milliways_bar | (no subject)

There's a strangled noise in her throat and her face moves so she can kiss his ear, his neck, around and up to his mouth.

It's not like anything she thought, not really, and she wonders if she can just hold him forever and never let go as she presses her hips up harder and kisses him again.

Lucy doesn't think she's ever going to be capable of actual words again.

More, he thinks, and then he stops thinking altogther and just moves, and he if says anything at all it comes out as a breath and please, and a groan.

Her mouth is hot on his skin and he turns his head to kiss her, harder, almost pulling her up as his arm curls under her and his hand slides up behind her shoulder, his palm warm, holding her tightly.

She feels like she's burning and building and it's all so right as she kisses him back, just as hard and just gasps when her mouth is free, one of her legs wrapping around one of his.

She thinks he was right when he said it was one of the best feelings in the world, and thinks it wouldn't be nearly as nice if it was anyone else here with her but him, and then stops thinking entirely and just moves against him and with him.

Caspian's thoughts are starting to shatter, now, and shakes when her legs wraps around him, and marvels out how strong she is, pushing against him when he's holding her so tightly

this is how

and everything else is starting to fracture, a little bit, the edges of his vision foggy.

I love you

Her head falls back and he moves his mouth over her throat, tasting the salty sweetness of skin.

It feels nice. Because it's how it's supposed to feel. And it's good, and she wishes they'd done this before, and wishes it wouldn't stop, too.

Her hand's at his neck, just holding, because it's the most she can manage, and it's perfect and warm and she gives a soft cry against his hair, and even if someone else might be able to hear she wouldn't care.

He would tell her, if he could, that it's all right that they waited. Because this is perfect, now, and then the sound she makes sends sparks down his skin and he kisses her, hard, knowing he's on the edge and wanting it all to last forever.

And he still thinks she tastes better than any wine, any water.

Shaking, his hand slides down her side to her hip, lifting her slightly, and his movements aren't so smooth anymore, not so gentle, because it's getting harder and harder to hold back.

And it's okay that it's not gentle, too, like it was okay when it was. Still good.

"Please," a little choked as she kisses him once, twice, three times, still moving, still wishing she could get closer, and she presses her forehead up against his.

His kisses have the edge of desperation to them now, rougher, and his other arm comes up to wrap around her, his hands flat against her shoulderblades and he pulls her up and pushes himself down and still feels like he wants to be closer.

More.

They're moving together, and breath comes ragged, and eyes goes dark. Her hair is a spill of gold over the covers and she's everything he's ever wanted. And more.

She twists the second leg like the first, around him, and she's shaking again. Or still, which might be more likely. And she's desperately glad, suddenly, that she did live a life without this, because that means it's with him, and it couldn't feel nearly as nice with anyone else. Not by half.

And she really can't speak now, but the most coherent thing in her mind is just, Love, with more and closer very close behind.

Caspian did not lead a chaste life. He married, and had a son, after all.

But this...

He never felt, before, like this--like he wants to melt into her and that even skin to skin and wrapped around each other and tangles of legs and arms and movement like waves is not enough.

But it's close.

More, and faster, now, and he can't tell if the heart skidding crazily against his chest is his or hers, and if the breath he takes, shuddering, his from her mouth or his. It doesn't matter.

"God, Lucy," comes rough from deep in his throat without his even knowing he'd said it at all, and he drops his head to taste the pulse fluttering in her throat, searching for the sensitive spots that make her arms clench around him, feeling her on the edge even as lights flash slowly on the inside of his eyelids.

The cry she gives is louder than before, and half his name and half nothing coherent at all, and she feels like her whole body's gone tight, like a rubber band stretched as far as it can. And then it's like it snaps, and she really can't breathe as she holds him as tightly as possible and shakes.

Never never never knew.

Her voice crying out sends sparks flying down his back and over his skin and everything tightens and the world

goes white and

fractures.

And then he holds her, trembling, his breath coming shuddering agains ther neck before he has the energy to raise his head and press a shaky kiss to her mouth, and tries a smile.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. And finally she does, slowly, and tries to do the same back, still holding him close.

And it's a very long moment before she breathes, "Th--thank you," voice shaking, and just looks up at him.

He tries to relax, tries to slow his breathing, his heart.

His hand comes from where it was flat against her shoulder, and smoothes over her hair, and he wonders how he can love someone so much, and not fly apart from the sheer amount of it.

There's a small smile on his mouth, and he kisses her softly and says, "Thank you, Lucy."

His thumb trails over her cheekbone.

"All right?" Asked dozens of times, it seems. But important to know.

"Yes. 'Cept I don't think I can move," she confesses, a little sheepishly. "But otherwise. You?"

"I feel rather as though I never want to move again," he says, with a small laugh.

"Though I suppose have to, at some point. If only to get under the covers and get some sleep."

He experiments with moving, pulling away from her reluctantly and falling onto his side.

She sighs at the movement before rolling carefully onto her side to look at him, one hand carefully going to his cheek.

"Is it always like that?"

He shakes his head.

"It's always different," he tells her, softly. "I never felt--that way before. And it gets better after the first time, when it stops hurting."

"Mmm." Resting her head on his shoulder. "Didn't hurt for long." A little sore now, still, admittedly, but it doesn't hurt.

"Love you."

"Good."

He presses a kiss to her hair.

"Love you, too."

And eyes the covers, wondering if it's possible to pull them back and slip under them without actually getting up. He reaches up with his free hand, and tries...no.

"I don't know about you," he says, with a low laugh, "but I'm about to fall asleep, and I'd rather do it under the covers. Come on."

"Moving, though," she protests, but forces herself up with a groan and pulls herself forward and then under the covers, sighing again in a content way when she drops back down.

"Not moving again. Possibly ever," half into the pillow.

"Fantastic idea," he agrees, and follows, dropping with a sigh onto the pillow and pulling the covers up and over them, his eyes falling shut. Every part of his body feels loose and heavy and it is bliss to relax into the soft bed and to rest his hand lightly at Lucy's hip.

Her head goes turns to look at him as she murmurs, "Goodnight, Caspian." And for the moment, tired as she is, she keeps her eyes open at least a bit and just watches him.

"Goodnight, Lu," he says softly back, but he's already half-asleep, muscles relaxing and he shifts a little closer to her warmth before the lines of his face smooth and his breathing begins to even

And even though she's half-certain he's asleep she whispers, again, "Thank you," stroking his hair, before resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.