sockdere (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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tlhquickies2014-07-06 04:31 pm
sockdere) wrote in tlhquickies2014-07-06 04:31 pm
The Calm You Down Smut Meme
 The Calm You Down Smut Meme |
| You're about to go off the rails. No, no "about," actually. You've left that train track fair behind, and you're crazy. Rage fills every inch of you, and there's no doubt you're about to do something dangerous, stupid, or reckless. Or all three. There's only one person who can calm you down: your lover. They have tried everything they know to get those thoughts from your heard. Everything except for this... Now, they're using physical intimacy to remind you what really matters, which is the two of you. Surely, this will bring you back, letting the anger ebb out and you'll be able to think straight again, even if your lover was the actual cause of all this mess. Won't it? Surely you won't direct your wrath towards them, no matter what.
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[The anger is starting to slowly creep back up in strength, making the anguish fade from her face by degrees. She'll only be hurt for so long before she shoves it away, covers it back up with her rage. Anger is easier than pain.]
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[He risks contact again, leans in to kiss her neck as his hand slides along her side, soaking in the cool through his palm. He works his way up towards her ear, interspersing with the occasional light nip, not quite as sharp as the first.]
You don't believe me, stick your hand in my pants and I'll prove it to you. Not goin' anywhere, baby.
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Why? Why do you keep doing this?
[She knows it's not love. He's not the sort. She hasn't given him any kind of lead on at all, and yet he persists.]
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[He works his way back down to her shoulder as he speaks, taking his time. Worries the skin, then moves lower, across whatever skin's exposed and easily accessible from his position.]
Because I'm pretty sure you're not as against it as you keep saying. Because you kicked my ass the first time I met you.
[And then he takes a risk, raises his head to claim her lips. Roughly but firm, leaving no doubt that it's a conscious decision. And then he pulls back just enough to smirk at her, the hand at her side drifting back down to her waist, teasing at the edge of material.]
That and I am so turned on right now that it's just gonna go to waste if I don't.
[Because Tig is the king of the overshare, whether or not he actually needs to.]
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And then, he went one, huge, gigantic step in the wrong directions.]
Did anyone ever tell you, you talk too much?
[The scowl coming back, she goes to shove him off of her, once and for all. Except his wandering hand brushes against her scar. Where most scars were often dulled to sensation, hers is the opposite. The brief, light tough makes her gasp, body arch slightly.]
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Except she gasps, arches against him, and it's not much, the frantic bucks of earlier were better at getting a rise out of him, but it's something; maybe he didn't fuck it up too bad after all. He pushes against the hands, drags hips against her slowly, moving with her own movements without forcing much on them. Runs a hand along her skin again, curious.]
You're still listening.
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Stop. Stop.
[If she were alive, one could say she was breathless. It certainly might sound similar. But the effect only comes when she speaks. This is less a physical reaction and more a psychological one. Still, she needs to close her eyes, gather herself, recover her composure.]
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Alright, alright baby. Not the scar, I got it. I can't help it, it's beautiful. I've wanted to touch it since the first time I saw you.
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if this was going to happen.]
No, it's not beautiful. It's like a raw nerve. When you touch it, you're touching my soul. Saying it's an intense sensation is a gross understatement.
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That's why it's beautiful. Because it's raw, because it hurts. Because it's something real. You play the ice queen all the time, but I touch it, even for a moment, and you're everything you are underneath that. You can't help it. And it's hot, watching you like that, watching you come apart for even a moment, and I swear to god if you call me a liar or protest in any way I will fucking bite you again.
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She lifts her head up from the mattress, glaring at him defiantly from bare inches away.]
Not a liar then. Just delusional.
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[She's right there. Right. There. All stubborn and defiant and so oblivious. It's a simple thing, to close the distance. To press lips to hers, to hold them there for a few moments before following through on the threat, hand moving into her hair as he nips at her lip, sharp but teasing, before deepening the kiss. His free hand skates along the scar but never quite touches it, careful to keep a comfortable distance. Easing her into it.]
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His mouth is hot. He tastes alive, and it tempts her in a dark way that has nothing to do with sex. Her hands flex, hold him fast. She bends her knees to cage his hips between her thighs. He's trapped by his own doing. She could do it, so very easily, and he wouldn't be able to escape her. Her teeth find his lower lip, bite down just this side of piercing the skin.
She growls suddenly, a vocal denial to her instincts, and forces her mouth away. She turns her head aside, as much as his grip on her hair would allow. So not much. Her cheek rests against his, and she breathes. Something unnecessary to distract her from the instinct to bite and feed. She won't. She won't. She is Sylvanas Windrunner, Banshee Queen, and she will not eat someone like a common ghoul.
It's another act of defiance when she turns back, and kisses him again, of her own volition. Just not defiance against Tig.]
cw: necrophilia. so much.
Well. That's a lie; she's not the first corpse he's kissed, not the first dead thing he's forced his tongue inside. He expects something like dirt, something cold and both yielding and not. He's not entirely wrong; he slides his tongue along her lip when she resumes the kiss, slips in past teeth to tease and coax. It's cool, saps his heat as he probes the space, trapped air and something buried, that undertone that only seems to seep in when the life has left it, before the decay sets in. But she's not slack or stiff, he doesn't need to pry or reposition. She gives just enough, resists just enough. Bites back, just to the point of pain and the groan slips out, fingers tightening in her hair because pain and pleasure have always been inextricably linked for him, and it's enough to allow her to move but not much, not far, and he grinds hips down against hers, ignorant of the danger she keeps at bay.
His hand roves along her skin, up towards her ribs, down towards her ass to pull her tighter against him, try to figure out how to get the armor off when it comes to it, relishing the feel of her skin under his hand, the difference in temperature. Nothing gives too easily, an important consideration usually, when you have to be careful enough not to ruin the body for the ones dealing with it later, but she's more resilient, he knows that from personal experience. He doesn't have to worry about that here.]
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Part of that is she won't give him any hints about the armor. It's not that hard to figure out really. It's all simple hook and eye catches and buckles. The truth is, 80% of her armor didn't even have to be removed for their specific purpose there, and the pieces he's focused on are actually the easiest to remove. Her chest piece is a simple hook catch at the front, lacing at the back. The lower piece were simple loop hooks as well, almost like what a bungee cord look like. Simple, easy to get on and off, but stable so not to just unfasten when she moves. He could figure those out.]
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