Disclaimer: I own nothing.
This was written for the Writeaholic's Smut Vs. Plot Challenge
Rules: Write a story with a plot (!) only with sex scenes, at least three, short exposition paragraphs allowed.
This is a companion piece to my other bodyguard story "Without" that I am still working on, but I wouldn't consider it a sequel.
Weeks had passed since they were buried beneath cinder, death looming over their shoulders, but still, she looked so fragile.
Julia was pale, the image of the ghost that everyone believed her to be, though she was warm and very much alive beneath David's fingers. With her wrapped in his arms he could feel the beating of a heart beneath his palms, but whether it was his or hers he didn't know. He didn't care, as long as it meant they were alive.
He remembered the flash of fire as the bomb went off, orange eclipsing them both before black. The blue and white of the hospital that had almost taken her, and now he saw her in reds and greens. The red of her hair and her still fading scars, the green of her eyes and David's old shirt which she wore.
His lips brushed against the faded gash along the inside of her arm. He could feel the uneven skin, the one he shared in patches along his back. There was more than this, he was sure. The fire, the bomb fragments. She shouldn't be alive, but the fabric of her shirt always kept it from his view. She had buried herself in insecurities.
"David…" She trailed, her tone hesitant as his lips wandered against her skin, further up her arm. He knew what was coming and pulled away.
His hand lifted instead, smoothing the short strands of hair that hung against her face and her eyes that avoided his.
"I know," was all he said.
He moved away from her, sitting at the end of the bed before he lifted the cotton of his shirt over his head, turning so that his back and the scars that covered it were towards her. He felt her reach out, brushing the faded cuts she had always questioned and he relaxed beneath her touch.
"It was my first IED," he began, providing the story she had wanted him to give when they first began. "We were headed to another base and, erm, our truck ran over it." He swallowed the words seeming much heavier with all that had passed. "Killed two of us, nearly Andrew. I was blessed with a few burns and scratches."
"Andrew. You mean Apsted?" Her voice was flat, swollen with resentment that he could never blame her for, that he, too, felt.
"Yeah." It was all he gave, his voice giving a crack of disappointment. "My point is, Julia, I understand." He turned from the point on the wall he had been fixated on. "After it happened…it took me awhile before I was okay with the look of myself in the mirror. There are days I still avoid it."
Her touch drew away from him and he was worried he had said too much. Too much when previously he hadn't said enough.
Silence followed and he felt unwelcome. He nearly stood, nearly left, when he felt the warmth of her against him again. She pulled against his shoulders, urging him backwards and he obeyed. He rested against the pillows of his bed, turning to look at her.
"If you aren't ready, that's okay." He broke the silence between them, afraid it would never end if he didnt. "I'm not here in hopes of an orgasm. I'm here because I want to be."
David leaned towards her, his lips meeting hers in a question. He could taste the mint of her toothpaste, could smell the flowers of her soap on her skin. He'd become accustomed to these things, had memorized them since death drew so near.
Julia pulled away, her lips just millimeters from his as she spoke in a whisper. "I'm not ready." Her hand wandered down him, across the fabric of his trousers where they rested against the center seam. "But that doesn't mean I can't take care of you."
Her lips were on his again, more forcefully than before. Insistent. Hungry. Her tongue edged his way into his mouth, drawing circles against his and he felt himself give way, weight lifting from his shoulders.
Her fingers walked upward, teasing at the hem of his pants and the soft skin beneath. He felt himself growing hard at the suggestion of her touch.
She tugged along the fabric, pulling it lower across his hips. He arched, lifting himself so they could be pulled lower and she took advantage. The remainder of his clothes were tossed to the side, leaving him bare beside her.
Her hand wrapped around his cock, pausing, teasing, as she kissed him instead. He dug his hands into her hair, needing her closer, needing more. It had been so long since she had touched him, though he didn't blame her. He had been resigned to dark moments by himself when he couldn't take the wait any longer. He knew, as she stroked the length of him, that he wouldn't last long.
Their kissing stopped as her other hand came to him, dropping between his legs and rubbing along his scrotum. He felt a line of fire crawling up his spine as a moan escaped his lips. He could feel the mounting of an eruption inside him and he begged himself for control. His fingers dropped from her and gripped the sheets beneath him instead as her hands moved against him, edging him forward.
He thought of how it felt to be inside her, of the way her breasts had looked as she rode him. He thought of the moments they shared in private — between sheets, against walls, beneath the running water of a shower. They had done so much so quickly before the explosion had halted everything.
He thought of the way her body trembled as she reached her own crest of pleasure, her legs tightening around his hips, her shoulders caving inward as she searched for control. It was enough.
"Fuck," He cursed, hurtling over the edge, his cum spilling onto his stomach.
The room around him realigned as he was forced back to reality and the circumstances that still existed beyond these walls. They dimmed his pleasure, but with her beside him, it could never leave him entirely.
When he could move again, David leaned over the edge of the bed, his fingers searching for a sock, some discarded fabric he could use to wipe his mess away.
He felt the shifting of the mattress as he searched, the soft steps of her feet across the wood, the creak of the bathroom door. She returned, holding a rag out to him and he took it, cleaning himself.
When she was beside him again and the cloth forgotten, she smirked. He kissed her again. He could never have enough. His hand wandered down her side, across the curves of her hips before hooking around the hem of her trousers, asking without words if he could return the favor.
He was experienced enough, enough to not need his sight in order to pleasure her. Julia clamped her hand around her wrist, guiding him inside, showing him that she knew this too.
He gave a sigh beneath her lips. He had missed this.
His fingers slipped beneath the damp part of her knickers. He had hoped she would relax against him, that he could ease away some of the agony that had come over her in the past weeks, but instead, she froze.
He pulled his hand free of her with no desire to press the issue. She broke the kiss and he heard her swallow, heard the mumble of her lips as she assured him, "soon."
But, it didn't need to be. She was here, alive, and that would always be enough.