Title: Yours
Rating: MA. Hard MA
Summary: This is very, very graphic sex fic. Those who enjoyed my euphemisms should run for the hills. I use dirty words. I hurt people (Beth mostly). I figured out how to hit NC-17 (and actually did it – well, posted it - before Hydriotaphia shockingly – I'm still waiting for my miracle ;)
Warning: This fic centers around a violent sex scene with blood play. If this makes you uncomfortable, please move along. I have some great PG-13 stuff for you elsewhere. I'm really not kidding. Please read with caution.
Author's Note: Incredible amounts of credit/blame go to the said Divine Miss H. She is a dirty little bugger who came up with the tear, the stubble (well, I fiddled, but she inspired) and the sex talk. And the breathless bit. She encouraged this whole thing and likely owns half of it. Except I'm not giving it up.
Exotic animals in the mansion – tigers curled up in the hall, lions roaming the kitchens, elephants trampling careful landscaping. Rooms emptied of modern convenience, save the much safer electric lights over oil lamps, women in corsets, men in morning suits. The appearance of musicians long dead, or so Beth had thought.
Josef and his parties always managed to impress.
But one of the favorite attractions at even the tamest events, brought by bribery, trickery or his long memory, was the appearance of Mick St. John and his little not-a-freshie. They managed to attract their own traveling audience, cold and warm-blooded alike, no matter where in the mansion they went.
Beth squashed the urge to swat the blood-filled floozies coming too near them, to grab their scarred wrists and squeeze until she heard bone break and spill that precious blood all over Josef's carpets. She moved closer to Mick and put her hand at the top of his thighs, on top of him. He shifted toward her, hips brushing hers, and managed to ignore the freshies with his usual ease. It didn't stop the parade of skin and shrinking dresses from writhing in front of the prude who wouldn't open vein for Mick. At least not there.
But it was the cold, pale hands that she hated most of all. The hands that touched him with casual force, leaned past her with a dismissive sniff to brush dead lips on his cheek. That looked at her and saw food, and him and saw sex.
She didn't have Mick's senses, but by the end, he always smelled of other women. It was worse tonight.
Conversation dwindled as the dark hit the deepest part of night. His arm around her waist burned. Fanged and fresh were disappearing into sound-proof rooms.
Beth leaned against him, eyes on them as always, ran lips across his, grabbing him in her teeth. And she bit down. Tried to draw blood, but only managed to draw fang.
"Beth," Mick straightened suddenly. "What are you –"
"Take me," it was a demand. She threw her weight against him and he barely moved. Her hand dipped down his pants, found him stirring and squeezed
He jerked. Eyes snapped to silver. She was off the ground and they were flying past the throng. To one of the bare bones rooms Josef reserved but they never used. The door slammed on the hungry crowd.
Audience gone, his hands eased against her, let her drop. Kisses slowed gentle against her soft skin. He moved toward the bed.
"No," Beth spat at him. "I'm not some toy. I want you to fuck me. And I want them to know."
She ground against him. Mick stiffened and charged forward. His mouth grabbed hers, his hands gripped her shoulders and shoved. Her back pounded up against the wall and Beth barely caught her head from cracking the plaster. With a knee, he knocked her legs apart and lifted her off the ground, her feet scrambling for purchase.
Her hands fumbled for his pants, but he moved faster. Fingers wrapped around her throat, holding her up for a breathless second as his belt whistled through the loops and his pants, always hanging on by degrees, hit the floor.
Her ladylike dress suddenly seemed anything but. The demure skirt was at her waist as she swung her legs around him and locked them, pushing his cock against her. In fluid motion, she slipped the cloth over her head, to the pile at their feet.
His hand snaked down her, fingers driving hard circles above her coccyx, teasing the edge of her ass. Her body seized and a groan erupted. Then he ripped, leaving her naked against him. Her arms tightened around his chest.
Another shift and she was balanced on his arm and he was pushing in. So wet, so delicious. She arched her back and broke the kiss. Cold lips on her jaw, teeth scraping down her neck. Her nails dug into his resurrecting skin.
He grabbed her hands with his free one and Beth felt her balance disappear. She tightened around him, falling awkwardly, his hardness tearing her, sharp pain intruding against the pleasure.
Mick froze mid thrust. The scent of blood warred with the smell of Beth's arousal. He moved inside her, pricking the wounds and letting the blood flow over him.
As Beth blinked back tears, she saw his hunger, the flash, the pant for her. She swallowed her pain.
He moved her away from the wall, to the floor, sank, a fine rhythm of thrusts pushing her to the ground as she struggled to keep him in her. The beat of them together missed as Beth gulped for air, searching -- then found it with Mick's insistence.
His hands were on hers with bruising force now, captured at either side of her. His mouth had better things to do. His tongue teased nipple, suckling like a child. Trying to pull from her as he pushed in.
"Harder, Mick," she whispered, voice gone. "More."
He just growled against her, the vibration carrying through every part of him until Beth thought she would break.
"Mmmm," Beth bit her lip, her breasts rising and falling between the pressure of his teeth. More blood for him. The scream was building. How could she hold him in her. He filled her every part, pressure rising, and the presence of him would burst her. She struggled, still pinned down and desperate to grab him. "Oh God, Mick!"
"Beth," he gasped. Every muscle in him stretched taut against her skin, she could feel the his tension on her, in her and the world stopped in this moment. And then the sweet release before he collapsed against her.
He lingered for a second and began to pull away.
"No," Beth struggled against him, tightened around him. "No, Mick."
He nipped her neck and growled.
"Hungry," the word trembled against her and Mick withdrew without more protest.
He released her hands and ran his down the length of his cock, wiping it clean with a palm. He ran his tongue over his hand, reveling in the tang of Beth and blood.
Newly clean hands ran down the length of her and splayed at her hips, a hint of pressure spreading her thighs.
"Beth," he breathed. He traced the opening, the warm feel of her, she shivered against him. He sank down. She felt his curls brush against her, then he rubbed a stubbled cheek against her thigh, marking. The scratch sent a tremor through her. She grabbed at him, twisted fingers into his hair and moved him against her again. Again. Until he shook her off.
Then he was on her, the tip teasing her clit, a lick moving in tight circles. His hands kneaded her thighs as he tickled his tongue up and down the edge of her slit, the tiny tear there.
"Mick, oh please," her thighs moved to clamp, but he steadied her.
His lips paused and the hard edge of fang pressed against her, then he pulled away. She felt his breath against her and then he was in her, tongue caressing where he'd pulled her apart.
He lapped at her, sweeping along the inside of her, drinking her in until she was nearly dry.
"I need you," Beth keened. "Stay. Stay, stay."
She felt him murmur against her. The fine point of fangs pushed out of his lips against hers, a half step from pleasure to pain. The tension cut at her and suddenly pleasure won out in a dizzy, hot wave, spasms rocking with every touch of him.
He pulled back, lightly sucking at her clit, before disappearing from her depths.
Mick curled between her thighs, his cheek resting against the inside of her leg, the other flush with him. A hand absently played at the back of the knee before him.
A noise started from him, between a hum and a sigh, the closest thing to a purr she could imagine. Beth stroked a hand through his hair. Without him in her, the ache throbbed. She felt broken against him.
Movement from Mick. He disentangled himself from her legs and rose to his knees. He leaned across her, retrieved his pants, her dress – ripped but wearable – her underwear a lost cause.
Beth sat up, stirred to dress herself, biting back a groan when the movement sent a crack of pain through her. Mick leaned in, brushed a kiss on her shoulder, and brought the fabric over her head, easing her through the holes.
"Mick," she watched him as he stumbled into his own clothes, hesitated. He waited. "Do you smell like me?"
He took a deep breath, his eyes closed. A smile played at his lips.
"I smell like you," he scooped her up, tight to him. The comfort of his skin on hers worked against the ache and she buried her face against his neck. "I taste like you."
He headed for the door, the crowds awaiting them with the turn of the knob.
"Always know this," the eyes on them, the sharp sniffs. The sounds dimmed. "I'm yours."