Rain
Prompt: Cuddles (naked).
Pairing: Estarossa/Moth
Word Count: 1,034
Rating: M
Warnings: Nudity, some sexual content.
Note: Did you guys think I was just going to do one 30 Day Challenge? Here's the second one, which consists entirely of NSFW prompts, some more explicit than others. The settings range from canon to AU, with a little bit of overlap at times, and are non-sequential in order. Please enjoy!
Rain patters softly against the window, muting the already dull sunset into hues of gray light that slant across the bed. Curled against Estarossa's back, Moth listens to the quiet, comforting instead of oppressive, the way it complements the crackling of a candle on the bedside table. It's a lazy day, one of the few that they get between his dedication to his job and her own duties at the bar, and they've spent it tangled in the sheets and each other, leaving the bed only when necessary. Estarossa is asleep, chest expanding with deep, even breaths; she nuzzles against the space between his shoulders, letting her hand smooth over the jut of his hip.
She loves these moments, when the world seems so still, so at peace, revels in them when they come and mourns them when they go. It isn't often that she sees him so relaxed, his burdens temporarily lifted to allow a more boyish charm to shine through, and she wishes that she had the power to make his life easier. All she can do is offer comfort and a home and hope that it's enough. When he shifts, rolling onto his stomach, she props herself on her elbow and traces the contours of his spine with light touches. He hums quietly, turning his head to face her, one eye cracking open and the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Something on your mind?"
Moth shakes her head, reconsiders. "You."
"Oh?" Intrigued, he tries to roll onto his side, but she presses lightly against his shoulder blade to keep him where he is.
"You . . . and us."
Estarossa doesn't respond, merely watching her, eyes alight with interest and the beginnings of concern. Instead of elaborating, she moves to straddle his back, lowering her head to kiss the nape of his neck. He sighs as she runs her hands across his shoulders, working out the knots with dexterous fingers, lets out a pleased huff when she finds and soothes a particularly rough one. She isn't sure why she feels this way, so full of love yet so melancholic (the weather, her mother would say with a knowing look, it's always the weather), so she busies herself with learning the shape of him even though she knows it by heart.
When she feels that she can't hold it at bay any longer, she asks, "Do you want to be here?"
"I'd be gone if I didn't." He nudges her knee with his elbow to get some room, twists onto his back, steadies her with his hands on his hips. Estarossa could say anything — could be comforting or cruel — but he merely asks, "Why?"
Moth lifts her gaze to the candle, watching the flame flicker and dance under the bedroom fan, tries to find the words she needs. She can't. "I don't know."
"Is this about her?"
Her gaze snaps back to him. Her. Lucifer. Moth didn't know much about her, other than that she and Estarossa had been incredibly close growing up and that she bore a striking physical resemblance to her. Was that it? Meliodas had pulled her aside the other day to warn her that Estarossa might be chasing a ghost, had made her promise to be careful, to keep her heart guarded. She hadn't been able to tell him that it was too late for that, but he'd known. He always did. She frowns, reaching for the sheets and pulling them around her until her body is hidden from his gaze. Estarossa remains quiet, watching her, waiting.
"Is it?" She finally stops toying with the sheet. "Is that why you're here?"
His jaw flexes, the only sign of his thoughts. Moth tries not to feel guilty, does anyway. They'd been having a nice day, and she let her insecurities ruin it. Then he relaxes, hands trailing up her hips until they settle on her waist. "No."
"No?"
"No." When she opens her mouth, he presses a finger to her lips. "You aren't Lucifer. I don't want you to be."
"You loved her, though, and I've been told —"
"That you look like her? Maybe. But you don't."
Moth's brows furrow. "How do you look like someone without looking like them?"
"You really want to know?" She nods, and he sighs, sitting up to cup her face in his hands. "Your eyes are warmer, nicer. You smile more." His thumb traces the curve of her lower lip, dips to press against her chin. "You don't look down on others, no matter who they are." When his hand drops, fingers trailing along the curve of her breast, she draws in a sharp breath. "I could spend all day mapping the constellations of your freckles, learning the secrets they hold." His mouth twitches as his hand moves lower, resting against her thigh. "You are so alive compared to her. So compassionate."
Moth blinks, and he shakes his head. "Not like that. She was . . . Dead, emotionally. I could count on one hand the number of times she really, truly laughed."
"Rossa . . ."
"With you, it's easy. To breathe, to be happy. I had to fight for that with her." He rests his forehead against hers, one arm sliding behind her back while the other remains still. "I loved her, but you . . . I need you."
She stares at him, watching the emotions swirling behind his eyes. Her heart aches for him despite the satisfaction that curls in her chest, and she closes the distance between them to press her lips to his. Usually so dominant, his mouth is pliable beneath hers, and it parts when she runs her tongue along his lower lip. The kiss is slow, the way she tastes him leisurely, until his fingers splay against her spine and he slants his mouth against her own, taking control and rolling his tongue over hers. He kisses her until the need for air becomes too great, and then he dips his head to taste the skin of her neck, sucking until a mark blooms under his touch.
"Let me show you," he murmurs, hand slipping between her legs.
And he does.