Untitled
by: raileht
Summary:
Disclaimer: The ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.
Rating: T
Spoilers/Timeline: Silver Bullet.
Warning: This is the story that will send me to hell. Uhm, naughty and I don't know what the hell happened and what I was thinking when I wrote this. I felt like crap after writing this but I swear I tried to practice respect as much as possible so...yeah. This is guilt.
Song used:
Charlotte Church, Call My Name
-o0o0o0o-
You know that look in his eyes—you've seen it too many times not to know what it means.
I like the sound of your belt dropping
Your door locking, your keys jangling
Like always, something tells you to stop, stay away, run, look away and just get the hell out, but of course, as always, you don't listen and before you know it…it's too late to run.
Yeah
And you realize you really never wanted to in the first place.
Rough hands reach for you and normally, you'd want them off, but for some reason, when its him, you find yourself actually craving those hands. You don't want them smooth, you want them rough, textured and damn, you want them everywhere.
And at the moment, they actually are.
I like the sound of your heart stopping
Of lip locking, the grazing of knees
What is with this fascination?
You've wondered about this yourself much too many times to count properly, but you know this isn't the first time you've wondered just why you find it almost completely impossible to walk away from this.
And it won't be the last.
His mouth are on your and you would hate it if it was anyone else that mustache of his, but again, with him, it just makes you want desperately for more. He's on your skin and it burns, but in your state, the way it makes your head swim, makes you sink your own teeth into your bottom lip to stop the delicious moan that's just pushing to escape you, it leaves you wanting to feel more, seek out the heat that's emanating from him, hot and everything that seems just perfect now. You want it, all of it, and you can't have it fast enough.
It's hurried, it's messy and he's all over you and you match him, move per move and none of you seem to mind because even in this frenzy, you still manage to move in sync and give exactly what the other wants and take exactly what you need. His hands reach for you, around your waist and in your hair, gripping the base of your head so he can kiss you properly as you writhe against him almost uncontrollably.
Yeah
He's found that spot that drives you almost out of your mind and he doesn't hesitate to graze his teeth there, just behind your ear. He bites just enough to make you writhe harder, move faster, squirm almost too hard but not enough to draw blood. He gets the reaction he wants because almost automatically as your hand juts out and reaches almost too viciously for the collar of his shirt, sharp nails grazing the flesh on the side of his neck harsh enough to leave angry red marks.
You both know what you're doing, branding each other like this. You want dominance, both of you, and though these are places that aren't that quick to find, you do it anyway. The fact alone that later you'll both see, know and remember they're there will be enough to make you want to do it all over again.
Besides, it won't be the last mark of the night.
I like the sound of skin touching
This feels right.
And you believe that and yet somehow, suddenly something feels wrong. His lips are on yours, anywhere, everywhere and his hands are in your hair and you don't even mind. You kiss him, wherever you want and your hands have a mind of their own.
But something doesn't feel right.
This is perfect, but there's something missing.
You don't know what for sure, until your hands decide that they're smarter than you altogether. They reach up, snaking up his chest, reaching for his collar and pulled him closer. Your lips respond and your head tilts to the side, placing a hot open mouthed kiss on the side of his neck and your hands get to work on making that odd feeling of wrongness go away by doing what you wished you'd done right when this whole thing began.
He grunts, but you ignore him and so do your hands as they claw their way back down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt in a frenzy, as if you couldn't do it fast enough. Like a cliché in the movies, you get tired of being careful and with a hiss and a tug, you pull on the last few buttons, hard enough to make the threads securing the buttons give and fly off. He doesn't flinch when your teeth suddenly clamped down hard on his flesh because of the force you just exerted in literally ripping his shirt off.
You apologize wordlessly by letting your tongue graze that spot and it's hot and red, you can actually see the mark your teeth just left. You should be sorry.
But you're not.
Hands fumbling
Your hands are hot but when they land on his bare chest, his body proves hotter than yours and that just spurns you on. The weather has been much too cold lately, to find solace like this is a novelty and all you want to do is revel in his warmth. You pull him closer, if that was even possible, and you actually sigh in the middle of all this and he responds by rubbing himself against you, as if he knows you've been in the cold for far too long. How he knows, you don't care as long as he stays.
In this carnal state, you manage to convey affection to each other and you wonder perhaps that's one of the reasons why you can't walk away from him.
You barely have time to grasp what's really happening, but you do feel it when his hands grabs hold of your hips and lifts you. And you don't hesitate to settle on the somewhat small ledge you were just leaning on. You should be afraid of falling, but you're not because he's holding on to you. Even then, he's a gentlemen and yes, you consider that he is even when you can feel his hands fumbles for your knees.
Back in college is when you remember realizing for the first time men have a weird thing with legs. You've always had them and didn't pay them no mind, along with your blonde hair—that you hated at first—but in college, things changed when you noticed that whenever you wore a skirt, people seemed to notice them more and guys tended to have that look in their eyes that initially surprised you. At one point or another, you even caught that look on professors but you chose to ignore.
That minor quirk among men hasn't changed, especially with the one you're with now.
His hands slip along your legs and, internally, you swear you just heard him growl as he felt the silkiness of your stockings. He's got a thing for them, like most men and you smile, even as your eyes roll to the back of your head when he decides to go back to kissing your neck. He's got a thing for a lot of your parts and somehow, he can't quite get to them enough.
At least, that's how it seems when he can't seem to stick to one place long enough before he's off to another spot to kiss and touch and grab.
You do as you please
You're above him and this time, you take advantage of this, grabbing him by the head and leaning down, kissing him hard just because you really like kissing him. Your hair falls down to his face, the golden locks tickling them both but neither pay them heed. His hands seem to have a mind of their own and apparently don't agree with his lips or yours as they go back to their intended, reaching for your knees and this time, your body listens and you give way.
They open and one leg—one traitorous leg—lifts without you needing to command it and hooks right around his back, pulling him closer to you and another traitorous part of you responds, your left arm, and it pulls him closer to you. Your lips are grateful because in this angle, you can kiss him more and he's more than eager to oblige every want and need you may have.
He steps in, closer to you now and you're pressed closer to each other, body's burning hotter it seems because you can feel him through layer of thick fabric your dress is made of and the only sound in the still room only comes from the two of you, breaths coming in heavily in and out with an occasional moan and groan. You can't possibly think this wrong now, not when everything feels completely right, as opposed to the chaos that has been your life these past few months.
I like the sound of back on the wall
Shelves falling
He presses you back against the wall and suddenly, you feel the cold seep into your clothes, even when your flesh is already burning hot. You gasp, not just because you're surprised, but because the sensation is enough to leave you breathless. He takes that moment to grab your right wrist and you let him pin it just above your head because you trust him and at the moment, you can barely figure out where he begins and you end.
You feel the cold again and this is where you remember where you are exactly and, without thinking, your eyes fly open and you turn your head.
What meets your eyes should have stopped everything cold, maybe even cause a small scream to escape your lips because suddenly, you're not looking at his face or his chest or his head, instead, you're facing the barrel of a gun.
It's long, but the hole seems small and though this should have horrified you, oddly enough, it just arouses you more. You should be ashamed and you know this should stop you and this insanity, but instead, you defy all notions and you close your eyes, letting them roll to the back of your head again and you fight against his hold on you, wordlessly commanding him to release your hand and he lets you go.
But instead of touching him, strangely, your hand blindly gropes sideways and your hand grazes something cold and rough, jostling it and making it jangle almost too noisily. You don't have to be a ballistics expert to know you've just made contact with a gun and even in your state, you recognize what you've touched.
You're surprised that this too doesn't affect you the way it should.
Instead, you find yourself grabbing for him and your other leg is spurned into following the other, locking around him and you find yourself wrapped around him. He responds by letting his hands fall back to your thighs where your dress has ridden up in what you imagine to be in the crudest manner.
"Diane…" he grunts, his hand grazing the edge of your dress, the contrast of the rough texture of the fabric evident against the silkiness of the material covering your thighs.
And I love it when you call my name
I love it when you call my name
"God!" you gasp just when you begin to feel his hands burn a trail over the skin of your thighs. You twitch, you squirm and you breathe in and out heavier. The anticipation is almost killing you.
Both ends of the candle burnt by the flame
Yeah I love it when you call my name
"Come on!" you growl because you know he's teasing you and you hate it. You want this, both of you and you know it's time because if he drags this out any further, you know you can't be blamed for what you might do.
He chuckles and you feel the urge to slap him, but you don't. You like this too much and quite honestly, you've never really understood other people's need for sadomasochism. A good hard tumbling can be quite arousing and exhilarating, but to actually hurt and draw blood and cause pain? Insanity.
You like what you have, what you do together and you're not about to change that.
His hand slips under your dress and then you remember the little surprise you decided on having for him that day, just in case.
"Dear god," he moans and you know he's just realized what's under your skirt.
"I know," you moan happily as he looks at you, heavy lidded and his eyes are filled with awe and admiration. He wants you and you can see it—he wants you.
You smile and kiss him.
I like the sound of your shirt ripping
"I want you," you demand, out of breath, but you hold enough authority in your voice to make him understand you're serious, "Now."
He grins and you don't let him respond as you grab hold of his shirt that you've left hanging on his frame and you pull it off roughly and toss it aside. You barely give him the chance to react when you push him off of you and actually hop off the ledge to stand in front of him fully.
"Now," you say again and it takes him less than a second before he's on you again, pushing you bodily back against the ledge to lean against it.
Almost too easily he unhooks the heavy necklace around your neck, tossing it aside carelessly and you hear it land somewhere on the ground. You almost reprimand him, but he's too quick and he's on your dress again though this time, his hands are trailing along your spine, fingers burning a blaze of fire on the skin under the fabric and you gasp just as he reaches the top of the dress, fingers slipping under your hair.
He doesn't hesitate when he begins pulling it down and as one hand works to free your body of its confines, the other trails a blaze down your back again only this time it's even more exquisite than before because now you can really feel him along your skin and you shiver, despite the rising temperature and you can feel a slight whoosh of cool air settling on your heated skin.
When the dress falls like you're shedding a second skin you're suddenly free.
The dress pools around your feet and you step out of it, kicking it aside with one uncaring high heel and you try your hardest not to react when he stops and takes a step back from you, tilting his head sideways as if admiring a piece of art. You wore those garters for him and just for him and he knows it, if the stupid smile on his face wasn't telling enough.
And right then you know you made the right decision.
"Beautiful," is the last thing you hear before he's back on you again, hands more eager, temperature rising to almost impossible levels in the cool room and his lips are just everywhere and you can't ever tell whether it's really his hands, lips or arms.
When you make a move to kick your shoes off, he stops you with a shake of his head and you grin wickedly. You're braver now because he's looking at you the way a man should, the way every woman deserves to be looked at and you can't help but want him more, if that was even possible at this point.
This time you don't accuse your leg of being a traitor when it rises and hooks around his hip. Your bodies gravitate toward each other, reacting in the most primal ways and you have to remind yourself to stand still and to make sure your leg doesn't buckle because at the moment, that's the only support you have
But as if sensing your very thoughts, he helps you out because he's such a gentleman by grabbing hold of your thigh and you smile indulgently at him as he moves against you, trapping you against the ledge again, holding you in place against him and you both communicate silently that this is exactly where you want to be.
You won't deny that you love a man who knows what he's doing and this one most definitely does.
Moving against him, you're ready and you both know it, but there was a problem.
He isn't.
And you decide that needs to be fixed.
I may like the rain, I may like the symphony
I may like the feel of your frame on my frame
Your back presses against the ledge and you're back on your feet. He's being a gentleman again so it's up to you to pull him in between your legs and you do your part more by coaxing him into touching, grabbing and kissing everywhere. Nothing in the world could feel any better than this, you think, as his lips and his mustache grazes your clavicle. He's kissing you, almost reverently and you feel your heart beat just a little faster and somehow, your mind drifts towards some uninvited thoughts.
Truth of the matter is—the one truth you aren't and probably won't be ready to voice out in the near future—you could fall in love with this man, truly and fully and if he kept kissing you like that, like he's worshiping you, then you feel you might just stop altogether because that just makes all of this realer.
And for some reason, that makes you feel like you might start crying and you know you can't let that happen because how appalling would that be? Crying during sex? You've heard women do it before, friends of yours even, and you'll be damned if you let yourself do something as silly as that.
You take your mind off those traitorous, unneeded and unwelcome thoughts by grabbing hold of his buckle, pulling at him and you can't help but moan when he grinds against you and your body reacts. Almost desperate now, you unbuckle him, uncaring the way the metal caught against your skin and it stings a little because the mere anticipation of what you both want so much is coming, closer than ever.
With everything that's happened, you don't know what he's done or why he's been gone, but you know for sure you need this. You've needed this for months now and to finally have it, you feel your body shiver and tremble not just in anticipation, but in excitement. You want this so badly you have to bite the bottom of your lip hard enough to not break into an idiotic grin.
I may like your touch,
I may like you next to me
"Oh god!"
When it finally happens, you can't help but think this is perfection and even when you can feel him grab you just a little too hard, push against you just a little too much, you can't help but moan and prompt him to keep going. You want more of this and you can't help yourself. You want this.
You missed him.
And you have him.
"Diane!"
I may like your touch,
I may like your remedy
"Kurt!"
He captures your lips in a bruising kiss and you hold on to him, your nails digging into his upper arms and he's holding on to you tight enough and you trust him not to let you fall. You take what you want, give him what he asks for and no words are needed. This is you and him and it's everything you could ever want it to be. He is the one you want.
Damn the rest of them, damn contracts and ethics and damn whatever should be.
For once, you're doing what you actually want.
And it feels so damned good.
I may like the feel of your hand on my hips
I may like your talk, like you breathing heavily
He pulls you in and you let him, hands, limbs, lips and legs are everywhere. You're even more lost now when it comes to figuring out where he ends and you begin. He pushes in, you take and you moan, groan and make every sound possible and each one just spurns him on further. You're close and so is he.
You feel him breathe against you, gasping, choking, moaning, groaning and you hear him say your name over and over again like a prayer. You reciprocate, kissing him wherever you can reach, but mostly, you kiss him on the lips because you love doing it. He tastes divine and you're finding out you missed him more than you ever expected to.
He's wonderful, you decide, just as his hands get their hold back onto your hips and you shift your body just a little more, a little higher and he moans in response. He's grateful for that. You chuckle but he cuts it off by a breathtaking kiss.
You're closer and you grab his upper arm again to let him know.
He responds by moving just a little faster, pushing you back against the wall again and the sudden meeting of the burning flesh of your back against the steel wall behind you brings yet another exquisite sensation and you gasp, eyes flashing open and you suck in a breath just as he hits a particularly sensitive spot and before you know it, you're moaning and thrashing against him with a strangled gasp of his name.
Your eyes fall close and he's not far behind, grunting once before pushing and kissing you right on the lips, murmuring your name with a sigh.
I may like a lot of things baby, you know me
"Oh...god."
And for a moment, you're not sure who said that exactly.
Not that you care, not right now.
You're too far gone to care about anything.
Except maybe the man who's holding you so close, you're breathing in his very scent.
And it's perfection.
But I love it when you call my name
I love it when you call my name
"Diane…god, Diane," he breathes into your ear and you're back on the ledge, breathing against him, cheeks pressed against his moist shoulder, eyes closed and hearts beating much too fast. His body is shaking and you realize you are too. You moan because you feel like it and you feel him pull you closer.
His arms are around you, still holding you as if he doesn't want to let go and you let him. Your body is still buzzing from what just took place and you feel this exquisite familiar pain in that place and you smile, eyes still closed and you let out a happy little sigh.
"God, I missed you," you hear him say and you can't help but smile.
Both ends of the candle burnt by the flame
Yeah I love it when you call my name