[The pressure between the wall and his body means that she doesn't feel at all like she'll fall. She practically purrs against the sweet pressure of his fingers in her hair, and she purrs into that kiss, not getting pliant anywhere but their mouths.
Her own hands come to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the hard muscle and gripping there. She's not going to leave bloody marks today, but she will leave bruises in the shape of her fingers for him to find and finger later.
She keeps moving her hips, and she moves away from the kiss to find his throat, to find a spot to mark there, too, with teeth and tongue and her clever mouth.]
[ What a palpable change it is when the threat of imminent bodily harm has been temporarily averted; he doesn't feel like he has to fuck her hard enough to distract her from opening him up like a wild pig, so at some point it becomes an effort just to meet the way her hips move, filling her up each time she ripples her lithe body to get it.
Her mouth at his neck sends a heavy throb to his cock inside her, making his pulse race for the briefest instant as her teeth make contact with his flesh. The thrill of it makes him tip his head back with a groan, and the fingers in her hair pull tight and then drag down the back of her neck.
He doesn't stop fucking her, using deep but languid strokes now, gripping one thigh wrapped around his waist hard enough to leave bruises behind. For as urgent as it felt to do anything that would let him come before, he's enjoying the steady build to it now, panting breaths coming out thicker and rougher at her ear. ]
[His hips move more slowly, and it actually makes her move with him, not demand more. Instead she balances on the way it makes her feel; clenching around him when he's deep in her, slipping one arm around his neck to balance, and move her mouth to the other side of his throat, and decides to mark him there, too. Her other hand dances down the length of his chest, to one of his nipples. She catches it between her fingers and twists, hard, and laughs, dark, against a blossoming bruise.
They don't need to talk; there's a conversation between them anyway, in the way that his body holds her up, in the way she slips on him, in the huff of breath and the laughing, pleased and impossibly hot.
She can feel that pleasure build more languidly, that pressure between them, and it makes it better, warmer. Like he's calmed her, but hasn't tamed her.]
[ The pinch of his nipple makes him snarl, and each twist prompts a sharper thrust into her, while the hand at the back of her neck moves to give as good as he's getting. The curve of his hand molds her breast, rough and almost possessive, dragging down to twist her nipple in return for what she's doing to his.
And his hips keep pumping, the slick wetness of her pussy soaking him all over again, as the heat in his belly coils tighter and tighter until it's his turn to come with a savage curse.
Vane buries himself inside her exquisitely hot cunt as his release pulses out of him, pulling her halfway from the wall to make sure he can grip her as tightly as he wants to. And as good as it would feel to ride the crest of it down to nothing, he keeps fucking her even when it feels too good, because either she's gonna come too, or she's gonna tell him what else she wants. ]
[The noise she makes is almost a snarl of a laugh, somewhere between pleasure and pain and approval and irritation. The fact that he can do that, the fact that he does, that he knows she could destroy him, doesn't know why, and will still take out that kind of revenge makes the heat of her cunt throb. She grips him as he comes, and he keeps moving, like a maniac, and it's good.
She reaches for her own breast, and that's what it is, that's what it takes, the intense look in his eye and the way he keeps fucking her.
The tell-tale shudder of her orgasm comes moments later, then, and she reaches to hold onto him, her face against his shoulder, her breath high-pitched and coming faster.
It takes a moment for her to come down, one foot, and then the other. Once her feet are on the shower floor, she presses her forehead right against his shoulder.]
[ Ugh, it feels so fucking good when she does that. All of it. Tightening her grip on him, and her throbbing pussy, and holding herself close to wring everything she can from him. At a certain point, the walls are holding both of them up.
As he feels her starting to lower herself, he relaxes his hold to let her do it, giving her enough room to settle on her own two feet. But he doesn't draw away yet. He straightens a little, and slides both arms around her again.
As soon as she lifts her head, he's going to kiss her, the blaze of hunger in him settling back to a simmer again, but the taste of her is just too good to pass up. And he can spare one hand to twist the shower on to hot. ]
Tell the truth. [ Vane strokes the underside of her chin, rather like petting a cat. ] Did you want to kill me for a moment?
[She doesn't want him to pull away; she wants him to stay close. His body is hot and his smell is thick with her pleasure. She does lift her head, and finds herself kissing him, and it's good, calming. Her breath evens, and when he moves away she chases him for yet another kiss, this one softer, this one almost affectionate.
And then he asks that, and he's touching her against where her scent glands would be, which makes her eyes close a bit in feline delight.]
Yes.
[She practically purrs it.]
When you picked me up in the bar I was ready to destroy you.
[ His eyebrows immediately go up. But even the surprise is more amused than anything. ]
Oh. Then this turned out very well for me.
[ The water is already turning to hot, so he pulls them under it, sucking in a breath at the brief sting but god damn do modern showers feel good. He tips his head back to soak his hair and then straightens up again with a little shake, rubbing his face dry. ]
I like a woman who's not afraid to shed a little blood... even if it's mine.
[She considers that for a moment, and reaches for soap. All the soap that they use has relatively neutral scent, because her nose is so sensitive, and she lathers it up, pushing him a little to get half in the spray.]
You really bring it out in me. It's interesting. Most of the time I keep a much tighter lid on my violence.
[ Extremely hot. Hypnotic, even. He doesn't interfere, but after a certain point he feels compelled to touch a particularly sentient-looking stream of water sluicing its way down between her breasts.
It's a soft touch. Deceptively delicate. ]
I realized that you're stronger than I thought.
[ He traces one nipple with the pad of his thumb so lightly that it's almost an afterthought. ]
Might have waited to see how far you'd get, if not for the guards.
[ He wonders what it's like for her. There's a deep well of rage within him, but he's had his own practice at tapping into it instead of letting it spill over onto everything else. It slips so easily out of his control when that happens, along with the things he does under its influence.
Hers is another level. But that doesn't mean he can't imagine what it's like, reining that in every time it's provoked. He scrubs the soap into his hands, and then glides the bar over her shoulders and down the middle of her back. ]
It didn't seem like you were trying very hard back there, tigress.
[ Picking her up from sex jail surrounded by even more corpses, he suspects. In fact, part of him is wondering if a place like Duplicity is really equipped to handle someone like Daphne - but what the fuck would he know about it, really. ]
What did that look like?
[ It's kind of a fucked up question to ask, but he's dying to know. She just becomes more fascinating to him all the time. The fact that it's punctuated with two slick, soapy hands kneading her ass is purely coincidental, probably. ]
[She turns her head just a little, to eye him out of the corner of her eye. He's getting off on the idea of her really doing serious damage, isn't he? It's oddly liberating, even though right afterwards she hated herself a little for it. Not for the rampant killing - honestly killing people was a part of it, but mostly for the lack of control. For killing people who didn't deserve it.]
Bloody.
[She reaches back, so her hand is against the nape of his neck, and she's on her tiptoes a bit.]
Lots of bodies. I didn't come out of the house for weeks. I felt bad for losing control. If I mean to kill someone, it's because they've done something to me, not because they walked in front of me while I was having a temper tantrum.
[ The notion of blood, gore, and death at her hands doesn't deter him. But it's the last thing she says that manages to hit a nerve he wasn't expecting. It makes him pause, tilting closer under her hand, his own at her hips. ]
I know how you feel.
[ It's a point of honor for him, as someone with a questionable moral compass to begin with: he's never killed someone without having a reason.
Granted, he's almost certainly played more fast and loose with what counts as a reason than she does, but by the time they hanged him, he was taking that kind of thing more seriously. ]
The kind of power you have must be hard not to abuse.
I got the feeling you knew what I was talking about.
[She turns her head just a little, and this time when she kisses him there isn't the roaring, bone-deep fury that accompanied her actions earlier. There's something a little softer, just this side of romantic.]
I'm going to turn around, you need someone to wash your hair.
[ It's his turn to make a thoughtful little sound, this one like he's not sure he wants to bother... but oh well, since she asked so nicely.
As if he'd be stupid enough to pass up the chance to have her touch him without her claws out some more. There's something immensely satisfying about it, especially after seeing how easily those claws can turn lethal. ]
You want me to turn around too?
[ One of them might as well admire the other naked - he just wants to know which. ]
[She turns reaches for shampoo, and stands up on her tiptoes. She shakes her head a little, and reaches to massage her fingers into his scalp, pressing hard enough to make it good, scrubbing as she look at his mouth, his chest, and then at his face.]
I prefer looking at you, lionman.
[She rubs the soap down his hair, and then checks the lines of scabs down his arms.]
[ He closes his eyes when she starts to scrub his hair. It only occurs to him after he's done so that he's never been so quick to close his eyes to someone he's only just met, like this, in such a vulnerable position. He's had women wash his hair before, whores specifically, and even then he'd only allowed it from the ones he knew and liked.
But recognizing now how easy it would be for Daphne to kill him makes it that much more significant that she hasn't done it yet. And god, does he have a thing for that in a woman. ]
I'm not complaining.
[ He might be less marked up than she expects. The pirates come from a time when even superficial wounds could easily turn deadly, so as far as they could go toward not taking damage at all, they would. Charles Vane was always more willing than most to go head-to-head with his foe; that he himself doesn't bear a net of scars is definitely a testament to his abilities. All there is to see on his chest are a few white marks here and there - and a brand, like a pointed diamond, over his heart. ]
Don't think I could complain now, as long as I leave with my head still attached.
[She moves her hands back to his scalp, to the nape of his neck, running her nails on skin. She's looking at that net of scars, and after she's satisfied with the amount she's cleaned his hair and led him into the stream of hot water, she leans forward and presses her mouth against some of those scars, the ones on his shoulders and chest. It's not a kiss, not exactly, as much as it's just a soft touch of her mouth like she's trying to memorize the shape of some of them.
It's actually almost tender.]
You haven't done anything to merit the loss of your head.
[A pause.]
Yet.
[Although now he's going to start smelling like her, and once he does, he belongs to her, and Daphne takes care of her own.]
[ Her mouth feels so fucking good - the warmth of it alone sends currents of electricity underneath his skin, the soft shape of her lips tugging at his insides. It surprises him a little, enough to make him wonder if she's playing with him, like this. That it doesn't worry him probably says as much as the tenderness does about her.
The scars themselves don't mean much to him. He's never attributed meaning to them, not even as a mark of survival, because one's survival stands for itself.
But the brand is different. When her mouth comes near it, his hand is suddenly beneath her chin again, tilting her head back up. ]
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Her own hands come to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the hard muscle and gripping there. She's not going to leave bloody marks today, but she will leave bruises in the shape of her fingers for him to find and finger later.
She keeps moving her hips, and she moves away from the kiss to find his throat, to find a spot to mark there, too, with teeth and tongue and her clever mouth.]
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Her mouth at his neck sends a heavy throb to his cock inside her, making his pulse race for the briefest instant as her teeth make contact with his flesh. The thrill of it makes him tip his head back with a groan, and the fingers in her hair pull tight and then drag down the back of her neck.
He doesn't stop fucking her, using deep but languid strokes now, gripping one thigh wrapped around his waist hard enough to leave bruises behind. For as urgent as it felt to do anything that would let him come before, he's enjoying the steady build to it now, panting breaths coming out thicker and rougher at her ear. ]
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They don't need to talk; there's a conversation between them anyway, in the way that his body holds her up, in the way she slips on him, in the huff of breath and the laughing, pleased and impossibly hot.
She can feel that pleasure build more languidly, that pressure between them, and it makes it better, warmer. Like he's calmed her, but hasn't tamed her.]
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And his hips keep pumping, the slick wetness of her pussy soaking him all over again, as the heat in his belly coils tighter and tighter until it's his turn to come with a savage curse.
Vane buries himself inside her exquisitely hot cunt as his release pulses out of him, pulling her halfway from the wall to make sure he can grip her as tightly as he wants to. And as good as it would feel to ride the crest of it down to nothing, he keeps fucking her even when it feels too good, because either she's gonna come too, or she's gonna tell him what else she wants. ]
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She reaches for her own breast, and that's what it is, that's what it takes, the intense look in his eye and the way he keeps fucking her.
The tell-tale shudder of her orgasm comes moments later, then, and she reaches to hold onto him, her face against his shoulder, her breath high-pitched and coming faster.
It takes a moment for her to come down, one foot, and then the other. Once her feet are on the shower floor, she presses her forehead right against his shoulder.]
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As he feels her starting to lower herself, he relaxes his hold to let her do it, giving her enough room to settle on her own two feet. But he doesn't draw away yet. He straightens a little, and slides both arms around her again.
As soon as she lifts her head, he's going to kiss her, the blaze of hunger in him settling back to a simmer again, but the taste of her is just too good to pass up. And he can spare one hand to twist the shower on to hot. ]
Tell the truth. [ Vane strokes the underside of her chin, rather like petting a cat. ] Did you want to kill me for a moment?
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And then he asks that, and he's touching her against where her scent glands would be, which makes her eyes close a bit in feline delight.]
Yes.
[She practically purrs it.]
When you picked me up in the bar I was ready to destroy you.
[And:]
And later. Before you got me in the shower.
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Oh. Then this turned out very well for me.
[ The water is already turning to hot, so he pulls them under it, sucking in a breath at the brief sting but god damn do modern showers feel good. He tips his head back to soak his hair and then straightens up again with a little shake, rubbing his face dry. ]
I like a woman who's not afraid to shed a little blood... even if it's mine.
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[She considers that for a moment, and reaches for soap. All the soap that they use has relatively neutral scent, because her nose is so sensitive, and she lathers it up, pushing him a little to get half in the spray.]
You really bring it out in me. It's interesting. Most of the time I keep a much tighter lid on my violence.
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He turns out of the spray enough for her to have it, very much looking forward to watching her lather suds all over her naked body. ]
How often does it need the lid?
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When you saw me, what did you think? When you saw me slamming that idiots head into the bar?
[The answer of how often it needs the lid is more complicated than she would probably like to admit.]
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It's a soft touch. Deceptively delicate. ]
I realized that you're stronger than I thought.
[ He traces one nipple with the pad of his thumb so lightly that it's almost an afterthought. ]
Might have waited to see how far you'd get, if not for the guards.
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My back, please.
[She says please like she has manners - and she does - or like she didn't admit that she wanted to kill him.]
I wouldn't have killed him. Really.
[She pulls her hair up.]
The rage is always there. Simmering. I mostly keep it in check.
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Hers is another level. But that doesn't mean he can't imagine what it's like, reining that in every time it's provoked. He scrubs the soap into his hands, and then glides the bar over her shoulders and down the middle of her back. ]
It didn't seem like you were trying very hard back there, tigress.
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If I weren't trying hard, he really would be dead.
[Faster than he could have stopped her, before anything would have stopped her.]
And you'd be picking me up from sex jail.
[She closes her eyes in the pleasure of someone else touching her.]
Poor Billy. He had to deal with it, after I lost control. With me.
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What did that look like?
[ It's kind of a fucked up question to ask, but he's dying to know. She just becomes more fascinating to him all the time. The fact that it's punctuated with two slick, soapy hands kneading her ass is purely coincidental, probably. ]
When you lost control.
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Bloody.
[She reaches back, so her hand is against the nape of his neck, and she's on her tiptoes a bit.]
Lots of bodies. I didn't come out of the house for weeks. I felt bad for losing control. If I mean to kill someone, it's because they've done something to me, not because they walked in front of me while I was having a temper tantrum.
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I know how you feel.
[ It's a point of honor for him, as someone with a questionable moral compass to begin with: he's never killed someone without having a reason.
Granted, he's almost certainly played more fast and loose with what counts as a reason than she does, but by the time they hanged him, he was taking that kind of thing more seriously. ]
The kind of power you have must be hard not to abuse.
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I got the feeling you knew what I was talking about.
[She turns her head just a little, and this time when she kisses him there isn't the roaring, bone-deep fury that accompanied her actions earlier. There's something a little softer, just this side of romantic.]
I'm going to turn around, you need someone to wash your hair.
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As if he'd be stupid enough to pass up the chance to have her touch him without her claws out some more. There's something immensely satisfying about it, especially after seeing how easily those claws can turn lethal. ]
You want me to turn around too?
[ One of them might as well admire the other naked - he just wants to know which. ]
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I prefer looking at you, lionman.
[She rubs the soap down his hair, and then checks the lines of scabs down his arms.]
I suppose I'm a little overenthusiastic.
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But recognizing now how easy it would be for Daphne to kill him makes it that much more significant that she hasn't done it yet. And god, does he have a thing for that in a woman. ]
I'm not complaining.
[ He might be less marked up than she expects. The pirates come from a time when even superficial wounds could easily turn deadly, so as far as they could go toward not taking damage at all, they would. Charles Vane was always more willing than most to go head-to-head with his foe; that he himself doesn't bear a net of scars is definitely a testament to his abilities. All there is to see on his chest are a few white marks here and there - and a brand, like a pointed diamond, over his heart. ]
Don't think I could complain now, as long as I leave with my head still attached.
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It's actually almost tender.]
You haven't done anything to merit the loss of your head.
[A pause.]
Yet.
[Although now he's going to start smelling like her, and once he does, he belongs to her, and Daphne takes care of her own.]
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The scars themselves don't mean much to him. He's never attributed meaning to them, not even as a mark of survival, because one's survival stands for itself.
But the brand is different. When her mouth comes near it, his hand is suddenly beneath her chin again, tilting her head back up. ]
You don't seem worried.
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That you'll do something to me? Something I'll regret?
[She considers that. Her hands move to his waist, but her face doesn't turn away from his.]
That you'll hurt me?
[She takes a moment.]
I'm not going to worry about what might be.
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