt crossing his face. “Your mote of dust sure was a pain in my ass. Killed my wife, hurt my sons…made our lives hell.” He glanced at her, his eyes dark and his jaw tight with tension. “Nice of you to help me keep things in perspective, I guess.”
Illyria blinked at him, her gaze unwavering, almost as if she were studying his face for a hint of something, before replying to his original question, “I am…OK. Let us sleep.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John lay propped in the corner of their broad bunk, Illyria curled against his bare chest as she idly traced her fingers over the white trails of his old scars criss-crossing his faintly tanned skin. “Still not gonna tell me?” John asked, brushing his cheek over Illyria’s tousled blue hair.
“You once said you wished to maintain some mystery. I am being compliant,” Illyria informed him, blinking to underline her point.
John laughed gently, squeezing her against his side, his hand looking even darker against the cold blue-white shading of her skin. “Well, your detailed description of eviscerating your opponent’s forces and hanging them by their own intestines until they drowned in their own filth was a little too much sharing in the midst of my attempt at seduction.” He furrowed his brow, trying to look stern. “It made me doubt my manliness…not to mention entirely ruined the mood.”
“I recall being eager to continue,” Illyria told him with a subtle shift of her brow.
John laughed, a deep rumble in his chest, before it was interrupted by a yawn. “That’s because, m’dear, you are a freak.”
“You are still bedding me. What does that make you?” Illyria asked, stroking her hand over his belly to soothe him into slumber.
“Insane,” John admitted as his grip tightened around her hip, shifting her body atop his own with a soft grunt. “If you’re trying to get me to sleep, that never works.”
Illyria smirked, the barest tilt of her lip indicating her amusement. “I am aware…but you will inevitably fall asleep afterwards, as you are prone to do.”
“Scheming woman,” he murmured, tilting his mouth up to meet hers. “Downright evil, I tell you.”
“I am kindly giving you the opportunity to prove your manliness,” Illyria told him as he dragged his teeth along the line of her jaw. She paused before adding, “This reminds me of my battle against Kro’tha. I set my dogs upon him and their teeth actually stripped the skin from his….”
“Quiet,” John growled against her throat as he bit down hard, his hand tangling in her hair. “I’m trying to seduce you.” His tongue lapped at the teeth marks denting her skin, a small thrill of satisfaction running through him at the successful marking.
“Maybe you need to try harder,” Illyria suggested, her voice lowering. The distinction between seductive Illyria and menacing Illyria was nearly nonexistent - fortunately, John had lived long enough to learn the difference, though it still led to the occasional awkward reaction when hunting.
John chuckled against her skin. “Oh, so we’re in one of those moods tonight, are we?”
He flipped her, pinning her down with the weight of his body, sliding his hands along her arms until their hands met, and he restrained them against the bed. “Damn bossy Demon-Gods. We need to find a better use for that mouth of yours.”
John trailed his lips over the bare expanse of her chest, all teeth and tongue as she arched her breasts into his mouth.
As John sharply tugged on her blue-tinted nipple with his teeth, Illyria continued with a sly quirk to her lips, “Kro’tha’s skin peeled away from the muscle like the rind of rotten fruit - one of my guards collected the scraps and made a lanyard to tie his chi’katen to his belt.”
John silenced her with a kiss, brushing his tongue against hers as he nudged her legs further open with his knee, surging inside her with one swift stroke.
“No more talking,” he panted against her open mouth, releasing her hands in order to tangle his fingers in her hair, keeping her body from sliding along the sheets from the force of his thrusts.
“As you wish,” Illyria agreed with a rumbling purr as her eyes slid closed, hand-shaped bruises already coloring the swell of his hips from the strength of her grip on his skin.
TO BE CONTINUED...