Faye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
said_scarlett) wrote2018-01-03 08:14 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2018-01-03 08:14 pm
(no subject)
Title: Revelation In Progress
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: Scar/Lust
Rating: R
Word CountL 2,170
Summary: A heated rooftop encounter gives Lust a great deal to think about.
Scar's hands were calloused and rough. A workman's hands, a bruiser's hands. Their touch conveyed a multitude and spoke of hard days and bloody nights and gripping too tightly to things which were ephemeral. Yet somehow, inexplicably, they were cautiously gentle on the curve of Lust's lower leg. His palm cupped the round where her calf muscle swelled and the throbbing warmth of him seemed to burn against her too-cool skin. There was a particular thrill when the tips of his fingers caught on the thin weave of her silk stockings, a roughness that was softened through the sheer barrier.
She hadn't intended this to happen, not here and now. Not like this. The night is a haze of angry words and heated looks and the sweet melting of resistance. None of it mattered. Everything narrowed and focused to here, now. Scar's hand on her leg, his face buried in her hair, his muscles tense and tight beneath her. He's half on his knees, Lust perched on his bent leg, her skirt ridden up to her thighs. The dark green material looked black in the moonlight, black as her hair, the white of her skin painfully stark against both.
This was dangerous. Lust knew she shouldn't be here with him, shouldn't want him, shouldn't tempt him. But how could she tear herself away when every place their bodies met was alive with feelings she'd never before imagined? Every brush of his fingers was like a symphony played on her nerves, golden notes rising and bursting like liquid heat inside of her. Each press of his mouth was a revelation, lips and teeth tearing away intangible veils whose existence was only revealed in their destruction. No. She couldn't and further she wouldn't let go of him. Of this. For a creature christened 'Lust' she's found on this rooftop that she knows nothing of the depths and truths of her naming. She's seen it in the mirror of others, reflected back to her in the way men reached for her, slavered for her. She's sewn it across countries but understood only the mechanics, the bones and wires and formulas of pleasure. Never was there passion of her own.
Was that why she cleaved to him so tightly? Was that why she whimpered when his hand slid up her leg, nestling in the crook of her knee? A starving man would whimper over the most meager of spreads and there's nothing meager about Scar.
But she knew it wasn't that. She'd been touched with passion before. The men she'd lain with have wanted her, wanted her enough to do as she whispered in order to keep her. Their own greed and ego took over then, but she was the bait. She knew the feel of second-hand desire.
No, it wasn't that. As passionately as she's been touched, it had never been like this. When resistance had finally melted, when Scar's mouth claimed hers the first time, she'd felt a reverence in the act. She still felt that reverence. Even as his hands grew bolder and his mouth more insistent against her.
"So much less violent than I'd imagined..."
Lust heard her own voice and was surprised at the husky, rough tone to it. She hadn't intended it. She heard her own desire beneath the flirtation, her want coloring the words organically in a way she's unfamiliar with.
At her words, Scar drew back. The moon was behind her and his face was in shadow but his eyes gleamed even so. There was something there...some wound, perhaps, some hurt. It flashed quickly and he grunted a response, no words just a harsh sound. The hand not on her leg reached for her face, cupping it, an for a moment she thought he had more to say. Or perhaps was about to throw her down, cast her aside and leave her there, rumpled and wanting.
He kissed her instead. It's soft, oh so soft, and somehow this more than the way his hands had pawed at her or his mouth had plundered her neck and shoulders, this makes her stomach tighten and twist. A small sound escapes her, almost a whine, and Scar's hand slips into her hair. Strands catch on the rough patches of his fingertips and cascade like spilled ink over his skin.
The kiss deepened.
What could come of this? Lust wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body to his and felt his hand tighten in her hair. What would happen after? What could happen? The doubts gnawed at her even as she moved her hips and urged Scar to lie back beneath her. She wanted to be stretched out above him and feel him against her, to be held and hold him and have him in the moonlight.
But Scar pushed back. The strength of him met her and she gasped, tearing her mouth from his. He took the opportunity to fasten his mouth on the hollow of her throat. His hand had made its way up to her thigh, following the seam of her stockings. Something quivered inside of her, some little muscle high up on the inside of her leg. She felt herself rising off of his leg and then it was gone from the space between her and Scar was pulling her to him.
And that was fitting, wasn't it? Hadn't he always been pulling her to him, since that first destructive meeting? She tempted and teased and engaged but he drew her to him like a great natural force simply by existing.
The stone of the roof was rough under Lust's knees. Her skirt was still pushed up, her legs folded beneath her. But Scar's hand at her thigh pulled her, lifting her leg and bringing it flush against his hip. She felt the hard muscles of his abdomen between her legs, through her silk and his cotton. His robe was cast aside and he wore only his shirt and loose trousers and she could feel him clearly. It pulled another gasp from her lips because that burning blossomed at the crux of her thighs and deep in the pit of her. The labored sound of Scar's heavy breathing grew dim and faint and far away. Her fingers flexed against the broadness of his upper back. There was a rushing in her ears, an odd ringing. Her mind was scattered. It was like the ground had been pulled out from under her, everything was spinning and tipping and she realized that he was lying her back.
She tried to string words together, something about his intentions, but she couldn't find them. She was reclined on the roof but she refused to lie down, she stretched one arm behind her and held onto him with the other. Her torso remained elevated as he shifted to kneel over her. Their mouths met and it was becoming so familiar, the way his felt against hers and the taste of him. How odd that she found herself caring about these things, how much it mattered that she liked the way he felt and tasted.
Lust wondered if she should feel some spark of shame as Scar bared her breasts on the rooftop. It was a quiet place, it was late, they were unlikely to be seen. But if someone looked? What would they see? A pale, naked woman beneath a hulk of a shadow outlined against the night sky? She didn't care. The look on his face, the softened and almost awed expression, was well worth the near-publicity of their sporting. She took advantage of the moment, hooking her leg around him more firmly, drawing her hips up to his. She could almost press herself against him, but the angle refused to allow her to bring their loins flush.
Not that it mattered when Scar's hand was at her tit. His fingers moved over the swell of flesh hesitantly, without pattern. They were almost clumsy touches, those of a sexual abecedarian. Even so, her nipples tightened painfully under his hand and her breasts throbbed pleasantly. She pushed herself into his touch, encouraging him. Another small noise of pleasure and his caresses grew firmer, paying homage first to one tit then the other and back.
The world shifted again.
What was this mad fever that consumed her? This time Scar did lay back beneath her at her urging. His hands were on her hips and she straddled his abdomen and the way the moonlight hit his eyes made her tremble. He had such eyes...young and old at once, so often so hard and guarded but now so bright. She met his eyes and wondered what he thought when he looked at her. What was he seeing? What was she to him? More than she'd been to any other lover, but what? Asking would spoil the mood, she knew that. Talking did them no good and she feared breaking this moment before its natural end. But still she wondered.
Lust had a mind to take him like this, to ride him with her bodice pulled down and her skirt pushed up and his hands on her hips. She leaned over him, hands over his own, pushing them down to the hem of her skirt. It slid easily up over her upper thighs and backside, leaving only the thin, sheer black of her stockings to cover her. She left him to his own devices, wanting to feel his chest. Even an unsullied man like himself knew what to do at this point, it was all instinct.
Or so she assumed. Scar's hands moved along her thighs, up to her hips again, then down. She shivered, still bent forward. Scar's mouth found her breasts and kissed at them hungrily, enthusiasm outweighing in-expertise. What had begun as a symphony was a concerto now, a single focused line of pleasure that shot from her breasts to her loins. Her hair fell around them, blocking their vision of all but each other. She was looking at his eyes when his fingers crept up the backs of her thighs and sought the saddle of her stockings. He pressed cautiously against it, denting the silk against her. She'd never seen that look in his eyes. She wanted to study it to discern what that intense expression meant, but his calloused fingertips through her stockings made her screw her eyes shut with the sudden spike that went through her. She felt him against her most sensitive of places, fibrous silk hardly a barrier. It was soft and rough against her intimate folds at once and she found her hips moving of their own accord, bringing his fingertips to that swollen flesh nestled at the apex of her sex.
Details became blurred then. Lust was folded against Scar's chest, fingers gripping at him, breasts pressed against him. Scar's hand was between her leg and the other cupped her thigh. She quivered and moaned lowly into his shirt, every few moments something like a bubble bursting in the pit of her stomach and wracking her with small twitches. She was powerless to do anything beyond press against him and grip at him as her body did as it pleased. At some point scar's fingers faltered and he stiffened beneath her but she barely noticed. Only when his hands fell away and the tremors stopped and she noticed there was a dampness on her dress at her lower belly did she realize he'd finished. At some point.
She rolled off of him then, the scent of them strong. Her stockings are useless now, soaked through and clinging to her uncomfortably. She adjusted her dress and looked to Scar, finding him turned away from her. She watched him slowly stand and gather up his robe, not looking at her. Still she hesitated to speak, despite the distance and discomfort that existed between them seeping back in the silence. She drew her knees up, still shaken by what she'd felt in his arms. She wanted to go to him, to take his hand, to sit and speak with him as people do. When he finally looked back at her, she knew it was a foolish want. His face was unreadable again, a hard mask in the darkness. What would come of this? What would happen between them now?
Nothing.
Like everything else, it would only come to nothing.
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: Scar/Lust
Rating: R
Word CountL 2,170
Summary: A heated rooftop encounter gives Lust a great deal to think about.
Scar's hands were calloused and rough. A workman's hands, a bruiser's hands. Their touch conveyed a multitude and spoke of hard days and bloody nights and gripping too tightly to things which were ephemeral. Yet somehow, inexplicably, they were cautiously gentle on the curve of Lust's lower leg. His palm cupped the round where her calf muscle swelled and the throbbing warmth of him seemed to burn against her too-cool skin. There was a particular thrill when the tips of his fingers caught on the thin weave of her silk stockings, a roughness that was softened through the sheer barrier.
She hadn't intended this to happen, not here and now. Not like this. The night is a haze of angry words and heated looks and the sweet melting of resistance. None of it mattered. Everything narrowed and focused to here, now. Scar's hand on her leg, his face buried in her hair, his muscles tense and tight beneath her. He's half on his knees, Lust perched on his bent leg, her skirt ridden up to her thighs. The dark green material looked black in the moonlight, black as her hair, the white of her skin painfully stark against both.
This was dangerous. Lust knew she shouldn't be here with him, shouldn't want him, shouldn't tempt him. But how could she tear herself away when every place their bodies met was alive with feelings she'd never before imagined? Every brush of his fingers was like a symphony played on her nerves, golden notes rising and bursting like liquid heat inside of her. Each press of his mouth was a revelation, lips and teeth tearing away intangible veils whose existence was only revealed in their destruction. No. She couldn't and further she wouldn't let go of him. Of this. For a creature christened 'Lust' she's found on this rooftop that she knows nothing of the depths and truths of her naming. She's seen it in the mirror of others, reflected back to her in the way men reached for her, slavered for her. She's sewn it across countries but understood only the mechanics, the bones and wires and formulas of pleasure. Never was there passion of her own.
Was that why she cleaved to him so tightly? Was that why she whimpered when his hand slid up her leg, nestling in the crook of her knee? A starving man would whimper over the most meager of spreads and there's nothing meager about Scar.
But she knew it wasn't that. She'd been touched with passion before. The men she'd lain with have wanted her, wanted her enough to do as she whispered in order to keep her. Their own greed and ego took over then, but she was the bait. She knew the feel of second-hand desire.
No, it wasn't that. As passionately as she's been touched, it had never been like this. When resistance had finally melted, when Scar's mouth claimed hers the first time, she'd felt a reverence in the act. She still felt that reverence. Even as his hands grew bolder and his mouth more insistent against her.
"So much less violent than I'd imagined..."
Lust heard her own voice and was surprised at the husky, rough tone to it. She hadn't intended it. She heard her own desire beneath the flirtation, her want coloring the words organically in a way she's unfamiliar with.
At her words, Scar drew back. The moon was behind her and his face was in shadow but his eyes gleamed even so. There was something there...some wound, perhaps, some hurt. It flashed quickly and he grunted a response, no words just a harsh sound. The hand not on her leg reached for her face, cupping it, an for a moment she thought he had more to say. Or perhaps was about to throw her down, cast her aside and leave her there, rumpled and wanting.
He kissed her instead. It's soft, oh so soft, and somehow this more than the way his hands had pawed at her or his mouth had plundered her neck and shoulders, this makes her stomach tighten and twist. A small sound escapes her, almost a whine, and Scar's hand slips into her hair. Strands catch on the rough patches of his fingertips and cascade like spilled ink over his skin.
The kiss deepened.
What could come of this? Lust wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body to his and felt his hand tighten in her hair. What would happen after? What could happen? The doubts gnawed at her even as she moved her hips and urged Scar to lie back beneath her. She wanted to be stretched out above him and feel him against her, to be held and hold him and have him in the moonlight.
But Scar pushed back. The strength of him met her and she gasped, tearing her mouth from his. He took the opportunity to fasten his mouth on the hollow of her throat. His hand had made its way up to her thigh, following the seam of her stockings. Something quivered inside of her, some little muscle high up on the inside of her leg. She felt herself rising off of his leg and then it was gone from the space between her and Scar was pulling her to him.
And that was fitting, wasn't it? Hadn't he always been pulling her to him, since that first destructive meeting? She tempted and teased and engaged but he drew her to him like a great natural force simply by existing.
The stone of the roof was rough under Lust's knees. Her skirt was still pushed up, her legs folded beneath her. But Scar's hand at her thigh pulled her, lifting her leg and bringing it flush against his hip. She felt the hard muscles of his abdomen between her legs, through her silk and his cotton. His robe was cast aside and he wore only his shirt and loose trousers and she could feel him clearly. It pulled another gasp from her lips because that burning blossomed at the crux of her thighs and deep in the pit of her. The labored sound of Scar's heavy breathing grew dim and faint and far away. Her fingers flexed against the broadness of his upper back. There was a rushing in her ears, an odd ringing. Her mind was scattered. It was like the ground had been pulled out from under her, everything was spinning and tipping and she realized that he was lying her back.
She tried to string words together, something about his intentions, but she couldn't find them. She was reclined on the roof but she refused to lie down, she stretched one arm behind her and held onto him with the other. Her torso remained elevated as he shifted to kneel over her. Their mouths met and it was becoming so familiar, the way his felt against hers and the taste of him. How odd that she found herself caring about these things, how much it mattered that she liked the way he felt and tasted.
Lust wondered if she should feel some spark of shame as Scar bared her breasts on the rooftop. It was a quiet place, it was late, they were unlikely to be seen. But if someone looked? What would they see? A pale, naked woman beneath a hulk of a shadow outlined against the night sky? She didn't care. The look on his face, the softened and almost awed expression, was well worth the near-publicity of their sporting. She took advantage of the moment, hooking her leg around him more firmly, drawing her hips up to his. She could almost press herself against him, but the angle refused to allow her to bring their loins flush.
Not that it mattered when Scar's hand was at her tit. His fingers moved over the swell of flesh hesitantly, without pattern. They were almost clumsy touches, those of a sexual abecedarian. Even so, her nipples tightened painfully under his hand and her breasts throbbed pleasantly. She pushed herself into his touch, encouraging him. Another small noise of pleasure and his caresses grew firmer, paying homage first to one tit then the other and back.
The world shifted again.
What was this mad fever that consumed her? This time Scar did lay back beneath her at her urging. His hands were on her hips and she straddled his abdomen and the way the moonlight hit his eyes made her tremble. He had such eyes...young and old at once, so often so hard and guarded but now so bright. She met his eyes and wondered what he thought when he looked at her. What was he seeing? What was she to him? More than she'd been to any other lover, but what? Asking would spoil the mood, she knew that. Talking did them no good and she feared breaking this moment before its natural end. But still she wondered.
Lust had a mind to take him like this, to ride him with her bodice pulled down and her skirt pushed up and his hands on her hips. She leaned over him, hands over his own, pushing them down to the hem of her skirt. It slid easily up over her upper thighs and backside, leaving only the thin, sheer black of her stockings to cover her. She left him to his own devices, wanting to feel his chest. Even an unsullied man like himself knew what to do at this point, it was all instinct.
Or so she assumed. Scar's hands moved along her thighs, up to her hips again, then down. She shivered, still bent forward. Scar's mouth found her breasts and kissed at them hungrily, enthusiasm outweighing in-expertise. What had begun as a symphony was a concerto now, a single focused line of pleasure that shot from her breasts to her loins. Her hair fell around them, blocking their vision of all but each other. She was looking at his eyes when his fingers crept up the backs of her thighs and sought the saddle of her stockings. He pressed cautiously against it, denting the silk against her. She'd never seen that look in his eyes. She wanted to study it to discern what that intense expression meant, but his calloused fingertips through her stockings made her screw her eyes shut with the sudden spike that went through her. She felt him against her most sensitive of places, fibrous silk hardly a barrier. It was soft and rough against her intimate folds at once and she found her hips moving of their own accord, bringing his fingertips to that swollen flesh nestled at the apex of her sex.
Details became blurred then. Lust was folded against Scar's chest, fingers gripping at him, breasts pressed against him. Scar's hand was between her leg and the other cupped her thigh. She quivered and moaned lowly into his shirt, every few moments something like a bubble bursting in the pit of her stomach and wracking her with small twitches. She was powerless to do anything beyond press against him and grip at him as her body did as it pleased. At some point scar's fingers faltered and he stiffened beneath her but she barely noticed. Only when his hands fell away and the tremors stopped and she noticed there was a dampness on her dress at her lower belly did she realize he'd finished. At some point.
She rolled off of him then, the scent of them strong. Her stockings are useless now, soaked through and clinging to her uncomfortably. She adjusted her dress and looked to Scar, finding him turned away from her. She watched him slowly stand and gather up his robe, not looking at her. Still she hesitated to speak, despite the distance and discomfort that existed between them seeping back in the silence. She drew her knees up, still shaken by what she'd felt in his arms. She wanted to go to him, to take his hand, to sit and speak with him as people do. When he finally looked back at her, she knew it was a foolish want. His face was unreadable again, a hard mask in the darkness. What would come of this? What would happen between them now?
Nothing.
Like everything else, it would only come to nothing.