The kiss starts out as something tentative and shaking, with both parties not wanting to pull away at first. Their top lips part as a seal, and Claire is the first to gently lower her heels, bringing her face away incrementally. Her lids barely crack as she breathes, "More."
Hope dives his head in, quick to oblige the lady he's loved. Claire is waiting, receiving, giving back as good as she gets. The meet in furtive pecks, short and sweet at first, but as Claire starts to make little noises through her nostrils, the action starts morphing into something more intense.
Claire finds her hands reaching of their own accord for the lapels in Hope's white button-down, her fists grabbing the smooth fabric. Hope is reaching down, placing his hands on Claire's slim hips and gently curving around to the back. As the seconds tick by, his gloves end up threading their way through the slit that reaches up Claire's left leg, his fingers hooking in the fabric. Ever so slowly, he starts kneading the fabric, his long fingers dancing trails on the back of Claire's thighs.
The breathing is hot and heavy, and Claire stops the kissing, catching Hope off-guard with his lips puckered and his neck outstretched in anticipation of their next kiss.
"You're getting a little frisky, cowboy." Hope is so close that he can physically feel the corners of her lips slightly go up in a mischievous smile.
Hearing the husky, dark tone is alluring, but Hope listens to Claire's words and checks himself, pulling back in his half-dazed delirium. His hands unravel from hitching up Claire's slitted dress.
"I'm sorry." He mumbles, respecting what he thinks she's saying, and taking a step back. His hair is tangled with their rapid kissing, and the front of his shirt is rumpled. Half of it is untucked, and his collar has popped up, tracing his jawbones. He throws his palms up, backing up again and shaking his head once. "I didn't mean to-"
"-I like frisky. I'm a little frisky myself. I don't mind playing back." Claire cuts off whatever Hope is going to say next, and she brings her arms in to her torso. Smiling at one corner of her lip, she flicks a tiny spaghetti strap off of her shoulder, baring it to the halo of light above.
Hope, for the slightest heartbeat of time, has a flashback of Alyssa pursuing him back at the quad, and acting in the same manner. His pulse pounds. This is everything that he wants, and the lack of sleep and alcohol are starting to muddle with his brain.
"Claire. Wh-what are you doing. Let's not do anything we would regret-"
"What are you saying, that I would regret getting to know you better?" The woman is on the hunt, and her hips sway. She tilts her head, as if she is amused at the notion. "I'm a woman that knows exactly what I want. I regret nothing. Nothing in this world, at least." A brief flicker of-something-passes across her face, but it is quickly stamped, making Hope wonder if he imagined the emotion.
Hope draws inward, inhaling her scent, breathing in the spicy aromatic smells of the bar in mix with Claire's natural aphrodisiac that she gives off. Nothing has changed, not even in two different worlds. His senses still register her, even with if he were to close his eyes.
"Claire, my dear, what are you saying that you want." It's now Hope's turn to come across in a low, muted voice. He takes his turn at using a possessive term now, and he can hear a sharp inhalation from Claire in the empty space before she speaks.
"I'm saying that I want you, Hope." The blue eyes peek out at him from feathered lashes, and Hope is blown away at the sharp feeling that seeing her bedroom eyes evokes from him. It's almost too much to bear, after all this time. All this waiting. Time seems to stop around them, and Hope can hear his breathing. Everything must now be taken so slowly, one step at a time. Everything must be handled carefully. Claire tosses her pink locks, and take a step forward. "Come and get me, cowboy." With a Mona Lisa smile, she turns on her heel, and winks behind her shoulder. Her small, round ass is so inviting in that dress. Still looking at Hope over her right shoulder, Claire's face is in profile as she looks back at her quarry behind her. With another playful flick of her finger, she shrugs off her other spaghetti strap, so that the only thing holding up the top of her dress are the curves of her breasts.
Hope makes a sharp sound in his throat that he's never heard himself make before, and the chase is on.
It will be the last time Hope will ever have to chase after Claire.
It's a scene that's literally cut from the fabric of his dreaming, with the pink hair flitting in and out of the circles of light around the bar. He is a young man in love with a woman, and the tale is as old as time. It's a dance that he's performed so many times in his sleep, and now that he's awake, he knows the motions before they happen. He anticipates the movements, how Claire playfully bends and darts and weaves around the room. She stays just out of reach, and Hope's heart is racing as he gives chase, allowing her to weave around him. He is the needle, and she is the thread, the fabric of his past lives, and all of the lives that will ever await him after. They perform a synchronicity, their feelings older than the shred of time that they are currently living in. She seems to move exactly as how Hope had predicted, and every moment is like déjà vu.
She becomes the rose-haired phantom, but in this incarnation, Claire is flesh and blood.
Hope is a hot blooded man now, capable and determined. They both know how this will end, the only possible outcome from all the waiting and wanting. They both work up the friction, the dance leaving them with their mouths parted for air and their laughter echoing across the desert air.
They are laughing, and neither is scared of this newest adventure that they will tackle together. They are alive, both of them, and they are carving out time for themselves in this space. No longer will they wait. No longer will they keep their feelings hidden. They are selfish children.
Claire finds herself backed against the bar, her elbows propped out behind her and her gloved fingertips gripping the counter. She breathes in an exaggerated motion, allowing her breasts to heave far more than her exertion would suggest. The round globes beckon enticingly, and Hope feels his lip curl up in a predatory fashion.
The roles are changing now. Hope steps up, sauntering slowly. He gives the woman every opportunity to escape, but she tosses him a defiant look, biting her lip and looking up at him over the tip of her nose.
This action just increases Hope's frenzy, but he goes slower, knowing that his swaying hips are giving Claire a slow burning of excitement with how long he takes in getting to her side.
Reaching behind her without tearing her eyes away from Hope, Claire's hand finds the neck of a bottle under the bar, and she blindly pulls it out, offering it to Hope without seeing what it is that she's proffering.
Hope doesn't have to look at the alcohol. He reaches her side, and gently takes the bottle out from her hand. He puts it back into its cranny behind her, nestled in snug against its brethren. He takes her chin and tilts it up to his with his other hand, and her large eyes are so full of longing and love that it almost breaks his heart.
"No, Claire, I want to be as sober as I can in this moment. In this moment, it's all about you." He kisses her once, roughly, his teeth lightly grazing against her bottom lip once before he moves away. She reaches out to grab a fistful of his hair, but he shakes her fingers off, whipping his head back and forth like an animal. He even growls low for effect, and Claire surprises them both by emitting just the tiniest, faint moan at failing to pull Hope in closer.
That noise sets Hope off, the man that has been caged for so long inside him coming out with a primal roar. He bares his teeth, then dives into the bouquet of flesh offered before him.
His lips, mouth, and tongue are everywhere. He blazes a trail of heated, wet kisses from the corner of one ear to the other. His pecks dive down to the center of the back of her neck, and he gently angles her head as he moves. She is moving with him, cringing and blushing, panting and raking her hands through the back of his hair. She gives away more of those very faint, short feminine moans in a while, and soon it becomes a hearkening call to Hope. If she makes the noise, he moves more intensely, kissing harder and longer in the spots where he elicits a noise. She guides him, in a sense, giving out cries of joy at certain pleasure points across her shoulders.
Hope pulls back when he reaches the span of her dainty shoulders, eyes trailing the path his long fingers make across her clavicle and the hollow of her throat. He dives in like a bird at certain points in his path, taking time to remember the trace of her skin, her signature body language.
By the time he reaches the top of her dress, he pulls back, tongue lightly tracing the outline of his lips as his wild, gleaming eyes take in what Claire thinks of his work.
Her cheeks are lit the color of her hair, her entire body almost a flush of pink and white. So feminine, her mouth is parted and her eyes are closed, little flecks of moisture beading in the long lashes. Hope grins wolfishly.
"Beautiful." Is his rough appraisal, his voice pitched to make the word sound as if it were tearing itself from his throat.
Claire starts to shimmy out of her dress, but Hope stays her with a single shake of his head, and a single touch of his finger to her lips.
"No, my dear, I want to save more for another time. Let there be some mystery. I will, however, take what is mine." Claire's clouded eyes clear at that statement, her brow furrowing and her eyes slitting in curiosity. Hope just tilts his head, grins, and grabs Claire by the back of the thighs, in one swift movement placing her legs on the top of his.
Claire's mouth opens into a small O of surprise, latching on to the back of his upper arms. They smile at one another for a moment, Hope leaning down to touch the tip of his nose to hers, their arms cradling one another. Then, in an unexpected movement, Hope surges forward and pushes Claire's bottom up on top of the bar. She gasps, and he cradles the back of her head and leans forward, placing her back against the bartop.
He lays his hand against her chest, and looks down into Claire's eyes.
"Stay. Still. Promise me." His voice is so calm, so cool. Claire blinks, then nods once, the curiosity in her winning out against all of the other emotions that flicker across her face. Hope nods once, then cocks a brow. "I'm trusting you."
"Don't worry, Hope. I'll stay put. I-"
"-Good." Hope cuts her off before she can say whatever sarcastic comment that she is thinking. His head pops out of view in a flash, and Claire starts toying with the tendrils of her hair thrown over a shoulder.
Before long, Hope flicks a glance behind his shoulder, and reaches back with his leg behind him, hooking a foot over the leg of a barstool and dragging it over to him. He turns, feeling behind him with his hand to pat the seat before he takes a wide-kneed seated position, at eye-level with the dress in front of him.
Claire's long, shapely legs have dangled demurely over the edge of the bar, her long dress hiding her lower half and keeping herself chaste.
Hope reaches out and takes hold of Claire's ankles, wrapping his hands around them and lifting her feet to be propped up on his knees. Claire had long ago abandoned the heels that she was wearing earlier in the night, and now he revels in feeling her bare skin under the long cocktail dress.
He knows what he wants to do, and although he is sweating, his hands are steady and calm. He takes her right leg, massaging it, and brings the inner calf up to his lips.
He begins tender, but quick, ministrations to her leg as he had to her upper body, eliciting a soft sigh and twitches from Claire above him. Hope grins through his kisses, closing his eyes and laving her inside of her leg. Hope's work brings him up and up, and he gathers the slinky material of the dress in his free hand to push back the fabric as he continues the trail of her leg, the other hand holding her still and kneading the ball of her foot at the same time.
He gets to the very inner corner of her thigh, and momentarily slows, bringing his rapid-fire kisses to a chain in the V junction between thigh and trunk.
"More." Claire murmurs the word, giving assent to the silent question Hope is asking with his mouth. He plants one more kiss in the line of decency that he is treading, then crosses over the barrier with a mere twitch of his chin and a silky rustle of fabric.
It's his first time. He can't give every first to Claire, but he can start with this. He doesn't know what to expect as he leans in closer, but he does know that he wants every part of him to have his first experience with Claire's core to be felt with all of his senses other than sight.
He smells first, shaking his head softly from side to side with his hair and the tip of his nose swiping against something soft. He loves the scent, something tangy and wild. He parts his lips to exhale, and that makes Claire's soft inner thighs jump in response.
Grinning secretly to himself, knowing that Claire can't see, he leans in and burrows his cheeks against her thighs. Hope opens his mouth and starts moving his tongue.
"Oh-ohmygod." Claire states loudly. Hope grabs on to her outer legs to anchor her movements, never once leaving his seated position. "I've never felt this before, Hope."
Hope laughs softly to himself, grinning mid-lick. This is good, we are experiencing at least this first together. He itemizes the information away in a safe, happy place, and resumes his ministrations.
She settles in and so does he, not knowing really what to do but yet using deduction and logic to consider what may feel good to the area. He uses her slight twitches and leg movements to help guide him with his efforts, letting her tell him if he's staying in one spot too long, if his face is too forceful, if he needs to intensify his speed. They communicate nonverbally to one another, with her shifting and hissing if she doesn't like something, and lying very still and murmuring softly if she does.
It's a lot to take in, the entire area being something new to Hope. It's wet and full of smells, moist and slick. Brushing across his forehead is a wiry tuft of hair on top of Claire's mound, but the junction between her legs is smooth and baby-soft to the touch.
It's so-soft. He thinks to himself. And there's so many layers-like an onion. He had originally surmised that there is a cleft, with a single layer of silky softness when the skin peels back.
That's not the case, at least with Claire.
There is a cleft, sure-but, as he reaches out and explores with his tongue and teeth and lips he realizes that it's a crevasse full of little dips and dives and geometric layers like the earth, all with their unique flavors and varying degrees of softness and smell. He also thought that she'd like a lot of concentration to her inside area, but he quickly learns from her that she enjoys touch outside of the hole, around the edges, but mostly at the top where the clitoris is located. When he flicks there, her back arches and her thighs shake.
After a while of making the right choices, Claire starts to call out from over him. "Hope-Hope-you keeping doing that, baby, and I'm gonna cum." Her voice is thick and dark, dripping with honey.
Hope whips up, in his surprise opening his eyes for the first time. The air contacting his cheeks once more makes him realizes just how sticky and wet his own face has become, and leaving her exposed makes her cry out in anger.
Realizing that she is wriggling like a fish out of water without his mouth positioned over the area, he blinks, wide-eyed, and realizes that he has to finish-she's making all sorts of movements and moans, almost dry-humping the air where he'd just been to encourage Hope to return. Out of habit when Hope is focused, he sticks out his tongue, and feels the wetness on his upper lip. Doing that automatically brings the sharpness of Claire's body to the tip of his tongue once more, and it jolts him into action.
"I'll relieve you of your pain." Hope states aloud, bending so that he can cure his Light of her ailments, the way he used to do on the field of battle, a lifetime ago.
Claire keens for release, and Hope prays that he can give her what she's so desperately crazy for. Lunging back into the fray, he puts his head up against her, up to his nostrils, and starts to pump his mouth on the top of her slit like mad. He settles on that one nub that she seemed to want him to focus on before, and starts to flick it up and down with the very tip of his tongue as fast as he can. His facial muscles start to ache, and he swears his ears might pop with the workout that his jaw is doing, but it's all worth it to feel her squirm in the palms of his hands.
He knows the exact moment that the orgasm runs through Claire.
"Ah-ah-AH!" Claire shrieks, and the noise of what sounds like a barstool or two being sent crashing to the floor sounds from where Claire's arms are.
The split second before he knows that she is cumming, all of her gyrations stop for just the slightest moment in time. She breathes, is the best term that he can think of for what happens. All of the tense building and shaking that has been running through Claire previously pauses, and it seems she exhales before gathering the breath needed to scream out in release.
There is the slight pause at her zenith, where her body juts out furthest toward Hope's chin, and then she is convulsing at a rate higher than previously expected. Hope latches on and squeezes his eyes shut as her thighs wrap around his shoulders and squeeze back and forth like a bellows. Her bare heels dig into his shoulder blades and her body starts moving up and down on the bar.
What really gives the release away is the throbbing in time with Claire's heartbeat during the orgasm. Her body pushes back against him with a throb like a steadily beating drum. Bum-bum-bum.
A wave of juices spill out from Claire's opening, just a warm gush of hot water, and the boy child laps the clear taste up greedily.
It isn't long before Claire flops to a standstill on the bar, and her legs loosen their viselike hold. She arches away from his touch, her body now becoming unresponsive after the throbbing subsides.
Hope takes the clue and lifts his face from her core, only directly looking at her after she has taken her pleasure from him.
She is beautiful, is all that he can think. Hope smacks his lips once, almost obscenely, the sound loud against the silence of now quiet cantina. In a very gentile manner, he takes out a handkerchief that he had stashed on his exploratory gear before he had set off in the copter that night and unfolds it to find the square pleasantly crisp white and clean.
Deftly, he wipes his mouth and chin on the handkerchief, folding it neatly once after he had smoothed it out to assure himself of its cleanliness. Inspecting the square after he has rubbed himself clean, he grins to himself to find that there is a clear sticky residue left on the linen.
I will save that as a token of tonight-and for later, he tells himself wickedly. He folds it once again, like a secret treasure to be stowed for another day, to keep the inner juice safe out of sight.
Claire's legs start to automatically close the moment that cool air starts to flow through her open crevice once more, without the heat radiating from Hope's mouth and face. He only catches a glimpse of the wet pink inner sanctum before she, out of instinct, starts to retract and close.
Hope places the back of his hand against the inner thigh of her left leg, preventing it from closing any farther.
"No, miss, you and I have unfinished business. I'm not done with you yet." Hope braces his shoulder against her thigh to take the place of his hand while he folds the napkin into the inner pocket of his coat.
"No, Hope, I'm done. I couldn't possibly…thank you, but I-"
"I've always heard that a true gentleman should take care of his lady before he takes care of himself." He kicks the barstool back, hearing it grate behind him. Claire makes the motion of raising up onto the back of her elbows, acting as if she's going to rise up from the bar.
Hope stands over her, between her legs, smiling down at Claire, loving the sticky residue that clings to his face.
Claire looks amazing. Her face is flushed, her hair is askew, and she looks like a lounging lioness just waiting to strike in the backlit lights from the bar. Her casual look doesn't match the fierce possessiveness and wariness in her flashing eyes, and it drives Hope wild.
"What are you saying, Hope. I-"
"Do you want me, Claire Farron." Hope stands there, the light washing over him in his request. He stands bare as he prostrates at the temple of her marble white legs, begging entry to the very core of his love.
Claire relishes in the moment, pausing to savor choosing how the night will proceed. The power suits her. "I want what is mine." She purrs, and Hope nods once.
"Then take it, for now and always. I am giving you me, freely. Take it." Hope sheds his coat with a shrug of his shoulders, his lady love looking on.