tlhquickies | The Calm You Down Smut Meme

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.

Comment with your character, your canon, your preferences, and which side you'd like to play (the calming one or the one who needs calming).
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[That is the last straw. If he's dead he can't be an asshole for a few hours until a warden comes down to check on them. Then he'll be moved to the infirmary for his death toll. She should have done this from the start.

She moves like a tall dark wall of rage towards the cot. Her arm raises, fast, fist curled, to do exactly what she'd imagined: smash his face into oblivion.]

[Tig might be teasing, he might be giving her a hard time, but that doesn't mean he's not paying attention. Doesn't mean he doesn't see what's coming, or that he's not prepared; he's been to prison before, been stuck in a cell with somebody he didn't get along with. Played the aggravation game before. He's waiting for her to act, anticipating it, and when she moves, he's ready.

He lets her get close before he reacts, close enough that it's already too late for her to check her momentum. He grabs her wrist before it makes contact, shifts his hips and hooks a leg behind her knee as he twists, pulling her under him. Pinning her wrist to the mattress then reaching for the other one to immobilize it over her head too, grinning at her like the Cheshire Cat from his position looming over her.]

Ah ah ah, play nice. Only one of us can be dead down here, and it's not me, sweetheart.

[She didn't expect him to be faster than she was. Maybe it was the angle, maybe it was the rage. Or both combined. Doesn't make any difference with her pinned underneath him. But she doesn't accept it. She struggles, and she struggles like she knows what she's doing. No useless thrashing, but powerful, calculated movements meant to work her out of his grip, get a leg free, unseat him from on top of her. Something. It'll be work to keep her there, and she doesn't get tired.]

Get off of me!

[He'd intended to just keep her still. Force her to focus, maybe, just hold her down and let her work it out of her system. Except she moves. Writhes, with purpose, presses up against him, and maybe she doesn't mean to get the friction going but it's not like he's moved, not like he's retreated. She bucks and writhes under him, and it's instinct to grind down against her, roll hips to pin, to press, at least under the pretense of keeping her still (it's not entirely wrong, she's squirming enough if he doesn't keep her lower half pinned she'll probably get him off eventually and not in a way he'll enjoy) and his grip tightens on her wrists. He lowers his head to murmur in her ear, hot breath against cool skin as he chuckles. He knows full well she doesn't mean to be having this effect on him, the way she's acted so far there's no fucking way, but even so.]

Not with that attitude I won't. What're you gonna do to me, baby. Seriously. If I sit here, like this. What're you gonna do.

[She is so angry. Thwarted catharsis, being pinned, and his continuing to taunt her, if it wasn't redundant, she'd be seeing red.

His skin is hot, alive, and she thinks that perhaps she'll make an exception to her rule about eating people.]

How about I tear your jugular out with my teeth!

[And she actually lunges for it, teeth bared.]

[Be as angry as you want, Sylvanas, Tig's not backing down.

She's cold under his touch, so unbelievably cold. He hadn't expected her to be, moving like she did, as alive as she seemed otherwise. The more he has under his hands the more he wants to get his hands on, to see how far it goes, but he can't if he's pinning her wrists down.

She forces his hands anyway, so to speak, when she lunges. Twists under him, bucks and lunges and it's instinct to go for her throat in turn, a hand around it, pushing up under her jaw, cutting off her airway, not that she needs it anyway. Pushes her back down against the mattress with a little extra force, leans in to press his nose to her neck. Nips at the skin on impulse, sharp but not enough to break it.]

Where's the fun in that? Be nice. Don't think I won't tie you down. Make things a hell of a lot easier for me if I did.

[Her skin is cold. Her pulse still. She doesn't breathe with labor at her efforts. But there's a quality of life in her. Where a true corpse will feel empty when touched, she doesn't. There is something there, her spirit, her soul. Her body doesn't live but it houses her presence still, quite obviously.

So when he nips at her, it's an interesting texture. It holds an elasticity that seems more alive, more resilient than it ought to be. Except, her physical reaction is utterly the reverse. She goes still, eyes shoot wide, in that moment of teeth going sharply into her flesh, just this side of piercing. He gets what he wants in that moment, her lying still, not struggling. It lasts for a few counts of his heart beating, long enough for it to be noticed.

Then she jerks her head away from him, hard, harder than would be wise if she were a living being. Her fighting resumes. She can't lie still and submit. It's not in her to do so. It's not how she was conditioned to behave in such circumstances either.]

[She goes still and it's a surprise. Almost like a "real" corpse, no breath, no movement, only better, and something in his gut twists, something lower twitches, a surge of heat pools. Fingertips slide along her throat, trace the contour, press in against the jugular to feel the silence as a harsh breath slides out of him, but he doesn't have long to appreciate it before she's in motion again.

Tig adjusts, a warning coo to accompany. His hand releases hers, drops down to her hip to hold her still that way, not that he doesn't expect her to still because of it, not that he would want her to. He likes the challenge, likes the fact that he has to earn his progress. He doesn't relinquish his grip on her neck, just pulls it back after she's done pulling it away, shifts his own hips to keep her pinned, makes no effort to shy away from the friction in it. Lips find skin again, this time only a drag of teeth to accompany the lingering contact. Testing. Teasing. He's determined not to lose the upper hand here, not until he's good and ready to give it up, anyway.]

[Warnings are ignored. She refuses to behave. With her hands free, she moves an arm down along his side. Two fingers dig in under the curve of his ribs and shove upwards. At the same time she takes a handful of his hair and pulls, getting his lips away from her skin. It's not enough to really damage him, she needs more room for that, but it won't feel very nice.]

The hell are you doing?!

[She's still angry obviously, but it's cut with confusion. There's pure bafflement there on her face, in her voice. The answer is obvious, but in this one case, one and one is not equaling two for Sylvanas.]

[He hisses in pain as she pulls, grunts as she grabs and digs fingers in, but it doesn't discourage his efforts any; she's pissed but that he can work with. She's caught off-guard, not turning him down, exactly. It's what prompts the thumb at her hip to rub deep circles into the hollow, what prompts him to slide fingers along the edge of the bottom half of her ensemble, tracing against skin, as much out of a need to touch it as to find out how to get underneath. Feel out whether she'll let him or not. He doesn't try to kiss her again, no matter how badly he wants to taste her. Not yet, anyway.]

What's it look like I'm doin', darlin'?

[He lets out a breath, rough with want.]

Anybody tell you you're beautiful before? Like...smokin' hot. Seriously.

[She flinches, visibly, as if he'd struck her physically. Her hands shift positions to push at him, her face turned away.]

Get off me. I won't attack you, just.... let me up.

[It's a whole different tone. She's still angry, she always is, but she sounds distinctly wounded. Being called beautiful is a lie that always cuts her so harshly.]

Why.

[He can't help but notice the change, the sudden shift from offensive to...something else entirely. It causes him to frown, to guide her chin back so she's forced to look at him.]

Also, no.

[He stares at her intently for a few long moments, trying to get a read. Trying to get into her head a little, try to figure out where she's at.]

What, you don't like that?

I don't like people lying to me to mollify me. Move.

[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.]

I'm not tryin' to...whatever you. I'm not lying, anyway.

[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.

[She doesn't need to stick her hand in his pants. She can feel him just fine where he's pressed against her thigh. But it still confuses her completely, because she refuses to accept the truth unless he spells it out for her.]

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.]

Because you're the hottest fucking corpse I've ever seen. Because you're dead in all the ways that matter but you're not rotten inside.

[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.]

[He's almost had it. Almost. He'd been doing well, saying not-wrong things. Even kissing her had been on the right track. She was surprised, off-guard enough that he could do it and not end up with a chunk missing out of him.

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.]

[He knows almost as soon as it's out that it was the wrong thing to say, the step too far; she tenses under him, looks like she's considering bolting again, and he's not really opposed to the struggle if it comes to it, but she'd calmed. Almost seemed to accept it on some level, and then she works herself up again because he says something stupid and he could kick himself.

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.

[He has no idea what he's doing. She knows that. He couldn't possibly fathom the results of his curious exploration. All he could know is that when he touches her scar, she reacts. So when he does it again, she makes a noise, that she cuts off before it could be labeled anything like a moan. She snatches his wrist, pulling his hand away from the tender spot.]

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.]

[He does, but he frowns at her in the process. Something like confusion passing across his features. The hand retreats, drifts towards her hip proper instead, other hand tracing up her neck, incongruously gentle for size and roughness. He peers at her intently as he guides her head to force her to look at him, the best he can anyway. It's forceful, doesn't tolerate much resistance, but it's careful, at least.]

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.

[She relents to looking at him. He doesn't understand. She has to make him understand if...

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.

[He shakes his head; she's missing it completely. So he just tightens his grip and stares at her, icy blue gaze intent and intense willing her to actually listen for once.]

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.

[It's a terrible threat really. First of all, because she's never one to be threatened and back down. Second of all, it's not like being bitten had necessarily been a bad thing.

She lifts her head up from the mattress, glaring at him defiantly from bare inches away.]

Not a liar then. Just delusional.

Just shut up and take a damn compliment.

[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.]

[It's a little hard to argue when her mouth is occupied. And it's hard to say if she would have by the way she responds. As much as she questions his opinion, she doesn't shy away from the press of his lips. Point of fact, once he bites at her, she opens for him, allowing him to deepen it as he sees fit.

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.]

Edited 2014-07-26 21:54 (UTC)

The Calm You Down Smut Meme

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cw: necrophilia. so much.

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