Work Text:
You’ve never really thought about your talents, but – if you had one – seducing Aranea would be at the top of the list. If persuading talkative girls in short skirts that actually, yes, they do really want to have sex with you right now were an employable quality, it would go straight on your CV. In short, you’re sexy and you know it.
One of your favourite activities is making Aranea really, really turned on when there’s absolutely nothing she can do about it, like when you’re on a crowded train, or in the middle of a restaurant, or at a formal dinner. When she starts glaring daggers at you, you know you’ve won, and you’ll get your reward later. You love her most when she’s angry with you, and although you’d never tell her that, you think she can tell.
Today, after spending far too many hours shopping with her, you spend the train journey home whispering the filthiest things you can think of in her ear. Every so often, she shifts away, shooting you a look that could boil water, but you don’t let that stop you. From the way she’s suddenly flushed and shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, you think it’s working. You smirk, and wish the journey would go a little quicker. You think she probably wishes the same thing.
As soon as you’re in the door, Aranea is pushing you up against it, shopping bags discarded on the floor, and roughly kissing you. Her lips miss yours as often as they hit them, leaving little damp patches on your cheeks. You lift your hands to her waist, and hers whip down, grabbing your wrists and pushing them up above your head, making you moan softly.
“I didn’t say you could touch me,” she whispers, her breathing ragged, and you moan again.
“You’re not the boss of me,” you hiss back at her, tugging your wrists free and shoving her against the wall, holding her there for a moment before releasing her.
“Oh, really?” she says, tenderly running her fingers up the side of your face and then pulling you into another rough kiss.
“Mm-hm,” you say, kissing her back, your hands sliding down her back and cupping her ass.
“Prove it,” she gasps, as you dig your nails in.
“Maybe I will.”
“Maybe I want you to.”
You kiss her again, sloppily, tugging her towards the bedroom by her hips. It doesn’t take much to persuade her to move along with you, her hands sliding up under your shirt and fiddling with the clasp of your bra. Your own hands are pushing her skirt up and teasingly playing along her panties, making her gasp a little and swear a lot.
“Fuck you,” she pants, shoving you down against the bed, “Fuck you so hard.”
“I was hoping you would,” you reply, laughing breathlessly, and she scowls at you.
She pauses like that for a moment, straddling your stomach, your legs hanging off of the bed and your arms pinned by her hands.
“Well?” you ask impatiently, still breathing heavily, “What are you waiting for?”
It takes her a moment to say “Nothing.”
“Then get on with it,” you say, pushing ineffectually against her hands.
She pushes back, digging her nails in, and leans down to pepper kisses across your neck, pausing occasionally to bite down, making you hiss – more in pleasure than in pain, though you wouldn’t tell her that. Her hands release your arms and move down to your stomach, pushing your shirt up and bunching it under your armpits, pushing your already-unclasped bra up as well. You take advantage of your now-free arms to pull off your bra straps and hurl it across the room, before she can push you down again.
“Stay still,” she huffs, trapping your arms again.
“Make me,” you say, pouting childishly, although technically, she already is.
She doesn’t bother to reply, leaving a trail of bite-marks along your collarbones and then skipping over your bunched-up top to press gentle kisses against your breasts. Your breath hitches as she moves down your stomach, sucking and kissing your skin as she goes. Eventually, she has to let go of your arms, and her hands move quickly down to the waistband of your pants, deftly unbuttoning them and dragging them down to your knees, along with your panties. You try to sit up, pulling your left leg all the way out, and then she pushes you back down, shoving your legs apart and pressing little kisses against your thighs.
“A-ah,” you moan, automatically lifting your hips, “Go on, then.”
“Don’t be so impatient,” she admonishes, pushing your knees up towards your chest, her nails digging in.
You just moan again as she bites your thigh, and you think she might have drawn blood but you don’t really care. The biting turns to kissing again as she moves downwards, her tongue sliding along in ways that make you gasp. She soon has you moaning desperately, until finally you come, almost shouting her name as you do. You lie there panting for a moment, then try to sit up, but she pushes you flat against the bed again.
“Stay there,” she says, pressing your shoulders down against the mattress and sliding her knees up onto the bed either side of you.
You roll your eyes, but stay still as she slides slowly upwards, pressing little kisses against your neck and cheeks. Your hands glide up her thighs, pushing her skirt up, and you dig your nails into the skin just above her panties, making her gasp.
“You cool with me ripping these?” you ask, and she nods, her eyes closed.
You don’t need any more encouragement than that. Easily tearing the flimsy fabric, you pull them away and chuck them across the room, then slide one hand between her legs. She’s just as wet as you’d thought she’d be, and you smile smugly to yourself.
“Wait,” she says, her breathing ragged, pushing your hands away.
You think you know what she’s thinking, so you slip both hands between her legs and lift them up, pushing against her ass. Clumsily, she falls forwards onto your face.
“A-ah, yes,” she says, and your tongue is a little too busy for you to reply.
Your nails scrape down her back as she climaxes, and you think that mark isn’t going to fade for a while. As she rolls away and lies on her back, her breathing heavy, you lean down to pull up your pants, noticing a lot of marks which won’t fade quickly. Aranea grins, glancing at the line of bruises on your collarbones, as you pull down your top, and you stick your tongue out at her.
“Have fun marking your territory?” you ask, leaning over to give her a quick kiss.
“Definitely,” she says, smiling and stretching lazily, “What about you?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t say no to another round,” you say, grinning.
You give her another quick kiss, then get up. The shopping is still in the hallway and you’re fairly certain you’re going to have to put it away, although your definition of ‘put away’ is ‘dump in the bottom of the closet’, so Aranea will have to clear it up anyway at some point. It’s the little things that make you happy, really. That and the sex.