for thecanarylives

[nonsurvivor]

[continued from here]

He leans closer, but he doesn't kiss her--he rarely ever kisses her first, like he hasn't quite remembered how to finesse it. So instead he leans his head against hers and his hand comes up and carefully touches her cheek.

"Have to keep your eyes closed."

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[thecanarylives]

She meets his gaze, soft, her head leaning gently into his touch. For once, she doesn’t have a snotty response for him - just lets her eyes sink closed, forehead tipped against his.

[nonsurvivor]

He traces her jaw with his fingertips.

"You'll be careful, mm? While it heals." Tracing her mouth, barely touching. "Nothing too rough?"

[thecanarylives]

Her eyes flicker open, a slow smile pulling at her lips.

“No promises,” she murmurs, nudging the tip of her nose against his.

[nonsurvivor]

Contrary to his request, when he kisses her it's rough--always rough like he's having to fight to remember how to even show this kind of yearning, this kind of affection.

[thecanarylives]

She’s right there to catch him, right there to hold fast to that roughness, to meet it with a strength, an ease. Her lips part to allow her tongue to drag against his, body shifting in eagerly towards him.

She lets him come to her now, lets the affection sink between the both of them, her hands drifting lightly into his hair. How far he wants this to go is his call - she’s been hesitant, so far, to push those boundaries with him. To breach whatever walls he’s put up after all that pain, all that isolation had swallowed him whole.

[nonsurvivor]

The first time they kissed he'd been brief about it. Over time each has been a little longer; this time his hand is on her hip, gripping tight, finally pulling her, urging her onto his lap

[thecanarylives]

She knows what it’s like. To burrow yourself away from the rest of the world, to tell yourself you don’t need anyone else. Finding your way back to it feels like thawing the numbness from your veins, and while the physical tends to come easier to her, it’s even harder to breach that gap towards something real.

She can feel it in his touch, his kiss. The want for something more, the connection that kindles between them. She keeps herself close, shifting off her chair to straddle his lap, her lips starting to travel down his jaw.

[nonsurvivor]

He'd shied away from some touches at first, too. Anything against his throat, anything remotely near his eyes. But he trusts her now and he tips his chin back, offering his neck, his other hand trailing up into her hair to keep her close. He's not trying to hurt her but he's not gentle, either.

[thecanarylives]

She’s gentle, her lips feather light as she skims his jawline, her lips sucking softly against his earlobe. The tip of his chin makes her hesitate, and she presses a soft kiss to the spot on his neck just below his ear, tentative, making her way slowly down if she’ll let him.

[nonsurvivor]

That hand still on her hip; his fingers dig in, encouraging her rather than trying to stall her.

His hand in her hair relaxes and travels down, pausing when his thumb slides under the hem of her shirt, and he hums a little question.

"Can I? Or... Mm. Will it hurt?" Her shoulder.

[thecanarylives]

That touch goads her on, but she’s still careful with him, still exploring and slow, lips pressing a trail down his throat, licking down to his collarbone.

She glances up curiously at him, and for a fleeting moment she’d forgotten about the actual injury.

“It’s okay,” she says, giving him a soft smile, straightening just a bit to get the fabric up her stomach, easing it carefully over one shoulder, then the other.

[nonsurvivor]

He at least knows how to get her bra off without hurting her. He does this while watching her, intent on not pulling out any stitches.

And then she's bare in front of him, at least her top half, and he breathes in at the sight and runs his palm over a breast, feeling her nipple against his skin.

[thecanarylives]

She lets him work quietly, the soft blue of her eyes taking him in. Bared in front of him, she’s pale skin, soft curves, sharp scars. Not at all bashful, her fingertips raising to graze against the stubble at his jawline.

Goosebumps bristle lightly on her skin with his touch, her nipple peaking with his attention. She leans in to press a kiss to his temple, dips in to press a kiss to his lips again.

[nonsurvivor]

He kisses her back like a man drowning, and he cinches her waist closer to him.

"Tell me." A soft sound, struggling for the words. "What you like."

[thecanarylives]

She smiles at that, fingers dragging through his hair, another kiss pressing to his plush lips.

“I like… your lips on me,” she murmurs. “Anywhere. Everywhere.”

[nonsurvivor]

He smiles in that way of his that is only nominally a smile unless you know him and the effort it takes him to smile at all.

He tugs on the waist band of her pants.
"Can't get... Everywhere. With these on."

[thecanarylives]

His smile is in his eyes, for the most part. A gleam there that breaks through the sharpness. She chuckles at his tug, pecking him quickly on the lips before shifting off him to stand.

“That, we can solve.” She stays close, standing just between his legs, her fingers tugging at the buttons of her pants before she reaches out to take his hands, leaves them to settle on her waist, help drag the fabric down her hips, her legs.

[nonsurvivor]

He helps. Oh he is only too happy to help, his gaze flitting from her newly bared skin to her eyes and back. He's slow and careful, then, about lowering her panties.

"Lie down."

[thecanarylives]

She stoops just enough to tug the pants from her legs, kicking them aside, watching the slow, reverent way he pulls the last piece of clothing from her. Stepping out of her panties, she reaches for his hand, pulling him to his feet and towards the mattress on the floor nearby.

“You’re overdressed,” she points out, shifting onto the blankets, resting back and waiting for him.

[nonsurvivor]

He lays over her, between her legs, kissing her ribs and her scars.

"Takes longer. Getting me undressed."

He wears layers. The leg brace doesn't like to come off when he designed it to stay on at all costs.

"Don't have to be undressed for my lips to be everywhere. Unless you want the rest." The rest of him, he means, teasing.

[thecanarylives]

She spreads her legs just enough to give him room, sighing softly at the brush of his lips, her fingers in his hair.

“I can be patient,” she mutters, though she’s not all that convincing. She’ll be more desperate for him when they really get started, though, and she reaches to try and tug his shirt up and off, insistent.

“Of course I want the rest,” she chuckles, grinning down at him.

[nonsurvivor]

He kisses the inside of her thigh and sits up. "Be just like this. After my clothes are off." A hand up, like he might have to coax her into lying down and letting him eat her out.

Then he starts stripping off his one armed jacket, his shirt, his inner shirt, the one under that.

And then the brace. He unfastens the back of it and looks at her. "Can't bend the leg without it. You'd have to... Be on top. If you want more."

[thecanarylives]

That fleeting kiss makes her tense, the anticipation of it, the impatience for what she’s been yearning for for longer than she’d like to admit. She forces herself to stay sprawled back in front of him, gaze dragging down his body as he starts to undress.

“Yes sir,” she smirks up at him, and she finds she quite likes it. The quiet power of him, letting him take the lead. She nods, already fully intending to find her way on top at some point in the evening, anyway. Her gaze drags down his bare chest, his stomach, sitting up just enough to try and reach for him.

[nonsurvivor]

The two of them are more scar tissue than skin. He knows this and it makes him all the more attracted to her.

The brace pops off with a squeal and, with some effort, he's able to strip all the way down and lay across her. He kisses her rough, deep, hungry.

Maybe he's wanted this money than he'd let on, too.

"Tell me what else you like," he murmurs, as he kisses his way across her breasts, nibbling at a nipple along the way.

[thecanarylives]

It’s a rare thing, to find someone and beaten down and battered as she is. Inside and out, there’s understanding there. A want for one of the few people in this world that might get what the other’s been through.

She pulls him in once he’s done undressing, meeting that kiss with a desperate, breathless one of her own. She wraps herself around him as he settles on top of her, legs hooking around his hips, tongue dragging against his.

“Minh,” she sighs distractedly, body arching into the warmth of his skin, hands dragging across his back, his shoulders, his arms. “I like…” It takes her a moment to piece the words together, chest pressing up into the heat of his mouth. “I like the way you taste,” she says. “I want to taste more of you. All of you.”