#just keep peeling back layer by layer...like his crest of feathers

[melchinafan]

…Hold on. Might be a stretch to connect these dots, but…I've been trying to puzzle out for a long while who or what the opossum in Laurent's painting is, and I think I found a theory that ain't half bad. Once again, spoilers ahead, primarily for chapter 7:

First quick thing I noticed while writing up the image description: that is in fact not red curtains hanging behind the owl, as I've previously thought. It's actually a jacket, as indicated by the lapels and a small button on the left. It seems to be hung over the nest as if to protect it from the rain, or for privacy. (It also serves nicely as an artistic study of light, shadow, and fabric wrinkles.) Fascinating to consider in relation to the giant nest found in one of the abandoned mill town buildings (the one with the broken roof, next to St. Powell's Church). Plus the fact that the Rougarou's outer wings have lapels, and that we don't see Laurent wearing a jacket, just a vest. Thank you Compulsion, love a good vest look.

Other general observations include the fact that this appears to be a highly skilled oil painting, and an unlikely subject to have been purchased or commissioned. It's not hard to imagine Laurent practicing painting (as well as piano) over the decades, often alone out in the Juke Joint. (Teddy's Juke Joint, by the way, per an old Jolene poster over the piano. Just in case you hadn't noticed that sweet heartbreaking little detail, that Laurent seems to have named it after his dad.) The general composition also shares some visual similarity with the painting Saturn Devouring His Son, though I don't see any further parallels to extract from that for Laurent. Just a similar sort of eeriness.

Given the subjects of this painting, and that it's probably something Laurent made himself, it appears to be vent art. But rather than a rough or erratic style, with raw emotion peeled directly out onto the canvas—it's the sort of style and medium that requires a solid amount of control and focus, maintained over a long period of time. It's a subtle and appropriate detail, aligning well with how Laurent tries to stay in control of his emotions. Makes me think he finds painting meditative or the like, regardless of whether what he's putting to canvas might be morbid.

Now, for the symbolism of the subjects. While it's obvious the owl is Laurent, I find the opossum less clear. It could be representative of the sawmill boss, since that is the one person we know Laurent killed, and it's a guilt he still harbors. Even if he had it comin', as the Chicago showgirls say. But opossums are sweet, and it doesn't feel right to link them to that asshole. There's even a cute family of opossums that cross a fallen log above the path in chapter 7! So I've kept searching for some other potential answer that might make sense without indirectly demonizing opossums.

Another idea I've pondered is the possibility that he might sometimes eat wildlife in rougarou form, and has complicated feelings about that. It would be very Tobias Animorphs of him. Bonus fascinating coincidence: an Ellis & Son sign behind the sawmill boss' desk says "Cornelius Tobias Ellis," but that's just some red string silliness.

Or—for the new idea I just landed on earlier—it could be evocative of the primary other opossum that we see: the one that perches on Shakin' Bones' shoulder, both in-game and in the announcement trailer.

Consider that Shakin' Bones is a Charon-type figure—typically leading folks to the Crossroads or other (safer) locations, rather than directly to death, but…the implied link is there. So an owl (both as what Laurent becomes, and as used in-game to suggest the spirit of a dead person), eating an opossum (as related to a man who can help people cross over to death, or at least get to the Crossroads)…could perhaps be a representation of Laurent's relative agelessness and presumed immortality. Not necessarily as a hostile attack against death, or a deliberate rejection of a normal human lifespan—that would be better represented by something unusual, like an owl acting akin a shrike and impaling its prey. Laurent has no reason to feel ill will toward Shakin' Bones, after all. Instead, it could be showing his immortality as the natural consequence of becoming a rougarou. Having overcome the standard passage to death, as natural as a predator eating prey...even if the reason and the result lean more unnatural, or supernatural, for someone who was once just a human. (At the same time, it's using the "natural" versions of animals as potential representatives of two "supernatural" entities. Taking a fantastical story, and masking it as an everyday occurrence. So that's yet another layer of making it appear relatively "normal" to those who wouldn't know what it might be symbolizing.)

Maybe it's a bit far-fetched for a theory, but...I like it better than the sawmill boss idea. (Another question then arises: how does Laurent answer when folks ask about the odd painting behind the bar...?)

Now, one theory does not preclude another, especially when it comes to interpreting art. It could be all or none of the above. If anybody else has thoughts, I'd love to hear them! I haven't seen any discussions about this painting, so I'm curious if there's something else that hadn't occurred to me.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Home for Christmas

A/N: Oops. This was supposed to post yesterday. (and it’s barely posting today.) Guess we’re a day behind? Guess this means extended Christmas? Guess in the final days of 2019 I still can’t stick to a schedule. Oh well. Some things never change, while others...do. Here’s the one and only Ryan request for Day 8 of the 12 Days of Christmas Fics. I asked @something-tofightfor​ and @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ for input on whether this should be past Ryan or future Ryan, and this was the response I got- @something-tofightfor​ : future. @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ : past ‘cause I like to be difficult. So I cheated and did both. Anywho, this is related to Passing Through.  

Word Count: 2,183

Prompt from: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​

“Did you eat all those cookies?” 

“Is that mistletoe? You know it’s poisonous, right?” 

When you woke up on Christmas morning, the red and and black tartan blanket had been pulled up to your chin, the multi-colored quilt tucked around your toes. It was chilly in the attic-turned-guest room. Taylor’s husband Dean had been meaning to bolster the insulation and seal the drafty windows, but as they seemed to every year, the holidays simply came up too soon for him to get the work done in time. You and Ryan both understood of course, assuring Taylor that you’d both spent much colder nights, and complimenting Dean on the amount of work he had been able to do on the house in the short time that they’d owned it. They’d made the move from Georgia up to a small suburb outside of Pittsburgh only two months prior, and somehow they’d made it suitable to host most of the Brenners for Christmas (Patrick was spending the holiday with his new girlfriend Natalie and her family down in Texas, and Tommy had gotten work out on a wind farm in Kansas, the holiday overtime too good to turn down.)  

Extra blankets and a space heater had been brought up to get you through your stay, but even without them you would have been fine. You were never cold when Ryan’s arms were around you, your back against his chest, his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep. But when you opened your eyes and rolled over, he wasn’t there. Hmm. You peeled back the double layer of blankets and dropped your legs over the side of the bed, toes wiggling into your waiting moccasins. The rushing sound of water moving through the pipes met your ears as soon you were on your feet, and you guessed that he’d gone down a floor to use the bathroom. You folded the blankets and reached for the forest green thermal shirt that Ryan had worn the day before, pulling it over your head and pushing your arms through the too-long sleeves. With a yawn, you combed your fingernails through your hair, twisting it up into a knot, before leaving the attic to quietly head downstairs.    

You padded down the creaky steps, the soft leather soles of your slippers tapping on the hardwood. Reaching the first floor, you turned into the family room. The fire was crackling with more life than it would be had it been left alone since last night, so you knew someone had come down to stoke it. You’d wanted to be up first, get coffee going and start breakfast as a way to thank your hosts. You strained your ears listening for any signs of life, hearing only the snapping and popping of the flames, the muffled sounds of snores, and the shuttering pipes upstairs.  It’s still quiet down here… maybe whoever it was went back to bed. 

Passing the tree, laden with homemade ornaments spanning decades, your heart warmed more than it had from the fire. Mason jar lids and popsicles sticks, pipe cleaners and painted macaroni adorned the branches, illuminated by bright bulbs in every color. Aunt Holly had brought the box of Christmas memories up from Georgia with her as a surprise for the bunch of them. The night before, once everyone had settled in, you all gathered around the tree to add to the few decorations that Taylor and Dean had already hung. You sat on the floor by the fireplace leaning against Ryan’s chest as the box was unpacked, listening intently to the stories behind each and every one of the decorations, imagining smaller versions of the Brenners painstakingly glueing and glittering pieces of construction paper around Holly’s kitchen table. Your fingers brushed over a clothespin that had been painted brown with messy brushstrokes, pipe cleaners bent and twisted to look like antlers, and a red pom pom stuck on as a nose.

 “That’s one’a mine”, he told you as you watched Taylor’s 5 year old daughter agonize over the perfect spot on the tree. “Made it for Aunt Holly for Christmas the year she took me in.” He spoke in your ear, right arm draped over your shoulder, rough fingers tracing gentle, soothing patterns on your left bicep. “S’nice to see this stuff again.” 

You turned your head, leaning it back against his shoulder to look up at him. The flickering firelight danced in his eyes as they met yours. You’d been together for two years, but the feeling that you got when that happened hadn’t changed except to grow stronger. You smiled, reaching across your body for his hand and linking it with your own. “I bet it is,” you said. “I’m glad I get to see all of this, too.” You dragged your nose over the spot where his neck sloped into his shoulder before pressing your lips to the exposed skin over the collar of his shirt. You felt him swallow and heard a happy little hum come from deep in his soul. 

Ryan tightened the arm he had around you, eliminating any remaining space between your bodies. His lips found a spot near the crest of your cheek, scratchy beard tickling you as he spoke. “You’re the only one I wanna share it with, Junebug.” You closed your eyes, a fullness in your chest that no one but Ryan could put there. He smiled as he kissed your cheek. “The only one I ever wanna share it with.” 

“Ryan,” his name twirled off your tongue, dancing, light as a feather, to the skipped beat of your heart. You looked around the room, laughter and the smell of nutmeg filling the air as Zach and Jimmy regaled Dean with the infamous sunburn story. Holly was helping Cheyenne hang a wreath made of mis-matched buttons near the top of the tree while Jimmy chased a much-too-hyper Evan around the room. This is home, you thought, even though it wasn’t for either of you. 

“Evan Jacob Bingham!” Taylor’s voice cut through the merriment, all 5 foot three of her small frame suddenly stern as she stuck both hands on her hips. 

“Uh oh,” Ryan said in a low voice, causing you to snicker.

All eyes turned to Evan, his sandy hair hanging from his head as Fitz held him upside down by the ankles. Little green eyes widening to saucers, his face flushed scarlet as he took in his mother’s expression. 

“Did you eat all of those cookies?!” She demanded, gesturing to the plate on the counter that now suspiciously only held crumbs. 

Fitz righted the child, setting him back on the ground and ruffling his hair. He leaned over to hover over Evan’s shoulder. “Better fess up, kid. ‘Member, Santa’s watchin’. Lyin’ won’t do you any favors.”  

You laughed to yourself, feeling warm all over again as your fingers left the little clothespin Rudolph. Stepping into the kitchen, you busied yourself with the coffee can, measuring scoops of the nutty grounds and dumping them into one of the leftover filters that you’d used to make paper snowflakes with Taylor’s kids the night before. More ornaments for next year’s tree. You secured the lid on the can, giving it a smack to make sure it was sealed tight, when a peel of laughter hit your ears. It was muffled slightly, and followed by a deeper, fuller chuckle that you couldn’t mistake if you tried. Ryan. Setting your task aside, you moved the curtains over the sink just in time to see Ryan hoisting Cheyenne and Evan, one under each arm, up to place the hat atop the head of the most perfectly constructed snowman you’d ever seen, a grin broke out on your face and your hand came up to your mouth. There you are, Ryan Brenner. 

You watched the three of them admire their handiwork as the coffee pot bubbled and steamed to life somewhere behind you, before you saw Ryan toss his head in the direction of the house, telling them it was time to go back inside. The kids turned and immediately ran towards the back door, wobbling like penguins in their snow boots. When Ryan turned, his eyes went straight to the window, a wide smile brightening his face. Above his beard his cheeks and nose were bright red from the cold, a puff of vapor forming as he let out a breath. Raising one hand, he waved to you, and you wiggled your fingers over the cuff of his shirt to wave back, biting your bottom lip. 

The door banged open and Cheyenne and Evan burst inside, stomping clumps of white onto the mat and yanking the zippers of their jackets open. “We made a snowman!” Evan said, turning to you as though he knew you’d be there to receive the news. 

“I see!” you said, pointing out the window. “A very nice one, too.” Cheyenne’s arm was stuck in her sleeve, her little eyebrows furrowing in frustration. You stooped down next to her to pull her free. “Did you name him?” 

“Uh huh,” the little girl smiled at you as she sat down to take her boots off. “Frosty, like in the song.” 

“That’s a perfect name,” you said, recalling the afternoon before yesterday, when Ryan and Jimmy had played a bunch of kid friendly Christmas songs to keep the kids out of Taylor’s hair while you helped her and Aunt Holly with some of the baking. 

The door opened again, a rush of cold air blowing in as Ryan stepped inside. “‘Mornin’, bug,” he said, eyes bright and wide awake from the icy temperature. He removed his hat, his long hair askew. Morning, Ryan.  “Merry Christmas.” He wiped his boots off before bending down to undo the laces, tattooed fingers working nimbly once they were free of his gloves. You rose back to your full height as he took a step to close the distance.. 

You felt the cold coming off of him but still only wanted him closer. “Merry Christmas, Ryan.” You raked your fingers through his hair and behind his ear.  “You three were up ealy,” you said, eyes never leaving his. 

He shrugged with a grin. “Frosty i’nt gonna build himself,” he said before turning to his accomplices. “Right guys?” 

“Right!” They answered in unison. 

“Right.” He turned back to you. This man. 

“Right.” You agreed, nodding as your smile turned into a laugh. You draped both arms over his shoulders, twirling the curl at the nape of his neck around your finger as you leaned into him. “Why don’t you go get warmed up,” you suggested, and I’ll get some breakfast started and-”

“Is that mistletoe?” Evan was staring at the two of you, pointing to the bundle of greenery hanging in the doorway above your heads. You hadn’t seen it before, nor had you realized that you’d gotten as close to him as you had, or that he’d placed both of his frozen hands on your hips. It is. “You know it’s poisonous, right?” He asked, matter of factly. 

You and Ryan looked at each other before bursting into a laugh that had you collapsing into the frosty fabric of his coat, his hands rubbing slowly up and down your back as you both looked back up at one another. “That so?” Ryan asked, Evan nodding emphatically. “And who told you that, your mama?” 

“Yeah,” came Taylor’s voice from the kitchen doorway, the lights from the tree glowing on her rounded cheeks. “Sound familiar, Ry?” She quirked an eyebrow as Evan and Cheyenne scrambled passed her, one on either side. She touched both of their sandy-haired heads as they headed upstairs to change into warm clothes. 

Ryan laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “It might sound a little familiar.” 

“That’s what he told me,” Taylor answered your question before you could ask it. “When we were kids, and I was a young, hopelessly romantic seven year old pining her pigtails off for Bobby Hartshorne, sayin’ that I hoped I got to kiss’m under the mistletoe. And then here comes Ryan,” she gestured with mock annoyance at her closest cousin who grinned mischievously. “Tellin’ me kissin’ is gross and mistletoe is poison.” 

“I did say that,” he admitted with a chuckle. 

“How romantic of you, Ry,” you said, barely keeping the smirk from your face. 

“Well,” Taylor clapped him on the shoulder before smiling at you. “Glad to see that some things change.” She winked and then headed over to help herself to the coffee you’d made. 

Without taking his eyes from yours, he spoke quietly and pulled you closer. “Rules are rules,” he said, nose brushing yours before you felt his lips steal the breath from your lungs. “Poison or not.” His fingers flexed around your hips as your hands found their way over his jawbone and up into his hair. 

The kiss was quick but you felt it all throughout your bones. “Love you, Ryan,” you told him, knocking your nose against his again. “Let’s get some coffee, huh?” 

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @obscurilicious @lexxierave @thesumofmychoices @songtoyou @ymariejp @breanime @gollyderek @traeumerinwitzhelden @malionnes @elanor-of-imladris

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[thewhiterabbit42]

Beard Kink

Part of Tantalizing Trickster Tuesday

Pairing: Gabriel x reader

Summary: Gabriel riles the reader up with a little extra something he’s brought on the hunt.  

Written for: Anon - beard kink request and @spnkinkbingo

Square Filled:  Free Space

Word Count:  1777

Tags/Warnings: beard kink, oral sex, brief fingering

A/N: It’s after midnight and I’m mangling what my beta fixed doing final edits.  I bet she’s waking up with chills as we speak.  

You still weren’t certain how he talked you into it.  Probably because there wasn’t a whole lot of talking involved.  He was all sly looks and subtle touches, priming you throughout the hunt until you were practically sprinting back to your motel room for some much needed self-release.

Imagine your surprise when you found him waiting just inside.  

You still hadn’t made it more than a few steps in.  There you were, leaning heavily against the door, stripped from the waist down with an enthusiastic archangel between your thighs.  His technique was amazing, though you expected no less from someone with centuries to perfect it.  What was really making you weak in the knees was the latest addition to his look.  

“What is that on your face?”  You didn’t mean to sound rude, but, really?  He was going to show up with that and expect you to accomplish anything?

“Like it?”  He struck a pose, trailing the back of his fingers along his jaw.   

It had been your undoing.  All those nights of careful dancing, of volleying back his flirtations and using every ounce of self-restraint, shattered by a well-trimmed beard.  

“Oh fuck.”  Your legs wobbled, exhaustion and a heady rush of desire nearly taking you to the floor.  You latched onto the doorknob, simultaneously bracing yourself on his shoulder.  

“Let go, sugar,” he murmured, his grace sweeping around your backside.  “I got you.”  

You didn’t have much of a choice.  Worn muscles gave a final aching flair, unable to bear your weight any longer as his mouth latched back onto your clit and did something that defied reality.  As promised, you didn’t end up on your ass.  You simply dropped a few inches before being caught by something that reminded you of a warm blanket.

He ran his hands up your calves before grabbing you by the back of your knees and lifting your legs over his shoulders.  They continued up your thighs, cresting over the curves of your backside.  He indulged himself in a handful before easing you forward, cheek scraping along your inner thigh as he teased away from your sex.  

You wriggled, enjoying every moment as he drew it out, the fire in your stomach igniting with every rub of his chin.  

Cocky ass.  You knew half the reason he did it was so he couldn’t be put in the one and done category.  You’d have no choice but to remember him with the burn he was leaving.

It made you wonder what else he might do to ensure you thought of him the next day.  

You carded your fingers through his curls, hips arching forward, seeking friction elsewhere again.  

“Someone is nee-dy,” he chuckled.  

He ran his tongue along your slit, and the way his fingers followed pulled a mew from your mouth.  He sank one into you, your head dropping back against the door as he moaned against you.  

“Father, you are soaked,” he breathed.  “Mmmm, and so fucking warm.”  You whined as he withdrew from you, his hands moving to steady your hips.  A devious gleam overtook gold.  “But I’m getting ahead of myself.  I have big plans for you, and they start with undoing you with my mouth.”  

You sucked in air as he traced his tongue along your folds.  

“Then again with my hands.”  

He kissed along your mound, intentionally ignoring that nexus of nerve endings you so desperately needed him to touch again.  

“I think the third I’ll try both.”  

His mouth landed chastely on your clit and you could have screamed when it was only enough to create a small spark of pleasure.  

“Then, if you’re good, we’ll talk about what else I might have to please you with.”

A sinful smirk graced his features, and heat pooled further between your legs.

“I hope you can put your money where your mouth is, feathers.”    

“Oh, I’ll put more than that here, sweetheart,” he promised.   

He snapped, and you found yourself staring up at the stained tile ceiling, ensconced in fluffy lightness.  Thinly padded and sagging springs were replaced by a down comforter on top of what might have been a cloud.  You couldn't be sure, but the mattress itself was certainly large and airy enough to be one.

“Show off,” you sighed, throwing your arms back and enjoying the plushness surrounding you.

“Just you wait.”  

He peeled off his jacket, and you looked up in time to watch him remove his shirt.  You’d always wondered what lay beneath all those layers, and the lean but fit frame had you salivating more than washboard abs ever could.  He looked real, not some divine specimen of perfection and a reminder that he was well and truly out of your league.  

“Ah, ah,” he said, holding up a finger and waving it back and forth.  “I don’t know where your head just went, but there will be none of that.”   

He got up on the bed, dropping down onto his hands and knees.  Honeyed hues became molten as he began to climb the length of you, his frame moving with feline grace.  There was a predatory air about him, as if he might devour you at any moment.  

The hunger in his stare when the rest of your clothes vanished suggested he might do just that.

“Now where should I start?”  He questioned, eyes drinking in the sight of you.  “I bet there are some nice, sensitive spots right here.”  He nibbled along the side of your neck, sending goosebumps flourishing across your skin.  

“These are always a crowd pleaser.”  He slid lower, lips tracing over your collarbone before moving along the tops of your breasts.  He brought his face down into your cleavage, the drag of his beard causing you to arch and push more of yourself against him.  

“I bet I could make you come with these alone,” he rasped, grazing his cheek beneath a soft swell before his tongue darted out, flicking at a nipple.  A strangled noise lodged in your throat, fingernails digging into his back as you urged him on.  

“Or maybe I should finish where I started?”  He continued lower, placing lazy, open mouthed kisses along your stomach, each one preceded by a wiry scratch from his chin.  

You’d never had any man spend so much time on foreplay. Most were interested only in what was necessary to get you started.  Gabriel, on the other hand, took his time, exploring every inch of skin, and by the time he hooked your legs around him once again, you were absolutely throbbing for him.  

He lapped at your juices, probing into your slick channel and making you squirm.  He had to hold you down, hands pressing your hips into the mattress when he finally returned to your clit, and the things he did with his tongue alone were going to ruin you for anyone else.  Your legs tightened around him, and he began to move his head, rubbing his face along your thighs and sending you straight into the stratosphere.  

You had never come so loudly - or hard - before in your life, the entire world inking around the edges as bright spots flashed across the back of your eyelids.  Your body finally went slack, your hands tingling as you started to descend.  

“Fuck,” you breathed, your legs shaking as he eased himself out from beneath them.  There was no way you were going to survive another one of those.  

“I hate to say it.”  You really, really hated to.  “But I’m not certain I’m up for a round two.”  

You were sorely regretting not taking Dean up on his offer to relieve you earlier so you could catch a nap.

“Believe it or not, I can have that effect on people.”

You cracked an eye to find him positively preening, smugness splashing self-satisfied across his face.  

“You’re not upset?”   

Most guys you brought back would be, at best, making passive aggressive remarks while getting ready to leave, and, at worst, laying on the guilt trip or pressuring you to continue.

“Seriously?”  His brow shot up.  “I just wrecked you in a single orgasm.  That’s a success in my book.”  

He patted your thigh before sitting up, replacing his clothes in a single snap.  A second comforter appeared in his hands and he buried you beneath it, making sure you were securely tucked in for the night.  “Get some rest.  You’ll need it for tomorrow.”  

A satisfied smile adorned your face as you closed your eyes, the sound of the door opening and closing barely registering.  

***

You couldn’t believe how tired you still were.  There were muscles you’d forgotten existed, a pleasant soreness and exhaustion echoing with every movement you made.  You could barely sit still, the hard booths of the diner not helping, but there was one discomfort that registered above all else.

And you could not have been more pleased.  

“What’s got you in such a good mood?”  Dean asked, his question more idle conversation as he scanned the menu.

You shifted your legs unconsciously, relishing the burn along your thighs.  You thought back to shades of gold between your legs and you couldn’t keep your lips from curling at the edges.  You came up with a suitable excuse, the words about to leave your tongue.  

Before you could speak, someone else chimed in.  

“Can’t a girl just smile?”  Gabriel asked.  “I know it’s a foreign concept for you Gloomchesters, but not everybody makes their living being tall, dark, and broody.”

His fingers drummed along the seat behind you, arm stretched casually along your shoulders.  Every now and then his jacket would graze yours, and you weren’t certain whose awareness he was testing more: yours or your friends’.  

“Remind me why you’re still here?”  Dean demanded, features hardening as he glanced at the archangel.

Sam cleared his throat, and his brother resisted the urge to roll his eyes.   “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help, but with most of the coven out of the way, cleaning up the stragglers should be like shooting fish in a barrel.  Nothing I’d think would interest you.”

To be fair, it was a valid question.  Even you had been surprised to find him waiting outside the Impala this morning.  

“Normally, it wouldn’t, but…”  He paused, running his fingers thoughtfully over the side of his mug before picking it up.  “Believe it or not, it’s not all about you, Deana-rino, or Jolly Green there.  I’ve got some unfinished business of my own.”  He took a sip of his drink, eyes twinkling as they briefly met yours.  “And I intend to stick around until I take care of it.”  

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[emerald-bijou]

This. (18+ only)

A companion piece to @littlegreenmoo 's Under Pressure series: chapter 2.14, No More Pressure

Chris x MC

Rating: Lemon (18+ only)

Summary: The continuation of the scene between Chris and MC where we are to imagine what happens between them.

Tagging: @littlegreenmoo @vickypoochoices @itsalliepg @elles-choices @nobounderiesplease @the-soot-sprite @gardeningourmet @furiousherringoperatortoad @katurrade

Please message if you would like to be added/removed from tags.

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Giggles bubble and burst from their lips, breaking them apart in smiles and fits each time they come together. Between kisses, they peel away each other's outer layers, casting them aside. Caught in a moment neither thought they'd experience again, they feel just like the two teenagers they were when they first fell in love. 

And now, just as then, Chris came so close to losing her. A sharp pang tears at his heart. All levity and playfulness disappear. A desperate need, an ache to feel her, to possess, and be possessed by her, takes control. 

His lips crush into MC's with a renewed fervor. Strands of her hair pillow between his fingers as he cradles her head in his hand. Shifting in his embrace, she wraps her arms around his neck, crossing her ankles behind him. He circles an arm around her waist tightly, pulling her close to leave no space between them. Sweet, soft mewls escape MC's lips, driving Chris further into their kiss. Stubble from his chin scrapes roughly against her smooth skin, but neither care surrendering to their passionate embrace.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Chris felt like he was home. Where he was meant to be. Wrapped up in his girl. His wife.

This. This is what they were missing. To forget everything else in the world, and just exist within their embrace.

His hands travel down her back to grab her bottom with both hands, kneading her cheeks, making them both groan into each other. MC's hips push forward, rubbing her core against his straining cock. The responding shock of sensation making his hard length bob and pulse in anticipation, his excitement dripping from its tip. His hands cup her ass, pulling her closer as he grinds into her heat. It permeates the layers of clothing between them, spurring his desire further still.

His eyes roll back, as a small whimper tickles in his throat. It was too much. It's been too long. He couldn't wait any longer to feel her naked, moving against him. He extracts her limbs from his, setting her gently to her feet. He turns her back to him.

MC turns her head, her eyebrows drawn together. "Chris, wha - ".

Pulling her hair to the side, he leans close, his lips brushing against her earlobe. His warm breath tickles her skin as he whispers, "Remember when we'd get home from class?" He presses hot, insistent kisses down the side of her neck, making her shiver. "The trail of clothes we'd leave from the door?"

He gathers the waistband of her leggings, easing them over her hips, fluidly continuing down her thighs. Not wanting to stop her torment so soon, he eases them off her body with his feet, kicking them away. He finds the hem of her shirt, fisting both hands in it as he pulls her back against him.

MC throws her head back, closing her eyes, her lips pursing together in a deep moan as his lips trace the map to her pleasure. Her chest rises and falls unevenly with each halting, unsteady breath. She thought he'd forgotten the path long ago. She tries to respond, but only squeaks. Her voice failing her, she licks her lips, dragging her teeth across her bottom one. She breathes out her words in a sigh. "All the way toward the bedroom?"

Chris smiles into her skin, "Oh, you do remember, huh?" He nips at her sensitive flesh, teasing her in all the ways only he knows make her weak. An extended moan escapes her as she grips his thighs so tightly, he feels her nails through his jeans.

Her reactions bolstering his confidence, he presses, "What else do you remember, MC?" He pulls her t-shirt taut between his hands. He feels her body tense as she holds her breath. He rips the thin shirt with one swift tug. She cries out.

Slipping his fingers in her underwear, he runs them back and forth along her engorged folds. "Fuck, beautiful. You've never been this hot and wet for me before." Her hips involuntarily follow his movements. She whimpers, leaning heavily into Chris for support as her knees wobble.

He stops, leaning over to look her in the face. "It's been too long...for us both. Hasn't it?"

"Y-yes." She gasps for air.

He turns MC, scooping her into his arms and striding to the bed.

"Chris!" She screeches, eyes wide as he tosses her onto their bed. She leans up on her elbows, a small scowl creasing her brow.

He chuckles, pulling his shirt up over his head, one-handed. "What? Thought I'd bring back all the oldies, but goodies for ya." He winks at her, his belt buckle clinking as he unfastens it.

"I could do without you rolling us out of bed again," she chokes out, trying to suppress a laugh. "I'm not 18 anymore. And neither are you, Powell." 

He unbuttons his jeans. The zipper whorls as he drags it down. "That was one time, MC," he frowns, pulling his pants off.

Seeing his expression sour, she explains, "What I meant was, we're not those crazy teenagers anymore." She bends her elbow, reaching behind to unclasp her bra. She pulls it free, flinging it toward her husband's head. "And we shouldn't pretend to be."

She barks out a laugh at the goofy, half-concealed grin on his face as he reaches for her ankles, pulling her closer to him. He shimmies out of his boxers. Her eyes glisten with desire at the sight of his hard length springing free. She bites her lips together as she reaches down to remove her own undies. 

"Don't. I want to." Climbing onto the bed, he hovers beside her knees. Leaning in, Chris feathers tender, light kisses on her stomach, leading down.

"Chris..." MC sighs, closing her eyes. She runs her hands in his hair. His fingers hook into her underwear. He pulls them down slowly, his lips following close behind. He discards them blindly as he sits back to admire her naked body.

She opens her eyes to see her own emotions reflecting in his ocean blue gaze. This. This is what was missing. This is what they both need. To see and to be seen.

"Look at you," he marvels as his eyes travel across her skin, followed by his touch. His heart swells in his chest. "My gorgeous wife. Mother of my children." He nudges her knees apart to lay between them. He brushes her hair back from her face, looking deep into her eyes. A shock travels throughout her body as their eyes meet. This. Her breath catches in her throat. "You have never looked more beautiful to me than you do right now."

"No, I - ". She exhales, turning her eyes away as stinging tears form.

Chris turns her chin gently. "Yes." He closes the distance between their lips, muffling any further protests from MC. She moans into his mouth as he shifts his hips, feeling his cock throbbing against her slick, swollen pussy lips. The yearning ache inside her core is nearly unbearable, feeling like a bottomless pit of unfulfilled need. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she grants him better access. Open and ready, she presses in with her heels, pulling him closer. 

He breaks their kiss with a harsh groan. "MC, I need you. I...I have to feel you now, Beautiful. I'm gonna burst." He nuzzles into her skin, kissing up and down her throat.

She wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. "Uh, yes. I need you too. Now, Chris."

He nearly loses what little control he has left over himself hearing her so desperate for him. Rubbing the head of his dick slowly back and forth between her folds, he blows out a breath, as he eases into her opening. She arches into him as he fills her completely. He stills in her embrace, struggling against the pleasure as it threatens to take him. This. The way they fit, still, after all the years. Always.

Chris leans up on his arms, never taking his eyes off MC. Dragging his hips forward and back again, he begins a slow, steady rhythm. Every thrust met with a chorus of grunts and soft moans from them both. The whites of her eyes show as she throws her head back, lost in the sensations. He feels her walls tensing around him. It's been too long. "Let go, MC. I want to watch you lose control. The way you used to."

She gives herself over to the pulsing waves of blessed relief from the deep, aching want in her core. Her eyelids flutter, her nails dig into his shoulders as she lets loose a full-throated groan from deep inside. Chris feels her orgasm milking his cock, driving him toward his own release.

"That's it, Beautiful. Come for me."

Her eyes shoot open as her finger dig into his shoulders. "Chris! Don't stop! Don't. Stop." She pants out between moans. Her eyes close as another wave of pleasure surges, crests, and breaks, crashing over her.

"Fuck!" He clenches his eyes shut, knowing he won't last if he keeps watching her.

MC paws at his face, groping blindly, pulling his lips down to hers. She kisses him deeply, panting so hard, he barely hears her words, "I. Love. You. Chris." 

"I love you, Beautiful." And with those words, he let go of the last vestiges of his control. Giving in to the rhythm of their bodies, they reach their release, simultaneously. This. MC's walls clench around his hardness, pulsating around him as the spasms travel up his shaft, laying his seed deep inside her. His hips jerk involuntarily as small aftershocks grip him.

He collapses beside her, thoroughly spent. Their breathing the only sound that fills the room.

They burst into a fit of laughter together. 

"I can't believe..." He begins, and stops, breathing out a snort into her neck. He lifts his head, meeting her serene gaze. "Do you think the girls heard us?"

"Pfft, no. Marky would be knocking if they did. C'mon."

"Yeah." He pulls her into his chest as he rolls onto his back. "You're right."

MC snuggles into his arms, her fingers twirling his nest of chest hairs. "Hey, Powell?"

"What's on your mind?" He kisses the top of her head, running his fingers through her hair.

She sighs, turning to kiss his chest. She rests her cheek over his heart. "I never stopped, you know. Loving you." His heart skips a beat.

He holds her fast to him, too overcome by his emotions to speak.

"Chris, let's stay here forever, okay?"

"You got it, Beautiful."

This.