log, marvel: luke/wren Who: Luke & Wren What: Running off to get powers is not okay. (2/3) Where: An empty apartment. When: After her ~visit with Loki. Warnings/Rating: Uhhh foreplay?
She said she knew they mattered, her and the kids, but he wasn't so sure. And he thought she was upset. She'd just been screaming at him moments ago, hadn't she? Of course she was upset. "I don't mean that it's bigger than you like... like it's more important," he tried to explain. "It's not." Maybe it seemed that way, but he'd never meant for that to happen and he wasn't entirely sure how to fix it. He could, though. He could. He'd make it so that she had less reason to worry, he'd be careful, he'd do anything to ensure that she didn't make dangerous deals with strangers just to keep him safe.
Stubbornness was ingrained in him, and nothing she said about the man who'd performed some fucking magic on her would sway his opinion. "I'm sure he's a real stand up guy, whoever he is," he scowled, and yeah, no, he wasn't buying that he'd tried to help her out of the goodness of his heart. "You are heroic. You are. If whatever he did didn't work it's because he messed up. It's not you. For all you know he could've been lying," he insisted. "You don't know him. Just because he was nice doesn't mean anything, Wren, you can't trust people just because they're nice." He thought she knew better than that, he really did. He'd thought she was smarter, and it terrified him that she was so willing to defend a stranger who could have killed her out in the goddamn woods. But she promised not to try again, and that soothed him a little. Just a little. "Never again," he told her, because she'd gotten lucky this time, but next time... next time she might not.
He had a bad temper. He knew that. His anger was erratic, unpredictable, as easily diffused as it was roused. Now, now he was just guilty and apologetic, and he didn't have the energy or desire to keep yelling. He shook his head when she told him not to apologize, because he wanted to. He wanted to, and he looked up when she tugged, but he didn't get to his feet. "I am," he said quietly. "I am. I don't think about what it's like for you, and that's not fair. It's not. If our roles were reversed, I'd hate it. I would. I'd be terrified all the time and you deserve better." He shook his head again, more insistent this time, when she talked about the apartment and what it represented. "No, baby, no. That's not what this is. I'm not-- I'm not choosing this over you. I'd never choose anything over you." He tugged on her shirt, fingers wound tight. "I always want to spend time with you. I always want to be with you. This is-- this is to keep you safe," he told her, and he took a deep, deep breath. "I know-- I know it might not seem like that, but it's true. Don't say it's not okay. Don't. Don't put this on yourself, please?" He didn't want her to blame herself for him blaming himself, but he had to take responsibility for his actions.
When she dropped to her knees he let her, moving back a little to give her space but he kept his arms draped around her. "I want to apologize," he said, and pressed his fingers against her lips. "You did do something stupid, but I understand why, and nothing you feel is ever not okay. I want to know. I want to know if you're upset or worried or scared. I want us to share things, Wren, I don't want secrets." It was earnest, but his expression turned puzzled when she asked him to promise that he wouldn't change what he was doing. She was upset, wasn't she? So why would she want things to stay the same? He wasn't sure he understood, and he looked at her for a long, long moment. And then he sat back, tugging her with him, and his lips found the underside of her jaw. "You're my life," he whispered against her skin. "You're my world. I can't live without you. The only reason I live at all is because you're with me. No matter what, that won't ever change."
"It's not more important to you, but it's more important overall," she said practically, and being practical wasn't easy, not when she wanted to scream and beg and demand to be the most important thing to him, the only important thing. This was like Seattle, like New York, but bigger. He was right, and bigger was the correct word to use, and she'd been on the fringes there. The only way to be part of his world then had been through sex, and she knew that wouldn't work now. This hadn't worked either, and she just wanted to hide and find a way to be okay with how things were now.
"I asked, Luke. It was stupid, and I'm not very smart, but I asked. He didn't force me. I asked. He could've hurt me, but he didn't." She didn't blame the strange man with the red hair at all, not for anything. Okay, maybe what he'd tried had hurt, but he'd warned her ahead of time, and she'd told him that she was okay with it. Her expression softened when he tried to argue that she was heroic, because she wasn't. She hadn't ever been. She'd hurt men because she wanted to, because it made her feel good, because she liked it. Now she was only a maman and a wife, and that was all. It was enough until the hotel had changed things, but now it didn't seem like much, not to keep him really, really interested. "I don't want to be the boring wife that you have to go home to instead of staying and doing the things you really want to do," she said honestly. If they were having this conversation, they might as well really have it.
"Never again," she promised without hesitation. She'd tried it, and it hadn't worked, and she was kind of sorry she'd even thought she could do something like that. She shook her head sadly when he kept apologizing. "Non. I shouldn't have said, because now you'll change things because you're guilty, and I don't want that. I don't want you home because you think you need to be there. I never, ever want you to do that for me." She shook her head when he said this was about keeping her safe, because it wasn't. "It's not. But I said you should do it, that you should go and do this if you wanted, and I'm not taking that back. I want you to do whatever makes you happy. I know it doesn't mean that I don't make you happy too." She did at least know that now. It was a distinction she hadn't been able to make in New York, but she could now a little. He just couldn't be hers all the time. That was normal. It was what normal people did. His arms around her waist were heavy, and she never wanted him to move them, and she smiled just a tiny bit when he said she was his world. She waited a second, just one, and she leaned forward and kissed him. There was loss in the kiss, sadness and desperation and the feeling that the winds were changing, and the smell of burnt feathers was something evident on her skin now, beneath the scorched bitter green of magic. She kissed him, fingers against his cheeks, and she wanted to cry but she wouldn't.
They'd had this argument before, and he remembered it well. Her importance was something he fought to convince her of, and he wasn't about to stop now, not when things had gotten so skewed and they never should have to begin with. "No," he countered stubbornly. "Forget overall. Fuck overall. You are the most important thing to me, and that's what matters, okay? Nothing would ever come before you. Nothing. You're always first." He said it with certainty; he wasn't like Bruce. He would let the city burn if it would save her, and that was just the truth whether she believed it or not. He might have wanted to save people, yeah, but not at her expense. Never that.
"Asking doesn't make what he did okay, Wren." And he'd never, ever feel any differently. Asking didn't give him the right to mess with magic. Asking didn't mean she deserved the pain this had caused, and he was still suspicious; maybe it hadn't worked. but he didn't trust it. Someday, somehow, he'd find this guy, promises be damned. His expression turned dismayed when she said she didn't want to be the boring wife he felt obligated to go home to, and god, how had he ever let things get this far? "That's not what you are, baby. Not at all. I don't go home to you because I have to, I go because I want to. I want to be with you. This," he said, jerking his head towards the apartment, "can never compare. The last thing I am with you is bored, don't you see?" But maybe she didn't, and he chewed on the inside of his lip. "Without you," he said simply, "nothing has any meaning." And that was all he could say.
Her vow of never again soothed him, but he was troubled by her belief that he would change his ways out of guilt and necessity. "You should have said," he insisted. "I'm glad you did. I don't feel obligated. I don't feel like being with you, being home, is something I-- I need to do. And it is," he said when she told him it wasn't about keeping her safe. "I want to keep you and the kids safe. It all comes back to you. Helping people, doing good-- it's something I want to do because I want to-- to make a difference. To make things better. It doesn't mean you're not enough, and you're right, it doesn't mean you don't make you happy." Explaining was hard, and his arms tightened around her. "Bad things happen when nobody does anything. I want to do something. And that's for you. You make me feel like-- like I can be that person. Like I'm good." It was probably a good thing that she kissed him then, because he was struggling to find the right words to convey his feelings and his face was flushed from the effort. He whimpered into the kiss, trying to drown out all that loss and sadness and desperation, to deepen it enough to make all that go away. Heat and mine and how he felt about her, that was what he wanted it to be, and though he found the scent of burnt feathers a strange thing he didn't dwell on it. "I love you," he whispered against her mouth, and he tugged on her shirt, shoved at the fabric, memories of the night before seeping in and spreading color across his cheeks again.
She knew he didn't like this argument, and she didn't want to dredge up dead things. With every second that passed she was more sorry. Sorry that she'd done anything, that she'd said anything, and now she wouldn't be able to tell how much time he was spending with her because of this. Because she'd piled guilt on him about something he loved doing, and the self-loathing was like waves in the ocean, and she didn't know how to turn back the tide. "I know," she said about coming first. She did. She did know. He would always, always save her first. He'd always said Bruce wouldn't, when they had Bruce and Selina, and she'd always thought maybe he was wrong. But that didn't matter, because she knew he would. "I know you'd come for me first if things were bad, even if you were off with a team saving people," she said. She could say that without hesitation at all, because she knew it. This wasn't that, and it was a little sweet that he thought it was. "It's okay," she promised him, and maybe if he misunderstood it would go away. Maybe it would just fade away quiet.
But he talked about home with insistence, and she listened while his arms went tight around her. She pressed her fingers to his lips as he spoke, no attempt to silence but only to touch. "I know. I know you aren't doing it because you don't love us. I know you just want to do good things. I know." Once, she didn't. Once, she would've thought he loved his new world to the exclusion of everything else. She knew that wasn't the case. She knew that he couldn't sit by and do nothing. He'd never, ever been that man, and she loved that about him. She did, she loved that he would save every last person in the world if he could. She just felt a million miles away from that, and this was the only way she'd thought to fix it. It hadn't worked, and she needed to pick up these shards and make everything okay again. She touched his cheek, her fingers gentle and the callouses of wielding knives long-since faded. "I love that you want to do good things. I love that the world matters to you. You wouldn't be the man I love if you weren't like that." She leaned forward on her knees, and she kissed his cheek. "Okay? I'm just being insecure. Don't change anything." Then, fiercely, in that sore whisper. "You are good</i>. You're a good man, Luke Henry." She repeated it, and then she repeated it again, and she shoved down her own sense of isolation and left it there, quiet.
She wanted to ask about Brielle. She did. But he was whimpering into her kiss, and Brielle could wait. She pulled back a little bit when he tugged on her shirt, and she looked at his face to try to figure out if he wanted the shirt off. But his cheeks were red, and during that pause of quiet she remembered the hotel - the mall. She smiled at him, and it was something reassuring and warm, and she pulled her hair over her head, bit lip and scrapes at her elbows. But she didn't linger there, against her heels. Instead, she nudged him toward the mattress that represented her inadequacy, nudge, nudge until he toppled, and she wore nothing beneath the shirt, because that was the fashion in Gatsby. "Hi," she whispered from the edge of the mattress. "Do you want me there?" she asked. There, with him, on the mattress, and that red on his cheeks was endearing. She didn't wait for a response, because she couldn't. She just couldn't stay there and not touch him. She crawled forward, and she pressed her cheek to his warm one. Just that. Just that until he said something else.
He didn't understand. If she knew so much, then why had she gone and made a deal with a stranger to get powers? That wasn't normal. It meant he was doing something wrong. It meant he wasn't enough, because if he was, if he wasn't pushing her away unintentionally, then she wouldn't have felt the need to take such drastic action. Then again, that line of thinking overlooked the fact that she kind of had a tendency to overreact, to do things most people wouldn't. That was just who they were. But he'd always been good at blaming himself, at holding himself responsible, instead of letting her take on the responsibility herself. The trick was not making it so damn obvious that he was doing just that.
"I'm glad you know," he said slowly, trying to think of a solution while he spoke. "I worry, sometimes, that you don't. But... if it was okay, Wren, you wouldn't have done what you did. You took a huge risk, and it was stupid, and--" He paused, took a breath. "You love me for who I am, and I know that. You don't want me to change, I know that too. But I want to make things better for you. I want what I do to match what I say," he explained, earnest. "If you feel insecure, I want to make it so that you don't. Because you don't have to, Wren, you really, really don't. You matter more to me than anything, and I'd let the world burn for you." And it was true; regardless of the good he wanted to do, her life was worth more to him than every last person on earth. He'd never sacrifice her, not for anything. He smiled when she told him he was good, the fierceness in her voice familiar even though it was quiet. "Biased," he teased, but there was no real argument behind it.
The way she smiled at him told him that she knew, that she remembered, and it was easy to forget about everything else. Just then, at least, there was nothing but her, and his gaze moved down when she pulled her shirt over her head. It occurred to him then, as he stared, that maybe last night had just been about them. It didn't matter whose bodies they were in, or what gender; they mattered, and that was it. Maybe he was stupid for worrying that she'd think he wasn't enough or that she wasn't enough or any of the things that had raced through his mind when morning came and he remembered. But he couldn't find the words to say those things, and when she nudged him back, back, he let her, just like he let her topple him, back against the mattress and propped up on his elbows so he didn't have to look away. "Hey," he whispered back, and his cheeks stayed warm, and he started to nod even as she crawled towards him. Of course he wanted her with him. He would never, ever not.
When her cheek pressed against his, he found words. "Yeah," he breathed. "I always want you with me." He tugged her against him, and his hands slid up from her jean-covered hips, touching. This was the body he knew as well as he knew as his own, and it was like he was relearning, remembering, fingers tracing over her shoulders and along her spine, skin warm and soft under his palms. He rubbed his cheek against hers, just for a moment. "Do you, uh, want to.." He pressed a kiss just below her ear. "Talk about--" Another kiss to her jaw. "Last night?" It took a lot just to say that and he kissed her before she could respond, slow heat and another whimper lost between them.
She didn't know how to say that she just wanted him home, not without him taking it literally and never doing the thing that made him happy. She knew he needed to help people. She knew that was who he was, that it was just as much a part of him as bone and blood and skin. She knew, and she didn't want to take it from him. So she didn't say anything else, anything more. He would overcorrect. He would come home every day after work, and he would stay until his next shift. He would play with the kids, and he would be with her and, eventually, it would start killing him a little. Non, she wouldn't, couldn't, and she just shook her head as he spoke. "I know," she repeated of knowing she mattered, of how much he would do for her. She knew, but being the most important thing in his life wasn't the same as being the most interesting thing in his life, and she knew that too. And she still couldn't keep him safe. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't, and he would be out there alone, and she wouldn't even know if he died until it was done. And that made her think of New York, and she didn't want to think about it anymore.
When he teased, she smiled, and she breathed, and she was glad that they'd left it behind. She'd been stupid, and she hadn't thought, and she knew it now. She wouldn't do it again, and she drowned in his gaze as she pulled the shirt off. She bit her lip, and she grinned down at him when he let her topple him back. "Hi," she repeated, the eternal echo, and his cheek was warm against hers, and she sighed. "I want to freeze now. Just now, just this moment, I want to freeze it," she admitted, and he tugged her against him. His hands were like forgiveness, even if he didn't mean for them to be, and maybe she was doing that herself, absolving herself with his touch. She couldn't stay still beneath his hands, and it felt different in her own skin. She rocked above him a little knees on the mattress and a new space between their bodies. She squirmed, and she was tousled curls against his cheek when he kissed below her ear. She smiled when he asked if she wanted to talk about last night, and she made the space between them a little more tangible, cool air and nothing touching as his mouth found her jaw.
"I think you're beautiful," she said. It was a good way to start, she thought. Because he was. He was beautiful. "Like this, like you were then, you're beautiful, and I always want you." She rocked back, and she pressed a kiss to the center of his chest. She tipped her head back to look at him, and then she darted her tongue over his nipple, grey eyes dark and wide. "Okay. Let's talk about last night."
He didn't know what else to say. She knew, she said, and he could go on and on but maybe that was all she'd say and they would just end up going around in circles. She didn't want him to stop doing what he felt was right, but she wanted him home, too. She didn't want to be left behind. So, he'd find middle ground. He would find balance. He'd be safe and smart(er) and make sure that he didn't just say she was his world; he'd prove it. "Okay," he said, finally. And maybe it really would be okay. She wouldn't do something stupid like this again, and she wasn't hurt, and he knew what was wrong. Sort of. He'd fix it.
But for just then, he focused on her smile. Her echo of his greeting made him laugh, a quiet sound, and his gaze was fond warmth as she admitted that she wanted to freeze that particular moment. "Me too," he whispered, because if they could stay like this forever, cheek to cheek, he'd be perfectly content. He loved that she couldn't stay still beneath his hands, and despite the fact that the night before hadn't been bad there was nothing, nothing, better than her body, her skin. It felt right, familiar, and he whined in response to the space she put between them; he didn't want space. He wanted closeness, skin on skin and their bodies so entwined that they became one, but he didn't sit up, didn't try to reclaim the feel of her against him. Not yet.
"I think you're beautiful, too," he breathed, and he squirmed just a little at that kiss to his chest, gaze never leaving her. "And I always, always want you, no matter what." His fingers brushed her cheek, her jaw, and slid into her hair, and his breath caught in his throat when her tongue slid over his nipple. Okay, she wanted to talk, but he didn't know what to say; it was hard to think. "I'm not-- I'm not into guys," he began, because maybe she should know that first? "I mean-- last night was-- I knew it was you, so I didn't think of it as, you know, being with a guy, it was just-- it was being with you. But different. It doesn't matter what gender we are or what bodies we're in, it's still us. And when it's us, anything is-- everything is-- it's good." He knew he was rambling, and he could feel the heat rising in his neck again, but he didn't regret anything he'd said. It was all true, disjointed as it might be.
She was glad he agreed. She was glad for that little okay that meant she hadn't broken everything or ruined it beyond repair. She thought, in her simple way, that she'd fixed it, that it was okay now and forgotten. He'd go back to doing things how he did them, and she'd find a way to be okay, and the acrid smell of burnt feathers on her skin was just an aftereffect of that failed nothing that had made her cry and scream.
His whispered me too made her feel better. Better than any words, and it helped chase the feeling of inadequacy away, until it was nothing but a tiny memory, a thing for later. Because she didn't feel inadequate when it came to this, not with him, not anymore. His whine when the air slithered itself between them was just validation, and she whimpered as she kissed him. She wanted the sound for herself. She wanted every last bit of him for herself, just like always, and it was only more and more, worse and worse the longer he touched her like that.
She loved it when he squirmed beneath her, and maybe that was something leftover, something that remained from the evening before, and his breathed assertion that he thought she was beautiful, that made her entire face light up as she looked at him. She believed it, that he felt that, that he thought she was beautiful. There was a confidence in that which she hadn't had for years and years, but those fears were gone, and she just flicked her tongue along his other nipple as he talked. She could hear that breath that was caught in the back of his throat, and she thought it was heady, being the one that made him sound like that. When he stammered that he wasn't into guys, she smiled a tiny bit, and she pressed a kiss to the nipple she'd been tormenting with her tongue. Distraction, and she couldn't tell if it was working yet, but she loved his stammered words, and she loved the way he was trying to reassure her. She felt impossibly lucky, impossibly blessed, and she almost couldn't believe that he was really, really hers. That in a life of really horrible things, she'd managed to find him, and that he'd liked her enough to see passed all the bruising that coated who she really was.
She waited for him to finish, and then she pressed herself down against him, arms folded on his chest, scraped and bruised elbows, and her legs tangling with his as she let him take her weight. She wasn't strong enough to pin him down, but she was doing it anyway, and she rested her chin on her folded arms, and she bit her lip as she looked at him. "I love you." It was a hoarse declaration, but she thought it was a good beginning. "I've had sex with a lot of girls, but I'm not really into them. I've had sex with a lot of guys, but I'm not really into them. I'm into you. I don't think it matters what you gender you are. You're beautiful." Her grey eyes were serious, and she wiggled her feet against his ankles and wished that denim was gone. "And I kind of want to try absolutely everything with you. All those things I hated with everyone else, I want to try with you. I just don't say it, because I don't want to corrupt you."
Somewhere beneath the surface the scent of burned feathers tugged at him, a sense of unease that rippled, but it was too hard to focus, too hard to push aside how she felt and how she smelled-- her, not some after effect of failed magic. Now that he was in his body it was so much sharper, a heady intoxication that he didn't think he'd ever get used to. It would never get old, never fade away. He'd give her all of him a thousand times over because he was already hers, she already owned him, what did it matter? He lived because she lived. His heart beat because hers did, he breathed because she breathed; he couldn't possibly have been any more hers, and the kiss was both submission and claim, I'm yours and you're mine wound together.
He loved the way her face lit up when he said she was beautiful. He loved that she believed it, because he still remembered a time when she hadn't believed anything he'd said; she'd come so, so far, and he was as proud as he was happy with that fact. Proud of her, and yeah, he liked that she finally believed good things about herself because she deserved that. He beamed back at her, youthful pleasure that shifted to something hot when her tongue moved to his other nipple. It was hard to stay still, hard to get the words out, and he dragged his fingers thoughtlessly through her hair and down to the nape of her neck. She might think herself lucky, but he was absolutely certain he was the lucky one. Lucky that he'd found his soulmate, lucky that he'd found someone who loved even the darkest parts of him.
She was right-- she wasn't strong enough to pin him down, not if he didn't want to be pinned, but he had no desire to turn the tables on her; not yet. at least. Her weight was nothing, warm pressure that he welcomed against his body, and he tipped his chin down to look at her as she spoke. He splayed his fingers out over her shoulders when she told him she loved him, palms down and thumbs rubbing absent circles on her skin. Even now he didn't like thinking about who she'd been with before, other men and other women, but he did understand that none of them had meant anything. He was still jealous, and it showed a little in his gaze, but he understood. "I love you too," he breathed. "And I know. I know. It's you, no matter what gender. Because it's not about that. It's about us, you and me." He nudged her with one knee when she wiggled her feet, a playful thing and no actual desire for her to move. "You can't corrupt me, baby," he told her earnestly. "You won't, because I want everything with you. Last night, the things we did-- I liked them because it was you. Because it just brings us closer, no matter what it is." He bit down on the inside of his lip. "I want you to tell me. I want you to say what you want to try. All of it. Anything. Everything."
She liked that he had a hard time staying still, and she could tell with him beneath her. She could feel the muscles and impatience beneath his skin, and she loved the youthful smile that became something entirely different when she touched her tongue to his nipple. His fingers in her hair felt different than they had the night before, stronger, his fingers longer and the touch somehow more sure, and she was glad of the hotel for the first time ever. Glad that she knew the differences. Glad she understood how he felt when she touched him, and she didn't try to pull away from the hand that rested heavily against the nape of her neck. She breathed against his nipple, spit from her tongue making her breath cold against his skin, and then she brought her teeth to the last nipple she'd licked, and she tugged it sharply between her teeth. Just once, only once, and then she pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to the skin between his armpit and his shoulder, as if she hadn't done anything at all.
She really, really hated the clothing between them, but she didn't want to move, not yet, not while he was talking to her. She didn't want him to stop, and she didn't want his hands to leave her shoulders for even a minute. Those lazy circles he drew with his thumbs were calloused heaven, and she pressed another kiss to his skin, penitent this time, when that jealousy came to life in his eyes. "Did you know right away?" she asked of him knowing it was her. She wasn't sure she could pinpoint an exact moment, but maybe he could. She wiggled her feet again when he nudged her with his knee, and she gave him a hopeful little look when he said she couldn't corrupt him. She still wasn't sure. She'd taken his virginity years and years ago, and she still worried that everything she'd done since then had just dragged him into the dark and dirty world that she lived in. It worried her, because he was good. He was meant to be good, but she wasn't as selfless as she'd been once. Along the line, she'd become really, really selfish where he was concerned. She would do almost anything to keep him, and she knew that was bad, but she just couldn't fight it anymore.
When he bit down on the inside of his lip, she whined with the effort it took not to kiss him. The sound was a high pitched thing in the back of her throat, and she could barely hear it, but there was something a teensy bit uncomfortable about the sound. But it was short-lived, and she gave into desire and crawled up his body. Because he was asking for things, and she just couldn't keep herself from pressing her lips to his. "You really want to know?" she asked unsurely against his mouth, and her cheeks were red, and her curls were a tarnished golden halo. Her hand slid between them, and her fingers traced him through his jeans. "I missed this," she said, a little sheepish, a little shy, and she pressed her lips to his ear. "If I admit something, you have to admit something too. Okay?"
He'd always had a hard time staying still, being patient, and over time that was one thing he'd never really gotten better at. And different was good but nothing compared to this, because even if gender didn't matter he could tell the differences between her touches the night before and now. Different bodies, and as much as he'd liked the experience he was more than a little glad they were back to themselves. Knowing how she felt when he touched her, though, that was knowledge he wasn't going to let go to waste, even if it was kind of hard to focus on anything but her mouth on his skin. He squirmed a little more when she breathed, and he kind of wanted to torment her but he didn't actually want to move, and his reaction to her tugging his nipple between her teeth was a sharp intake of breath and a tug of his own, fingers wound in blonde strands. He tugged again at the chaste kiss to his skin because yeah, he saw right through that.
Did he know right away? He tried to think, to remember, keeping up a constant rhythm of his hands on her skin. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I just knew. Before we-- before anything happened. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't think it was you." He wanted her to know that, because he thought it was important. The way she wiggled her feet made him smile, and though it took some maneuvering he managed to rub his foot against hers, a small, chaste gesture that was somehow intimate without being anything at all. He smiled, reassuring, when she looked at him with that hope in her expression, like she really did want to believe that she wouldn't corrupt him. He liked that she was selfish, and he liked that she'd fight to keep him, because he would do the same.
There was a moment, a brief instant, when her whine made his brow furrow, a vague sense of discomfort in response to the sound, but it stopped mattering entirely when she crawled up his body. The pressure of his hands on her shoulders increased, trying to bring her closer against him, and he kissed her first before saying anything. Her cheeks were red and her hair was mussed and she was achingly beautiful; he had to kiss her. He tugged on her lower lip after, and he nodded, a little breathless. "I really, really want to know," he told her. He exhaled in a rush when she stroked him through his jeans, and he couldn't help rocking up against her hand, just a little. "I missed this too." It was an unthinking confession, and he slid his hands down, down, over her back, and he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans. "Okay. Okay," he agreed, no hesitation. He'd admit anything for her.
She loved his impatience. His impatience fed her insecurities. His impatience made her feel like he really wanted her. One day, maybe she wouldn't need his reassurances, the reassurances that came from his body, the ones she knew he couldn't make-up. He wasn't a very good liar, and he wouldn't have been able to force himself to react to her physically if he didn't want her. She loved that he couldn't stay still, and she loved what it meant, and she didn't want him to get any better at it. She smiled up at him when he dragged that sharp breath in, and she tested his fingers in her hair, and she was a smug little smile when he tugged after she pressed chaste lips to his skin. She rocked against him a little, denim and denim and too many layers, but his admission that he wouldn't have done anything if he hadn't thought it was her. She believed him, and her smile said as much. "Because I yelled at you forever about MK?" she asked. She had. She'd made him pay and pay and pay for messing around with MK, but she actually thought maybe he didn't want to mess around with anyone else now. They'd come a really, really long way in the past year.
She didn't notice his furrowed brow, or she would've stopped, asked. But she didn't notice, and she fought the pressure against her shoulders. "You'll have to leave bruises if you want me down against you," she said quietly, innocently despite the complete lack of innocence in the words. But she let him kiss her, ducked head and that cool air still between them, a tormenting nothing when she really, really just wanted to push herself down against him. She kissed him slow, and she kissed him sweet, and she didn't let him get too much from her, even as her fingers traced him through denim. She brushed her cheek against his when he exhaled, and she laughed a nervous little laugh. "It was easier to say things as a boy," she admitted, though she really didn't understand why. She didn't spend time considering what it meant, because she really only needed to know that it was easier then and harder now. Cheeks red, and his fingers slid over her back and beneath the loose waistband of her jeans, and she sighed as he agreed to match confessions with confessions. Her cheek was warm, and she pressed it to his shoulder, a shy little action that would keep him from seeing her face as she talked. "I think we should really, really get you some panties," she admitted, and she pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder, and she rocked the tiniest bit, even though she didn't let herself press against him at all, not even a little bit. "Maybe a garter belt too?"
His fingers in her hair held, a spark of defiance despite the fact that she was so very obviously the one in control; all his strength and he was still the one squirming beneath her. When she rocked against him he decided he was really, really tired of all that denim between them, because as good as the friction of movement felt it drove him just a little crazy too. He tried to tug her down against him again without too much force, but he stopped when she mentioned MK. His expression turned serious, and he shook his head. "Because I don't want to be with anyone but you," he explained. "I don't want other people. I want you. I want to do things with you, and only you." He frowned a little. "MK was a mistake. A stupid... hotel thing, and it's never going to happen again." Maybe he couldn't always control how the hotel changed them or what tricks it pulled, but he could try. He meant what he said; he only wanted her. The thought of such intimacy occurring with someone else made him feel sick.
Quiet as her words were he couldn't help a small moan, a heady sound, and his jeans became that much tighter, and his squirming was a way to attempt to find some relief. "You drive me crazy," he whispered against her mouth, an echo from the night before, and he tried to take more from the kiss than she gave, a frustrated growl as he rocked up against her hand again. But it wasn't enough, and he would have shoved her onto her back just then if she hadn't laughed that nervous laugh, and her cheek was warm against his. He loved that she was nervous, loved that he wasn't the only one, and he smiled when she said it was easier to say things as a boy. "You're adorable." A quick kiss to her temple, and he listened as she spoke. His own cheeks flamed when she said they should get him some panties, and a garter belt, and there was a moment of breathlessness before he found his voice. "Okay. Do you-- do you want to pick them out, or do you want me to?" He kept one hand half in her jeans, and the other slid back up to her shoulder, and he just wanted to feel her against him. Fingers splayed and he pressed down, pressure and more pressure to force her body to do what he wanted. He tugged, and he pushed, and it was nothing gentle, just wordless demand.
The defiance in the fingers that were tangled in her mussed curls made her whimper, the sound coming straight from her chest and sounding as hungry as the grip made her feel. She was busy resisting that tug, convincing herself to resist it, but then she heard the frown in his voice. She heard it before she saw it, and she frowned as she looked at him, not liking the seriousness of his expression or the way he shook his head. She'd just managed to make him not angry anymore, and she was afraid she'd brought his anger back again. But, non, it wasn't that kind of anger. She'd gone a little tense, but she relaxed, and lately everything reminded her of New York, and she'd expected the kind of angry that he'd always been there, in that city. She kissed him, slow, slow. "We can't promise that. The hotel does weird stuff, and it's usually not good, and you can't promise that," she told him, but there was acceptance in her voice, forgiveness, and maybe some understanding that it didn't mean he didn't want her, even that tiny incident with MK, even Brielle, and she wanted to ask about her abilities then. She wanted to know, to understand, even if she couldn't do anything at all about it. But she didn't want this to stop. She didn't want him not to talk, not to tell her the things he wanted. So she bit her lip, and she bit her tongue. For now.
His moan made her sure her silence was good, was the right thing, and she smiled as he squirmed. "I love that," she told him honestly. "I love that you can't stay still when I say things, when I touch you." She brushed her mouth against his. "I love that I drive you crazy. I don't ever, ever want it to stop." She didn't let him take the kiss. She was chaste, chaste, lips pressed together and only hints of maybe letting him claim it for his own. Her moan when he growled, though, that was completely open, and she worked at the button and zipper of his jeans, but she didn't slip her hand in or tease him through the impossibly thick fabric again. She didn't realize her laugh had kept her from getting exactly what she wanted, that it kept him from toppling her back and covering her with his weight, his body. "I want to pick them out," she said after a moment of thought, and she pulled back just enough to see his face, to find out if he was flushed. "I want to watch as you put them on, too. Is that okay?" she asked, and the question was sweet and innocent, pale curls framing her face and her wide grey eyes bright with mischief. She was sitting back now, in defiance of that pressure that wasn't gentle at all. "Now you say."
No, he wasn't angry. The kind of anger he'd been so very good at in New York rarely made an appearance these days, not just because things had changed but because he now made a conscious effort to keep from going to that dark place, the place he'd been all those years ago. He tried to soothe away her tension through touch, reassurance in the rub of fingers on her skin. He sighed into the kiss, and he kept it slow, trying to draw it out. "I can promise I'll try," he told her. "I can promise that no matter what the hotel does, I'll never want to be with anyone else, and I'll fight whatever tricks it tries to pull to keep it from making something happen." He didn't know she wanted to ask about Brielle, but he didn't want to talk about her, not yet, not when there were so many things he'd rather talk about, so many things he'd rather do.
He knew him squirming was what she wanted, but he couldn't help it. "I can never stay still around you," he admitted. "You can drive me crazy just by looking at me. I want you all the time, always, and I hate waiting." He just wanted to kiss her, to claim it for his own, but she wouldn't let him and he ended up whining in protest against her lips. He tried to coax her mouth open, to slip his tongue between her lips, frenzy and frustration, but the way she moaned was a minor victory. He smiled, smug, and his breaths turned heavier as she worked at his zipper and buttons. He rocked against her, even though she didn't touch him, and he looked up at her, waiting. He nodded when she said she wanted to pick the panties out, and he flushed hotter when she said she wanted to watch him put them on. "Yeah, that's okay," he breathed, a little too earnest. "Definitely okay." The way she defied the pressure of his hands just made him even more frustrated, and he didn't waste time when she sat back. He sat up with her, arms around her to keep her from pulling away, to tug her against his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.
"I've always been afraid of hurting you," he began. "I think I've gotten better at, uh, at not holding back, but I still do sometimes, and I... I want to keep pushing." He exhaled softly. "Restraints. Handcuffs, and... I don't know. Maybe rope. But I want to try that. If-- if thats okay," he added quickly, ducking his head against her shoulder almost shyly.
She didn't like the subject, serious as it was, but his tone made her look at him, gaze a little uncertain and a lot vulnerable. "I always worry you'll have a really, really great night with someone. Maybe just talking. But that you'll have a really, really great night, and you'll think I'm boring in the morning," she admitted. She knew he would try not to let that happen, she knew, but he was being honest, and she kind of felt like she should be honest too. His fingers helped, the feel of his touch against her skin helped. But nothing helped as much as the things he said, the way he couldn't stay still. When he said he wanted her all the time, she whimpered, and as much as she hated waiting, his admission that he hated it gave her the strength to try to hold out on that kiss just a little bit longer. There was a little thrill that chased along her skin when he said she could buy the panties, that he'd put them on for her, let her watch, and she shuddered and almost kissed him. She leaned into him, and there was breath against his mouth, and almost. Then he sat up, and the pressure from his hands made her moan, and the movement made her laugh, and one sound bled into the other, and her arms went around his neck.
She didn't try to pull away, not then, and she just tipped her head to let him kiss her neck. Her fingers traced circles in his curls, fingertips gentle against his scalp, and she really, really hated the denim between them. But not enough to move, because she was waiting for him to say, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted. She pressed herself against him as she waited, loving the feel of her chest against his bare skin, hardened nipples and a rain of kisses along his shoulder. "I like it when you hurt me," she said quickly, before she could forget the words, before she could convince herself that they weren't okay to say. "I trust you. I like it. I like a lot." He ducked his head against her shoulder, and she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, worship in the breath against his skin. "Promise you'll do it? Promise you won't hold back?" she asked, and then her fingers tangled tight in his hair, and she yanked his head back without warning. "Like that? Promise." She kissed his mouth, fingers still tangle-tight in his hair, parted lips and a demand for him to do the same. She breathed into him, and she swallowed down his breath. "I kind of want a strap-on too," she confessed against his mouth.