Prompt: A kiss on the; lips (#7/25)
Setting: Storybrooke, CursedVerse

Of all the places he would have willingly gave his attention — gave with teeth, gave with tongue, gave with whatever he would have seen fit — kissing her was a road he did not wish to travel. Kissing her was really the least of his concern when he had pursued her in this way, pursued so he could fool her, ruin her flawless reputation — the one she kept with herself.

He had nothing with this curse. A big house with no one in it. Money, luxury, none of it meant anything. She ruined him when she left him in Wonderland, and she ruined him again when she brought him here.

A ruined mind had told him to do it, to make her believe he had been cursed all the same. That their connection before must have lingered within them despite his new personality; that it drew them together all over again. When in reality what he felt was nothing. And nothing needed something — what better way to get it?

Trick her, bed her once again — all new circumstance, same old shtick. But this time her pride would take the greatest fall for it. This time she would be the one who was ruined, by the face of reality crashing down all around her. That he'd finally bested her for what she did.

But it all seemed to become a more treacherous game when to fool her it was imperative she think he wanted her explicitly. And how can you express such a want for someone without ever having given them a real kiss?

Those lips were the last thing he wanted any part of. He could fuck her until she screamed, he could do whatever it took to have her writhing, wanting — but kissing her was the real test, the real means of gauging his commitment — how believable he could really be.

It was different the first time, with drunkenness having set in. Now came the real moment, to kiss her, to trick her, to make her want it from him.

It would not be soft, it would not be a caress as it had so often been before, he wouldn't allow it to be. Couldn't, allow it to be. He had to make her want him despite being rough. Want him because he was rough. Want him to want her that way. Break down her little facade, her high and mighty shield. Put her on all fours because she wanted to be. Where kissing her would be the lowest priority, right where he needed it.

Harsh lips and a lashing tongue, and a wall to press her firmly against. It had to happen. He knew as much. But it did little to take away the burn he felt for having to touch those lips again.

It was infuriating to feel the all too familiar passion, the clandestine connection they'd made returning straight to form right between their lips. Infuriating the way she accepted his kiss and returned it, made him feel anything at all even after what she did.

Cruelest fate warmed her tongue as it moved over his, made a hand grip tightly at her hip to keep the memories all at bay, which only made it harder when she sighed, half-winced, and pulled him closer — more deeply into the kiss.

It was a perilous game that needed a victor — a game he needed to win. What better revenge for all she'd done to him? What better revenge than the one stolen, right from her very lips?