shiegra (shiegra) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2008-11-09 21:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: shiegra, f: hellboy, november 04, p: nuada/nuala |
Edge, Hellboy II, (Nuala/Nuada)
Title: Edge
Author: shiegra
Rating: R
Prompt: Hellboy II – Nuada/Nuala – Weapon fetish – In the right hands, they could be used for pleasure as much as pain.
She knows his weapons like she knows her own skin.
When they were younger, she had a fierce fascination for them. Whenever they survived a battle, he would tell her stories, quietly, in his low voice. This is the edge that kept us alive. This is the hilt that did not leave my hand. This is the way we are still together, and somehow her hands echoed the surety of his.
They never sparred. What would be the point? As it was, when he trained she flinched from every blow, feeling her ribs creak and nerves flare with every strike. It was a long time before she ever thought of using weapons against him.
Longer still before she thought of it like this, her skirt folded up between them, the ground giving under her knees, his eyes wide and near-black beneath her, the blade tip pushed almost delicately against the underside of his chin. His hands settled on her hips and he smiled at her, the wolf within the man, a look he used before going into battle.
"Well, sister?" He asked. "Will you finish the job?"
The flat of the blade gleamed against his collarbone as her arm relaxed. She could see too much of herself in his eyes; Nuala rose to her feet, half-consciously in a ready stance as she took a step back. He rolled to his knees, as fluid as though there no bone beneath his skin, and bowed to her, his spear swept out to lay across his palms. "For you," he murmured, "anything."
Oh, so tempting. But she stayed where she was, as though rooted to the damp earth as deeply as the tall, shadowed trees around them. "What do you hope to win?"
He gave her the look of a starving man then.
Where it might have frightened her, pushed her away, it instead took her forward, with careful small steps that brought her close enough to lift the blade from his palms and meet his eyes, her hands cradling it before they dropped into place with a familiarity that was his own. The blade touched his throat and she let it trail down, cutting through fabric, baring pale scarred skin. "Brother," she whispered, and bent to him.
Their mouths touched as a sharp sting of pain ran through them both, the hint of pain racing along both their nerves. She shifted the spear as he rose to his knees, his palms sliding up her legs to curve against her shoulders, long strong fingers pressing into her skin like she was something fragile, something precious.
Their bodies moved with instinct, her thighs parting, both of their arms adjusting automatically as she sank down over them, his moving in a faint echo of hers as she brought the weapon up, hardly touching him, and then pressed his face up with the flat of the blade, his mouth almost surrendered to her even as he wrapped her around him, touch as consumingly ravenous as his eyes had promised.
And neither of them gave ground, only lost themselves.