Abel Parrish + Fenrir (devourer) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-02-15 09:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | fenrir, loki |
i don't waste time
Who: Nish & Abel.
What: Directly following this.
Where: CASKET.
When: The Valentine's Day Event.
Rating: NC-17.
Once they rose from the bar, Abel slipped his hand in hers and weaved through the few people toward the back of the club. He'd never been here before, but he moved like he had; confidence in every stride, his eyes pointed forward, no missteps. A left turn brought them to a dimly lit hallway, two bathrooms presented themselves side by side. Abel picked the women's, it somehow feeling like a polite concession as he pushed the door open. When both he and Nish were inside, he pushed her up against the wall next to the door, neatly turning the lock with his right hand.
His left was lightly around her throat; he stood several inches taller than her, even in heels, and that feeling alone of overpowering someone with the slightest of touches was invigorating. That same hand slid down her front, skimming her chest, making its way to her waistline. He slipped three fingers between the cloth and her skin, tracing a horizontal line from one hip to the other.
"Take it off."
Breathlessly, she complied.
The trip from the bar to to the bathroom was a blur, and she didn’t come back to herself until she felt him trap her between his body and the wall, his hand around her throat, forcing her head back into the wall. The feeling of being restrained, controlled, caused shocks of fearful pleasure to travel down her spine, pooling in her belly and jolting her awake. Her hands fumbled with her jeans, her fingers taking too long to do what she told them, but finally pushing them down her hips to pool around her shins. They moved then, starting to work on his pants, getting frustrated because they weren’t coming off fast enough. All higher thought was gone now, she’d killed it at the bar. This was now an instinct game, and her body was now far more awake than she was.
Abel grabbed Nish's wrists, pulling them away from his now undone pants; his face nuzzled down the side of hers, his lips eventually reaching her neck. Teeth raked lightly over her skin, deepening their touch where he could feel her pulse, as though he'd rip right through the flesh. He pressed her hands to the wall, holding her arms up and apart as he worked down further, pushing aside her shirt as he mouthed her clavicle. Eyes closed, he breathed deep; it smelled like her, and something more, something he could not name. The thought frustrated him, and his grip on her wrists tightened, squeezing feather-light bones together.
She arched her neck into him, giving him more to sink his teeth into. Somewhere in the back of her head she could hear herself begging him to bite down, though whether she said it aloud or not she couldn’t be sure. A moan tore from her throat when he yanked her arms up, pinning her, putting her even further at his mercy, and she let him do it, a sob of pain mixed with the pleasure as he squeezed just a little too hard. “Please...” she begged, but for what she couldn’t say.
"Please what?" Abel dropped his hand from around one wrist, bringing it to her face. Her arm went slack and she wrapped her hand around the door handle next to them to steady herself. He grasped her jaw, holding it mere inches from his mouth and she whimpered softly. "Tell me what you want, and maybe I'll do it."
He stepped forward, one leg between hers to push them open, his thigh pressing flush to her groin. He could feel heat even through the thick cloth of his jeans, and he let the hand holding her jaw loose to trail down her front again, cupping a breast roughly as he nipped a zigzag line from her jawline down to her throat once more. She bit her lip, stifling a moan that was trying to get out, her eyes clamped shut and her head tipped back against the wall. His thumb moved over one hardened nipple, his leg rising up enough between her legs to put her on tip-toe. Her eyes flew open and she gasped in shock and pleasure, whimpering as she got almost what she wanted, but not enough. Not anywhere close to enough.
“Fuck me,” she begged, her free hand loosing from the door handle, grasping his shoulder, her nails digging in through his shirt. “Please…”
Abel felt torn between holding her aloft like this, leaving her hanging and wanting, but another voice in his head remarked that there was no need to be stingy. The hand grasping her breast slid knuckles down, under her underwear and between her legs; rough fingers parted her folds, pushing inside her wet warmth, feeling her already slick from the few things he'd done. His other hand released his grip on her wrist, making quick work of her pants. A thumb rubbed her clit in a diagonal motion, working her up and stopping abruptly at key intervals.
Her head fell back hard against the wall, gasping and moaning in time with his movements as unabashedly as the whore she felt like. Her hands gripped his shoulders, the nails of both now digging deep into his shoulders, bracing herself against him, the only thing keeping her from sliding down the wall on weak knees. He’d bring her so close to the edge she could taste it, and then stop, frustrating her past the point of common sense, until she was sure he was toying with her, a cruel game of ‘almost’. One hand fluttered down, slipping into his pants, grabbing hold of him and stroking him roughly with one soft, practiced hand, though it shook with adrenaline and need.
His eyes slipped closed as he gripped him, his hips thrusting forward of their own accord. Swallowing back a groan, Abel grabbed Nish by her hair and half pulled, half carried her over to the sink. He bent her over the first one, her face reflected back at her in the mirror, along with his own stoic expression. Fingers cinched into either side of her panties and ripped the cloth from her form, his hard erection, now free from his pants, pressing at her backside.
"Is this what you want?"
Her hands gripped the slick surface of the sink, unable to find a good hold, so instead she braced herself with palms flat against the wall. Her skin burned where he'd ripped her panties off, and she felt him there, so goddamn close but still not giving her what she wanted. “Yes,” she begged, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Again she felt fear, pure and cold in the pit of her stomach, but it was mingled now with her own lust, turning it into something erotic. “Please,” she said again, begging again.
Abel gripped her hips, holding her tight against the cool press of the stone counter. The fact that she was some obedient, so pliant beneath his touch was making his head spin a little; that same familiar rage still coiled in the back of his mind. It would be so easy to hit her head against the stone, to make it look like she'd had too much to drink, that she'd slipped, that it'd all been a horrible, tragic accident. His fingers pressed deeper into her flesh, making bruises, his thumbs tracing the outline of her iliac crest. No, that'd be too simple for the height of the crime that he held her responsible for. He needed something more. With one hand, he readjusted himself, fitting to her and pressing himself into her tight, slick hole. Even with their strange foreplay, she was still too tight, but Abel forced himself in regardless. She'd begged, after all; she'd edged on demand, nearly, with the way she'd nearly whined.
Thrusting deep, he found himself fully sheathed, groin pressed to her buttocks. He glanced down to her face in the mirror, watching her expression as though he'd be able to feel two sensations at once; to take, and be taken.
She cried out, something between a moan and a scream, her fingernails scrambling at the marble beneath them, though finding no leverage. She met his eyes in the mirror, and only then caught the predatory hunger in them, and she thought she saw, in the blink of an eye, a flash of her own body lying prone and unmoving on the bathroom floor, bleeding from a wound on her forehead.
He filled her completely, pain lancing out from where they joined, stealing her breath which now came in hurried gasps and low moans. She tried to push herself up on her elbows, brace herself more comfortably against the counter, but she couldn't, pinned down awkwardly, painfully, against it instead, tears streaming from her eyes. A hand struck out, wrapping fingers in thick strands of hair, jerking Nish's head back to keep her off balance. Abel thrust into her again, and again, and again, his motions varied and jarring as he paused, or slowed, or sped up to shove her hips into the counter, leaving bruises that wouldn't show until the next day. His head tilted back, watching the pain play out over her face through heavy-lidded eyes, unable to stop the shadow of a smile curving over his mouth.
She gasped sharply as he pulled her head back, arching her back painfully and denying her the last ounce of free movement she had. Her eyes slipped closed, tears dripping from her chin, moans and cries of pain tumbling over each other to escape her lips as she gave up the last of her will. She was completely unaware of how focused he was on her face, every sensation translating there for him as clearly as if he was feeling it himself. Everything, her whole world became a blur of need, pain, pleasure, and fear, her heart thumping painfully in her chest, her lungs desperate for oxygen as she felt herself floating, being swept along by tides of pleasure that threatened to drown.
Abel tugged on her hair, tilting her face to the light, his other hand digging deeper into the meat of her hip. It still wasn't enough, no matter how many bruises he left or how much control he felt he had. He gritted his teeth, eyes moving from the illusory reflection of the mirror to what little he could truly see of Nish's face. There was still something missing, and his frustration threatened to overwhelm him. He continued all the same, unwilling to let even the smallest ounce of satisfaction from this event slip through his grip. He jerked on her hair again, pulling her head back and exposing her throat even further.
"Tell me when you're going to come."
Her head spun, a combination of alcohol and hyperventilation and pain making her feel faint. She thought it was quite likely she would pass out before she ever got there, but he yanked harder on her hair, pulling her sharply back to reality.
She was almost there, but every time she came close it slipped away again, frustrating her until her arms shook. “Harder,” she heard herself, from far away, the first demand she'd ever made of him. “Please. Ohh god…I'm...” her climax hit her swiftly, without warning, clenching muscles and causing tremors to flood her body, jerking uncontrollably in his hold as she rode it out, screaming so loud she was sure they'd hear her out at the bar. He felt her clench around him, bringing his own orgasm skyrocketing through his body. He came in her, biting his lip until he tasted blood to contain the groan that accompanied the feeling. Fingers pressed tight to her hips, he lingered in her only a moment before pulling himself free and swiftly doing up his pants.
Even with her in that ridiculously submissive position, even with the orgasm threading its way through his body, Abel couldn't contain his anger. He licked his lips, wincing at the sudden, sharp pain elicited by his tongue probing his self-made wounds, he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, seeing blood. Clothes reordered, he glanced once more at Nish in the mirror and then made his way out of the bathroom, walking with a casualness that belied the violence of the previous encounter.
She slid bonelessly to the floor when he let her go, watching through blurry eyes as he exited the bathroom, leaving her alone and spent on the floor. Sweaty, sticky, bruised, she curled into herself, hugging her knees to her chest as tears flowed freely down her cheeks and semen dripped out of her, making her feel dirty and used.
’Well that was fun,’ the voice said sarcastically, but there was something else there. Was that pity?
’Shut up,’ she commanded, rubbing her face with her hands, feeling the blackness threatening to pull her under and taking deep breaths to try and stay conscious.
’So defensive...you could have said no. But then, you didn’t want to, did you?’ he said. She could hear the grin, and tasted bile in the back of her throat. ’So how is that honesty working for you?’ he continued, ‘are you going to tell him? Show him that instead of the good girl you’re pretending to be, you’re actually a drunken whore?’
“I SAID SHUT UP!” she shouted, and in the ringing silence that followed, she knew that she’d said it aloud. In the back of her mind, she could hear cold laughter. Breathing hard, hands shaking, heart thudding in her chest, she fumbled with her clothes, using the sink to pull herself up and then pulling her pants up, doing her best to look somewhat presentable and then pulling out her cell to call a cab.