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Pomegranates: A Story in Three Parts (part 3)


He kisses my cheek, warm lips pressing softly, before skin leaves skin and he blows with heated breath on my earlobe. Something snaps the wire-tightness of my control as I wheel from mixed lethargy and despair to sudden exaltation, dizzied by the drop and ascent.

"Don't play," I mumble, and my hands fist around his olive shirt collar. My knuckles tremble, minutely, before gripping the fabric with greater resolution.

Heero stares at me like some fey creature, eyes languorous and pose indolent, watching my every move with ill-concealed amusement. The towel chafes the skin around my hips and swings below my knees. His hands settle on my sides, feathering in brief caresses. One finger slides between the towel and my skin.

"I said, no games," I say, more distinctly than before. My eyes trace the curve of his neck. The top button of his shirt is already undone.

Appetite piquing, I kiss him with ravenous force, and my hands jerk. The buttons pop and fall, and the shirt parts. I stop kissing him long enough to nip at the nape of his neck and growl, "I've been going out of my mind."

The air is humid around us, and my skin is slick from either bathwater or emerging sweat.

The shirt drops, pooling on the floor. One of my hands fumbles with the buckles of his belt while the other traces across his collarbones and then down to one hard nipple. Heero lets out a breath that sounds enticingly close to a moan, but doesn't quite cross the pleasure-pain threshold.

"I missed you too," he says solemnly, and his lips pull up into a quick, wolfish grin before dissolving into another kiss.

The belt falls to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Heero breaks from the kiss and whispers in harsh tones, "Present... bed stand."

My mind whirls with the choices and options before I manage to haul the two of us over to the bed and, with one insistent hand coupled with the rumbling in my throat, push Heero down onto the mattress. I glance at the bed stand and pause, enthralled. In a little crystal bowl, its side tapering and swelling like a lotus flower, are pomegranate seeds. I can see little obscure glints of scarlet. Next to it is what looks like a small, wet towel.

I turn to Heero, who lounges on his elbows and lifts an eyebrow.

"Very... apropos," I say, before giving him what I hope is a charming smile. He opens his mouth to speak again, but is interrupted as I pounce, swiftly, my wet braid smacking against my back. All that leaves his lips is a sharp, "Hn," and he subsides as I settle over his hips.

I grab a handful of pomegranate seeds, disregarding the juice that seeps through my fingers as they burst in my grip. I dump the crimson lump on the sheets, thinking vaguely of dry cleaner's bills, and run my fingers over Heero's lips. I lower my face to his and see the juice gleam wetly. My tongue darts out, delicately, tasting his mouth as well as the fruit. I arch my back slightly, allowing my hand to slide over his chest and settle on one nipple again, rolling it between my forefinger and thumb.

His lips part in a moan, and my tongue glides into the recesses of his mouth, meeting his and then sliding out to sink into a deep kiss. I switch hands, and the other twists and pinches his other nipple. Heero whimpers, needy, and I oblige him by locking our hips together briefly so we can feel each other through the layers of cotton. I lift myself up, somewhat reluctantly, and I dip my fingers into the pile of pomegranate seeds and quickly, bring them over his chest, tracing circles around his nipples that gradually contract until the pads of my fingers pass over the little nubs of flesh, coloring them burgundy. He hisses between his teeth, muscles tensing, before his body gradually relaxes at my ministrations.

I'm almost tempted to get up and turn on the lights so I can see the colors play before my eyes.

Instead, I satisfy myself with the dullness of faint tints in the darkness, and my mouth descends, hungry and moist, upon his skin.

When I'm done with my impromptu meal, I rise to my knees, still hovering over his prostrate body.

"The pants come off," I say. My fingers unbutton and unzip him, drawing the cloth down. I pivot, back facing his eyes, and tug them off. They join the shirt and belt on the floor. I turn back around and stare again, eyes famished and eager, taking in the masculine lines of his body.

There's some allure to a state of pre-nudeness I can't describe. It's the moment after you tear off the ribbon and the wrapping paper only to face the final layer of crisp tissue paper on a present. His body is all straight lines-- except for the curving bulge of his boxers and the faint circles of his closed eyes-- laid before me like an offering.

I lean down, and both eyes open and blink.

"Well?" Heero looks at me evenly. "We're even, now."

He knows I'm hard beneath the towel, which continues to chafe and scrape across my tender skin. His fingers dart up, pulling one fold of fabric out from the crease at my waist. The towel falls from my burning skin.

"Oops." Heero looks unutterably unapologetic, and he smiles lazily. I sink onto his hips again and his fingers skim over my erection. Plucking the towel from the bed, I toss it elsewhere.

"Give me the bowl," he commands.

I don't know when I lost control. I hand him the bowl and something flutters deliciously in my stomach. Heero's still sprawled on the bed, head resting on a pillow. He sets the bowl by him, after seizing a handful. His hand closes into a fist and he squeezes, crushing the fruit. Little rivulets of red run down his wrist.

He lifts himself up, slowly, so I'm sitting in his lap; I'm so close that my hardness rubs against his through his thin boxers. I have to clench my teeth and restrain myself from surging towards him. Heero smiles, suddenly, and I'm on guard.

But not quick enough that I don't fall back when he pushes forward. I stare at the ceiling, dazed, my feet at my hips and my arms at my sides. Heero shifts, moving backwards a little and I almost whine in my frustration. He nudges my legs apart with his knees, his hand closing over my erection, and my body jerks like a marionette on strings. Pomegranate juice slides over my sensitive skin, sticky and cold. His mouth twitches into another smug smile.

"Want me to stop?" He accentuates his question by sliding his fist down to the base of my erection, then slowly back up to the tip. "We wouldn't want to ruin the sheets."

"T-too late," I stutter. I can see his sex push against his boxers as he leans forward. I flex my fingers and prepare myself to stage a coup d'etat, to regain--

A low moan escapes my lips as Heero lowers his head over my throbbing erection and blows softly. His tongue flicks over its length, and my hips twitch and surge. I disappear into his slick mouth. My body bucks and trembles as I disappear into his slick mouth; his teeth slowly and deliberately scrape over the head and corona before his lips mask them and he bobs up and down. One hand keeps a firm grip at the base and the other toys with my testicles.

I can already feel my muscles tightening as the brush of his tongue becomes harsher and his cheeks sink in. One of his fingers wanders to my puckered ring of muscle, and I contract reflexively before relaxing slightly. The prodding digit goes in past one knuckle, then two. Heero swirls his tongue around me one last time before lifting his head and giving me another feral smile. My hips jump, and my body is covered in the sheen of sweat.

"Heero," I begin, half-sobbing and gasping for air. "Please, God--"

His other hand slides up, to circle just below the head, sticky with juice, yet fluid with sweat, and the finger inside me twists abruptly; it brushes that spot deep within me, and I quiver, teetering on the brink of nirvana..

His hand squeezes sharply and swiftly, cutting off my impending orgasm, and my arched body falls back onto the sheets.

"Sadist," I manage to spit out as both hand and finger leave my body. Heero turns to reach into the bed stand drawer, and he rummages for a moment as I plot revenge. As I'm grasping for a clutch on sanity and reason (and murderous vengeance), the finger reappears, and I'm quickly dressed with a generous amount of cold lubricant. I raise my head slightly watching as Heero reaches through the slit in his boxers and brings out his own erection. He coats himself with a little lube, fist pumping up and down, and catches my eye.

With an uncharacteristic grin, he moves his hand slower, shamelessly displaying himself to me. I groan and my hands finally move towards my own need. His other hand catches my two wrists, and he inches closer, still touching himself. He lifts my hands up and makes a small, clucking sound. His legs entrap mine.

I mentally check the string of curses that spill from my mind and instead ask, "Why do *you* get to remain clothed?"

Heero replies, unperturbed, "It wouldn't work if you were wearing boxers." His hand loosens from my wrists. "You get one," he continues. "Just one."

I stare at him. "One what?"

"One orgasm," he replies. "You can choose how you'd like to have it." He waves one hand. "Self-induced or... well..." Here, he smirks. "But your choice."

"Jesus, Heero! What'd J send you off on? A camp for cruel and unusual sexual torture? You know there are *laws* against--"

He kisses me, and I can taste pomegranates on his lips and smell them on his breath. At the same time, his erection brushes against mine, unconstrained by clothing for the first time this night, and I'm lost. I sigh in his kiss, my hands jerking up to lace themselves in his hair as he draws away, eyes heavy-lidded and self-satisfied.

"So TAKE me already," I snap, spiraling into the eyes of my Persephone.

"I love you too," he murmurs, teasingly.

He reaches for a spare pillow and, instructing me to lift my hips after releasing my legs, places it under me. I settle down, and Heero inches forward, finally planting one hand on either side of my arms. Finally, with a soft grunt, he nudges the tip of his oiled hardness inside of me. His arms shake a little as his eyes close, face sublimely serene.

And in one sinuous motion, his body moves up, impaling me, skewering me in a single thrust. Heero's mouth opens a little, tongue wetting his lips, and he begins to slowly move inside of me. I whimper and wind my legs around him, lifting my hips from the pillow to meet every downward plunge and crashing down again as he lifts from me.

I catch a low mumble, between his panting breaths. "Oh, God," like a rich prayer. His hips roll and I writhe, helpless in the overwhelming torrent of sensations that touch every nerve on my skin and run to my brain like surges of lightning.

Some wiring in my mind connects with a spark. "Harder," I demand. My skin is so hot, it feels like it's going to either burst or burn.

One of his hands snakes up from the bed to grip the heat of my hardness as he lifts, almost withdrawing from me. His fist strokes me, alternating between feathering up softly and sliding down harshly. Heero moans, "Say it again."

And this will be the final and ultimate admission of dominance, merely to enforce who is in control.

His thumb slicks over the head, spreading the collecting pre-cum; he is still poised above me, taut and sculpted.

Purgatory hovers before my eyes for a moment before it blinks out. "Harder."

His hand moves up and down, up and down before pausing, motionless. "Louder."

"*Harder*," I groan. "Now, please, Heero... harder."

His hands begin to work again, and his hips fall to collide with mine. Each following thrust and push is bruising, driving my hips into the pillow and the pillow into the sheets. The rhythm is quick, quicker, until Heero moves in a frenzy of seamless motion-- up, down, in, out-- and all I can hear is the catch of his breath in his throat. His palm glides over me. I can feel my muscles contracting, and I begin to curve and coil, collapsing inwards. My jolting hips freeze and hover; my body trembles and jerks upwards, and I spill myself over Heero's hand and my stomach with a long, loud moan.

Heero's eyes glitter, and I can feel his body begin to shudder and vibrate. He thrusts, vicious and fierce and desperate, and pours into me. His perfect, flawless face breaks into an expression of grim pleasure and gratification.

He collapses onto me and for a moment, all we do is breathe. Then he shifts, withdrawing from me, and curls beside me. I roll over onto my side, and we face each other.

"That was good," Heero finally offers.

"That was..." I search for the right word. "Orgasmic."

"Earth-shatteringly so," he agrees. Heero yawns, eyes blinking sleepily. "There's a towel on the bed stand," he says. "If you want to clean up."

I grab the towel, which is still wet, and wipe it across my abs and along my thighs, where pomegranate juice still sticks. I throw it over to him and he smirks.

"We're messy," he states, eyeing the large stain under the pile of crushed seeds on the formerly immaculate sheets.

"It'll come out," I purr, settling against him again. Wrapping ourselves in the folds of darkness, we fall asleep, giving ourselves to the revelations of night.

I dream about Heero and me sitting in twin obsidian thrones, smiling at each other over a split pomegranate. His lips are smeared with its eternal crimson contract.

I mouth, Promise me...

His dream-phantom nods and answers in a mute movement of his lips.



The End

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