Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
By Portrait of a Scribe
"Unbutton your clothes, undress your soul, show them your vigor. Are those inhibitions easiest to fear?"
--Our Lady Peace, 'One-Man Army'
Chapter 27.
2042 A.D. - St. Louis, Missouri - 0000 hours
The door swung open in front of them after Tank swiped the keycard through the electronic lock.
She squeaked in surprise when she was suddenly swept off her feet into Reaper's strong arms, but she giggled nonetheless, wrapping her arms around his neck. Tank was still chuckling as he carried her over the threshold of their hotel room and closed the door behind them. Tank nuzzled his neck with a happy grin, hearing and feeling him turn the lock.
"I'm surprised I'm light enough for you to carry me over the threshold," she murmured. Tank heard and felt Reaper chuckle.
"You're only a hundred and forty-five pounds, Amanda," he returned amiably. "You're a fucking feather merchant. Drop-dead gorgeous, maybe, but a feather merchant nonetheless."
"Thanks," Tank hummed, and turned her nose into his neck, closing her eyes and inhaling her husband's musky scent. She felt almost as if she was floating as he carried her further into the room to sit down on the edge of the bed with her in his lap. It was then that she pulled away to look up at him.
"So, do you wanna shower first?" she asked. Reaper shrugged, scanning her face.
"I wouldn't mind kissing you senseless, first," he admitted quietly. Tank grinned and chuckled, leaning in for a brief, chaste kiss.
"I have no objection to being kissed senseless," she murmured into his mouth, "but I need to get this dress and makeup off, not to mention wash this ridiculous hairspray out of my hair."
Reaper hummed, kissing her again. He seemed almost hungry, which Tank could understand.
She wanted him, too.
"Soon, love," she whispered. "I won't be long."
Reaper grunted, and then pulled away to bury his face in Tank's neck. She giggled as his breath tickled her skin, and gingerly extricated herself from his embrace. He stared up at her like a child denied his favorite treat.
"Fifteen minutes," she murmured to him. "Give me that, please."
Reaper sighed. "If I must," he muttered. "I've waited over a year for you. I guess fifteen more minutes won't hurt."
Tank kissed him again, and then reluctantly pulled away. "Thanks."
Reaper leveled a smoldering gaze at her, and she swallowed.
"Just know that you're going to have to pay for it," he warned. "And that you're going to enjoy every second."
Tank grinned, getting to her feet. "Better get ready, then," she countered, "'cause I've got something I think you're gonna like."
Then she stepped away from him, grabbed the duffel bag that she had brought to Missouri with her, and retreated into the bathroom, feeling Reaper's smoldering stare on her the whole way.
The first thing to go after Tank closed the door behind her was her wedding dress. The zipper came undone fluidly, and then she slipped out of the dress to allow it to pool around her ankles. This left her in her strapless bra and her panties, which soon joined the dress on the floor before she hung the white satin up on a hanger that she had stashed in her duffel. Last to go were the ribbon-laced sandals.
Tank reached into the shower to start the water running, and then, as she waited for it to heat, she turned to her bag again, pulling out the things she would wear after she was finished with her wash. She laid them on the sink, and then made quick work of the bobby pins in her hair.
Once her hair hung in loose-but-stiff curls and ringlets down her back, pin-free and with only the hairspray to keep it together, Tank stepped into the shower.
Tank wasted no time in washing the makeup off of her face. She had to use soap to get the mascara off, but the lip gloss and the eye shadow came off easily enough. Then Tank shampooed her hair as quickly as she could.
It was to her dismay when she realized that her hair still had hairspray in it even after she washed it.
"Sweet Jesus," Tank muttered, squirting another glob of shampoo into her palm so that she could wash her hair again. "How much fucking hairspray did they damn well use?"
Nevertheless, Tank finished with her wash and stepped out of the shower, hairspray-free, within ten minutes. She hurriedly dried herself off and wrapped her hair up in her towel to dry. Then she shoved everything but her wedding dress into her duffel bag and turned to the garments on the sink.
She hadn't been brave enough to go with the skimpy number that Tori had suggested she use, but had instead opted for a simple pair of black boyshort underpants and a skin-tight purple camisole that had lace lining the neckline and straps. She wouldn't wear a bra, however. She hoped that that would work well enough.
Tank dressed quickly.
With a victorious sigh, she picked up her duffel bag, pulled the hanger with her dress over her shoulder, and left the bathroom.
Reaper's eyes landed upon her as soon as the door opened. Tank swallowed at the intensity of his gaze, and then she swallowed again when it suddenly sharpened.
If he had smoldered at her before, Tank mused, his eyes were all but blazing at her now.
"Shower's free," she said, her voice quiet. Reaper's stare didn't waver.
"You took seventeen minutes," he muttered, a small smile quirking his lips. Tank blushed under his scrutiny.
"They used enough hairspray on me to put a new hole in the ozone layer," she said dryly. "I had to shampoo it twice- count 'em, twice- to get it all out."
"I see," Reaper said, his voice a low growl. Tank rolled her eyes.
"Go shower," she growled playfully. Reaper frowned slightly at her, and she placed a hand on her hip after dropping her duffel on the floor against the wall. She noted, in the back of her mind, that he had gone ahead and turned down the blankets so that they were folded over the foot of the bed.
"Even though you look drop-dead sexy in that tux, John," she began, eyeing Reaper up and down where he was sitting on the side of the bed, one ankle crossed over his other knee. She didn't miss that he had taken off his shoes, already. "I am not trying to get you out of it."
He tilted his head to the side. "Why not?" he asked. "I took off the tie at the reception."
Now it was Tank's turn to scrutinize him. Having seen him fully naked before, it was not hard for her to undress him with her eyes. She took her time, and it was almost two minutes before she replied to his question.
"Because if I try to take you out of that suit, it's going to end up on the floor in pieces," she said, her voice low and serious. Reaper raised his eyebrows minutely.
"I guess I'd better take it off, then," he said. Tank smiled a little, and then stepped to the side, sweeping her hand toward the bathroom doorway.
"Be my guest," she said. Reaper chuckled lowly, and then slowly got to his feet to cross the room, stopping in front of his bride. Then he leaned down and placed a sweet, teasing kiss on her lips.
Tank moaned slightly into his mouth after a second, and then began to reach up to wrap her arms around his neck. However, he caught her hands in his and pulled away. She leaned up, trying to maintain the kiss.
He broke it off with a tempting smirk. Then he turned and entered the bathroom, leaving Tank pouting petulantly. She turned to hang up her dress with a huff, and then went and sat on the side of the bed, drawing her right leg up to tuck it underneath herself while she unwrapped her hair, rubbing it vigorously to get it as dry as she could.
When it was only slightly damp, Tank hung her towel up on the back of the desk chair since Reaper was using the shower, and set to brushing the tangles out of her hair.
She had just finished when the bathroom door opened again and Reaper stepped out, clad in a tight black Underarmor shirt and a pair of black basketball shorts. Tank eyed him with a small smile on her face. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips as she saw the damp sheen to his skin and the way that the moisture darkened his hair.
"Hey, John," she called quietly. Reaper eyed her again, his gaze so intense that Tank knew, knew, that he was undressing her with his eyes, just as she had done to him seven minutes earlier.
She swallowed.
Reaper slowly crossed the room to stand over her, and Tank felt her mouth go dry as she saw the smoldering blaze in his hazel eyes. She ducked her head, feeling somewhat self-conscious under his scrutiny as she took a deep breath.
His hand came under her chin, upturning her face so that she met his gaze again.
"Don't look down again, Amanda," he whispered as his thumb stroked her cheek. "You're beautiful."
Tank swallowed again. Then he leaned down and captured her lips with his.
The kiss started out chaste, but slowly it became more passionate, more involved, as Tank opened her mouth and ran her tongue across his bottom lip, begging for entry. Reaper wasted no time in granting it.
As they kissed, their hands weren't idle. Tank raised herself up a little bit so that she could slip her arms around her husband's neck. She rubbed his shoulder gently with her right hand. It only took a second for her left arm to withdraw so that she could cradle his cheek in her palm.
She gasped quietly into his mouth when he slowly leaned down toward her so that she laid back slightly on the bed and he was seated on the very edge of it. His hands found her waist, gripping her gently but firmly.
Tank moaned softly with pleasure when he trailed his hand up her side to cup her breast, and she nipped his lower lip, sucking on it to nurse the hurt when he hissed slightly. However, when he retaliated with an attack on her mouth that left her breathless, Tank pulled away from him to stare into his eyes.
While they'd been occupied with the kiss, Tank's hand had slipped down to caress his chest, and she had leaned back so that he was settled between her legs, his left hand holding him up where it was pressed against the mattress. Both of them were breathless, their lips swollen, and Tank's lower abdomen was aching.
"John," she breathed softly. "Am I dreaming?"
Reaper's response was to lean down for a bruising kiss that had her whimpering as he grabbed her hips and pulled them so that they met his. Tank moaned when his arousal pressed against her inner thigh.
When he ended the kiss a second later, he pulled away just far enough so that he could speak.
"This isn't a fucking dream," he said, his voice low and husky. Tank shivered slightly, and then gasped when he lowered his head to lay a line of hot, wet kisses down her neck. She groaned, images of her first dream of him flashing through her mind. Tank wasted no time in reaching down to the hem of his skintight shirt, drawing it up towards their heads in an effort to divest him of it.
Reaper complied eagerly, parting from her skin only long enough to get the shirt off over his head. Then he moved in upon her again, his hands drifting up underneath her tank top to massage her breasts, tweak her nipples.
Tank was panting in under ten seconds.
"John!" she gasped when he nipped her in the crook of her neck. It hurt for a second. She moaned when he opened his mouth and pressed his velvety tongue to the spot, lathing it with long, smooth strokes.
Then she growled, tired of being on the bottom, and grabbed him by the shoulders, throwing her left leg over his hip.
Reaper had only a second to process what was going to happen before Tank flipped him bodily so that he landed, flat on his back, in the middle of the mattress. Then she straddled him, placing her hands on the mattress to either side of his head, and leaned down to capture his mouth in a mind-blowing kiss.
She ran her hands down his chest, deliberately taking her time so that she could memorize every curve and dip and rise and twitch of his muscles, every scar that marred his otherwise smooth skin. In the meantime, Tank stroked his tongue with her own, savoring the taste and texture of him so that she would never forget this night.
After all, this night was special. It would never come again, and Tank wanted it to last.
Reaper groaned when her hands drifted lower, smoothing over the hard plane of his stomach to his hips, and then to his waistband. He reached up, caressing Tank's back. Her camisole ended up on the floor half a minute later.
Tank shivered as the cool air of the room hit her skin, and goose bumps shot up her arms and across her chest. Then she moaned again when Reaper's hands covered her breasts, feeling heat pool between her legs. She arched into his touch.
A gasp escaped Tank's mouth when Reaper suddenly flipped them again, landing almost heavily upon her. She reached around him to clutch his back, trying to pull him even closer than he already was.
"John," she panted as he dipped down to latch onto one of her breasts. "John, I want you..."
"You can still speak straight," he observed. His voice was slightly muffled, with her breast in his mouth as it was. "I'm not doing my job right."
Tank found herself speechless a second later when he ran his hands down to her hips, and then dipped the fingers of his right hand down between her thighs to 'test the waters', so to speak. All she could do was gasp and whimper slightly as he probed her.
"J-John," she stammered, her eyes wide as her chest heaved underneath his ministrations. She unconsciously spread her legs slightly wider to allow him better access.
"That's better," he mumbled, licking her taut nipple one more time before he switched breasts.
Tank thought that the aching in her lower abdomen was going to break her. It was hot, it was tight, and it made her want release. It made her want to cry, want to scream his name, want to... want...
Tank didn't know what she wanted a second later when he pressed his fingers against that special, hypersensitive bundle of nerves at her base. She just moaned with ecstasy.
"J-J-John," she gasped out, her fingernails digging into his back. Reaper grunted, and sucked in a deep, sharp breath through his nose. Then he left her breasts and came back up to kiss her again.
"That fucking hurts, you know," he grumbled against her mouth. Tank growled in response, and dug her fingernails harder into his back, causing him to arch against her with a faint groan.
"Then fuckin' deal with it you fuckin' pussy," she hissed, and then flipped him again and pinned him so that she was on top.
It was her turn.
Tank sat herself on Reaper's thighs, just below his erection, and straddled him. She looked down at him. Braced herself on his hips. Then she rubbed herself against the bulge straining against his shorts with a long, satisfied moan.
Reaper hissed and lifted himself into a sitting position. Tank shifted her hands to his shoulders and pressed her breasts to his chest. He grabbed her bottom through the fabric of her skivvies, pulling her more firmly against him. Tank didn't fight him, but rather leaned forward and began to kiss him everywhere she could. She didn't stop rubbing herself against him.
Soon Reaper's chest was heaving. When Tank looked up at his flushed face, she could see that a slight sheen of sweat had accumulated across his skin, could taste the salt on her tongue as she swirled it around one of the nipples on his broad, muscular chest.
Really, Reaper was such a manly man...
...and the ache between Tank's thighs burned for him.
She parted from him and pulled away so that she could sit comfortably on his slightly-spread thighs where they were bent at the knee. Then she looked down into his passion-glazed eyes.
Her hands slid down his torso to the waistband of his basketball shorts.
The smooth fabric slid easily down over his hips, then his ass, and over his erection to pool at his thighs between Tank's legs. She took a deep breath at the sight, simply admiring it for a moment.
Then she found herself panting when his hands slid into her boyshorts, caressing the smooth skin of her bottom and hips. Reaper's fingers slipped into the crevice between her legs, causing Tank's thighs to reflexively clench and lift her off of him, and he slipped the garment down her body as she arched into his touch, throwing her head back with a breathless cry of ecstasy.
Tank was going to fucking kill him if he didn't fuck her senseless soon.
She told him as much a second later when she yanked her leg up to pull off her panties, kicking them away to be lost in the jumble of clothes on the floor. Reaper just growled, and helped her to finish ridding him of his shorts.
Then, suddenly, Tank was on the bottom, again, but this time she didn't mind. Especially not since he had pinned her with his whole body. Especially not when the tip of his erection was pressed against her wet opening in a way that made her squirm beneath him.
"J-John," she moaned as he roughly grabbed her breast again. "N-Now...!"
Reaper lifted his head to look into her eyes. Then he raised himself off of her to support himself on his forearms.
He wanted this, too.
With him perched above her like that, Tank couldn't help but lick her swollen lips in anticipation and slight anxiety. Slowly she raised her hips to meet his, positioning him at her entrance so that she groaned, and threw a leg over his hip.
Reaper entered her in a single, slow, smooth thrust that made Tank arch into him with her head thrown back in ecstasy and pain, her mouth open in a silent cry of pure rapture. Reaper's own long, soft, satisfied groan fell on her ears.
Her imagination had been right.
"A-Amanda," he panted. Tank couldn't reply. Her fingers clutched his shoulders in a white-knuckled grip, and her legs pulled him closer and closer, until he was buried to the hilt inside of her, filling her, stretching her, completing her...
They stilled. Waited. It took Tank a few long seconds to adjust to his size, squirming weakly with the overload of sensations.
Tank finally remembered how to breathe when Reaper began to withdraw.
"F-Faster," she gasped as he thrust in again. The heat in her crotch was building, flaring, tensing, tensing...
Reaper rammed into her, finally leaning down to kiss her again. He bit down on her lip none-too-gently as he thrust again, groaning deeply, and Tank opened her mouth with a gasp, feeling him withdraw and then complete another stroke.
"Faster," she panted into his mouth. "Harder, deeper..."
Reaper complied, his hands finding her hips and angling her for better leverage as he continued to pound into her. Then it was all sweat-slick bodies sliding over and in each other, and delicious friction that made Tank whimper helplessly.
Tank felt that knot of tension in her belly grow more in size, heat, and in how much it fucking hurt.
She let out a quiet sob.
As each of her cries increased in volume, Reaper's thrusts increased in pace and strength, going deeper into her each time. With each stroke, Tank was brought closer to that invisible edge.
She took a flying leap toward it when Reaper hit a particular spot that had her seeing sparks. Tank gasped and whimpered in pure ecstasy. Her thighs clenched on his hips, and Reaper continued to thrust, in, out, in, out.
It was so right.
Tank drew in a loud gasp a few seconds later when that horrible tension in her lower abdomen began to intensify at an astounding pace, that amazing, delicious heat that flared into a blaze so intense that she had to throw her head back so that she could breathe.
Reaper returned to her breasts with a covetous groan, caressing, licking, suckling, nipping the soft skin. Tank found that she couldn't breathe through the fires of her arousal.
The heat intensified, the tension knotting so hard that Tank was sure that she would snap in two as he thrust rapidly into her.
Then she felt something give as Reaper hit that special spot again.
"J-J-J-John...!" she stuttered. Her word ended in a breathless moan. "I-I'm-!"
Tank's sentence dissolved into a loud, long groan while every muscle in her lower abdomen, thighs, and butt clenched in unison, sending her over the edge into what she could only later describe as pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Tank heard his masculine groan, heard him call her name, felt his thrusts increase in pace for a second, and then he stiffened above her. Tank managed to look up at him to see his eyes wide, his features frozen in a surprised expression tinged with blissful, mind-blowing pleasure.
Something hot flooded into her. Tank couldn't think through the ecstasy that her climax provided, just arched into his body, pressing herself against him as another wave stole through her.
It lasted for almost three minutes. Then Tank finally felt her orgasm taper off, and she and Reaper collapsed to the bed, struggling for breath, still entwined.
For several long moments, they simply laid there, too dazed and sated to move. Reaper's head was pillowed upon Tank's breasts and her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. His arms were wrapped around Tank's lower back. Her hands still gripped his shoulders, spasming faintly every few seconds.
Then Tank moaned faintly and moved her hands up to run them through Reaper's short hair.
"John," she whispered breathlessly. Reaper inhaled deeply, and lethargically lifted himself off of her with his forearms so that they could look each other in the eye as he gingerly withdrew himself from her.
Tank scanned his face. His hazel eyes were contented and tired. His full lips were red and swollen from their passionate kisses, and sheen of sweat glazed his skin.
After a second, Tank smiled, feeling whole, satisfied, relaxed, content. She reached her free hand up to caress his cheek, the stubble along his jaw line and around his mouth rough against her calloused fingertips. Tank trailed her thumb across his lips, marveling at how soft and moist they were. Her fingers smoothed across his brow, and she leaned up to press a slow, tender kiss to his mouth.
"I love you," she mumbled against his lips. Reaper sighed contentedly, and slowly shifted his weight so that he could reach up and cradle her cheek in his palm.
"I love you, too, Amanda," he returned softly, his voice still rich and husky from sex. Tank sighed into him. Then she sagged back into the mattress, suddenly tired. Reaper had the good thought to turn off the lights and pull the covers over them before he lay down next to Tank.
She immediately wrapped her arms around him and buried her nose in his chest, tangling her legs with his. He smelled musky like he usually did, underneath the heavy scent of sweat and sex. His arms came around her, and Tank felt him bury his nose in her hair.
They were quiet for several long moments, simply breathing, recovering. Then Tank spoke.
"I was right," she whispered. Reaper grunted, and ran his hand through her tousled hair.
"'Bout what?" he prompted. He sounded almost sleepy.
"'Bout it being sweeter if we waited," Tank murmured. Then she sighed contentedly, and withdrew from his chest so that she could lay her head on the pillow and look her husband in the eyes. Reaper stared back through the dimness. Tank could see him swallow.
"Thank you, Mr. Grimm," Tank whispered with a small smirk, snaking her hand out to run it through his messy brown hair. He hummed, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch.
"You're welcome, Mrs. Grimm," he said. Tank could see his lips twitch into a smile. Tank grinned.
"I like the sound of that," she mused with a quiet chuckle. He hummed again, and leaned in to kiss her gently.
"I'm glad you do," he whispered against her mouth. Tank sighed, closing her eyes and leaning into his kiss. Her hand ran through his hair again, eventually coming to stop to press gently into the back of his neck.
Eventually, a soft growl escaped Reaper's throat. Tank chuckled slightly, gently tucking her leg over his hip so that she could rub her heel against the back of his knee. Reaper growled again, louder.
A second later, Tank found herself giggling as she was turned onto her back again, Reaper pinning her with his body. She looked up into his eyes as he pulled away. There was a playful hunger there that made her grin.
"Have you had enough," she quipped, "or are you thirsty for more?"
Reaper groaned and shook his head with a small smile at the old, overly-used quote, but dove down for another heated kiss nevertheless.
Really, Tank inwardly mused, he could have just asked.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doom or any affiliated characters, and you know it.
*BLUSH BLUSH BLUSH* First lemon. I hope I got things right and wrote them well. *hides behind Tank's cat, Binx* Please don't kill me. Criticism is welcome, but please don't kill me.
Well, we're almost halfway through this (surprisingly long) story. It's not fully written, yet, but I'm still trying to figure out whether I should end it after the movie or keep going. I'll warn you now, if I keep going, I'll probably have to make it a crossover story. O.o Any opinions? Regardless, even if I end it after the movie, it's still well over 300 pages long on MS Word 2007, with one-inch margins and Arial 10 point font. So... with Arial 12 point font (which is the default for most word processing programs) it's... over 500 pages long. Wow. I need a life. With the extended ending, it's 403 pages long (10-point font) and 539 pages long (12-point). So no, we're not even close to finishing this story.
MWA HA HA HA HA!
Ahem.
Thank you to both st. elmo-lover and angel19872006 for reviewing the last chapter. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I hope you liked this one, too. Another thank you goes out to all the other readers out there who aren't reviewing. You know who you are, and you have my gratitude for putting up with my writing even though you haven't said a word to me.
Next chapter should be posted 3-22-10.
-Portrait of a Scribe
