I felt my brow kind of waggle at the idea of sharing a bed with Lara after the rather intense emotional 'journey' we'd just endured; relaxation felt so distant despite the endeavor having been over. We're both so exhausted that I have to help her up the stairs and we nearly topple twenty steps up, my legs being the equivalent to noodles at the moment. I lead her into the marble-clad bath in her bedroom and help her sit on the sink counter. Her eyes are barely open, and I think she might conk out at any moment.
"Stay with me a bit longer, sweetie," I say gently, urging her to lift her arms so I could remove her tattered leather top. It's a little bit of a struggle, and I just end up breaking down and laughing when I can't get the tight material over her boobs by myself.
"How did you even squeeze into this? Duct tape?"
She chuckles and helps me lift it, wiggling just enough to get it over her head. "Keeps them from moving around so much."
"No kidding." It finally gives, and I'm left twisting her shirt in my hands anxiously, trying my best to keep my eyes polite. She's really so gorgeous, I can't even deal, and the way she's sitting is making all of the little muscles in her abdomen catch the bedroom light. I want to feel them tense under my lips.
I shake my head out of the hazy warmth settling over my senses and focus on the angry red and purple bruise reaching over her chest and left shoulder. It's reached far down, crawling just passed the edge of her bra. I stare dully at it for a long time, unaware of her own eyes watching me intently.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I wish you hadn't had to do that."
I stroke my finger over the soft, smooth mark and lean in a bit closer, nudging my hips between her knees. She parts them gingerly and leans into my hand as I drag the tips higher, rolling over the muscles in her nape, her neck, and trailing off behind her ear. Her brow furrowed just slightly, her lips turned up at the corners. I study the mark further and slowly realize, to my chagrin, that there's not much I could do about it.
"It's alright," she groans in a hoarse way. "Sleep it off, that's all we can do."
"Yeah, I guess." I'm having a hard time focusing on anything but her dark, sweeping eyelashes and her full lips, which dipped and pulled as she spoke. Her voice is like velvet, even when she's thoroughly beat from the last 24 hours. Her thighs tighten around my waist as I lean close, within a breath, and press my lips to the base of her nose.
"Let's get to bed."
She pulls away just enough to study my features; I'm sure I don't look much better. "Yes." The word is barely even a sliver of a hum from her throat. She wraps her index digit around the collar of my shirt and cradles my lips so, so carefully with her own. She's warm, and sweet, under that impossibly thick shell of hers. I don't know what we are; it's confusing, and yet, so wonderful I can't speak of it. She's perfect, and I'd never thought that we'd ever be like this.
We both collapse unceremoniously when we reach the bed, exhausted but content with one another.
"Will you really be alright to go out tomorrow?" I ask quietly, wiggling under the covers close to her side. She makes a low, dull sound and bites her bottom lip; she'd become so much more expressive in these last few days.
"It'll get my mind off of other things."
Wally. I exhale regretfully and curl a lock of her hair between my fingers. I'm still hesitant to initiate contact; I react to her fingers and her own beckoning only. A hand creeps over my waist and she pulls me close, so I could rest my head in her nape. She's warm, and her body lingers between textures, soft and hard, bumpy under the weight of many scars and smooth over her throat, her cheeks, her thighs.
She lets the hand resting on her stomach wander, and as the darkness consumes us both the fire in my belly only worsens. Nails trace over the strong lines of her abdomen , circling muscle and moving, moving lower, until I've got my fingers looped into the waistline of her pants.
"I want you so bad," I let myself croak. I want to touch her, I want to kiss her and show her that I'm still here, despite it all.
"Sam," she whispers, as if fighting something back. "Sam, we can't-"
"Do you want me?" I corner her and mount her waist, pressing my hands against her lower belly. I can see enough of her to know what she's thinking, what she needs. Her eyelids sink down, her own hands grip at the sheets around us. Shaking again.
"That doesn't matter," she mutters. I force a harsh exhale from her as I rock our hips together, rolling my waist the same way I might with a guy, really. She groans nonetheless, her legs fidgeting behind me.
"I want you," I say around a low moan, creeping my hands into the edge of her bra. Her back arches into my fingers and she mewls with her teeth bit together. I remember the things she did to those men at Vymes' mansion. I remember how merciless she'd been. But the fire only worsens at the thought when I know I'm always behind her. She's only ever protected me. The way she charges into the enemy and destroys them, but now under my hands she can't fight, she can barely move.
"Touch me," I plead, taking her trembling fingers in my own and kissing them. She swallows roughly when I suck the tip of her index digit between my lips, rolling my tongue around it, nipping it gently in my teeth. I let a little groan vibrate along the length of it, and grin when I feel her entire body quiver in response.
She sits up in a halting, reluctant motion. I keep her finger wrapped delicately around my tongue and give her probably the most desperate bedroom eyes I've ever made. Her lips part and she draws in a little gasp. I'm boiling. I'm aching all over for her. She's so fucking beautiful, even torn up, even struggling. She's so strong, in every way, and smart, and proud. I sit heavily against her thigh and let the molten pressure go to my head.
"You can't just leave me like this," I half-laugh, half-gasp. I pull her hand away from my face and guide it over my breasts, down my ribs, and between my open thighs. She looks like she's stopped breathing. "Don't you want me?"
She shifts under me, watching my features change with her touch. "Yes," she whispers. Her fingertips twitch against the tight denim seam as I hold her hand against me. The one word gives me a mad rush. Lara. I love you. Lara.
"Fuck me," I hiss, pressing her fingers down harder. Lara grips the small of my back and holds me tight against her, finally ignited, finally wanting, finally not thinking. She pulls the button on my waistline apart and sinks her hand wrist deep into my pants hungrily, pushing my panties aside and sliding deep inside of me. I choke on my air. Yes. Yes. She curls her fingers almost violently, almost as if she wants me to beg her to stop, and thrusts fast into that one, throbbing, sensitive point.
A sharp cry erupts from the back of my throat and feathers out at the ends. Oh god. Her fist closes around a handful of hair at the back of my head, pulling my neck back with some serious force. It makes my eyes just roll back and my toes curl against her knees. Fuck. Fuck! I can't breathe right, I can't keep control of my movements like I normally could in this situation. Another finger forces itself inside and I can feel myself stretching , tight around her. She's filling me, deep and hard and fucking fast, and I can't even think over it.
"Lara," I manage to gasp, decorated with moans so frantic I don't think I've ever heard myself make them before. "God, don't fucking stop."
And right when I get that out, she pulls her hand completely out of my shorts and leaves me breathless and aching. Suddenly I feel so empty; I'm wet it actually makes a hot, messy sound when she pulls out.
I'm about to protest when she draws her fingers to her own mouth and sucks them clean. "On your back," she growls, eyes blazing. Oh my god. I'm more than eager to oblige, falling off of her lap and pulling at the hem of my shirt. I throw it into the corner without a care and struggle with my pants next; I don't even realize she's unclipped her bra until I look up to toss the damn things away. I'm sure my eyes are glazed over as I lean up, without permission, and roll my tongue over the peak of one of them. The hardness against my overly sensitive nerves chews into the throbbing between my legs.
I don't get far though, before she's stretching my knees apart and pulling me onto my stomach with one strong hand. I turn over, my legs propped and the side of my head against the sheets. An arm seizes me from the side of my ribs to my chest and hoists me solidly into her front; I feel like I have fingers teasing all over as she wanders, squeezing and pinching and caressing.
"Wait-" I start, interrupted rudely by her fingers pushing their way into of me again. All I see is white with every thrust, each expertly guided and fast and hard. I can barely breathe, let alone think. I can't touch her like this. My hands grapple at her thighs and her neck. It's building fast. She lavishes the nape of my neck with little bites and sucks and holds my back tight to her front as I quiver and jerk violently. I want to tell her to slow down, to savor it, but it becomes clear that it isn't meant to be a romantic, 'lovers' encounter. She's fucking me, she's giving me a fast release because she knows I need it, and while I would never in a million years stop to complain, it hadn't been what I expected.
I want to touch her, desperately, I want to, but she won't let me turn around to face her. I fight the mounting orgasm, stubbornly, as if more time would change her mind, make her be selfish for once, but it ends with bursts of color behind my eyelids and waves wracking mercilessly from my flexed toes to the tips of my flushed ears. It's long, and her slow but steady momentum keeps me riding the high for a full minute, whimpering and spasming uncontrollably in her vice grip.
As my body goes slack, suddenly too weak to even keep myself upright, she lets me fall forward into the silk sheets and curl into a ball while the last of the shocking quivers softens in my nerves. I can feel my heartbeat between my legs, coming down; I bite the bridge of my index finger and glance up as her shadow bows over me, arms braced next to my shoulders.
Her eyes are so, so dark. As I catch my breath, she leans down and brushes the tip of her nose over my brow, placing her lips carefully to my forehead. It's such a protective, owning motion that I shiver in response and grow urgently in need to feel her close again. I half expect her to mutter, you're mine, in my ear as we meld together, as I certainly am hers if I was anyones. But she lingers in comfortable silence, exhaustion beating back the obvious blush on her cheeks and need in her hungry gaze. I don't think she'd let me finish her, judging from how that whole thing played out; more time, that's all she needed. It's okay. We're okay. We're alive. It's a reassuring thought that carries me into a dreamless, heavy sleep.
I wake up feeling like I really, really need a shower. A shower, a fluffy robe and the right to go with a bra for a few days. And a massage, because oh my God, everything aches like I'd just been through the most punishing obstacle course on Earth. I roll over and come face to face with a drowsy lion, decorated with bruised, parted lips and the comforter pulled up to her chin. I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of seeing anyone so happy to be in a bed before. I burrow closer and touch our noses.
"I think I need a shower," I stage-whisper, prodding her abdomen under the blankets.
She pries her eyelids apart blearily, sniffs, and curls her nostrils. "You do need a shower." Her lips turn up at the edges as I scrape her belly with my nails. She snorts and turns over, letting a smooth, long exhale pass from the back of her throat.
"Go for it." She points across the bedroom to a double-doored closet. "Robes are in the back, the water in the master bath has good pressure..." The end of the sentence drifts off as she slips back into sleep. I can't help but chuckle and sweep her bangs out of her face.
My ankles and the pads of my feet burn when I make my first effort to stand. Holy shit, I'm. So. SORE. I wobble to the closet, bury my hands in the crazy assortment of wetsuits and dresses and pull out the first plush thing I find. The shower hums in a beautifully hypnotic way as it warms around me, filling the marble bathroom with clean, thick steam. Breathing it made me feel cleaner, like the ash from the explosion that killed Wally and the dirty earth we fell into at Vymes' mansion never happened. I relax, lean against the back wall of the tub, and swipe my fingertip between my legs.
Still wet. Last night did actually happen. I bite my lips and exhale a giddy, high sound before washing my fingers and scrubbing myself reluctantly of evidence.
I'm greeted by a very tired looking Lara forcing herself into a button down, still donning the pants she'd worn during the break in. I can't believe I hadn't gotten her out of them.
"So, love. Where are we off to first," she inquires, brushing her waist-long hair back and into a humble tail.
I sit against the torturously comfortable mattress and immediately wish I hadn't. "I suppose I should check in on Alex, first. He's probably worried sick." When I glance back at her, she's found her way into a clean pair of jeans. Blouse, ponytail, jeans. It's the first time she looks…balanced, since we'd first met. Of course, it's still Lara, so she just adds that natural confidence and grace and general badassery to the look.
"He and Zip had a jolly time, didn't they? Perhaps we should invite him back."
"Oh, no, no," I warn, putting my hands up in front of me. "I love the kid, but you don't want to give him any ideas. Trust me."
She gives me a curious, lopsided look. "Ideas?"
Jeez, considering she's probably the most positively endowed person I've met, she's kind of clueless when it comes to this sort of stuff.
"Sexy ideas, Lara."
"Oh. I thought that was kind of the point."
Wow. Now it's my turn to give her the six mile stare. "What the hell? You play for both sides or something?"
"Christ, no. For Zip, I mean."
It takes me a good long while to put the pieces together. "Oh!" I exclaim, collapsing my hands over my eyes and barking a laugh. "Alex isn't gay, Lara."
"Really?" She arches one side of her mouth up. "I'm really not equipped for deciphering, I suppose. Zip's told me that, too."
I scratch my chin thoughtfully. "They did kinda have a good vibe."
"I thought so, too."
She slips on a pair of heavy boots and clears her throat and holds the bedroom door open as I pass through.
"So. Ever drive a Ferrari before?"