Reread jules' gift fic to me, A Wish Come True, and wanted to see how well I'd manage. I luff you bunches of lemons, jules, if you're reading this. I own nothing, it's better that way.
Theme 14 ('radio cassette player'): Necessity
The words played over and over in her head like a jammed cassette player after each pause he made to suit words to action. She wondered what she might call this new shade of red. It was one thing to know. It was another thing entirely to be told he loved the taste of her fluttering heartbeat against his lips, the contrast of her hair against her skin, the not contrast of his skin against hers, the velvet sensation of taking her any way he could. Sentences broken with harsh, ragged breaths, words that burned against her flesh, imprinted themselves in her mind; it was so much more intimate when he told her all the things she did to him, all the things he wanted to do to her, that she didn't know if she could take it.
All those feelings and thoughts coiled inside her, no way to be expressed except through the moist crush of lips, the uneven reverence of his name, the near frantic worship her hands rendered to his body.
The searing heat of her skin always tingled with ice in the wake of his touch, and she could never be sure which she felt more deeply, the penetrating intensity of his gaze or the delicious friction when he filled the dearth in body and soul. Black had never held so many facets and nuances until she really looked into his eyes.
Somehow it never took much for him to find her mesmerizingly tempting, and he didn't know what tasted sweeter, the flavor of his name on her lips or the silvery testament to how much he adored and venerated her through her body.
She was a cup overflowing, and he was both cause and cure. Such a cruel dependency, divine as it was. To rely on the source of tension to ease it; when it suited him not to create even more. Her only retribution was that he needed her as much as she needed him.
He needed the soft press of her lips like oxygen as much as she needed the firm press of his fingers exploring every part of her as if it were the first time. She needed to hear that level, unemotional mask shatter with the guttural rumbles censored in her skin. He needed to know the Uchiha genius was still capable of miracles, like the wantonly indecent sounds he knew how to draw from the oh-so-proper heiress. She would never admit to being addicted to the break in his control, even though he knew she knew he knew she was. It always amazed her how much she could do to him, and he reveled in showing her time after time after time. He found he could revel many things; with her, from her, in her, on her.
She left an indelible mark on him, one that only grew brighter with every minute he spent with her, with every memory they made. It was the rekindled life in his eyes, the corner of his mouth that twisted into his version of a smile more often then before. She brought him peace and indescribable rapture, the lilting snatches of melody from a far off radio.