hell_in_highheels | [oom] New Moon

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ryan

[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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

He nods slightly.

"There are live werewolves here. We could ask." He's not exactly keen about making a request of the two he's thinking of. Nor is he certain they'd grant it.

"Or you can just punch one of them in the teeth."

"I'd rather talk to Bar first. I don't want you to be beholden to them on my account."

"If not a warm cloth for you back, then -- perhaps for my neck? It still stings."

"Of course." Richard rolls off the bed and pulls his trousers back up, though he doesn't bother with the button. He pads off to the bathroom, disappearing behind the door.

He sticks his head back through a moment later.

"Do you care which wash cloth I grab?"

"Not especially," she calls, perplexed by the question.

Living with a werewolf meant all the linens were dark shades, enough to cover the inevitable blood stains.

"All right." He withdraws again and a moment later the sink snaps on. She can hear him waiting for the water to warm (not long at all), then wetting and wringing out the cloth.

He comes back in and sits on the bed, gently applying it to the bite mark. "How's your arm?"

She hums, reaching up to touch his arm.

"It's stiffening up a bit, but it'll be fine come morning."

There's a long pause as she looks up at him.

"Thank you."

He isn't really dabbing at it. There's no need. He licked it mostly clean already.

He quirks an eyebrow at her. "For what?" As far as he can tell she's dealing with a lot of pain for a possible profit. Really, he should be thanking her for being willing to go through all this.

The wet heat is doing a lot to soothe the bruised muscle around the bite. That and the weight of his hand, and the care in his touch.

He really doesn't know.

How does she answer that question? For standing your ground? For trusting me? For bringing me into your life and for sharing this with me? No, none of that contains the full measure of her gratitude.

"For being you," she answers quietly. She trusts his nose will smell the rest.

"I'm always me," he points out a bit cockily. His smile doesn't really match it, though.

"I just hoped this worked."

'All for nothing' is not something he's fond of hearing.

Edited 2009-05-23 05:27 (UTC)

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