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daredevilkink2015-08-14 07:00 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2015-08-14 07:00 pm
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Prompt Post #6
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Let Me Go (Down)
(Anonymous) 2015-12-12 09:12 am (UTC)(link)Part one of two.
+ + + +
“Nuh-uh.” Claire’s fingers tighten in his hair and (gently) wrench his head to the side.
Matt can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. His muscles have that satisfying ache that comes from physical exertion, and her muscles are still shivering.
With a groan (exaggerated), he levers up onto his forearms and drags his bottom lip from her navel to her neck. She likes it when he hovers over her, cages her with possibility instead of dead weight. (Though she likes that too.) And it has been two weeks since they’ve managed to sleep the entire night in the same bed. If she thinks she’s escaping so easily, she has another think coming.
But her fingers, which keep their grip, don’t try to guide him, so maybe she’s just feeling playful.
Early morning sun heats the room, making it seem later than the thump of papers being dropped off for the newsstand on the corner indicate. They have all the time in the world, he thinks as he licks the salt of her sweat from his lips.
“I just wanted a taste,” he murmurs against her ear, not bothering to pretend to innocence.
Claire laughs deep in her throat and turns his head enough that she can brush her smile against his. “The last time you said that,” she sighs, “I couldn’t feel my toes for an hour afterward.”
“I don’t remember hearing you complain. Quite the opposite, actually.” He doesn’t kiss her, chooses to tease her with proximity instead. Strokes a single finger along the shell of her ear, nips at her collarbone, inhales the humid air at her throat and sighs it out over her lips. Says her name softly and imploringly…
Grins as his tactics make her laugh. The sound bounces around them, throaty and carefree and she arches her bare body into his, arms sliding around his shoulders (legs sliding around his hips) and dragging him down to press her into the mattress.
“No! I’m not going to the farmer’s market with beard burn on my thighs.”
“Not with that attitude you’re not.” Childishly he rubs his stubble across her upper chest. She has rules – good, reasonable rules – about leaving marks where her patients (or supervisors) might see, but this will be gone by tomorrow morning.
“Matt!” (Still laughing, still loose and relaxed under him.) She reaches for him, to pull him closer or push him away…
He catches her wrists easily and pins them to the bed as he levers up for a kiss –
– and pauses. Listens as Claire’s heart skips a couple beats before starting to race. Smirks as her temperature spikes a few degrees. Makes a show of taking a deep breath as she moves under him, stirring her scent into the air.
He’s only recently become comfortable with this, with giving her something to strive against. With giving her strength and force, tempered with gentleness.
She squirms and pulls against his hands, testing. He barely tightens his grip (not even close to bruising her) but it’s enough to completely still the motion of her arms. He swallows a mischievous impulse to ask her to list the bones of the wrist and hand, but Claire reacts so strongly that the whim is lost almost as soon as it enters his head. Her body twists and arches under his restlessly, shoulders braced against the bed, ribcage and hips bucking up into him. And the sudden burst of her arousal – the heavy, elemental scent of her (like unfurled roses, like new-turned earth, like a bakery in the morning) – fogs his thoughts. Well, the unimportant thoughts. He’s suddenly extremely focused on achieving his original goal.
“Claire…” He rubs his scratchy cheek against her neck, cherishes every soft moan and sigh she forgets to stifle. “Please, Claire.” He shifts, traps both wrists in one hand; cups the side of her face and traces her bottom lip with the other. “I’ve missed you.” (He can practically taste her on the air, but it’s not the same.)
“S-stop.” Her voice is breathless and rough, but her heels press into the backs of his thighs.
“Stop?” He strokes his fingers along her cheek. (He will never get enough of her skin.)
“You can’t look at me like that.”
His heart gives a few startled beats of its own. “And how am I looking at you?” Hearing himself described through her words never fails to excite him.
She (laughs) (groans) (pants) tries to catch her breath, turns her head and catches his thumb between her teeth and nips hard. “Like you want to eat me whole.”
Yessss… He knows his lips are sliding into a self-satisfied smirk. “Well… You’re not far off.” Such lovely, soft, heated skin; such deliciously throaty purrs from that extended throat as he digs his fingers into her thigh and hooks his elbow under her knee.
“Matt, please…”
“Yes?”
“Shave first.”
“What?” He pulls back, certain he’d misheard.
“Beard burn. Chafing. Not as sexy as you think. Shave first.”
+
Claire wolf-whistles when he comes back into the bedroom. She’s moved over to his side of the bed, legs crossed and leaning back on her hands. And completely and utterly naked. He’s half tempted to tackle her to the bed, to bite hot kisses into every exposed inch of skin, starting at her neck and ending between her legs where the heated scent of her flows into the air.
(He wets his lips thinking about it, and her pulse nearly doubles before slowing down again.) Smirking, he stalks across the floor until he’s standing in front of her and he…waits.
He doesn’t wait long. Claire’s legs shift, extend. Her feet hook over the side of the bed, knees grazing his thighs as she slides her body towards the edge of the mattress. She burns brighter and brighter, everything about her becoming more. (Temperature rising, lungs heaving, heart pounding.) He slides his hands into her hair as she tilts her head back to look up at him. (He can hear her swallow hard, wet her lips.)
“See something you like?” he asks as he leans down to meet her upturned face.
“Ehhh…” She teases him with non-committal sound before surging up those last few inches to press her lips to his. Her mouth opens hungrily, her hands skimming over his cheeks. The gentle brush of her fingers helps to soothe the rawness left from the razor.
And this – this – is the best part of sex with Claire. This sense of connection, of partnership, of something that falls between a reckless honesty and the most private intimacy. No matter what happens, she is with him, as fully engaged and present as he is, as his senses make him be.
The sheer openness of it all…of being with someone he doesn’t need to hide anything from…is still enough to make him giddy.
It’s awkward, standing over her, bent in half and unable to touch all the skin he wants to. So he goes down on his knees, slipping one arm behind her hips and tugging her ever closer to the edge of the bed. Her moan vibrates against his lips, long and sustained and needy in the best way. Her hands comb through his hair and over his face again and again, keeping him close. (As if he wants to be anywhere else.)
But then he shifts his weight and can’t quite hide his wince (half a wince), which is enough to make Claire pull away. Not far – he can feel the way her brow wrinkles in concentration as she tries to find the words she wants.
“Knee.” She shakes her head. “No. Pillow. You should have one. For your knee.”
“My knee is fine.” And really, he’d rather get back to kissing and the charming (and well, flattering) way Claire turns almost speechless when she’s aroused.
“Pillow,” she insists, stretching away from him to reach for one. Matt sighs; arguing about it isn’t worth the trouble, considering she’ll dig her heels in about his comfort. He bows his head and rubs his cheek against her thigh, and takes the pillow she fumbles to him and tucks it under his knees. (And yes, that’s better, but it hadn’t really been bad –)
“Matt?”
“Mmmm?”
“I can still feel my toes.”
A shiver runs through him and with it a faint memory of a cartoon dog vibrating and going comically stiff as it picks up a scent runs through his mind (no less absurd for it’s lack of clarity). “Open for me.” And her thighs spread that little bit wider so that he can comfortably tuck his elbows under her the backs of her knees, so that his hands can easily grip her hips or play over the top of her thighs. But that really hadn’t been what he’d meant, not exactly, so he asks again, taking a possessive pleasure out of it, “Open for me.”
“Matt…” His name is a groan, a prayer, a supplication for mercy as she hesitates. But only for an instant. Claire, (his wonderfully brave, scrupulously honest Claire) slides her fingers between her legs and slowly, deliberately, spreads the folds of her sex for him. Her (their) breathing is rough as the explicitness of the act (of her trust in him) sinks in. And when he can’t stand it anymore, he tilts his face down and gives in to what they both want.
Re: Let Me Go (Down)
(Anonymous) 2015-12-15 10:28 am (UTC)(link)Re: Let Me Go (Down)
(Anonymous) 2015-12-16 02:46 am (UTC)(link)Re: Let Me Go (Down)
(Anonymous) 2015-12-17 07:06 pm (UTC)(link)especially the part where they're both secure enough to do a little dominance play, and the back and forth about matt's stubble, and claire making sure he has a pillow under his bad knee, and her opening herself for him. and also just all of it. because WOW.
Re: Let Me Go (Down)
(Anonymous) 2016-01-06 10:32 pm (UTC)(link)