 |
|
Pairing: Maybe it’s Buffy/Dean, and the ‘others’ referred to here are their sibs and friends. That was my intention when I first saw the Route 66: Destination Sunnydale banner and developed this story. Or, maybe it’s Buffy/Sam having an illicit affair, and the ‘others’ are Dean and Dawn. Heck, it could be anyone. It’s really up to you. Inspiration for this fic comes from: the site banner, as I mentioned. Also, Voxtrot’s “The Start of Something” / Uncle’s “Fugitive Motel” / “The Fools We Are As Men” sung by Ryan Adams / Five For Fighting’s “If God Made You” & Bright Eyes’ “The First Day of My Life” <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>> The Delirium and the Delight She pulled him across the street, past the rusted, creaking iron gates, between the hulking columns of the old mansion. She grasped his hands, his arms, his clothing at intervals, pulling him faster. Faster. The interior of the graying manse sped by as she increased their speed. Pounding footsteps echoed against narrow halls, tapped up and down silvery marble steps, until she stopped abruptly at the entrance to a walled garden. Looking up, panting, he realized that they were in a courtyard at the center of the house. Surrounded by thick, over-grown blossoms, decaying statuary, and benches set in a circle, a huge, black granite fountain dominated the center of the open-air space. “What’s this?” he asked, with a wicked grin. “Eden,” she whispered. She kicked off her sandals and stepped into the black soil. A small sigh pushed past her lips, mesmerizing him. While he looked on, she reveled in the cool earth slipping between her toes. She reached overhead and slipped her fingers into the vines of night-blooming jasmine. Weaving some into her hair she returned to him. “We don’t have time for this,” he reminded her sternly. Jerking her against his long, lean body, he took her mouth in a searing kiss. Her tongue flirted with his, retreated, licked playfully at his bottom lip, and slipped past to roll across the roof of his mouth. “No one is here now but us,” she said. “Time is our slave tonight.” Leaning back, she took one of his hands in hers. “Don’t throw that away.” Entwining their fingers, she pressed a kiss to the knuckle of his index finger and drew the tip to her lips, licking and nipping at it. “Let your eyes be your hands,” she murmured, urging him to sit down onto a stone bench. Facing the deep fountain filled with steaming water, she slowly drew her silk dress up over the backs of her legs. Up her back it slithered, past her shoulders, and over her head. He wanted so badly to touch her, to run his hands up the moon-kissed ridges of her spine and back. He fought for air as she tugged at her boy shorts and dropped them to the ground, revealing her skin underneath. Flower-shaped shadows and light played over her gently sloping hips and across the rounded orbs below. Her sweet spot, just a little lower and always so wet for him, beckoned as she stepped into the ancient bath. He shivered. She bent down, picked up a large bowl, and turned to the side. Meeting his eyes for a moment, she poured water over her breasts, shoulders, and neck. Steam rose higher. The hot liquid ran down her stomach and through the soft downy curls between her legs. She laughed at him and turned in a circle. Again and again, the scorching water, kicked up by her twirling calves, splashed on and between her thighs. Despite the evening’s cloying heat, a second shiver went through him. He imagined capturing the clinging water droplets with his tongue. Kept at bay by her compulsion alone, his eyes glazed over and the air around him thickened. He imagined himself in the water with her, touching and tasting her. He wanted to force her beneath him, to make her one with his will. He wanted her to overpower and command him, to take him, mold him into something she greedily kept solely for herself. Until death. He would never have to be without her again if only she would say ‘yes’. Distracted momentarily by his reverie, in a movement almost too fast for him to follow, she gathered her clothes and slipped from the fountain into the house. “Come to me!” she called from one of the overhead windows. He rushed in, following the damp outline of her feet on the floor. But, the fleeing footsteps dried before he found her. He searched in every room on the second and third floors. Surely she wouldn’t have gone to the fourth, he thought. It was much too dangerous. Parts of that floor, and the roof over it were caving in, and the last time he was there, birds were nesting in some of the east wing bedrooms. He leaned against a cold sandstone pillar at the base of the stairs and shouted her name, but there was no reply. Suddenly, he gasped as her hot little hand reached around from behind the pillar and clawed at his stomach. Slipping her hand under his clothes she pulled him back into the shadows, against her. Pressing her bare breasts into his back, damp strands of her hair brushed his ear. Her hand moved smoothly past his erection and began massaging his scrotum. His body clenched harder, straining against her arm. She bit the base of his neck. “You’re overdressed for this party,” she uttered softly, turning and withdrawing her hand from him. He watched her, mystified, as she walked up the stairs. No backward glance. She knew he would follow. He knew it as well. But his pride held him back for a few seconds. Just a little longer. A little longer to make her wait. He’d be damned if he’d run after her like some strung-out love junkie. Even if that was the naked truth of what he was. Frenzied desire beat at him, quickly overtaking and devouring his pride. As he ascended the stairs, he moaned and muttered a curse. A thin slice of moonlight from a hole in the wall glanced off of her ankle, as it disappeared around the corner leading to the fourth floor. He stopped and called out to her again. No answer. Rationally, he knew she could hear him. But then, she knew as well as he did that her silence was the most seductive call imaginable. Did she hear him or not? He’d never know for sure unless he went to her. So he did. He always did. He loved her. He needed her. She wasn’t a woman. She was a siren. His. Beckoning to him every moment—waking and dreaming—whether they were together or apart, she called him to heights he never knew he wanted to climb, and dragged him down to depths he knew existed and feared, but never would have dared to pursue without her. Traveling up the final steps, he smelled before he saw the white sandalwood candles and red rose petals strewn along both sides of the hallway. He followed their trail to the last door, twisted the knob, and drew the door toward him. He exhaled quickly as heat rolled over him in waves. The white bed was encircled by vibrant blue candles on three sides. Above the bed, the ceiling had fallen away, revealing the night sky. Two birds, nesting atop the remains of an old armoire took to the air as he entered the room. He gasped at the sight of her. She was standing in front of an open guillotine window along the far wall, wrapped in a white linen sheet. The wind picked up, blowing a pale, glossy curl across her cheek. She lifted her eyes from the thick tree canopy below to meet the intensity of his gaze. “I want you to need me. I always have,” she began, as she walked slowly toward him. “Need me as much as I need you. Need me enough to tell the others, to no longer be afraid.” “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he replied, not wanting to trust, unconsciously slowing his footsteps, as if preparing to escape. “Everything would change.” “I do know,” she replied absently, reaching to trace a finger across his lower lip, “but I also know that us together—for real—will be richer than any fantasy we’ve ever created.” Slipping her hand into his hair, she pulled his lips to hers and whispered across them, “Reach for me. I’ll catch you…” A muffled, agonized groan passed through him as she took possession of his mouth. Here with her, he was complete. In the circle of her arms the dangerous, harsh, lonely road outside could not touch him. For the moment at least, all was right with the world. He dragged her against him with a feral possessiveness that shocked them both. She returned his embrace, letting the sheet fall. In his skin she tasted his anguish, sensed once again his haunting loneliness. Was he luring her into more of this half-life—days, weeks at a time spent apart, waiting until she could see him again? Or would she be able to heal him tonight, to heal herself? Wary of disturbing the kiss, he bent down and lifted her, cradled her in his arms, and carried her to the bed. He meant to lay her down. He wanted to stand over her, to stroke her, run his hand along her curves, to bask momentarily in her beauty. But she would not release him. Pulling him with her, she twisted and swiftly rolled on top of him. Smiling at him deviously, she quickly discarded all but his boxers. She kissed his shoulder, and laid her head against it. He whispered a kiss across her forehead. She lifted her hips, slipped her hot little hand between them and began to stroke him. His legs slid against hers restlessly. She ached in her bones to have him inside her. A convulsed wave ran along his tense form. She crawled backwards down the bed, holding his gaze prisoner. Her face inches from the most sensitive place on his body, she licked her lips. He knew her so well, knew she reveled in the sensation, the power of being this close to the source of so much pleasure for both of them. The hairs on his thighs tickled her bare breasts. She wedged her knees between his slightly parted legs and ran her hand over his chest and stomach, avoiding his erection, past his hip, and down to cup his sac. Sliding her hands down the inside of his legs, she forced his knees apart and began nuzzling him over his cotton boxers. She pressed kisses against his tip and sucked it through the cloth, using her tongue to trace the narrow slit. Looking up at him, she demanded, “Let me.” “No,” he panted, as he grabbed the arm that supported her, toppling her over. “It’s too soon.” “Let me,” she begged, lying on her side, her head on his thigh. He shook his head and said nothing, until she began nipping lightly along his length. “No,” he croaked. “It’s been too long. I won’t last.” “I’m here with you,” she reassured him. “Say the word and we’ll leave tonight. Together.” “I don’t want to lose control with you,” he said, as she peeled off the last remaining piece of his armor. “I don’t want to lose-” Raw determination flashed in her eyes. It was his only warning. Suddenly, she latched on to the base of his penis, in the circle of her thumb and forefinger, squeezed hard, and plunged him into her mouth. His hips surged forward, pressing him into her throat. He wanted to touch her but couldn’t reach, couldn’t risk losing this connection. He didn’t think he could ever get deep enough. Vulnerable as he was, all he could do was watch, enslaved by her wicked, glorious mouth and tongue, as she used the muscles in the back of her throat to suck him down further. Slipping her hands under his hips, she squeezed his butt as she worked him between her lush, generous lips. Gently, she ran her bottom teeth over the end, then down his shaft. His head began to toss. His body twitched and he began to spasm. His vision went white. Greedily, she drank from him as his tribute to her devotion issued forth. Knowing very well that he would remain hard for the next several minutes, she drew him up into a seated position and thrust her body down on him. The wind overhead howled. Lightning lit the room. He leaned back against the headboard and marveled at her sensuality as she rode him. Her hands lifted her hair, slid over her face, down her neck, massaged her breasts, and then settled in the place where he was joined with her. Thunder cracked as she pleasured herself with two fingers. Around and around, over and over she worked her distended little nub. God, she was gorgeous. Perfect. Her knees knocked against him as she bucked wildly. She squeezed her interior muscles along with her hips to propel herself up and down. His scrotum tingled. He felt the sting of another orgasm working over his nerve endings, teasing him just below the surface of his consciousness. He plunged up into her as the thunderheads above them opened and poured rain into the room, showering the bed. Blindly, he shoved her, rolling them both to the opposite end of the bed. Like a man possessed, he pounded in and out of her. Every muscle in her body contracted at once and held on. It was coming. Almost. Almost. Yes. Oh bloody good God, yes. Yes. Her muscles began to contract and release in a blissful allegro all around him, and she felt him react, explode. Yes. Yes. Waves of Technicolor, mind-numbing joy spread from the place they were connected and filled her entire body. Her back bowed with the last after shock and she cried out her pleasure in defiance of the deafening storm raging against the house. Filled to the brim with him and sated, she collapsed. He held her beneath him for a long time. She loved that, the weight of him from her feet to her chest and the prickly sandpaper of his face in the crook of her neck. Finally sighing, she pushed against his chest, rolling herself on top once more. She inhaled quickly as the cooling, sprinkling rain struck, running in abstract patterns down her back. Exhausted, she breathed him in by the lungful. She loved his scent. He was spicy intoxication, a woodsy-clove narcotic. With a whining groan, a small section of roof next to the door gave under the weight of the rain, and crashed to the floor. “We can’t stay here, we’ll drown… or worse,” he said, sipping the raindrops from her neck. Lifting herself up on her elbows, sliding her hands beneath his head, she raised him the last inch to almost meet her mouth, almost, and she teased, “I’d gladly give my life protecting your pretty face.” She nudged his nose with hers and he opened for her. “Very funny,” he said moments later, maneuvering off the bed. Picking her up, he slung her over his shoulder. Her forehead slapped his lower back. She squirmed but it was posturing and he knew it. “So where to now?” she laughed as he tickled her hip. “My place, I think. Yours is definitely a little too memory-filled right now.” “Ouch, thanks for that reminder,” she said, smacking his butt. Bending forward, he set her down in the hall, then went back to retrieve his twisted, drenched clothing. Gingerly, he pulled his shirt on, noticing she was nearly dressed already. She shook his head ruefully. “I thought this was a guilt-free zone. We weren’t going to discuss them. You promis-” “And we won’t. Not a word,” he insisted, pushing her against the wall, wrapping himself around her. “…at least not until sunrise.” |
