Disclaimer: I own nothing. I have no money. If I did, I'd buy pots and pans for dorms.
A/N: so this is my smut chapter. To all you young'uns, please skip this chapter, its definitely R, (or whatever that corresponds to in this new rating thing…) to everyone else, enjoy the smut, I had fun writing it!
Robotica, this one's for you!
She doesn't know. I don't think she loves him.
If she loves him it wouldn't be like this when we touch – when we find each other in the middle of the night, it wouldn't feel all silver and gold and lucid.
So somehow, I know she doesn't love him. I know I love her, I need her, and I think…I think she needs me too. I think that she doesn't know how much yet.
Sometimes I try to talk to her, try to convince her to break it off with him, and not keep this thing secret. But she knows everything.
And for the life of me, I can't think why its so important not to compromise, why its so important that I have all of her, or none.
I can't remember why its so vital, when I can't live without her. I can't remember when she's like she is now, leaning against the door-frame in a baggy t-shirt, her hair half slung in a pony-tail, with the last glimmer of the day's make-up on.
Her hand goes to her throat, tugs the chain of her necklace, and falls. Her legs are long and coltish as she steps toward the bed.
Something compels me to move forward, to lose myself, to feel all silver and gold and lucid, because I might never have it again.
and George is there, so close to her they can feel the air eddy and swirl with each breath, feel it hot against exposed skin, and Izzy stops wondering why she needs to be here, needs to feel him against her and in her, and part of her. Izzy stops wondering, and starts feeling.
His hand flutters like a bird at the hem of her shirt, brushing her thigh, making her press into the movement. He lets out the breath he's held, and didn't know it. Lets it out, and grasps the hem, uses it to pull her even closer, until their pressed together, until the spaces between them disappear.
Her eyes are blue and knowing, upturned to capture his in the last vestiges of light. His are green like jade, and she thinks maybe that suits him, because he's something precious to her, and suddenly, she's snaking a hand across the back of his neck, and pulling him down, pulling him under.
Lips brush against each other, tantalizing, tempting, full of sin that was never a sin if it was meant, if it was more than something random, something dirty. And George doesn't care about sin, because he knows he's no savior, no messiah, can never amount to anything more holy than this, this slow, delving of tongues, twisting and dancing and capturing any sin, and transmuting it like alchemy into something more pure than some heated coupling.
His hand presses into the small of her back. It's a big hand, with long fingers, spread wide, and she feels like he's branding her, like that mark of those fingers, hot and demanding, and willing to wait, are making her his, and that some day soon, someone will look at her, and know it. She can't decide if she really minds, too caught up with so much of him, the moonlight glancing off the planes of his chest and stomach like he's something ethereal, something meant to be caressed and kissed and loved. So she does. She loves him with every lave of her tongue over the ridges of his stomach, every open mouthed kiss she places on his side, going diagonal across his torso, finally taking his hard nub of a nipple into her mouth, and loving that too – loving it as he moans desperately into her shoulder, kneading the palm of his hand into her lower belly, slowly moving it down, toying with the band of her briefs, inching them off.
"too slow," she groans, her hand on top of his pushing them down her thighs, and letting them fall past her knees, and pool at her feet.
And its all faster now, like something's broken inside them, and passion eddies with every breath, rises with every touch of skin.
Her shirt's gone now, somewhere beside her panties, forgotten, and their still standing, and she thinks if he doesn't take her now, she'll die, just extinguish, snuff out, or her knee's will give out beneath her.
But its ok, because he's lifting her off the ground, setting her on the bed, his hands touching the mounds of her breasts, as he survey's what's his, beneath him. His mouth curls into a small smile, and he lifts himself up, above her, his hands fluttering just above where they should touch and caress and love her, and he's such a tease like this, such a tease!
And she needs him now, needs him like she needs to breath, and he's taking too long, leaning on one arm, muscles straining as his other hand busily removes his boxers, and he's there, naked and glorious, and god, such a damn tease!
"take me now or lose me forever," she tells him, half joking. His eyes grow cloudy with passion, and the smile fades as he lowers his lips to hers, giving and demanding and its like midas reincarnated, making her feel like everything he touches turns to gold, because it feels so good when he touches her breast like that, flicks her nipple, and brushes the underside, and she's sucking in breath, shuddering, and breaking the kiss, because its almost too much.
She lifts her hips as he plunges into her, like he's diving, and she's water, and there's something golden in that too, in the way their bodies just fit, roll together like a current, like a tide, and soon their all a tangle of limbs, all Ivy and tugging and grasping – gasping in pleasure, and its almost too big, and that divide between them, nearly gone, one end bleeds into another, and there is no beginning to this, no end to them, and suddenly –
Suddenly – they're there.
Together, and Izzy is gasping between high keening sounds that could almost be screams, because its so good, so right and she feels like silver and gold. George clutches her like she's land and kisses her all over her faces, and just breathes her name, over and over and over, and they milk it until it subsides, until they lay, in a tangle of limbs and bed-sheets like ivy, glistening like gold, perspired, and full to spilling over with something akin to holiness, and both of them know as they fall into the deep recesses of sleep, that this won't happen with anyone else. Its singular, and they're singular.
And maybe they don't have to compromise.