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Samandriel’s not quite sure how he ended up like this, sprawled across a motel bed, his cap and shirt thrown somewhere across the room and this girl straddling him, her warm lips pressed to his, her hands tracing circles on his chest. But he’s not about to complain, not when she’s pressing him into the mattress, chapped lips touching his smooth ones, asking for… no, ordering him to let her slip her tongue into his mouth. He smiles into the kiss. It’s just like her, to demand. Not that he minds much.
He obeys and is immediately rewarded, but she’s more hesitant than he thought she’d be. He’s no expert on human sexuality, but from what he’s seen he thinks she should be exploring his mouth, making him moan into hers, something, anything other than this. Instead, he feels like they’re two children, exploring the possibility of kissing each other. Or at least they would be if their clothes weren’t in the process coming off. Oh.
He waits for the situation to change, for her to take the control she so desperately wants. But she never does. Instead, he is forced to push her away, look at her with what she’s referred to in the past as his ‘puppy-dog eyes’ and desperately hope she’ll explain. She sighs, pushes some loose strands of hair out of her face, and smiles. His heart leaps. It’s exact the kind of smile that he loves on her, even though he rarely sees it. It’s only when the hunts are over and the fallout dealt with that she can show it.
But she doesn’t say anything. He calls her name, voice barely a whisper, hoping she’ll hear him. She doesn’t. Instead, her gaze moves down his body, her rough hands following. He shivers, trying to ignore some of the other responses his body is giving. They feel too alien, all too human. He calls softly again and this time she looks up, pupils contracting once more, smile vanishing, eyes flashing with guilt. He can only guess he’s all wide eyes, frantic breathing and not much more.
She speaks next, voice breaking the crackling silence of the damp room. “Shit, Samandriel, I… I didn’t…” He ignores the quite frankly unnecessary profanity, coughs, tries to sit up and fails, falling back onto the worn mattress with a thump. “I’m fine. I’m not as fragile as you think I am.”
Her smile returns and she looks set to continue her ministrations, until the moment when she pulls away completely, turning her attention to the set of draws beside the desk. Samandriel tries to sit up, but she refuses to let him, pushing him down with a spare hand. He could fight her off, quite easily actually- he’s not one of Heaven’s warriors for nothing-, but most of him, the part he actually listens to anyway, is telling him to go along with the ride. He mouths a silent apology to Alfie, then turns his attention back to the stream of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit shit shit’s his hunter is making as she frantically searches for something. What, he knows not, but he trusts her judgement. He hasn’t had any knowledge of human copulation for over five thousand years now, so he’ll take new information however he can get it.
She gives a vaguely celebratory grunt, then pulls her hand out, with it a foil packet and small bottle. And all that confidence Samandriel had vanishes because, quite frankly, he has no idea what’s going on. A state which does not alleviate even as her fingers pull at the buttons of her plaid shirt, slipping slightly as she tries to manoeuvre one-handedly. Another growl of annoyance and then he hears both offending articles hit the mattress beside him, barely registering it before he feels two hands on his shoulders, pulling him up from his back, before they slid down his arms, gripping his wrists tightly and moving them to her shoulders.
He looks at her, puzzled, only to see a loaded look that, quite frankly, he does not know the meaning of. She huffs, half annoyance and half bemusement at his naivety. “Jesus Christ Samandriel.”
He ignores the gross misuse of his half-brother’s name and she continues. “You’re supposed to be pulling my clothes off, kissing me, anything, so long as it’s something.”
Samandriel flushes, then diverts his gaze, until a pair of lips meet his once more and his eyes instinctively close. Where that instinct came from, he could not tell you.
She doesn’t ask for permission this time, just thrusts her tongue into him, leaving him moaning around her, exploring every last part of his mouth. And he finally realises what she was asking for. Hesitantly, he moves his hands back to her shoulders, slips the tips of his fingers under the worn fabric and pulls back. After a brief wrestle with the arms of the garment, which he is immensely proud of being able to continue kissing through, it slips off. He pulls away from her mouth, ignoring the brief whine she gives out at that, and takes a while to admire his work.
After thirty seconds or so of letting him look her over, she laughs, pushes the shirt off the bed. Soon enough, the shirt is joined by her bra and jeans and her fingertips are just buried under the waistband of his pants. She’s revelling in the soft whimpers and broken moans he makes as her cold hands touch his sensitive skin, grinning like anything. By the time they’re both naked, him sighing and whimpering and her growling and swearing, Samandriel couldn’t care less how it happens, he wants her. Or, more accurately, he wants her to want him. And he honestly doesn’t think it could be more perfect than this until she reaches for the until-then forgotten bottle of what he assumes is oil. She sits back on her haunches, opens the screw top and a familiar scent fills the air.
Oh.
He’s too distracted by the smell to notice what she does next, to start with. It’s only after he drags his mind from the fact that she must have planned that detail that he realises that she’s pumping slick fingers insider her, mewling and growling and looking directly at him, in a way that he can’t look away from. He lets out a breathless gasp and, realising that he might be nearing the end of his tether, she pulls out. He half-thinks about protesting, but curiosity wins that battle as she tears open the foil packet, then rolls the contents down his length. He really, really doesn’t remember this, which probably means things have moved on a lot since he was last on Earth. At least he knows vaguely what’s happening as she positions herself directly over him, before asking him if he’s ready. All he can say is yes.
The next thing Samandriel can process is warmth, tight warmth, and that he has probably just had strawberries ruined for him forever. Or improved, depending on who you ask. It’s overwhelming and he has no choice but to buck his hips as his hunter rides him, slick and easy and obscene. He grasps as her hips, using the last functioning part of his mind to stop his grip being hard enough to cause bruises. But it’s hard, especially when the majority of what he considers to be his being just wants to throw the towel in and go along for the ride.
He can feel a knot tensing in his stomach and he knows he could quite easily let himself go if he wanted to. But he doesn’t, not with her. He looks up, meeting her eyes, mouth agar, gasping for breath. He’s not looking his best now, that he’s sure of, but somehow she looks even more beautiful now, scars fully visible, bags under her eyes and hair tousled, than he ever remembers seeing her before.
It takes a few more minutes before she slides down his length one more time, walls clenching around him as he follows, both of them moaning and growling and mewling and purring, sounding more like animals than anything resembling humanity. It’s only later that he can pick out actual words in what she’s saying and later still before he can string together sentences.
I love you.
He smiles, as best he knows how to smile, and replies.
I love you too.