If she'd thought, earlier in the morning, beyond the annoyance of being too awake to go back to sleep, that anything like this was coming shortly, she probably would have changed. She thinks of it only as Luther's grip on her clothes run that careful line of dedicated and delicate all at once.
All of the pieces like the one he's carefully extricating from her, as she curls her knees up briefly toward her chest, pushing them past there while Luther's is pulling her pants off from further down. Pieces meticulously collected and crafted for particular looks, particular purposes. Long lines, and specific shaping. The way even this specific bra only has lace at the furthest edges, while the cups are smooth tight fabric designed not to let a wrinkle or shape ever be betrayed by the clothing over it.
There's an irrational fondness for seconds like this. The care; and the way it cracks open right after.
When Luther's coming back up, kissing her hungrily while her hands find his skin, pulling him close, reveling in the heat and heaviness of him of, of the next second snap, less carefulness with her. That it extends to learned habit, but not this ever ravaging thing between them, that has taken out any number of pieces of her regular wardrobe, without grace or regret on either of their parts, along the way at times, past and present.
Things learned and carried in all they've become here, and support each other in. But no part of her doesn't thrill at the intensity of his hands. The insistence of his mouth, drowning out anything so paltry as fondness with to replace it only with fire, following it by the smooth circuit of finding her skin, threatening anyone taking her from in the next second.
Her smirk is crooked as it is uncaring -- her body a live wire caught on the prolonged second of warning, for the possessiveness under the threat, refusing to share her with the world another second, to be interrupted now; the way it and everything about all of her laid open and bare before him, betrays her, in the way her hips keep tilting slightly under his hands, seeking any part of the contact both promise and so far denied -- while she retorts,
"It's fine. We'll just kill them. Gabriel's got more people."
no subject
All of the pieces like the one he's carefully extricating from her, as she curls her knees up briefly toward her chest, pushing them past there while Luther's is pulling her pants off from further down. Pieces meticulously collected and crafted for particular looks, particular purposes. Long lines, and specific shaping. The way even this specific bra only has lace at the furthest edges, while the cups are smooth tight fabric designed not to let a wrinkle or shape ever be betrayed by the clothing over it.
There's an irrational fondness for seconds like this.
The care; and the way it cracks open right after.
When Luther's coming back up, kissing her hungrily while her hands find his skin, pulling him close, reveling in the heat and heaviness of him of, of the next second snap, less carefulness with her. That it extends to learned habit, but not this ever ravaging thing between them, that has taken out any number of pieces of her regular wardrobe, without grace or regret on either of their parts, along the way at times, past and present.
Things learned and carried in all they've become here, and support each other in. But no part of her doesn't thrill at the intensity of his hands. The insistence of his mouth, drowning out anything so paltry as fondness with to replace it only with fire, following it by the smooth circuit of finding her skin, threatening anyone taking her from in the next second.
Her smirk is crooked as it is uncaring -- her body a live wire caught on the prolonged second of warning, for the possessiveness under the threat, refusing to share her with the world another second, to be interrupted now; the way it and everything about all of her laid open and bare before him, betrays her, in the way her hips keep tilting slightly under his hands, seeking any part of the contact both promise and so far denied -- while she retorts,
"It's fine. We'll just kill them. Gabriel's got more people."