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+---- Thread: your hands are scarred from murder (/showthread.php?tid=2827)
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Maea - 02-19-2020
She gasped as he grabbed her and rolled them over once more. There was a fresh surge of pain that managed to penetrate the haze of desire as all her bruised muscles were aggravated at once, but the feeling soon ebbed away, replaced by the feather light kisses he trailed along her jaw. Quite without meaning to her chin began to rise to make room for him, but then she caught herself, tried to hold back, to not be so damned easy.
[say]"Maybe... you didn't do as good a job as you thought, then,"[/say] she suggested, a half taunt that was very much a lie - it had been amazing. It just seemed her fires were harder to douse than to kindle, so to speak... once just wasn't enough. Maea's eyes fixed on him, trailed down as he rose up to hover above her, and something shuddered in her gaze when she saw the full glory of him, from the fit, glistening body to the hard cock she had been so close to feel inside her. His trailing hand made her spine arch, a little less sharply than normal - but hey, what was pain? - and sucking in breath in anticipation of feeling his fingers on her apex again, so ready to drown in the pleasure once more.
Only, he abandoned her. Turned his hand to himself instead. Maea watched, transfixed, half outraged and half... mesmerized.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Sunjata - 02-19-2020
He smirks as he pulls away from her to hover above her, his gaze stormy and devouring as he watches her face for her reaction as his hand trails. “[say]I think…[/say]” He rumbles with another bout of amusement, “[say]that you’d much prefer to have me inside you.[/say]” A dark brow lifts as his trailing hand abandons her and he remains hovering, not quite touching her but reaching for himself instead. And he can see the way that it trips her up a small amount, see it in the way she reacts in her surprise.
And was that some frustration on her part?
He hangs his head toward her a small amount, still that arrogant smirk ghosting on the corner of his lips. “[say]But I suppose I can handle myself on my own..[/say]” His tone is still husky but a bit suggestive, searching her face as he strokes himself long and slow at first — waiting to see if she’ll pull him to her or if he should continue. He doesn’t mind either way, aside from the fact he’d much prefer to have her do the work for him.
His palm flattens by her shoulder, weight remaining on his knees to keep close yet far enough to support himself, knowing he’ll focus too much on his own touches and grip. She can certainly watch him if she wants to, however, horned head tilting slightly as his breath hitches and he grips his cock a bit more, a bit faster — waiting and toying with himself enough to try and spot a reaction.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Maea - 02-19-2020
Another new thing, to see him touch himself like this. It did strange things to her. Made her blush, for one. Made the pounding between her legs intensify, her breath catching, and her eyes flitted between his moving hand and to his face, the simmering pleasure she saw there. It was... beautiful. Not for the first time she had the impression of looking up at some young god, all carnal desire and sea-silver eyes while she lay there aching beneath him. Maea wondered what it would be like to see him finish like that. Knew she could find out, if she waited long enough. Already his hand moved faster, his breath hitching - he clearly drew pleasure from it, eyes turning hazy even though the kept looking at her.
With a little whimper, Maea shifted. Brought her hands up to cradle his hips between them. Torn, for a moment; then a small hand came trailing around his thigh to the front, to join his hand on his cock. With the other she tried to pull him down, bring him closer. [say]"Maybe... maybe you're right,"[/say] she said hoarsely, breathless, burning. [say]"I do want you... inside me."[/say]
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Sunjata - 02-19-2020
She blushes, and internally he smirks to that — pleases with that reaction alone. But he’s not done yet, and she realizes it too as her gaze lifts to meet his and he tilts his head a small amount toward her. She whimpers, and he wonders for a brief moment what she might choose to do, whether it means giving in or letting him continue to play with himself. But her hands find his scarred skin on his hips and she pauses just enough that his strokes grow slower again, watching her debate internally what to do.
But she surprises him, as she trails one hand to join his on his cock and his gaze shudders a small amount, his length twitching beneath her touch. But now that she has him, he removes his own hand, moving it to mirror his other arm to prop himself up easier and relieve some of the pressure of his other hand. But he doesn’t give into her just as she hadn’t given into him, and he gives her a pleased fanged smirk as he pushes himself toward her just enough to pull back again.
Half lidded steel searches her face with that movement. “[say]Do you?[/say]” He asks as he tilts his head back a small amount, his voice equally as hoarse, hips shifting again — content to let her fuck him like this a small amount before he inevitably breaks to indulge in her.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Maea - 02-19-2020
He was so hot under her hand. Skin so smooth, and soft, and just a bit sticky, hard enough to make her shudder, breath hitching. Biting her lip, she stroked him, felt him shift into her grasp, and she closed her fingers as much as she could around him. Just barely able to reach all the way around. She looked up to him just in time to see the grin he gave her, all fangs and feline contentment as his hips moved, pushed him towards her, only to retreat. Mirroring her own teasing, in a way that nearly drove her out of her mind.
His voice alone made her spine arch up, like it was a physical thing, as if she could actually feel it caress her spine. Her grip tightened around his cock, fingers stroking him faster, and again her other hand tugged on his scarred hip, tried to bring him down on her, desperate to feel him against her again. Without his body flush against hers to heat her up, Maea felt cold and empty. Aching for him.
[say]"... yes,"[/say] she gasped, pressing her head down into the pillows. Exposing the neck, inviting him in to devour, to mark her. There were no other bruises there, any he made would surely stand out. Brand her as his... as if anyone could ever mistake her for anything else.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Sunjata - 02-19-2020
She arches beneath him and he exhales a shuddering sound as her grip tightens, her movements faster and more sure. He lowers himself a small amount to where his chest barely touches hers, feather light at first as he debates, letting his skin brush against her in the movements he adds to her own. But he waits for an answer to the question, spying with those half lidded lustful eyes as she offers her neck to him, bare and plain and pale without any marks. And she knows how much of a weakness it is for him.
He forgets about the bruises littering her body as he surges toward her again, fitting himself against her like a puzzle piece but lifted just enough to keep her hand there to guide him exactly where she wants him. His lips meet her skin, fangs and teeth in a soft tentative dance at first — panting against her skin. “[say]Good.[/say]” Comes his gravelly growl, and he kisses her jaw in a line until he reaches the soft space of her throat, nipping and biting to leave marks, thrusting against her hand as goosebumps rise along his skin.
He finds that despite how much fun this game was becoming, he absolutely just wanted to bury himself in her.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Maea - 02-19-2020
He descended on her, enveloping her in his heat, in his presence, and Maea moaned in relief to feel his skin brush against her chest, her stomach, even though it was only feather light. She kept stroking him even while he lowered his hips down, a little distracted by the mouth that caught her neck, the nipping teeth that sent little bolts of lightning to sizzle through her. If she hadn't already been ready to melt for him, she did so now. Utterly, completely, no fight left in her.
Angling her hips under him, she brought his cock to her core, fitted him just right against her, and let go. Brought her arms up around his shoulders, so ready for him, so willing to be ravished, claimed. [say]"Fuck me, Sunjata,"[/say] she moaned, barely able to even speak at all. Not used to the coarse language, but unable to find a better word when that was exactly what she wanted him to do.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Sunjata - 02-19-2020
She guides him to her, and he gladly moves with — pressing himself down to her with bites and soft kisses after before rampaging on. And he forgets again the bruising on her body, too busy adding his own that he reaches for her hair to pull and tug her head the opposite way of where his own head and teeth loom, to give him more space.
She doesn’t have to tell him twice as she releases her grip on him, his other hand reaching for her legs to lift them a small amount to give him an even better angle to drive himself deep into her. He’s not as slow as he usually is — too riled and roused, too hard and aching and craving her that he dives in quickly, savoring her around his cock as he savors the taste of her on his tongue.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Maea - 02-19-2020
She forgot her bruises too. There was no time to consider them when he was feasting on her neck, tugging on her hair to move her head aside. Not gentle, just hungry. Demanding, just the way she loved it. Part of her recalled the river again, wondered what might have happened if he'd been a little less considerate, a little more greedy that day. If he hadn't accepted her tentative request to wait... would she have caved to him then, like she did now?
He took the thoughts from her as he lifted her hips up, and pushed inside. Rougher than usual, harder, faster; she cried out at the extacy of finally being taken, and angled her hips to let him in even deeper. Breath ragged, gasping and moaning over and over as he filled her to the brim. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, nails scraping over the skin, over the inked feathers on his back as her insides clenched around him, needing no real time to adjust - she had been ready for so long now, was so wet he couldn't possibly hurt her like that.
[say]"I missed this,"[/say] she breathed, head spinning. [say]"Missed having you, missed you."[/say] It seemed so ridiculous now to be away for so long when all she really wanted was right here, in her arms. Did anything else really matter but this man, and his hands, and how happy she felt at being wanted by him?
No. Just... no.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Sunjata - 02-19-2020
Rough calloused hands roam her skin, burn against her as he burns with her, not soft or smooth in the slightest with the way he molds her how he wants her to be. Her hips lift and he drives himself deep into her, groaning against her skin, holding on with teeth and kisses as she moans loudly. And he burns so much from it, not pausing as he begins to thrust at a quickening pace, growling and moaning his own approval to the way she clamps around him, the way her hands and nails roam against his tattooed skin.
Her words reach him, foggy at first, before they register and he pulls up from her neck to look at her with a glazed look about his eyes, a knowing smirk hinting at the corners of his lips. He reluctantly pulls his hand away from her hair to prop himself up easier, to shift his weight as he focuses on her and her lips, diving down with quicker thrusts to capture her lips with his own as if he could swallow the sounds they made together and save them for later.
But he breaks that deepening kiss before it can truly begin, aiming to rest his forehead along her own as he continues to burn inside her, slowing his greediness to something akin to tenderness in the soft slow strokes to drag his length along inside her. He searches her gaze, his own sparking with clarity. “[say]I love you, Maea.[/say]” A hoarse, husky whisper. Loren had told him to tell her before it was too late — and he had been fearful of it, the word, the way it tasted on his tongue. But here? Here all he could taste was her and how happy he was to have her here, to burn and melt with her, to be with her.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Maea - 02-19-2020
He took her, claimed, her, branded and molded her, and she just melted into it, let him have everything, gave him all of her to do with as he pleased. Had there ever been a time when the sight of his naked skin made her uneasy, enough that she couldn't even look at him? She couldn't remember the reasons anymore, and they didn't matter, didn't matter, because he was moving inside her, thrusting into her and claimed her mouth; it was all, it was everything, and the world fell away, leaving only the two of them. Maea moved with him, burning for him, hurting and aching and in pain but so willing to look away from any protesting muscles because the pain didn't matter either when she was drowning in all this pleasure.
She could have kissed him forever, but he broke away, leaned his forehead to hers and slowed the pace. Maea didn't know why, it didn't matter; her hands came up to tangle in his hair and she found his gaze, wanting to drown in the storm, in the flood. But then... the storm cleared? The darkness was not there, and Sunjata spoke, said something, a whisper she had to strain to hear, because she did not have his preternatural hearing.
When the words reached her though. When she heard, and understood... Her mind cleared too. And the look in her eyes as they widened, surprise and shock and awe, the way her expression faded, faltered, brightened into something heartachingly, blissfully happy... it was nothing to what she felt. A feeling so big and fierce and chrushing she did not have words for it. Tears welled up in her eyes and it was suddenly hard to breathe, to speak... as if she could somehow break this, break him by doing something wrong.
She never thought she would ever hear him say it. Believed from the bottom of her heart that it didn't matter, that his presence by her side was proof enough.
And yet...
And yet.
[say]"I love you too, Sunjata,"[/say] Maea whispered back, with all her heart in her voice. In the midst of all the pleasure, all the burning ache and the overflowing tears she laughed and hugged him close, wrapped her legs around his hips to sheathe him in her even more, hold him close in every possible way.
It was only a word. Yet it meant everything to hear it from his lips.
'I love you, Maea.' It was the most beautiful thing he had ever said to her.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Sunjata - 02-19-2020
When the words reach her, he’s not sure what he expects for a reaction. He doesn’t expect one so… huge, he supposes. The way her face lights up, the way her expression changes into something of complete and utter bliss, and it reflects in the softer smile he gives her. But there’s a glassy sheen to her eyes, and a soft breathy laugh leaves him as he goes to kiss the tops of her cheeks beneath her eyes to absorb any that might fall. Her whisper is full of far more emotion than he ever thought he could pull from her, and he rests his forehead against hers briefly again – clarity despite the way he breathes against her skin, a shuddering sound as she wraps herself around him and drives him deeper.
He’s filled her up in every way he knows how, pressing against her chest with his own, tilting his head into the touch she gives him through his hair. “[say]Don’t cry.[/say]” He rumbles to her, looking back down at her and leaning forward to capture her lips with his own. He’s sure he’ll be content to stay this way for the rest of his life – wrapped around her, her wrapped around him, until all he can see or think or imagine is her. But they both have to be safer, smarter about it, and he makes note to continue with the trainings to ensure that even when he’s not around her, she’ll still be safe.
And to make that bar in Halo… Because if nothing else at least he might be more willing to visit if he could stay in a place of comfort while there.
For now, however, he deepens the kiss, his thrusts beginning to pick back up in pace, slowly at first to give her time to handle her emotions. He tries to bring that fire back to the lightening of her face, tries to bring his warmth back to her to share this with her, to never have to let her go.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Maea - 02-19-2020
Well, if she cried it was all on him. Before she met Sunjata, Maea very rarely cried. Had her emotions under strict lock and key, overflowing only in the most dire circumstances. In moments of great loss. But now? Lately she'd been crying when she was sad, when she was angry, cried out of pain and frustration... and now from happiness too. If her reaction was huge, it was only because he brought out that kind of big emotions from her, ones she never thought herself capable of. Don't cry? Well.. she could try. But no promises.
Maea just kissed him instead, responding to the tender gesture of kissing away her tears with all the tenderness she could muster. If this was the end, she wouldn't mind. If tomorrow never came for them, at least she would spend eternity in bliss. If all that followed on this singular happiness was pain and loss and suffering, then... she would let it be a light in the dark to guide her, until her days were spent. Maea couldn't even imagine a future from here on out, unable to think of anything that would make her happier. Except... perhaps more of this. More days with Sunjata, more nights joined together, more mornings of waking to see his sleeping face next to hers. If this was what her life would be from now on... oh, what a gift it was.
He deepened the kiss then, moved with more determination, and Maea was pulled from her swirling thoughts back into the present, to the soft bed and the warm man and the sweet pleasure they shared. The fire was building in her blood again, all the fiercer for the pause, the chance to breathe, to grow numb... now she felt him all the more vividly. Her mouth opened to him, voice beginning to color her breaths again; her legs tightened around him and she arched up, ignoring the protesting muscles to move with him, under him, around him.
And in her bliss, in her surging, elated freedom of having his love, her magic went rogue on her. Light began to shimmer at her back, almost hidden away by the blankets, the sheets, and from nowhere, a pair of wings appeared. Sprouted from her shoulders, splayed out over the bed, larger by far than the bed, with feathers shimmering a pristine white, the same hue as her hair.
Maea didn't even notice, too absorbed by Sunjata.
RE: your hands are scarred from murder - Sunjata - 02-19-2020
She forgets about the pain to her body, and he forgets too as he indulges in her, deepening the kiss and moving with more purpose, leaning toward the edge of his aching need and desire for her. He can hear her voice leave her, as she opens her mouth for him to tangle with her, to explore and let her explore in turn. But her legs tighten around him and she arches up, hips bucking against him and driving him deeper, and he growls into her mouth.
But then, then a glimmering light is seen and it distracts him, and he pauses in his deep kiss to withdraw, to spy the wings that form from her shoulders, splayed out on the bed. Like an angel, he thinks… So at odds with the way he was. A Devil’s Advocate. Horns and fangs, teeth and claw away from her, the angel beneath him with her wings splayed.
“[say]You are beautiful, liefde.[/say]” He breathes against her skin, distracted by the feathers and wings, his hand leaving her side to stroke the inside limb of her wing as he slow himself again in his distraction – his thrusts still deep and tender but not quite as fast, his own navy feathers sprouting from his shoulders and down his arms, longer feathers along the base of his arm but nothing like the wings she bears.