Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima
Rated M for sexual content, substance use, and mature themes.
Warnings: Explicit trashy smut ahead. Mature audiences only, please.
Rusted bits of steel dug into Gildarts' boots as he ascended the degrading stairs. They wrapped around the outside of the motel in some desolate town he didn't remember the name to and squeaked sometimes when he didn't step in a very strong spot. Below, he could hear voices raised in argument; they'd been fighting for days. Days and days. As long as he'd been paying to stay there. Which was too long in his opinion. Sitting so still was making him itch but his line of work required patience.
He looked between the gaps in the stairs and saw the man, pudgy and in a stained white tank top, scream at the woman he lived on the ground floor with. She didn't cry like others might. She screamed back, red faced. Gildarts wondered how long they'd been going at it for. Long enough for the woman—that was a generalization built on experience, Gildarts hadn't actually seen it happen—to gather her lover's rubber boots stained with mud and manure, and throw them haphazardly out onto the pavement, one facing north, the other east; both looked used and abused.
At the top of the stairs, Gildarts faced room number twelve. He listened and didn't hear her through the steel door and when he tried the handle, it turned. He'd told her to lock it. Four times now. But did Mira give a fuck? It seemed that more and more recently, she did things just to spite him. He'd say, 'Don't hang out front here at night,' and she'd be downstairs in a pair of short shorts and a crop top that just barely covered the bottoms of her breasts though it was early in the fall and nights were cold. He'd say, 'Don't talk to anyone downstairs,' and she'd be out there in front of the bar when he got back, more than half wasted and lounging casually against the degrading brick wall in that way she had, the way that drew eyes from her fit legs all the way up to her belly that she'd been working on, to the generous curves that Gildarts—and whoever she'd lured out there—had a hard time looking away from.
Sometimes, men would stand between her legs, one hand planted on the wall, the other holding her hip, and their faces so close to Mira's that she must have been able to smell the alcohol on their breaths. Close enough that shortly, they'd press their luck and see if she was more than a flirt. How many had grabbed her? Gildarts used to beat them senseless until he realized that Mira was the instigator. It took some time but now he recognized it for the game it was and didn't hate her for it, or himself for wanting to play it. Not anymore.
Tonight, though, when he opened the motel door, he sensed that something was different. There was Mira's pink and sequins luggage on the sagging mattress and when he looked, he found her staring out of the sliding glass doors. She didn't turn when she heard him enter, though her shoulders did stiffen. The sliding glass door was open and along with the screaming, a cool breeze snuck by and plucked at her silver hair, at the black dress she wore. Her travelling dress, Gildarts had come to think of it as. The dress she wore when she wanted to impress strangers but not really draw attention to herself. The dress she wore when she had some place to go but she didn't know exactly where that was.
He put his gift in his pocket and dropped the bag he carried right to the floor. It was valuable, yes, but not as valuable as she was. He fit behind her like he always did, comfortably, rightly. She didn't lean into him and she didn't push him away so Gildarts took her wrists and uncrossed her arms from in front of her breasts. She was stiff and slow.
"It's done."
Mira didn't say, 'good,' and she didn't trill and ask for details like she usually might, she didn't whirl on him and lock her arms around his throat, begging for details about his climb up the terrace, past guards and the break into one safe or another. "I'm leaving." She'd been drinking. And maybe hitting the lines; it was always hard to tell with Mira but her voice just wasn't right. Gildarts left a kiss on her bare shoulder. Mira didn't sigh; she did tip her head for him, though, inviting him to kiss her in her favourite place beneath her ear. "I'm tired of this. The running, the games." She spoke while his fingers wandered up her middle and edged the undersides of her breasts.
"You like games." Her skin lifted with goosebumps when his hot breath broke across her neck and Gildarts felt them beneath his lips.
"I've been away from home too long."
Long enough that she was no longer running from the role of responsibility that life had dropped down on her. Two children to take care of, a job to work, and Mira was living the life of someone else, someone older or someone who had somehow chosen this way to be, whether because they loved and lost or because they loved too openly and they were crossed.
But no, not Mira. She was a victim of that bitch, happenstance. To escape, she allowed Gildarts to pick her up in some dive much like this one a year back and every couple of months, she'd tote the same line. 'I don't want to do this anymore, it's so surreal. We can't survive.'
Gildarts didn't know what he'd do if she ever decided to leave. How could he drape necklaces of black diamonds around Mira's throat? How could he watch her preen over them for days? How could he, afterward, return to home where they'd speak to the scariest fence on the market and get rid of the necklace for half of what it was worth because he always took more than what they needed? He looked forward to those nights because Mira would take off her clothes and push Gildarts down on the bed and fuck him for all he was worth. She'd snort lines and scatter green bills around her legs as she rode him like they were rich. Sometimes, she'd pick up the money and make it rain. Sometimes, she'd just close her fingers around it and squeeze. She'd be as loud as she wanted, as free as she wanted, because it that minute, it was the closest she'd ever come to tasting that feeling.
He put a kiss on the spot where her neck met her shoulder. And another beneath her ear. She wasn't quite so stiff. "I got you something."
Mira's blues came over to his and she looked at him through a thick bed of her dark, dark lashes. She didn't say 'what?' He didn't explain it to her, either. He showed her, bringing the necklace from his pocket and sliding his hand up over her body. She liked it when someone else's jewels moved over her skin. She liked it when he'd place them around her throat, nice and tight. The sapphires were the same colour as her eyes and the silver holding it all together was almost the same colour as her hair.
She glanced down at them and Gildarts knew they wouldn't be enough to keep her there indefinitely; for some time, though. He clasped the necklace together and kissed the spot where it met her skin while he let his hands amble down her chest to her breasts. This time when he touched her, it was more than just a skim of his fingers. She sighed, pleased as his fingers closed around the hard nubs her nipples had become.
Mira mimicked his earlier thoughts. "Jewelry doesn't make it better."
"It doesn't make it worse."
"No," came out fettered and breathy; he'd abandoned her breasts and smoothed all the way down her middle to the junction of her legs. Through the material of her dress, he could feel she wore his favourite underwear. She may have said she wanted to leave but it was the little clues like this that said maybe she wanted to stay, too. He gave her a reason to.
One hand spread over her middle held her to his body, the other moved between her legs and made her roll her head back on his shoulder. Gildarts kissed her neck again and this time, he used his teeth, too, just lightly; Mira would want something harder later but during the buildup? You had to go slow and take your time.
With the hand that wasn't doing much, Gildarts pulled the material of her dress up and exposed the white lace panties Mira had first worn when he met her. They hugged the very tops of her thighs and the swell of her behind and drove him fucking crazy. How could they be both modest and seductive? But they were. They spoke of a very different Mira, a Mira Gildarts had only seen a handful of times. Someone kind and patient and full of laughs.
He slipped into her underwear through the top and felt just how damp she really was. Mira moaned; one arm looped back around his neck and the other pulled at the bow on the halter of her dress. It came loose and she pulled the material down below her breasts. She wasn't wearing anything there. Gildarts watched her grab herself and squeeze hard enough that it bordered pain and knew that he didn't have to be quite so careful anymore. He stopped his ministrations and smacked her behind hard enough that the sound echoed and her skin rippled through the dress.
"Lean over the bed."
Mira obliged, bending at the waist. Gildarts took the skirt of the dress and put it up around her hips and knelt behind her. He was an ass man, absolutely, and he lived for the way Mira's curved. He put a kiss just where Mira's underwear met her leg and found her center. From there, he drew a line from the bud between her legs all the way back. He may have moaned more than she did but he didn't care. He took himself out of his pants and started stroking before grabbing his favourite underwear and pulling them down single handedly. They stretched and got caught on Mira's thighs just below her behind and Gildarts didn't mind. He liked the way it made her look indecent, half taken apart for an impromptu fucking, and he liked the way they cut into her skin. He licked her again, stem to stern, and this time, Mira bucked and moaned. Gildarts jerked himself to the sound and tongued both of her holes and then her clit and back again. He barely made it to her clit again before she came. Her whole body rocked and she moaned loudly, longly.
Gildarts stood and came to her side. Mira turned her head and let him put himself into her mouth. He filled her up and then some and Mira let him hit the back of her throat and stay there for a full fifteen seconds. When her eyes were wide and her cheeks were red and she was desperate for breath, he backed out and found a fast rhythm. Her tongue was silk and her lips wrapped around him tightly. Sometimes, he'd feel her teeth but he never cared enough to adjust or slow. He pushed until he felt a tightening in his balls then he pulled out. Mira's breath brushed over the head and he closed his eyes. He could come. Not yet, though.
Mira put a kiss on the very tip before Gildarts pulled away and he thought about coming anyway. A breath, two, and the feeling passed. He got behind her again and Mira spread her legs. He helped her by taking her thighs and pushing them wide. It was easy to slide into her then, her body welcoming.
Her cries drowned out the voices from downstairs. Mira told him, "Faster." Gildarts pushed into her hard and felt himself bottom out. Her back arched and he took her by the biceps, wrenching her up so her back touched his chest; he felt every hampered breath, every sob, every shiver, and best of all, the orgasm that took her by force. She squeezed around him and Gildarts couldn't help but do the same. He held her until he was finished and then gradually, he loosened his hold on her and slid out. She lay face down on the mattress and didn't move to clean herself up.
Gildarts grabbed the bag off the floor before joining her. Mira turned on her back and looked at the ceiling and Gildarts lay down with his chest against her arm. Her skin was cold. He put the satin bag on her belly. Normally, he would have gone with something simple, plastic, leather, canvas, it didn't matter, he just needed something to hold the things he'd stolen, so why the black satin? It looked good against Mira's skin. He took it by the bottom and spilled its contents on her belly. Rings, necklaces, bracelets and teardrop earrings fell out, garnet, ruby, diamond, emerald. His latest mark had been rich as rich could be.
"It doesn't make it better," Mira said again.
"It doesn't make it worse."
"One day I'm going to leave."
"And one day I'll let you."
Gildarts thought he was a better liar.