wheft: (Default)
call me ishmael. ([personal profile] wheft) wrote2024-01-05 12:26 pm
frostfist: (pic#17076075)

finally drags my corpse back in here a week later

[personal profile] frostfist 2024-06-02 07:15 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He should probably be more concerned with the fact that there's nothing but a single wall separating the two of them from the rest of civilization, including plenty of people he would never want to catch him in a compromising situation like this.

But it's so hard to care when Ishmael's mouth is on his, the taste and scent and feel of her flooding every one of his senses. The salty tang of her sweat-slick skin and the ridges and bumps of the scars that litter her body as his fingers graze over them, physical proof of everything she's weathered up until this point. How is he supposed to stop when every moan and whisper and gasp from her lips is like a drug, reeling him in like a siren luring in a stray sailor? When he's dreamed of her hands on his body and the pull of her nails down his back, pushing down on his pain receptors just enough to highlight how incredibly good the rest of her feels? She's not the only one gasping for breath in the van, his usual self-control discarded completely as he grunts into the crook of her neck, unable to hold back groans every time her hips shift to meet his or her thigh tightens around him to keep him locked in place. Waves of pleasure that coast through his body, far eclipsing anything he could do with his hands alone.

It's so much and at the same time not enough, the nagging want for more growing even as he continues to thrust into her, forceful and relentless, hard enough that the echo of skin slapping against skin reverberates through the van. It's only after she begs him for release that he slows temporarily, taking a scant handful of seconds to readjust. His hands settle just behind her hips, fingers splayed around the curve of her ass as he lifts her off the floor completely and angles her even more towards him so he can sink his cock even deeper inside her again and again, picking up the pace once more. His mouth finds its way back to hers, uncaring of the curls of hair or strands of saliva that cling to his face as he kisses her, a graceless mess of lips and tongue and teeth. ]


Don't hold back then. [ The words come out muffled and low with desire, staggered between each forward drive of his hips. ] Show me everything you've got.

[ And he'll do the same for her. ]
frostfist: (pic#17076074)

[personal profile] frostfist 2024-06-06 02:27 am (UTC)(link)
[ As if he would just leave her hanging there.

It's not as though he isn't quickly hitting the cusp of his own climax despite the short time they've been together, the combination of her arms and legs wrapped around him and the husky pitch of her voice in his ear enough to leave him drunk on desire. Somewhere along the way the lines have blurred between giving and taking, and he's no longer sure if the way he fucks into her hard is because he wants her to feel good or if because he doesn't want to stop feeling good.

In the end it doesn't really matter, not when the end destination has always been the same. She comes around him, the clench of her orgasm around his cock enough to make his knees go weak. It's the bite that does him in though, a sudden blossom of pain in his shoulder as her teeth sink into his flesh, the perfect complement to the burning heat that overwhelms the rest of his body.

He hisses, swearing under his breath. ]


Fuck, Ishmael

[ He has just enough presence of mind to pull out before he too comes (no kids for either of them, not today), emptying himself across the wall and onto the floor. It's going to be a fucking mess to clean up later, but that's a problem for future him to figure out. Right now, he's too busy trying to collect his breath, forehead pressed against hers, insanely content with the way her body's still wrapped around him. ]
frostfist: <user name="wbnh6_" site="twitter.com"> (pic#17240629)

[personal profile] frostfist 2024-06-13 11:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Narrator voice: And then they did do it in a bed (two weeks later).

With his heart starting to slow again and his breathing evening out, and with Ishmael's head tucked against his chest, Wriothesley takes a second to idly tug one of the not-so-neatly pinned back loops of hair free from its bindings. Sorry Marcille, you did such a good job but half of it's starting to come undone from their quickie in the van and there's no point in trying to salvage it now.

Even if it did look really great while it lasted. ]


You don't have to tell me twice.

[ He'd pay a hefty sum for a bed and an hour of privacy right now, but all the Mora and kryptos in the world won't get them out of the desert any faster. When they get back...

But that's still far into the future. For now, they have more important things to deal with. ]


Go wash up. I'll clean up here.

[ He did make most of the mess after all. :/ ]