Part 1/2 angsty sexy time inspired by the sneak peek for 'Fall'
She is tired, tired and angry. What had she been thinking? First, voluntarily casting a spell to block her magic, plus locking herself in her own vault to protect her enemies, to protect Snow White. The thought makes her cringe in disgust. Granted, her magic will return soon enough, within the next few hours, and at the time it seemed like a wise idea to sequester herself, but now, now she is feeling exhausted and bruised, trying to force her way through the cold stone of her vault.
Her back collides with the concrete wall, her body sagging in defeat. She feels rather than hears a growl leaves her throat, something dangerous and animalistic, and it isn't until this very moment she realizes how much she hates what she is wearing. The designer clothing of this world, of the mayor persona that has imprisoned her for the last three decades.
Her feet carry her quickly across the hard floor; jacket, shirt, belt, and more all discarded like scraps along the way to another chamber in her vault. By the time she steps through the opening, sets eyes on the clothing she wants to wear, she is already half naked, quickly removing the last bits of Regina in favor for the wardrobe of The Evil Queen.
A smile curves her lips as she laces the jeweled corset, the leather pants, and just as she is about to slide her arms through a long top coat, she hears heavy footfalls just beyond the room. She turns toward the open arch, the only entry and exit to this space and as she waits, the toe of his boot comes into view, followed by a leg, an arm, and then he is there, standing, blocking the entryway with his muscular frame.
She takes a moment to appreciate him. Lets her eyes glide over his form, the sweat that drips down his neck, pooling gently just above his sternum, in the hollow at the base of his neck. Her mind oddly imagines licking the salty liquid from his skin, but she thinks she probably won't get the chance. He is here to kill her. After all, she has the same urge to murder him, it just seems that for her another urge is stronger.
When her brown eyes meet his icy blue gaze she can see the anger, and the dagger in his hand tells her he definitely has come to kill, to avenge his wife no doubt, but there is something else present in those eyes, something even darker, and whatever it may be, the simple look has wetness pooling between her thighs, a thrum of arousal fluttering low in her belly. Perhaps he has other urges as well.
She is unarmed of course, had not expected anyone to come find her, to enter her vault, but she probably should have. As much as she wants to watch the blood drain from Snow White's face, (something she imagines won't be nearly as gratifying as she hopes, the woman is already quite pale, will probably look just the same when life leaves her body) there are most definitely people who want to see the same from her. People who want to watch the dark red slither from her veins, people like the man before her.
Then something shifts in the atmosphere. The dagger hits the concrete floor on its point, bounces once before landing on its side, settling against the cold floor beside Robin's boot. She finds herself staring at it for a moment, eyes narrowing before her gaze lifts back to his, dark pupils nearly blanketing all of the blue. It is then that he moves forward, steps into her space, and she is certain he is raising his hands to strangle the life from her. She'll fight back of course, won't let him send her to oblivion without trying to force him there too, but then he surprises her and she finds his hands do wrap around her neck, they do exert excess force, but then one is threading through her hair, gripping and pulling while the other moves to the nape of her neck, pulling her forward, his lips crashing to hers.
It is all anger and fire and lust, a fire burning hot, blazing painfully as teeth collide, and tongues duel. Her hands slide up his body, from waist to his chest, where they settle, fingers twisting his shirt, pulling upwards so her skin can find his, so her nails can dig into flesh. He is doing the same, limited in his groping by the tight fabric she has just placed over her skin, but it doesn't deter him, only seems to make him angrier, and it is with a heavy exhale that his palm moves from her neck, passed her shoulder to palm and squeeze her corset covered breast.
He doesn't try to unlace it, doesn't bother, but rather moves his mouth down her chin, along her neck, leaving a trail of red, bitten and angry flesh, his hand pulling and tugging at the corset. She gives him a shove, pushes him away, just an inch so she can lift the cotton fabric of his shirt over his shoulders, and it is then that he finds enough leverage to grip the material of her corset at the seam, give it a powerful tug that has her body colliding with his, and the fabric pulling away from one breast.
She looks downward, to the mangled material that no longer covers her completely, his fingers roughly find her hardened nipple, and as she looks up, the fire in her eyes is equally matched by him. She pulls his face to hers, nips at his bottom lip drawing a minute amount of blood, the taste of copper filling her mouth, and then he moves them backward. Large, fast strides that have her noticing how slick she is between her legs, each movement making her arousal painfully clear. She wants to fuck this man, maybe murder him too, but first, she wants to fuck him. The way they collide into the wall, his arousal hard and obvious grinding into her belly tells her he wants it too.
They divest each other of pants quickly, his cotton and her leather falling to the floor, gracelessly kicked away before he is on her again, sandwiching her between the cold concrete and his warm torso. He plans to take her against this wall, hard and forceful, and although she wants to fight him for control, wants to throw him to the floor and ride him until she his trembling and sated atop him, she thinks a hard fuck against the wall sounds just as pleasurable.
It is decided then, as he shifts his hands down her body, fingers kneading the flesh of her ass before moving to her thighs and hoisting her upward, her rear scraping against the wall, and her legs wrapping around his waist. She'll let him take her like this. She'll just make sure to mar his flesh as much as she likes while he does. So as he moves his hard length against her wet core, she bites at the skin covering his clavicle, sucks at his pulsepoint, until every place her mouth touches is left with a red patch of broken blood vessels.
Her arms hold tight around his neck, the warm heat from his chest pressed firmly against what is left of her corset and her one uncovered breast. That seems to give him enough leverage, enough balance to line up the tip of his shaft with her entrance, one hand remaining beneath her thigh while the other moves between them. Then he is inside, to the hilt immediately, and her head drops backward, a painful collision of skull to concrete as her mouth leaves his flesh. He doesn't wait an instant before he is pulling out and moving back in, hard and fast, moving his hand back to her rear, then her thigh, attempting to pull them wider, spread her open.
The first thrusts are painful, not awful, but slightly, unexpected and forceful, but once he is thrusting in for the sixth or seventh time she is eagerly trying to meet his thrusts, arching her back, moaning and gasping, both of them breathing heavily as he hammers inside and she pivots her hips, clenching on his hardness.
He lowers his head to her exposed breast, forcing her mouth from his skin, but she figures it doesn't matter, almost every inch of his shoulders and chest are already red or bruising from her ministrations. Instead, as he nips and sucks at her nipple, licking along the edge of her corset, she feathers her fingers through his hair and tugs, pulls, twists, and she relishes the grunts that leave his mouth each time she twists coinciding with a deep thrust into her.
He moves inside of her quickly, in and out, hips pistoning against her, crushing her between the wall and his pelvis, and she is so wet, getting even wetter as she nears her peak. His body pushes against her clit with each thrust forward, but it isn't quite enough, not quite getting her there, so she threads a hand between them, leaving one to pull at his hair, forcing his mouth back to hers.
She rubs her fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs, and his movements are coming faster, more stiffly. He is as close as her, and the thought of it has her climbing faster, toppling over the edge with his hips colliding to hers, the tip of him hitting with a sensitive spot inside of her. She comes with a scream, an angry growl, and debates pushing him off of her, not letting him reach his peak, but then it feels so good still. He keeps hitting that spot, and it has her muscles still clenching, still tightening around his shaft, and then he is shuddering, grunting and cursing in her ear while he empties himself into her, his cock shoved to the hilt inside of her with one last collision of their bodies.
It is only a moment later that she does finally push him away, drops her feet to the floor, but she finds that she didn't need to give him the shove. He was already moving to separate, pulling from her in a quick motion and taking two strides away.
They stare at each other for a moment, and she takes in his appearance, completely naked before her with angry red welts blanketing his chest and neck, scratches lining his flesh from her nails. His eyes are still angry, pupils not as large, but still drowning out the blue. She smiles, a wide scornful thing, followed by a laugh that could only be described as evil. She figures it isn't so important to kill him anymore, not when he'll probably want to do it himself. He scowls at her, narrows his eyes before spitting at her feet. That has her laugh abruptly quieting, her own angry eyes following him as he gathers his clothing and leaves, neglecting to pick up the dagger he had dropped on his way in.
