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sparkindarknessDarren rides to the rescue... be warned, sex hides behind the cut tag.
And I'm goping to carry that image of Darren on the table in my head forever more. *Happy purr*
When I arrive Rick is fiddling with his own weight in bandages by the look of it. A brief chill of worry shoots through me before I see how little blood there is. Either he’s a hypochondriac, or his first aid kit is that badly organised. How anyone can cut themselves on a can opener I’ll never know... the evil thing’s buzzing away on the counter, opening a can of cat food. Ahrimadan and Ghost seem to be opening a book on whether Rick will catch gangrene or tetanus from his wound.
He looks great when angry too... his eyes flash, and his face flushes, deepening his tan to a reddish copper colour. I sneak up behind him, he can’t hear me over the raised mocking voices of our companions, and wrap my arms around his chest, pulling myself on tip-toe to lick up the back of his neck. The effect is electric. He stiffens, my grip on him pulling me off my feet, forcing me to lay against him to hold my balance. He then melts backwards into me, so I’m supporting part of his weight. He slouches down enough that I can lick up from his neck to his left ear. I run my tongue round the back of the lobe, then nibble so gently at the edge, before sweeping down with my tongue to the side of his neck. I bite him, lightly, gently, so I can taste my way up and down the warm curve of his throat. His knees give way, forcing him to catch the kitchen cabinet. His throat is such an intense erogenous zone for him.
I lock my lips to his neck, biting harder, leaving a perfect imprint of my teeth in that beautiful tanned flesh. My hands find the buttons on his shirt. I know a few are pulled free as I hastily unbutton the hideous thing, and run hands, fingers curved to claws down his chest. How can the skin be so soft, yet the muscle so firm, so hard? He starts to stand, but falls back as I haul the shirt of him. I loosen my hold on his neck, deep red marks stand out like fresh wounds. I crouch behind him and start to lick up his spine. Soft tentative movements as Rick regains his balance, then one strong, smooth stroke from the waistband of his jeans up, up to his hairline. He shudders wonderfully as I repeat the gesture back down him. Mirroring my every move with my hands raking down his chest.
It’s hard to unbuckle his jeans from behind, but I have quick and agile fingers, like a curtain falling, his jeans and underwear fall to the floor, leaving him utterly naked in front of me. He’s breath taking. I pull myself to him, moulding myself into the burning heat of his body, as much as our different heights will allow. My mouth ends up just below his shoulders. His flesh is hard and firm, barely enough to hold between my teeth. I move my hands down his taut stomach, tracing each of his abs - he has such a perfect six pack. I find that thin, downy soft trail of hair that points the way down to the thick length of him. I follow that tempting road down. I feel the heat emanating from him before I touch him, stroke him, exploring the full length of him. I marvel at just how well endowed he is, almost frighteningly so, run my fingers so gently over his balls, lightly dusted with so-soft hair. The sheer feel of him is enough to make me gasp. Oh, gods, I have never felt need like this, it’s completely all consuming. So powerful, so desperate. I grip him so hard he gasps, my other hand pierces the skin of his chest. My mouth twists into something like a snarl, thought flees. There’s just want. Just need.
He turns, and I take a step back. I just freeze; seeing him hard in front of me is too much. I just have to stare and wonder. My hand lies still on his chest, lightly speckled with his blood. My other hand loosely cups the fierce, throbbing length of him. His eyes shine, his smile is far more wicked than ever I could match.
He grabs my shirt, wads it in his hands, and pulls me close again. His kiss is almost violent, my feet dangle above the floor as he holds me effortlessly. His lips force themselves on mine, his tongue expertly probing me. My muscles turn to water in his grip. He pulls harder, I can’t get any closer, but he keeps pulling. It hurts. It feels good. My shirt rips, the buttons exploding from the front, the silk parting at the seams with a thick, wet sound. His hands grip my shoulders, raising me up again. His grip is so strong that I cry out, I feel bruises begin their slow blossoming on my pale skin.
He spins, so fast my hair flows like a cloak around us, falling like a blanket when he stops, settling on both of us. I see glimpses of his shining gold hair, threads of sunbeams woven into a silken crown, glinting through a veil of darkness. I see his eyes, shining like the sky at noon on the most perfect of summer days, glow in stark relief through the darkness, against the rich warm bronze of his skin. It’s stunning. I forget the building agony in my arms and just worship the Adonis before me.
Then he kisses me again. I can’t describe it, it’s just too intense.
He throws me onto the kitchen table. For a few brief instants I am airborne. Before I can draw breath to scream I land. I land so hard all breath leaves me, I barely stop my head snapping back onto the hard gold veined white marble top. I try to raise myself on my arms, groggy and aching from the impact; and see him stalk towards me. There’s no other word for it, that predatory glide, so deceptively slow, yet so inevitable. That hunting look, the look that roars that I’m his, that I cannot escape. His flawless, naked form advances on me and my mouth goes dry. Lust? Fear? Both?
It’s wondrous.
He’s wondrous! A god of the hunt made flesh to prey on adoring worshippers.
His hand pushes my chest back into the table. He leans his whole weight down, imprisoning me, grinding me against the smooth, cold marble. Something shines in his other hand. I open my mouth as the knife strikes downwards. For a brief moment, I think I see death in those hungry eyes...
The knife plunges down my waist, and I feel something give, a sharp, biting pain in my side... My trousers slide away as he cuts the linen down the seam, the tip of the knife scoring my skin, oh so slightly, almost delicately, leaving only the thinnest ribbon of startling scarlet blood down my leg. A cut so shallow, it doesn't even really bleed, just a red accent to my pale flesh. He steps back, that dangerous hungry grin still on his face, as he moves to my other leg, swapping hands so he can still hold me pinned. Still hold me his prisoner as that knife descends again. My breath comes in haggard gasps, I want him so badly. But he rules me. He’s the one in control here.
The second leg of my trousers, and the remains of my boxers, come away under the razor point. A second accent of brilliant red graces my pale skin.
He steps back, pulls his hand away from my chest. He doesn't need it anymore, he can hold me prisoner with the weight in his piercing blue eyes alone. He strokes, so gently, down my chest, gathering the drapery of my hair as he goes. With soft, tender gestures he parts that velvet veil, splitting my hair to either side of me.
I lay, ice pale and naked, on gold veined white marble table. Metallic glints and flashes of soft white stone shine through the thick ebon blanket of my hair, the blanket that frames my form and makes my skin look even paler than it is. The thin ruby lines of blood on my legs shine like an inlay of precious gems. I lay like a model, or statue. A contrast of shining colours and monochrome art. Rick stares down at me, and some of the dark heat in his eyes clouds to the soft light that I adore so much. The light that says he loves me, that every day he gives thanks that I am his. The light that says I’m precious. That light means everything to me.
He leans into me for one gentle, soft kiss. A kiss that has nothing to do with sex, but everything to do with love.
He ducks in one smooth movement and pulls out a tiny bottle of lube. He raises my legs, slowly, but inexorably, like some powerful machine that will crush you if you fight it.
My legs raised, he pulls me to the edge of the table. With him standing on the floor, I’m at the perfect height.
He gently massages lube inside me, his other hand smoothing it over the thick length of him. I writhe on the frigid marble as he works one, then two fingers into me. As when he lifted my legs, his movements are slow but implacable, his strength clear in every deliberate movement.
He finally pulls his fingers out of me. I look up and want to beg him to take me. He pushes himself against my hole, slowly, gently, strongly. He slides inside me, using his hands to hold me still as he pushes himself past the ring of guardian muscle. I groan and try to writhe, trapped by his iron grip.
He works himself into me slowly. Then pulls out... so painfully slowly. Every movement so very careful. I open my mouth to beg him, to plead with him! I need him so badly... he moves one hand to my lips, silencing my words. And continues... so slowly... so gently...
Then, without a single flicker in his eyes to warn me, he rams into me, deep, strong and so very hard. I slide across the marble table top, throw back my head from his hand and cry out. Yes! So good...
He pulls back and hammers into me, so quickly, I swear his form blurred. I look down and see his bronze body framed by my legs, his teeth bared in a snarling grin that’s almost feral. His lower body pumps into me so fast the table shakes across the floor. I manage brief glimpses of him massive and so very long plunging deeply into me. Then I have to close my eyes. It’s too much! I throw back my head and scream.
I want it to stop! It has to stop! I want it to last forever, I’d die if he stops!
All thought is cleared, washed away in the primal rhythm of pounding flesh, gasping breath and throat wrenching screams. Reason is scoured aside in a blur of sweat coated bodies and pleasure contorted faces.
The world fades and there is only the deep roaring power of pure ecstasy. My back arches until only my shoulders and buttocks are touching the table, as I spill onto my stomach in a scalding wave. My body is wracked with intense spasms, as I feel an answering explosion deep within me from Rick. He throws his head back in a wordless shout, for how could words ever describe this pure miraculous moment?
He collapses on top of me, panting like a marathon runner. His eyes stare into mine and he grins. I realise it is just a mirror of mine.
“That was so beyond intense! How can it get better every time?!”
I can only grin to that. “Ye gods, Rick. If it gets much better than this I’ll go mad. That was almost too good.”
He laughs, a rich rolling laugh, that manages to make heat rush to my face. He laughs again, and kisses the tip of my nose.
A voice breaks my reverie.
“It is certainly a fair sight for mine eyes, and the sex in the air would make any succubus fall on her knees in worship... But my food bowl doth still be empty.”
And I hope you’re gonna clean that table REALLY well before you eat off it.
Rick groans and buries his face in my hair. I can’t help but laugh. I love this life.
And I'm goping to carry that image of Darren on the table in my head forever more. *Happy purr*
When I arrive Rick is fiddling with his own weight in bandages by the look of it. A brief chill of worry shoots through me before I see how little blood there is. Either he’s a hypochondriac, or his first aid kit is that badly organised. How anyone can cut themselves on a can opener I’ll never know... the evil thing’s buzzing away on the counter, opening a can of cat food. Ahrimadan and Ghost seem to be opening a book on whether Rick will catch gangrene or tetanus from his wound.
He looks great when angry too... his eyes flash, and his face flushes, deepening his tan to a reddish copper colour. I sneak up behind him, he can’t hear me over the raised mocking voices of our companions, and wrap my arms around his chest, pulling myself on tip-toe to lick up the back of his neck. The effect is electric. He stiffens, my grip on him pulling me off my feet, forcing me to lay against him to hold my balance. He then melts backwards into me, so I’m supporting part of his weight. He slouches down enough that I can lick up from his neck to his left ear. I run my tongue round the back of the lobe, then nibble so gently at the edge, before sweeping down with my tongue to the side of his neck. I bite him, lightly, gently, so I can taste my way up and down the warm curve of his throat. His knees give way, forcing him to catch the kitchen cabinet. His throat is such an intense erogenous zone for him.
I lock my lips to his neck, biting harder, leaving a perfect imprint of my teeth in that beautiful tanned flesh. My hands find the buttons on his shirt. I know a few are pulled free as I hastily unbutton the hideous thing, and run hands, fingers curved to claws down his chest. How can the skin be so soft, yet the muscle so firm, so hard? He starts to stand, but falls back as I haul the shirt of him. I loosen my hold on his neck, deep red marks stand out like fresh wounds. I crouch behind him and start to lick up his spine. Soft tentative movements as Rick regains his balance, then one strong, smooth stroke from the waistband of his jeans up, up to his hairline. He shudders wonderfully as I repeat the gesture back down him. Mirroring my every move with my hands raking down his chest.
It’s hard to unbuckle his jeans from behind, but I have quick and agile fingers, like a curtain falling, his jeans and underwear fall to the floor, leaving him utterly naked in front of me. He’s breath taking. I pull myself to him, moulding myself into the burning heat of his body, as much as our different heights will allow. My mouth ends up just below his shoulders. His flesh is hard and firm, barely enough to hold between my teeth. I move my hands down his taut stomach, tracing each of his abs - he has such a perfect six pack. I find that thin, downy soft trail of hair that points the way down to the thick length of him. I follow that tempting road down. I feel the heat emanating from him before I touch him, stroke him, exploring the full length of him. I marvel at just how well endowed he is, almost frighteningly so, run my fingers so gently over his balls, lightly dusted with so-soft hair. The sheer feel of him is enough to make me gasp. Oh, gods, I have never felt need like this, it’s completely all consuming. So powerful, so desperate. I grip him so hard he gasps, my other hand pierces the skin of his chest. My mouth twists into something like a snarl, thought flees. There’s just want. Just need.
He turns, and I take a step back. I just freeze; seeing him hard in front of me is too much. I just have to stare and wonder. My hand lies still on his chest, lightly speckled with his blood. My other hand loosely cups the fierce, throbbing length of him. His eyes shine, his smile is far more wicked than ever I could match.
He grabs my shirt, wads it in his hands, and pulls me close again. His kiss is almost violent, my feet dangle above the floor as he holds me effortlessly. His lips force themselves on mine, his tongue expertly probing me. My muscles turn to water in his grip. He pulls harder, I can’t get any closer, but he keeps pulling. It hurts. It feels good. My shirt rips, the buttons exploding from the front, the silk parting at the seams with a thick, wet sound. His hands grip my shoulders, raising me up again. His grip is so strong that I cry out, I feel bruises begin their slow blossoming on my pale skin.
He spins, so fast my hair flows like a cloak around us, falling like a blanket when he stops, settling on both of us. I see glimpses of his shining gold hair, threads of sunbeams woven into a silken crown, glinting through a veil of darkness. I see his eyes, shining like the sky at noon on the most perfect of summer days, glow in stark relief through the darkness, against the rich warm bronze of his skin. It’s stunning. I forget the building agony in my arms and just worship the Adonis before me.
Then he kisses me again. I can’t describe it, it’s just too intense.
He throws me onto the kitchen table. For a few brief instants I am airborne. Before I can draw breath to scream I land. I land so hard all breath leaves me, I barely stop my head snapping back onto the hard gold veined white marble top. I try to raise myself on my arms, groggy and aching from the impact; and see him stalk towards me. There’s no other word for it, that predatory glide, so deceptively slow, yet so inevitable. That hunting look, the look that roars that I’m his, that I cannot escape. His flawless, naked form advances on me and my mouth goes dry. Lust? Fear? Both?
It’s wondrous.
He’s wondrous! A god of the hunt made flesh to prey on adoring worshippers.
His hand pushes my chest back into the table. He leans his whole weight down, imprisoning me, grinding me against the smooth, cold marble. Something shines in his other hand. I open my mouth as the knife strikes downwards. For a brief moment, I think I see death in those hungry eyes...
The knife plunges down my waist, and I feel something give, a sharp, biting pain in my side... My trousers slide away as he cuts the linen down the seam, the tip of the knife scoring my skin, oh so slightly, almost delicately, leaving only the thinnest ribbon of startling scarlet blood down my leg. A cut so shallow, it doesn't even really bleed, just a red accent to my pale flesh. He steps back, that dangerous hungry grin still on his face, as he moves to my other leg, swapping hands so he can still hold me pinned. Still hold me his prisoner as that knife descends again. My breath comes in haggard gasps, I want him so badly. But he rules me. He’s the one in control here.
The second leg of my trousers, and the remains of my boxers, come away under the razor point. A second accent of brilliant red graces my pale skin.
He steps back, pulls his hand away from my chest. He doesn't need it anymore, he can hold me prisoner with the weight in his piercing blue eyes alone. He strokes, so gently, down my chest, gathering the drapery of my hair as he goes. With soft, tender gestures he parts that velvet veil, splitting my hair to either side of me.
I lay, ice pale and naked, on gold veined white marble table. Metallic glints and flashes of soft white stone shine through the thick ebon blanket of my hair, the blanket that frames my form and makes my skin look even paler than it is. The thin ruby lines of blood on my legs shine like an inlay of precious gems. I lay like a model, or statue. A contrast of shining colours and monochrome art. Rick stares down at me, and some of the dark heat in his eyes clouds to the soft light that I adore so much. The light that says he loves me, that every day he gives thanks that I am his. The light that says I’m precious. That light means everything to me.
He leans into me for one gentle, soft kiss. A kiss that has nothing to do with sex, but everything to do with love.
He ducks in one smooth movement and pulls out a tiny bottle of lube. He raises my legs, slowly, but inexorably, like some powerful machine that will crush you if you fight it.
My legs raised, he pulls me to the edge of the table. With him standing on the floor, I’m at the perfect height.
He gently massages lube inside me, his other hand smoothing it over the thick length of him. I writhe on the frigid marble as he works one, then two fingers into me. As when he lifted my legs, his movements are slow but implacable, his strength clear in every deliberate movement.
He finally pulls his fingers out of me. I look up and want to beg him to take me. He pushes himself against my hole, slowly, gently, strongly. He slides inside me, using his hands to hold me still as he pushes himself past the ring of guardian muscle. I groan and try to writhe, trapped by his iron grip.
He works himself into me slowly. Then pulls out... so painfully slowly. Every movement so very careful. I open my mouth to beg him, to plead with him! I need him so badly... he moves one hand to my lips, silencing my words. And continues... so slowly... so gently...
Then, without a single flicker in his eyes to warn me, he rams into me, deep, strong and so very hard. I slide across the marble table top, throw back my head from his hand and cry out. Yes! So good...
He pulls back and hammers into me, so quickly, I swear his form blurred. I look down and see his bronze body framed by my legs, his teeth bared in a snarling grin that’s almost feral. His lower body pumps into me so fast the table shakes across the floor. I manage brief glimpses of him massive and so very long plunging deeply into me. Then I have to close my eyes. It’s too much! I throw back my head and scream.
I want it to stop! It has to stop! I want it to last forever, I’d die if he stops!
All thought is cleared, washed away in the primal rhythm of pounding flesh, gasping breath and throat wrenching screams. Reason is scoured aside in a blur of sweat coated bodies and pleasure contorted faces.
The world fades and there is only the deep roaring power of pure ecstasy. My back arches until only my shoulders and buttocks are touching the table, as I spill onto my stomach in a scalding wave. My body is wracked with intense spasms, as I feel an answering explosion deep within me from Rick. He throws his head back in a wordless shout, for how could words ever describe this pure miraculous moment?
He collapses on top of me, panting like a marathon runner. His eyes stare into mine and he grins. I realise it is just a mirror of mine.
“That was so beyond intense! How can it get better every time?!”
I can only grin to that. “Ye gods, Rick. If it gets much better than this I’ll go mad. That was almost too good.”
He laughs, a rich rolling laugh, that manages to make heat rush to my face. He laughs again, and kisses the tip of my nose.
A voice breaks my reverie.
“It is certainly a fair sight for mine eyes, and the sex in the air would make any succubus fall on her knees in worship... But my food bowl doth still be empty.”
And I hope you’re gonna clean that table REALLY well before you eat off it.
Rick groans and buries his face in my hair. I can’t help but laugh. I love this life.