Some moments of a man's life stand out; some moments remain burned on the brain, as vivid five, ten, fifty years after the fact as they were in the instant of their making. Some things, once seen, are never forgotten. Some memories are borne in the blood, profound enough to change the very DNA of the ones who experience them.
For Elliot, this was one such memory, and he knew it, even as he lived it, paused on the cusp of bliss to savor the vision in front of him, knowing that he might not ever feel this free, this wild, this much himself, ever again. The stars were twinkling through the canopy of the trees overhead, the hole in the ceiling less a devastation and more a gift for the gentle light and cool breeze it afforded him. The cheap sheets were scratchy and rough against the bare skin of his ass, only adding to the heightened sensations zinging through his oversensitized body. And her, most of all, her, the only thing he could really see, the only thing he really wanted to see, the only thing that mattered, maybe the only thing that ever had.
Olivia, and naked, perched on his lap, tan skin glowing under a faint sheen of sweat. Olivia's breasts, soft and round and heavy; Olivia's nipples, pebbled and glossy from the attention of his mouth. Olivia's neck, arched elegantly and reddened from his eager kisses. Olivia's stomach, soft and smooth. Olivia's hips, hard bone beneath his trembling hands. Olivia's cunt, pink and glossy from her desire, crisp dark curls and soft beckoning flesh. Olivia's wings, brilliant and white like snowfall in the morning before the plows got to it, feathers rustling quietly as her whole body quaked with need. Olivia's hand, strong and delicate, wrapped around his cock.
Touching him, as he had so often dreamt she might, and nothing, no feverish fantasy conjured in an early morning shower or devastating dream tossing through his head on a restless night, could have come close to the power and the beauty and the glory of her.
"You're beautiful," he told her, because she was. Was so beautiful he could not stop himself from saying so, could not keep the words locked inside his heart a second longer. Always, she had always been beautiful, but never, he had never been allowed to say so, before, and the words tasted sweet in his mouth. He was through with hiding, through with lying, through with pretending he didn't love her; he loved her desperately, madly, to the point of devastation.
"So are you," she told him gently, shyly, trailing her free hand over his chest, along the defined muscles of his abdomen, something like wonder in her dark eyes.
"Come on," he urged her, tugging lightly at her hips; the proximity of her wet heat to his aching cock was making it hard to think. "I want to feel you."
Those words made her blush but she must have wanted it, too, because she raised herself up on her knees, caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she used the hand wrapped around him to guide his cock to her entrance. Eager, he was so eager, so ready to bury himself inside her that he would have pulled her straight down on to him then, but reverence stayed his hand; it would be better, he knew, to let her set the pace. It would be better to watch as she took him in slowly, to savor every flicker of emotion on her face, to memorize the way they looked as they came together at last. His eyes bounced wildly back and forth between her pretty cunt and her pretty face as slowly, slowly she lowered herself down; a gasp, soft and sweet, slipped past her lips as the head of his cock plunged between her folds, and he groaned at the heat of it, the silken clutch of her body around him, the most delicious feeling he'd ever known. She rocked against him experimentally, and he felt it, felt her body stretching around him, sucking at him, desperate to draw him in deeper, but she held off, for a moment, teased them both with short, shallow thrusts, electrifying, maddening in their promise.
"Tease," Elliot gasped at her, and she grinned.
"Wanna take my time," she panted back.
He couldn't fault her for that, so he tried to restrain his impatience and let her maintain control for the moment. His cock was slippery with her now, the slick from her cunt soaking the head of him, glossing up her fingers where they clutched at him, each downward thrust of her hips pushing him that much deeper inside her. Again, and again, she rocked over him, lean thighs trembling from exertion, and as he watched her, watched her eyes flutter closed in bliss, watched her soft lips part on each of her lilting sighs, watched his cock disappearing between her glistening folds, he noticed another change in her; her wings began to spread behind her back, fanning out, not stretched to their fullest extent, not yet, but shifting as the pleasure built up within her and he found himself curious, developing a theory he decided to test at once.
He curled his fingers harder into the curve of her hips, and as she descended once more he pulled her down and thrust suddenly up into her, burying his full length inside her, and as he did she cried out in pleasure, and her wings shot out to the side, unfurled at last, huge and powerful and glorious to behold. No stained glass window nor painting of old could hope to capture the transcendence of his angel, perched on his lap and wanton, rapturous in her desire.
"Fuck," she hissed, softly, and he liked that, liked the sound of her cursing for him, and so he held her tight against him and thrust his hips up once more, plunging his cock deeper still, and she choked back the sound of her cries. Little McKenna was still sleeping peacefully down the hall, and it would not do to disturb her, to interrupt the delirious joy of this moment with a sleepy, frightened child.
"Gonna have to be quiet, baby," Elliot panted at her. "Can you do that for me?"
She shot him a dark look, though he wasn't sure what had offended her more, him calling her baby or him drawing attention to the sounds she was making.
"Can you?" she asked him pointedly, and as she did she squeezed the muscles of her cunt around his cock and drew a strangled sound from the back of his throat. Her answering smile was victorious.
Two can play at that game, he thought, grinning.
He started to move, intent on getting his own back, but she pushed him down, pressed her palms to the hard plane of his chest and held him in place beneath her as she rose up on her knees, high enough that he very nearly slipped out of her completely, before sliding back down the length of his shaft once more, and that time they both moaned, too overwhelmed to stop themselves.
Jesus, it felt good, though. Felt so fucking good, every nerve in his body singing with desire, his whole world narrowed down to the place where their bodies met, his eyes glued there, watching as she raised herself up again, as his cock slid slowly out of her, shiny with her, the folds of her sex cultching at him, unwilling to let him go, and then she came down again, and wasted no time; in a moment she was riding him in earnest, rising up and plunging down, over and over, the movement of her body so powerful now that he could see her wings trembling behind her.
As she found a rhythm that suited her he joined the movement of his body to hers, his arm winding around her waist, holding her to him, rising up as she came crashing down, and the combined force of their thrusts left them both reeling. He could feel the rush of her impending release in the clenching of her cunt around him but as glorious as it was, as beautiful as she was, it was not enough, to simply lie beneath her, to pound up into her; he needed to be closer to her, needed to feel her heartbeat against him, wanted to kiss her, wanted it with everything in him.
Suddenly he pushed himself upright, dragged them back until he was sitting up with his back against the headboard and her still on his lap, eye to eye with him now, their chests pressed hard together.
"There's my girl," he said breathlessly, smoothing his hand over her hair, and feeling her shiver all over, his cock buried as deep inside her as it was possible to be.
"Yours," she promised him, and then she wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Kissed him long and slow and deep, her tongue winding against his own while her hips rocked gently against him, and there was less room to move, like this, less power behind the shifting of their bodies, but it was better this way, he thought. A slow and grinding build, sweat-slicked bodies pressed close, skin sliding on skin, and he wrapped his arms around her, stroked his hands gently along the base of her wings, and when he did she whimpered into his mouth, a rush of wetness at her center telling him that she liked it when he touched her there. So he didn't stop, just kept kissing her, touching her, rocking with her, encouraging herself to grind down against him until they got the angle just right, until every pass of their hips exerted the kind of pressure on her clit that left her moaning into his mouth.
Together, they did it together, pressure and friction and the endless of his cock inside her driving them both closer and closer to ruin until he felt himself right on the edge of coming undone.
"Where," he asked her urgently, his lips catching against hers as he spoke, needing her to be the one to make this choice, when he knew already what he wanted.
"Inside," she panted back, her arms tightening around his neck. "Please, inside me."
Nephilim couldn't have children, she'd told him that already, but he'd have done it anyway; she wanted a family and he would've given anything to be the one who gave it to her. To see her body change, to watch her glowing as she carried their child, to see her dreams come true, to see her holding a baby of her own, to see her happy, and know that he was the one who had made it possible; anything, he would've done anything to give her a child, his child, and as he came apart, as he groaned and emptied himself inside her, holding her close, her hips flush against his, the vision of her pregnant danced behind his eyelids, and grief followed on the heels of his relief. Not too much, not so much sorrow that it drowned out his joy, but enough to sting at him, just the same.
The sudden flood of his come inside her - and maybe thoughts just like the ones that plagued him - seemed to trigger her own downfall; she tightened fiercely around him, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and shivered from head to toe as she came on him, around him, her wings fluttering with the force of her release, and through it all he held her, his soul awash in wonder and tender affection, and mournful, still, for all the things that they had lost, all the things that they would never have.
Her mouth was open, pressed to the line of his throat, and as she drifted away in pleasure he ran his hands along her back, soothing, gentle, soaking in the warmth of her, until he realized that her shaking was not subsiding. Concerned, then, he reached for her face, lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes, and when he did he found tears sparkling there, and no smile upon her face.
"Olivia," he said quietly, his heart clenching in fear.
"I love you, Elliot," she told him. "I love you. I do."
He kissed her once, softly, and pulled her back into him, held her close and gave her a moment to try to pull herself together, and worried in his heart, because her confession of love had not been a happy one. It sounded for all the world like a goodbye, and he did not understand it, and he was, truly, afraid.