Black Lagoon, Revy/Rock, smell like gunpowder and beer, "Under the Table" Under the Table
Even after a shower, Revy still smells like a gun, of power and oil and steel. No wonder she claims to be a weapon. Even her own body's denying her humanity.
Maybe that should worry him more than it does. But Rock's failed to save enough people, and Revy was never his to save. And now he's too damn tired to care.
"Beer's like drinking water," Revy says, taking the bottle from his hand. She's still damn from the shower, and soon enough, she'll be damp from the humidity, slick with her own sweat, a well-oiled gun.
"A job might come in," Rock says, watching her drink. A drop of water falls from her hair, slides down her neck.
She snorts. "Yeah, right. You just don't want to see me drink under the table."
"I used to be a Japanese businessman. I'd drink you under the table." He's too hot and too tired to put much effort in the argument.
"Yeah right." She straddles his lap, takes one last pull from the beer, then flashes him one of her feral, challenging smiles. "What else you going to do, Mister Japanese?"
He fists his hands in her hair, blissfully cool from the shower, and she tilts her head back, offers her throat. Rock kisses, scrapes his teeth over her pulse point, smiles when she gasps, slides her hands up under his shirt.
It's a slow fuck. They have the time, and it's too damn hot to be frantic about it. Rock licks the sweat from her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. He traces her tattoo with his tongue, adds the occasional bite, and she shudders and claws at him, blunt nails scraping down his back.
"Come on, Mister Japanese." She hooks a leg over his hip, arches up into his thrust so he's buried deep inside her. "Try -- ahh -- fucking me under the table." She flashes him that smile again, though this time, there's a teasing edge.
She clenches her cunt around him, and fuck she's strong everywhere. Rock gasps, and Revy takes it as an invitation to kiss him, hard and aggressive, all overwhelming teeth and tongue. Rock moans, feels everything tighten, and then he's coming.
Revy rides him through it, doesn't let him withdraw right away, not until she's come too, quiet and breathless. Then she lets him pull away. "Guess I win." She flops down next to him, and even though they're not touching, he can feel her heat, smell the heavy musk of oil and power and metal.
"I can still drink you under the table."
"Later." She flung an arm over her eyes. "After the sun sets."