called_lioness | (no subject)

It's wet and damp and kinda really messy in a different way--this one she's used to--as her hand slips between them for a minute and then her leg goes around his and pulls tight. And he's closer than she is, but it's okay, because it has to last longer over all this way--because damned if the ache isn't being satisfied after today--and she puts one arm behind his shoulder blades while the other hand cradles the back of his head, and it's almost gentle.

"Didn't let me finish for you," she manages as she lets her eyes close and enjoys the way he fills her, rocks a little to try and make it rub the right spot.

"Would've."

"Too good," he says, and it's mostly a laugh and partly a groan, and one hand touches her hair and the other moves to her breast and they move slow and sweet and hot together.

He closes hie eyes and leans his forehead against her shoulder, and he can concentrate now on making her feel the things he feels, and his hand moves down between their bodies to touch her as gently as she'd touch him before.

"Caspian." And there have to be more things than his name, there do, but she can't think of what matter as much or more as she's half-startled by his touch and rocks hard against his hands for more. Except. Except. Except maybe she can think of one other thing, as least, which is "please". It's more whimpered than asked, soft and by his ear, as her on head rests on his shoulder.

Lucy forgets for a moment how to do anything but try for more of the touch, try to just feel more, because it isn't enough.

There's more, and it's still gentle but soon it becomes insistent and coaxing. He watches as her eyes flutter open and closed, and he shudders at the sounds she's making, unaware that similiar noises are coming unbidden from the back of his own throat.

He's always know that Lucy was gorgeous and that he always, always wants her and that he loves her past all bounds of reason, but somehow he just hasn't quite remembered until now. So he kisses her neck and takes her by the hips and rolls onto his back, carrying her up onto his chest. It isn't slow, it isn't sweet; it's fast and needy and he loves being able to look up into her face. He always has the control.

He gives it to her tonight.

It almost hurts how much she wants and how much more and that's really the word that keeps coming back to her brain, just "more" as she looks down at him and her shoulders shake. Not like the first time, not really, and not like almost any other time she can think of, except maybe Vegas, and that was nice, except.

Except she gets to decide, this time, and she can't lift him against the wall but she can brace herself up, hands on his shoulders, and kiss him hard and deep before managing, "God, I--" And she has to bite the last word off because his hand is being clever on her chest, before finishing, "--could do this forever." It might kill her all over again, but she wouldn't, really, mind, because he looks different from this angle and handsome, and she means it when she said forever, or at least he's not sleeping soon, and she deliberately slows her movements as she kisses him again.

Mostly because she can, and she wants more, but she also wants to hear him make some of those noises again, and it's urgent, but not as much for her as for him, and she still owes him.

Just a little.

Oh.

Oh.

If he'd known she could be like this--if he'd ever stopped to think about her hair falling around her shoulders and the muscles of her stomach and arms tightening and relaxing and god, she's just so beautiful and he just loves her so much. It's worth being dead and looking forever seventeen because he finally gets Lucy and it hits him.

He finally has Lucy. She's here, and she loves him and she wants him and she's married him and his hands tighten on her hips and he manages "Oh Lu, I want" before she's taken his breath away again and what air he manages to get is stuck in his throat and his chest.

He's glad he has this body to please her with, and he's glad she has hers, even though it means they don't look the ages they are but somehow it just doesn't matter anymore, except that he has decided they definitely haven't been using what they've been given to their advantage up until tonight.

And she really wants to use her body and his every way she can think of, even if some of them would normally make her cheeks red, because even like this--even, especially, one of those--maybe being almost-nineteen forever has its benefits and they really have to find out what they are and tonight is the best time to do that ever, Lucy thinks.

"Come on, then," she says against his ear and lets her fingers play with one of the nubs on his chest before she's running teeth along earlobe and jawline and neck, and she really could stand going faster and doesn't anyway. "S'all yours."

It's hard, but his hands tighten on her hips and it's worth it to move slowly as she lifts her head to look down at him and says, a little bit not realizing, "Beautiful," when she sees his expression.

He smiles up at her, breathing hard and his hair is dark with sweat against his forehead.

It's a bit of an effort, especially the way she is on his chest, but it's an effort that's more than worth it as he tightens and lifts and sits up to meet her, tugging her down and into him with an arm around the small of her back the other hand roaming up her side. Part of the joy of all this is movement and skin against skin and he laughs a little because they have to rearrange themselves a bit, but laughing is good too, and this way they are so much closer and so much tighter. He can take what he wants and give everything back, and if that isn't what should be happening always with Lucy

(Lucy, Lucy Lucy, he loves the name, and it's echoing repeatedly in his mind, he can't ever get her quite out of his head and he loves it)

then he doesn't know what else it might be.

It's a shift, when he sits up, and sometimes she thinks it's entirely unfair for him that he doesn't get to see what that's like from this perspective, because it makes her breathe out his name again like it's a prayer. Because he shifts his arms around her and he brushes different in her, and she doesn't care how long it takes as long as every moment's even a little like that.

"Want to see your face," she says softly into his skin before pulling her head back enough to watch him. "Need to," breathed again as she stares at his eyes, "when you get what you want," and she squeezes, hard, as she says that, does it on purpose and wants to see how undone she can make him, eyes not moving from his as she kisses him again.

He tastes, she thinks, like rum and chocolate and his sweat and hers mixed on their skin and tea and himself, and it's all in an instant before she tightens muscles again because for all she wants a lot right now, to see the look he gets at the moment when he falls (except not really, because she used to think of it as falling and slipping and now it's not, she thinks, it's flying) is highest on the list, because it's so sweet to see and hers, and she won't share this, not ever, not with anyone. No one gets to see it except her.

No one, no one ever but her and he'd repeat it like a mantra if only he could speak coherently. She squeezes and it shoots through him like electricity, and the thought crosses his mind that Lucy could have had anyone she wanted, really, and she wants him and he has never been so lucky in his entire life.

It's so hard to keep from kissing her shoulder--he wants to taste her, wants to find that spot at the meeting of neck and shoulder that makes her come undone--but she asked and so he obeys. He can't help closing his eyes as she moves, though--it's so sweet and it makes him ache and it isn't a shock of lightning this time, it's hot and sweet like the chocolate he'd drank.

"Just want you," and it's a gasp, all he can manage when she's doing these things to him, things she'd tried to do by the lake and that image along with her hands on his shoulders and her legs around him. This is something they've always shared--give and take and moving towards the breaking point together but it has never been quite like this before, with Lucy doing that and so intent and "Oh god," he says, and it's a low groan.

She likes this, she realizes, very clearly, likes to see him shake on the edge as she moves towards it, likes it better, almost, that she's behind him this time and can focus a bit more clearly on his expression. She likes that she knows how he tastes all over, now, and she likes that it warms her face if she thinks on it, and she likes that she can make him stay back so she can see his face.

She doesn't like that she can't see his eyes, but she can accept it, because he's let her be in control this time, for the first time, and Lucy likes that best of all.

"Yes. Like that," she says softly and reaches her hand down to trace at his skin where they're joined, her other hand cupping the back of his head. "Exactly like that."

Her voice is so gentle and her hand so insistent that he has to open his eyes, just to see her.

She's so beautiful.

And it isn't quite fair that this feels so good, really, because he's certain that she isn't nearly as close to falling utterly apart as he is, but then her hand is wamr against his skin and her eyes are laughing and loving. It doesn't even matter that they're grey now, because green or grey they're Lucy's eyes and that makes them beautiful, no matter what, especially when she's looking at him like that.

Maybe it's that which undoes him in the end; the look in her eyes and the warmth of her and the way she's touching him and how much he loves her. He doesn't quite know what exactly it might be, or if it's just everything all at once but he gasps and his shoulders shake and it's like everything is falling around him, but instead of falling apart it's all falling together.

"Oh, yes," she murmurs and cradles him close as he shakes, stops looking enough to press a kiss to his temple, softly, and then another, marvelling at how wet his hair is and the way he's trembling and all of it, really.

And it's satisfying in a different way than it would be to fall with him and see the world go white for herself, because she can see his face, can brush kisses to it, distracted from moving against him for at least the moment as she slows and stops and just holds him close and says, "I love you," softly, over and over again.

He replies in kind, shaking and slick with sweat, and holds her as close as he dares, taking deep shuddering breaths.

That was--

It was--

"Love you," he murmurs, into her neck, and she has shown him just what she wanted and so now it's his turn. He can lift her, and he does, and he turns and she falls back and then he's lying alongside her with his hand running down her body while he watches her face with curiousity and contentment. He wonders what will happen if he touches her just there and lets his fingers linger a while over heated skin. He wants to see her twist, wants to make her arch into his touch, wants her to call out his name in that way she has.

Mouth and skin and touch and heat all trace over every inch of her body, finding the sensitive spots and loving them.

"Oh,," Lucy manages and she wants to watch him because he's beautiful and his hand's brilliant, but it's hard to focus. More than a little bit hard, just as it's hard not to grab him and pull him closer for something, for anything, but it's his turn. He let her, so now she lets him, and it's not like it's anything close to being unpleasant.

He knows most of the spots, really, knows them quite well, and when he kisses the spot between her shoulder and neck is, she thinks, when she started to shake a bit. It's definitely when she groaned the first time, and she doesn't bother for once even keeping it a little bit quiet, because that spot always makes it hard to breathe. And she knows that it's when he's stroking her side that she bites out, "Please," without being able to put anything after it. Please more, please don't tease, except she did earlier, and it's not like she can't wait, so maybe also it's please don't stop. Even if two of them contradict each other.

She doesn't care.

He'd like to tease her, he really would; would love to take his time and make her come apart at the seems, but when it comes to Lucy and what she asks, Caspian finds himself unable to resist. Particularly when she's like this: sweating and twisting the sheets and tipping her head back. So she says please and then there's his mouth on her neck and her ear and his hand moving down her side and down her hip and smoothing over the skin of her thigh to that spot that had made her shudder when her legs were around him.

And maybe he's still teasing, a little, but even keeping his touch light and slow doesn't make it not there and he smiles against her skin when she shakes. Lifting himself up on an elbow, he watches her face as she had watched his earlier, watching how his touch makes her eyes close, watching what opens them again.

And no matter how familiar her body has become, there is always this and it is always new and always, always precious.

Lucy would say this is more than teasing. It's worse, almost, being light and there than in other places. She can't really keep her eyes open at the first touch, not for more than a second or two, because it's frustrating and wonderful and other things she can't think of but she's sure exist and she'd know if she wasn't busy trying to remember how to breathe.

"You're trying to make me explode, aren't you?" she rasps when her eyes drift open again, but she's not objecting by half, as one hand twists in the sheets at each touch.

This is very new, really, at least in this way, and she likes it as much as she liked tasting his mouth earlier and watching his face and everything else.

He laughs a little, and dips his head to kiss along her collarbone, paying particular attention to the hollow of her throat.

"Aye. Mayhap I am."

It's nice to think that his touch could--does--have that effect. But now her eyes are open and he wants to see them widen, so now the touch is less light, more insistent, and he likes that her breath comes at the same time as his fingers move. He likes that it's ragged at the edges, wants to make it come faster.

Watching her face, though, takes away from tasting her skin, and he leans down to kiss down her neck, over the rise of collarbone and swell of breast. He'd like to see her face when she falls, but this is just as sweet.

"Ass." She doesn't mean it at all, and the way she has to gasp it out is fairly able to give it away.

He kisses her neck and she groans, and he kisses her breasts and she bites her tongue to keep from--she doesn't even know what, because it feels too good, and they're almost aching to be touched, and at least it's not feather-light.

"Shan't let you," she manages as she cradles his head with one hand, because it's playing and always has been, really, because he's her playmate as much as lover and friend as much as husband, and because she's stubborn.

Also, she thinks it would be rather messy.

Also, it would steal from Caspian the pleasure of having her here and in one piece, and he'd come up with a witty retort, only the sight of Lucy like this seems to have short-circuited his brain. Still, this isn't precisely to her detriment, as it means his hands are paying even more attention to the places on her body they touch, and his mouth is lingering on her skin and his fingers worship her body.

(your face in my eyes, and mine in thine)

He feels the muscles of her stomach contract underneath his mouth, either from his kisses or from his hand between her legs and either way he smiles at it.

"Is--are you--" and it's almost important except she's not sure what it was she was going to ask because words are too hard and she thinks he's still trying to make her explode and she's trying not to but she knows it won't last and there's also thank God that is won't and she'll fail. This time, it's brilliant that she will.

It's just never been like this, and she wants to say either not your hand or more or something and she doesn't know what because she can't keep her eyes open anymore.

If she was ever dignified or anything except grabbing onto the sheets like it's all that keeps her here and gasping for breath, she can't remember it anymore, and she can't keep her hips still and God, "Love you," she manages because that one she knows, at least.

He knows it's good, so far, and she's close, but it's not good enough and she isn't close enough either and so after a moment there's him moving further down her body and gently but firmly pushing her legs out of the way.

Later, his face will colour with the memory of this, but it won't be embarassment so much as this rush of heat and desire and love, this longing to know every part of her body and love it all the same. But for now, he doesn't think on anything except how she tastes and how she feels and the small sounds that she's making. It's showing her how he loves her and how he wants her, and that she is this as well as friend and playmate and Queen and lady and wife.

"Caspian!" When she starts to say his name it's just with surprise, and then it's much more than that as she nearly jumps at the first touch, legs stiffening from where he's moved them to. And when she gasps his name at the first touch it just means oh God what are you doing and why haven't you before.

Oh, she'll explode, she thinks, and it's very sad, but it's his fault so he'll have to clean up the mess, and if he thinks it's easy keeping her legs to the side than he's out of his mind, but she's really, really trying.

She doesn't know what the this she is is, right now, because she doesn't feel like anything she has before. But she thinks she's wanted to, and she thinks she loves him more than anyone has a right to love another person, and she thinks his tongue moving like that is going to make her hand tighten in his hair if he does it again, and she thinks she's going to die from this all over again.

He laughs at that, and that is maybe teasing and maybe a little cruel, but he apologies for it almost instantly and without wasting words when he can be busy doing something else. And she gasps and she twists and he doesn't quite hold her down but if she wants freedom of movement, she won't be getting it.

Fortunately, it doesn't seem like she wants it terribly much.

She's shaking and her skin is flushed and she's never been so beautiful, ever. All Caspian wants is to move up beside her and watch her, but that will have to wait.

All she wants is to get closer and tries desperately to raise her hips.

It's probably cheating, to let her hand rub against her own breast, and she doesn't care right now because everything aches and everything's tight and oh, he's getting paid back for this, somehow, that's for certain.

"Caspian." It's like the only word she can form is his name. And every other one she ever knew is gone and she wants to say just please and she can't even get that out.