Prompt: A kiss on the; thighs (#12/25)
Setting: Fairytale Land, DarkVerse
He hadn't ever thought she would agree to something like this. He hadn't ever thought he would want her to. But a man with a monster inhabiting his skin could want many things the man had not. And so in a clear display of how easily he could fall dormant as the monster pulled tight on the reigns — the reigns were really a silken scarf then, knotted tight around two innocent wrists.
Do you trust me
He asked it not as if she were something to protect. He asked it as if he had no desire to protect her. Not in the least from himself. And the man inside may have screamed that she say no, but inside is where he stayed, powerless to halt a thing.
He wouldn't hurt her. Not in any lasting physical sense. When he first had he was broken up by it. The man still held on tightly to his want of caring for her, as the monster simply held on too tight. He'd healed her and spoke his amends, but that was the start of everything really. An excused injury, many of them, did little but say he could inflict more, she would accept if he did, all because of his love for her.
The man and the monster slowly had less and less in common. But his love never truly strayed. It simply grew darker, more twisted, less pure, but still just as powerful in its hold. He wanted more out of her. He wanted to see her possess power — he wanted her in black, clawing and biting, him in the night and her kingdom during the day. Claw out the hearts of as many as it takes; bite and bare teeth, make them cower on their knees. And then return to him, wired for the flood of endorphins, take it out on his waiting and wanton skin.
But she did not bite and she did not claw. She did not share his growing appetite for causing pain. And so with wrists bound he would work her up until she would claw — claw for release and get a taste for this sort of power, leaving him marked for her efforts and one step closer to embracing all he saw fit for her future.
Of course I trust you
And she should. Trust that his love would corrupt her red and thrumming heart, turn it black and pulsating, heavy beats like bloody hooves.
One swift rip and her dress split wide open — no slow undress, no care for unfastening. Two hasty hands already set themselves to groping. Running up over the line of her hip to take a handful of her breast as his lips made first contact just below her navel. No sweet or loving kisses, just a wicked smile on his lips.
Were the man here he would kiss hers before anything else. Enjoy the pattern they created within a sweep of tongue, enjoy the way her lips would swell from how thoroughly he he kissed her, before putting his to any other use.
But now with little preamble he was already kissing and nipping at her parted thighs, traipsing upward and back down — listening to and watching the way her chest rose and fell with quickening breaths the closer he got, and moving away until it returned more to even before traipsing yet again.
Jefferson
She would whimper. But it wasn't enough. He wanted writhing, desperate actions, anything to bring him closer, to push her over as the nearness was nothing but maddening. He wanted her clawing by the time he set her hands free. Once he did he would ravage her — devour her until Rumple himself could hear her impleasured screams. Until she shredded the bed sheets and left him with reddening skin — an imprint of every bicuspid adorning his shoulder. Awaken dark queen, your king is eager to meet you.