Work Text:
Delicious Force
I don't even remember what I needed from this god damn shelf right above that ridiculously big fridge. I also don't recall letting out this frustrated little noise, something just as close to a dangerous growl as to a desperate moan.
Days after that night, he told me that this small sound had raced up his spine and imbedded itself into his cortex like a fucking shotgun shell - shattering every last ounce of self restraint on its way.
My shoulder blade cracked slightly from the strenuous task of stretching up high enough to reach my goal and it sounded awfully loud in my own ears.
I felt the low, rumbling chuckle a split second before my brain processed the information that something, someone came up right behind me, so close I could feel the heat the body which was almost touching mine emanated. It took me a whole five seconds to look back over my shoulder and there I caught the gaze of the one person I had prayed it wouldn’t be. Prayed for my own fragile sanity. Those eyes were haunting me since he stepped through the gate of this freaking Datscha-on-steroids three nights ago.
Jet-black pupils slightly blown in the darkness of the night.
Around that, steely, freezing cool grey. Like a summer storm, without a drop of rain - all thunder and lightning.
Unreadable.
Unyielding.
Dangerous.
His face was that of an ancient warrior, all strong, masculine bone structure. A muscle twitched at the edge of his prominent, chiseled jaw, almost hidden under his neatly trimmed dark beard, at the exact moment my eyes fell on it. Unable to tear away my gaze I let it wander further over his face, while he was just watching me perfectly still the whole endless moment. I shifted my studies to his mouth, his firm and narrow but surprisingly sensual lips and he raised the right corner of his mouth in a lazy halfway smirk. But he still waited patiently, letting me explore. Feeling the sudden need to get a better view I turned around to face him and took a small step to the side. Now I was able to lean back, my hips resting against the counter next to the offensive fridge. He looked like the baroque painting of an orthodox saint - heroic, archaic and painfully beautiful.
A shock of long, dark brown curly hair was tied together at the nape of his rather broad and muscular neck, a few strands escaping their bond at his temples and framing his face. I remember all of this so well because I had admired his features for the last three days, everything about him was tantalising me, coaxing me to give in, to reach out and touch.
Sometime during the rather hot afternoon he had shrugged off his unusually thick and bulky cut - a closer inspection in a secretive moment has revealed that it was modded with a Kevlar-vest. The observation left a dull tingle at the base of my skull.
Now, standing right before me he was wearing a fitted plain and simple black shirt, sleeves rolled up and revealing his toned, muscular forearms. I followed the massive muscle strands from his elbow to his wrist and in my mind I compared them to my own, delicate ones. His were twice in width and I couldn’t help it but to immediately imagine his hands, holding my wrists in place. The image flashed through my mind and it made me shudder involuntarily.
His hands were exactly what you would expect from a man his size and build - broad, rough and obviously no strangers to violence. Some of his knuckles were scarred and at least two of his fingers had been broken and poorly splinted. But beside the long healed damage, his hands were perfectly clean and his nails neat and short.
Lazily I trailed my eyes back up his arm, over his biceps and broad shoulders, stopping at the spot at his throat where his steady pulse was only barely visible underneath his neatly trimmed beard. I felt the sudden urge to drag my teeth over the edge of his jaw and down his throat, to taste the thin sheen of sweat on his skin, caused by the humid night air surrounding us through the high open windows. A whisper of dark ink wound up one side of his neck, emerging from his shirt collar, speaking tomes of what else would be hidden under the smooth black fabric.
God help me, I needed to get out of his intoxicating proximity or I would most likely loose my mind. Maybe even more.
And there he was, still silently watching me, unmoving and solid as a rock.
Alluringly safe.
I shook myself out of my stupor and cleared my throat, begging wordlessly that my voice wouldn't betray me.
"If you like, you actually could make yourself useful and get me tha…”
Anything else was drowned out by his lips, crashing down on mine, hard, bordering on brutal. Like he had wanted to do this for way to long and now finally completely lost it.
He tasted like vodka, the expensive one they’ve been drinking all night and something sweet and tangy, something I couldn't place right away and that immediately spiked my curiosity. I wanted to keep that in mind for later - and then he licked along my lower lip and my mind momentarily went blank. All I could do not to crumble to the fucking floor was to grip his forearm with my left and his side with my right. The delicious feeling of his hot skin and solid muscle under my fingertips crawled right into my blood and bones and left an electrical tingle down my spine. Holy fuck, I was in trouble.
In. So. Much. Trouble.
His kiss, though hard and dominating, was also intoxicating sensual, like a promise of all the unspeakable things his mouth and body could do to me. Before I could hold back I moaned into his mouth and he practically drank the noise right from my lips, answering it with a dragged out, almost threatening growl.
Only seconds later, he slowly broke the kiss, leaving me with an desperate sound at the back of my throat,
He broke the kiss but didn’t pull back at all, his lips still hovering over mine so close, my shuddering breath mingled with his devastatingly steady one. One heartbeat, two, and just when I was about to pull back I realised all of the sudden what he was doing.
He had placed his bet. He was damn confidant about his hand and now he was waiting for me. He left the last choice to me to decide if I wanted this. His eyes never left mine, still not having said a single word since entering this damn kitchen after me. He waited with an almost inhumanly patience for what I would do.
If I would fold. Or call his bet.
Insane as I was, I naturally raised.
Pushing myself of the counter and against his tall form I took his lips in a fierce kiss, almost as hard as his before. Without a second thought I bit down on his lower lip, not gentle in the least. This would probably leave a swollen lip in the morning. And it surely brought immediate retaliation - he growled again, this time a dangerous octave lower. One second his body was hard and unwavering against mine, a moment later I was hoisted up by large, powerful hands onto the counter behind me so effortless as if I was nothing but a rag doll. His arms caged me effectively against the countertop, his hands propped up on each side of my hips against the hard wood while his tongue demanded entrance against my lips. My body and mind practically keened at his dominance, the voices in the far back of my delirious mind whispering of all the unspoken promises.
He was by far not close enough for my liking, with his hips settled against my inner thighs but not at all pressing against me like I wanted them to. My traitorous body decided to have nothing of it and on their own accord, my bare heels pushed against the back of his black cladded thighs and unsurprisingly he didn’t need another invitation to mold into my body, coaxing another low, guttural moan from my lips. The sudden, greedy wave of need that washed over me was so unexpected, it made my whole body shudder against his and he had the gall to smirk against my mouth. But two could play that game and the next moment, just when he pushed his tongue against mine, I wound my legs around his broad torso, grinding my core over the whole length of his hardly subtle erection underneath the black canvas of his military cargos. And boy, right then I should have been the one with the cocky grin - hadn’t I been so occupied to stifle his very audible string of Russian curses and my own shaky moan with another openmouthed, desperate kiss.
A loud and boisterous stream of Russian brought us back into reality and he reluctantly broke the kiss a second time. Now it was his turn to groan in frustration. Loud, booming steps were closing in on us, while we were still practically grinding into each other against the counter. I wasn't willing to loose the friction that made my head spinn from the urgent need to feel more of him, a hell lot more. Repeatably. And so I just clung to him, refusing to be embarrassed by my own lack of willpower, and dragged my nails up along the taut muscle on both sides of his spine, only covered by the thin fabric of his shirt. His breath was now just as ragged as mine and the look on his face spoke volumes about what he wanted to do to me and probably would do to whoever the poor drunk soul was that was going to interrupt us in a few seconds.
I made a mental note about not messing with the man in any case - ever.
Every fiber of his body was tense when he eventually - at the very last second though - let go of my body and I slipped off the counter, legs practically goo. Fortunately he had the momentum to steady me with a strong and deftly hand under my buttocks that caused a sharp draw of breath.
Cheeky bastard!
The scowl on my face only made his smirk more prominent and more arrogant and honestly, I almost couldn't bare how sexy he looked. Like a walking sin.
His features darkened a split second later when one of his seconds tumbled into the large, open kitchen, a obviously empty bottle dangling from his hands. The poor guy stopped so abruptly he practically smashed into the kitchen island in the middle of the room. Desperately trying to reorganise his limbs he started a litany of Russian, most likely an very colourful apology for disturbing his superior by whatever he was doing.
The orthodox saint obviously had a tight grip on his men's necks.
While the younger man tried to get at least a little of his dignity back I grabbed the next best thing I saw (my almost forgotten glass of vodka on the counter next to us) and strut around my tall, male enigma who currently had his back to me. I flashed both of the man my most brilliant smile, ignored the fact that my lips were swollen from his force, my hair was a mess where he had threaded his large hands into it and that my step still wasn't as steadfast as I wished it would be - and walked out through the tall glass doors into the large garden area, but not without a last, purposefully look over my shoulder. For a second he looked completely flabbergasted, but regained his composure almost at once. The last thing I heard was his deep, gravel like voice, speaking in a dangerously calm tone to his man.