𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏.

[demainvient]

𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ⊹ 𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒚 ⊹ 𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒍
 

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[demainvient]

[ He kisses her back into the mussed fabric of his jacket, open-mouthed and deep, back arching into her touch as her hands run along heated skin. She's nothing like Sophie, and this is nothing like an act of love, except for the kind of love that helps two people keep one another alive, that reminds them both they aren't alone. That's a sort of love, too, deep and drowning and woven into their bones, their veins. He doesn't love Lune the way he'd loved Sophie, but in this moment he loves her in a different way; the only friend he has left, the only person here he can take care of.

And he will take care of her, he promises himself. She lets her head fall back and he takes the invitation to kiss along the curve of her pale, perfect throat, stubble brushing over skin before he laves it with his tongue.

He doesn't stop when he gets to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, but spends a long moment there adoring the muscle that keeps her shoulders so straight and her head so high, grazing his teeth over skin before he soothes it with a kiss. And then he ducks his head, back shifting under her hands as he leans on an elbow and pushes himself downward, kissing over the plane of her chest to the soft curve of one perfect breast. She's so soft beneath his mouth, soft and yielding as he pulls gently at skin. He tries not to rush, but impatience and need lash at him, and he lifts his head to set his mouth over her nipple, drawing up on the tight bud of flesh and running his tongue warmly over her.

A sound rolls out of him, a groan that rumbles in his chest, and he shifts his weight to his left side so he can run the palm of his right hand up her bare belly to her other breast, curving his fingers over her, stroking, wanting to drive everything but pleasure out of her mind entirely. ]

[trebuchim]

Merde... [ The curse lacks its usual impact, a mere stuttering sigh of wonderment at the sensations he's arousing in her, shuddering beneath him as his lips meander down from the crook of her neck to traverse her heaving chest— his mouth burns a trail across her skin, and the earnest devotion takes her aback. She can feel the care he pours into every touch, the comfort he's doing his best to offer her, just like she'd beseeched. The world around them has shrunken, crystallized into nothing but this; this need and this connection that exists between them for this moment.

She matches his groan with a low moan of her own when his mouth finds her tight nipple, his hand palming her opposite breast. Her back arches off the ground a little and her fingers grasp at his back, blunt nails digging into his flesh as she writhes beneath his touches. Blood rushes in her ears, and she's no longer thinking. Just feeling, every kiss and caress and brush of skin against skin, scalding and heady. The more attention he pays to her chest, the more inflamed and impatient she feels. Her hands begin to drift restlessly, stroking over his back and shoulders, brushing over the nape of his neck and slipping down along his sides, nails scraping lightly here and there, her breaths coming in trembling little huffs.

She bites her lip on a groan as his fingers roll her hardened nipple just so, and her hands suddenly snake down to scrabble with the fastenings of her own trousers, evidently intent of being rid of those too soon enough. ]

[demainvient]

[ Lune's cursing and arching beneath him, already starting to come undone, and he's glad, so glad, he can do this for her. For her, and a little for himself. It's a far, far better way to expend their energy than arguing or getting fruitlessly lost in the meadows that wind every which way around them. With every kiss and every caress, he reminds them both that they're still alive.

He can feel her heart pounding as he kisses over her chest, before he lifts just enough to settle back on his knees and reach trembling, impatient fingers for the fastening of her trousers, his fingers winding with hers as they both try to loosen the damn things. And then they are loose, and he's got his fingers curled into the waistband to drag them down over her hips, along the beautiful long lines of her legs, and off her body completely, and then there's— nothing between his eyes and her bared skin, and for a moment all he can do is stare.

She's gorgeous, creamy and perfect in the moonlight, and he can feel the ache in his own groin as he looks at her, before he's leaning back down again, running his right hand up her leg, fingers curving around her thigh as he presses his mouth to the rise of her hip, following the angled line down below her belly until he's settling himself between her legs, arms beneath her thighs, coaxing them apart with one warm hand and one cool metal one, scattering kisses over the soft skin of her inner thigh. ]

[trebuchim]

[ Lune's last stitch of clothing is gone, cool air licking at her heated skin as she tries to steady her breathing, taking the moment to similarly just look at him beneath heavy eyelids. She's never seen him like this, mussed and breathless, the same impatient hunger in his eyes she knows resides in her own. It's insanely appealing, and she's about to shake off her passivity to tackle his pants next, to get him as naked as she so they can finally—

But Gustave moves first, and she isn't expecting him to begin inching downward, surprised into stillness for a second. A ragged little whimper escapes her when his mouth descends further down from her hip and she catches onto what's about to happen, her thoughts moving slowly from the heady onslaught of arousal. She jolts a little, a dash of uncertainty licking through her even as she shudders at the way the backs of her thighs pillow against his arms and shoulders, swallowing dryly as his lips love the sensitive inside of one thigh. It's intimate and vulnerable being this blatantly exposed, things that Lune isn't well-versed in, and yet a quiver of helpless excitement ripples across her skin regardless. ]

Gustave... y-you don't have to—

[ But if she really wanted to put a stop to it, she would have already. And when his mouth finds the hot center of her, the moan that gets dragged out of her is loud and filled with relief-soaked pleasure, her head dropping back to the rumpled uniform beneath her, eyes squeezed shut and fingers clawing at the grass as sheer sensation punches through her, relentless as a tidal wave. ]

[demainvient]

[ He doesn't have to, he knows it, but he's driven all the same, all his focus bent on a single thought: to give her just a few moments of something other than grief and fear and the strange muffling shock that's been covering both of them since they stumbled their way out of that cave.

She dragged him back into life, bullying and shoving. This, doing everything he can to bring her back into her body the way she did for him, can't even begin to touch the debt he owes to her, the apologies he owes to her. He'd been cruel, thoughtlessly, in his temper, and she hadn't deserved it, no matter if she'd accepted his apologies.

That bright moon is dark overhead now, cast behind some clouds, and some part of him is almost glad to have the excuse not to be able to push forward, to be able to offer her this for just a little while. The little cry she gives arrows straight through him, hot and sharp, and he responds by pressing his mouth more firmly to her, sucking and licking at that hard bud of nerves between her legs, pressing kiss after kiss to her core.

He shifts just enough to put his weight more on his right elbow, slipping his metal left hand from under her thigh and sliding his fingers, cool against slick, heated flesh, between her legs to rub over her, to push her gently apart so he can lave her with the flat of his tongue in long, firm licks before he draws up on that sensitive flesh with his mouth. He's always been single-minded and focused in his work, and now he turns all that focus on her, ignoring for the moment the way his own trousers strain, the heat between his own legs. ]

[trebuchim]

[ There's no debt, as far as she's concerned, but that's an argument to be had some other time. Some other time when she isn't actively losing her mind to the molten pleasure filling every inch of her, pushing out everything else; every thought and every other sensation effectively blotted out— hell, she'd nearly forgotten the human body is actually capable of experiencing pleasure like this.

She cries out again at the feel of his artificial fingers stroking her, the shock of coolness against the wet heat of her making her entire frame shudder, trembling thighs opening wide to invite more of his touch, everything else driven from her head that isn't a hunger for more, more, more. Her breath comes in heaving, heavy pants, loud in the quiet of the night, every exhale tinged with a faint moan as he edges her steadily ever higher, every lick and suck to the most sensitive parts of her driving her insane with pure wanting. Her heart hammers against her ribs and her thighs tremor harder, her hips squirming restlessly now; she sinks the fingers of one hand into Gustave's hair and holds on for dear life while the other finds her own breast, trapping a hard nipple between her thumb and forefinger. ]

Merde— please... [ She barely realizes she's pleading amidst her sighs and moans, so close now she can almost taste it. ]