hell_in_highheels | [oom] New Moon

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[oom] New Moon

She's standing at the window, looking out over the Scottish landscape, watching the night sky. The moon is new, and without the competing light, the stars are spectacular. River kneels up on the window seat and touches the controls that bring the opacity down to zero. Starlight isn't as bright as moonlight, but it's still enough that she can make out the horizon. The landscape is stunning.

She settles back, sitting on her heels, arms crossed over her chest, hands rubbing her upper arms, smiling up at the night sky.

He said yes.

He said yes.

She can't help but wonder... What comes next?

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"Never," she breathes, her lips parting, her gaze meeting his. Her hand grips him firmly, pressing that advantage, matching her movements to his own. She shares this competitive streak with him, and does her best to unravel him with just her fingertips, but he's got the advantage now.

He knows exactly how to touch her, knows exactly where to stroke and tease to make her breath hitch in her throat. Somehow, she manages a snippet of canine, intelligible to him even with her accent..

Need you.

Want you, love you, he adds, glad he doesn't have to speak. He's not sure he could just now.

He strokes her even as he rocks against her hand, demanding more attention. He drops his head back to hers and kisses her firmly before feathering his lips lightly down her chin and to her throat.

Love you, she echoes back, giving him everything he wants, everything he needs.

She tips her head back, purring under his kisses, her hand drawing him back to the wound. His tongue soothes the ragged edge of her flesh and the sound of his voice soothes her heart. The pain is still there, but distant now, other more important things consuming her attention.

Somehow she manages to undo the button, and slip a hand into capture him, her hips rising to meet his own insistent touch. Her voice is shaky, barely more than a breath. "Come here to me."

She shifts to accommodate him, pulling him down to her.

He'll regret how much he's torn into her later. Right now he's more concerned with cleaning it (again) and coming into her. He restrains himself to slow movement, angling himself so he hits that spot as he eases into her.

His groan against her torn flesh betrays his pleasure, though, as well as his eagerness.

Her scent, her taste, her voice rising in a stuttering cry. The way her hands are clinging to his shoulders, the way her legs twine around his waist, all of it, all of it mirrors his pleasure and eagerness back to him. She can't touchtastehearfeel enough of him at this moment.

She can't bite his shoulder (how she wants to), can't lift her head to reach, so she settles for scoring his back with her nails, not caring if she draws blood anymore. This is not a place for polite negotiation of affection. This is not a sweet kiss and a cuddle.

This is where the wildness takes over and she paints her hunger, her desire, her possession in his skin.

It stings but he doesn't really care. He has other things to focus on.

He drives into her as her nails reach the end of their path. Something tickles on his back and a part of him realizes he's bleeding as his own bloodscent seeps into the air.

His teeth find her throat and he bites her there, firmly, but nowhere near the pressure he used on her shoulder. There's no call for it now.

There is a fine sheen of sweat covering her body, and the trickle of blood against her palm almost goes unnoticed. She's focused on the feel of his teeth, the heat of his mouth and his breath, the weight of his body, the hardness of him fitted deep inside her, moving, filling her up. So hard, so good she can't breathe.

Her grip shifts up to his shoulder again, and she catches a glimpse of the red on her fingertips.

"Oh..."

He can smell the ripple of emotion. Shock at the sight, fear and worry that she's hurt him all pass by in a heartbeat; hunger, desire, longing take their place. Her hand shifts beneath his arm and she manages to bring her fingers to her mouth, painting her lips and the tip of her tongue with the few drops of his blood.

He's still nibbling on her throat as her hand goes by. His eyes track the blood stained fingers up and past him, and he jerks his head away from her throat, clamping his mouth over her forearm instead. He doesn't use his teeth so much as he uses his lips, sucking and nuzzling at her flesh as he works his way towards her hand.

And still he moves inside her, eager and hard and impatient. If his mouth weren't busy with other things, he'd be panting.

She hisses at the new sensation, his mouth on the sensitive skin of her inner arm, her wrist, her palm, her fingertips. She puts her fingers in his mouth, staring up into his face. Her heart is lost in the sight of his eyes. Wolf, man, alive, dead. None of it matters.

All she sees is her mate.

Most of his blood ended up on her lips and she pulls him back to her mouth, a quiet plea on her lips as she kisses him, breathless as she ascends. He can feel the first tremors moving through her body, can feel her rising to meet him.

Want and desire and need are all bleeding together. She's here and that's all he could ask for.

He kisses her, short and sweet as he pants for air, lipping and licking at her lips. His hips are moving steadily, fast now in response to her scent. He knows he can take them higher.

He always knows exactly what she needs, even before she knows it herself. Heart and lungs stretch to meet the demand, flesh and bone, sweat and breath and blood, all sing with the exertion. All higher thought falls away, and she strives for him, reaching for that sweet release until she thinks she can't reach anymore.

He asks, and she answers, willingly, gladly, giving everything she has and then some.

He can't help it when he starts grunting, groaning, whining with every thrust, the sounds merging together as they near the end, growing higher pitched until there's just one long howl pouring out of him.

She holds tight, breaking just a few moments after him, eyes closed, silent and taut beneath him, shaking with the intensity of it. The sound of his voice vibrates in her chest, and every sense is filled to overflowing with him. She holds tight to this moment, letting it uncoil through her body like his howl twists through the air.

She hears a gasping, shuddering sigh and realises from a great distance that it's her own voice.

He pants against her neck for a moment, on the opposite side of where he bit her. Then, slowly, gently, he kisses her neck just under her jawbone. His head is resting against her shoulder, though he's trying to keep most of his weight off of her.

She tips her chin up, still breathing hard, not willing to let him go yet, weight be damned.

Her shoulder hurts. But it's done, and that is a huge release in and of itself.

Her cheek rests against his temple, she presses her nose into his hair. Her hands stroke the back of his neck, idly, but painfully aware of the lines she drew down his back.

"My love. Give me a moment and I'll get a warm cloth for those."

He places another breathy kiss against her throat.

"Warm cloth for what?"

She purrs in the back of her throat.

"For your back. I -- left a mark."

"Oh." Kiss. "That."

Can you tell how unconcerned he is?

She grins, shaking her head, folding her arms around him, even though the one is moving more gingerly than the other.

She keeps her chin tipped back, her throat exposed to those gentle kisses.

"You okay?"

Silly question, but she wants to check.

"Of course," he says without having to think about it.

These are not the worst scratches he's ever received.

He places a kiss on her throat a little bit closer to her midline, letting him see over the peak of her neck.

"Are you?" he asks, alarmed.

Her hands move to his face, urging his eyes back to her own gaze.

"I'm fine, love."

keep you in my blood, keep you safe, keep you close. never leave you. never let you go.

Her face is serene, contented. Her fingers stroke along his jaw, trying to soothe the concern from his face.

He can believe that.

Doesn't mean they shouldn't take care of that bite. He...has no idea what to expect. The only infection he's seen is his own, and that was on a full moon. Will this scar in a few hours? Or will it take longer than that?

Is she even infected at all? She still smells human. How long until they know?

"How're you feeling?"

"Mmmm, no different. Can you...?"

She taps the side of her nose.

"No." He shakes his head.

"Not yet," he amends. Carefully he rolls them onto her good side so as not to place any more strain on her shoulder.

"It could be up to 48 hours, but I suspect we'll know by morning."

She rolls with him, holding her hand between her breasts to keep the arm from moving. Still, there's the tiniest wince. She covers it, looking up into his face with soft smile.

"And if it doesn't take, we -- try something else."

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