AN- Shameless smut-fest written for Sarah Caulfield on AO3.
I mentioned over there, the best line in the whole thing is nicked from a Tweet by my favourite fitty I have clearly dwelt on far too much. If anyone is as tragic as me and clocks it I will reward the winner with 50 points for Slytherin and a smut fic of their choice. Answers on a postcard (or in fact in the review comments!)
Cheers for reading/ favouriting my offerings and signing up for alerts. All reviews are welcome and appreciated.
The replication process was complete, and you took out your new uniform to examine it. You had to admit you were rather taken with black fabric and the shining gold embellishments, like a regular uniform had been customised by the old fashion house of Versace.
The metal was cold to the touch, but as you tried it on, you warmed to the feel of it. You requested a mirror and inspected yourself, turning to examine each new angle, barely recognising the hollow version of yourself in front of you as your own image. From what you could gather about the universe you found yourself in, it was evident why they dressed like this. In a cut-throat and harsh reality, presenting yourself as strong, brutal and fearsome might save your life. Even now standing in the privacy your own quarters, the image in front of you seemed more formidable. It was recognisable as you, just, but it could just as easily be a very different sort of you.
This uniform made you feel different. Pulling your hair up and securing it tightly, you made yourself up. Heavy, defined and contoured cheeks, vampish, scarlet lipstick. You studied your reflection again. It made you wonder just how easily you could exist in this version of the universe, how little it would take to scrape through the thin veneer of civilisation and adapt to a dog-eat-dog existence. It made you feel powerful. Perhaps, part of you liked that feeling.
Deeply consumed in your own thoughts and the unfamiliar figure mirroring your movements in front of you, you didn't notice the door opening and the presence of your Captain. A strong, familiar arm gripped your waist and a hard, male body pressed against your back. Without a word, his mouth was at your neck, roughly biting at the sensitive flesh exposed by your severe hair style. He worked at the back of your neck, his tongue teasing that strip of flesh between your collar and hairline that was so rarely touched, the sensitivity was almost intolerable. His other hand found yours hanging limply at your side and his fingers knotted into yours, gripping so hard your knuckles whitened.
Your mouth opened to speak, but he shushed you.
Already beyond redemption, you panted and mewled. Control, was, as always relinquished to your generous master. The rest of your body responded to the fervent, liquid heat already building in your cunt. It made your hips buck automatically. The fierce need he effortlessly created was already driving you to press your arse against him, as you desperately sought affirmation, and ached to find him hard. You weren't disappointed. The small surge of power your new outfit had afforded you evaporated and you trembled, willingly obedient, and submissively bending to his will. The rush of excitement from the feel of his already stiffened arousal against your body, instantly weakened you.
His hand crept higher, searching for soft, warm flesh: barred by hard, cold metal. Instead his hand slid downwards, finding the unmistakable damp heat between your legs, clear even through your clothes. A soft, whispered moan escaped your lips.
"I like it. It suits you," he murmured into your ear, as his other hand worked its way into your hair, winding it around his fingers. He yanked sharply. You ached all the more and he allowed you to grind against his palm.
His hand slipped away and he turned you to face him. Pulling you in, his kiss was rough and needy, his lips bruising yours and his tongue possessively claiming your mouth, until he withdrew, leaving you fighting for breath.
He looked different out of uniform. You liked him in leather: the look of it; the smell of it; the feel of it under your finger tips as you brushed them over the collar. It also worried you. Where ever he was going, it was not good.
"How long do you have?" you rasped.
"Not as long as I'd like. Take it off," he ordered with the slightest tilt of his head signalling to your new uniform. "I need to fuck."
Without pause you fulfilled his request. First, slowly peeling yourself out of your unfamiliar outfit, until you could read the signs of impatience in his face and upped your pace accordingly.
Now naked, you suddenly became aware of your own form, still mirrored in the room. Distracted by his attentions, you had forgotten all about it. His gaze followed yours and pre-empted your instruction to switch it off.
"Leave it. I want to watch. I'm going to make you watch. Would you like that?"
His mouth was already at your hardened nipple, teasing at it with lingering strokes of his tongue. He looked up at you expectantly.
"Yes," was all you could whimper.
It was difficult to maintain it at first, your lids heavy with arousal, your instinct was to close your eyes and get lost in your own pleasure.
"Watch," he commanded, followed by the sharp pinch of his teeth.
He repeated the action with the other nipple, occasionally pausing to look up and ensure you were obediently viewing his attentions, before the barest trace of his fingers between your legs left them sticky.
"Always so wet, ready."
The low, deep whisper did nothing to quell your growing need.
He knelt in front of you and roughly slid his fingers between the slick, dripping folds, rubbing at your clit, making you let out an anguished cry.
"Oh Fuck, Gabriel please, fuck I need it. I want it so much it hurts."
Two fingers were sliding inside you, curling and withdrawing. His mouth left a trail of damp kisses across your hip bone and stomach, until he turned his head to face the reflection.
"Open your eyes," he said, still relentlessly teasing out the rhythm with his fingers.
You fought against the urge to close them, as the desire for release grew with every stroke.
"Watch what I do to you. Let's watch you come."
Your fingers gripped into his shoulders, as you came apart, eyes wide watching him touch you, watching his beautiful, lust-filled eyes intently viewing you in the mirror. His thumb at your clit, pushed you rapidly over the edge, the dull ache drumming within you, speeding up to rapid flutters, matching the pace of your own heartbeat.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Gabriel I'm…"
You couldn't speak anymore. The tightening and clenching of the muscles in your thighs spoke for you, as you came hard.
It subsided slowly, leaving your breath ragged and mouth wide open. He smirked at you in the mirror, before making a single, agonisingly slow stroke of his tongue across your still throbbing cunt. You were watching now, not because he asked it of you, but because you liked it.
"On the bed, on all fours," he ordered, licking his lips.
You did as you were told, your legs still weak and shaking. He discarded his jacket and you watched him free his hard cock, but not bother to undress. Positioning himself behind you on the bed, he squeezed and kneaded at the cheeks of your arse.
He yanked your hair turning your head to the mirrored image. You watched him guide himself into you, his thick cock filling you. From this position, you felt tighter, deliciously filled with the length of him. Each thrust into you grew deeper and harder until he was fucking you relentlessly. The pounding rhythm only occasionally broken to allow him to slap your arse in punishment for looking away or closing your eyes. His gaze on the mirror was always intense and unbroken. His teeth gritted, the urgent and hypnotic buck of his hips remaining constant. He could have stopped touching you and you felt like you could come again, caught up in the erotic thrill of eye contact, while being roughly fucked from behind.
He felt your urgency build and went even harder and faster, until you let go. Growling your name, he followed quickly, shooting his hot come into you. Still focused on the mirror, you watched him tip his head back and draw a long, slow breath of recovery.
Moving away, he allowed you to collapse onto the bed. Much as you wanted him to lay down beside you, you knew there was no time. Instead he was already putting his coat back on, preparing to leave. The knowledge he wasn't just leaving your quarters made you rally and get to your feet. He gave you a half smile.
"I have to go." He stroked your cheek softly.
"I know."
Unable to look at him, you wrapped your arms around him and rested your head on his chest. In a rare moment of stillness, you listened to his still thumping heartbeat. There were things you could say, things that were better left unsaid and things that perhaps didn't need to be said. Your hands slid over his sides only to find the solid outline of something you recognised in his pocket. Producing the handcuffs you looked at him wickedly.
"I can't believe you had these on you and left them in your pocket."
"I don't have the time to make proper use of them." He took them back from you and replaced them where you had found them.
"Then make sure you bring them back with you."
He pulled away and turned to leave, but you held on to his hand and he allowed you to draw him back.
"Gabriel I…" His mouth on yours cut you off and he kissed you.
It was him who finally broke away and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.
"Come back in one piece," you said hoarsely, fighting to hold in the tears welling in your eyes.
"I intend to, sweetheart."
With that he turned and left and you wondered if you would ever see him again.