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[In Nomine] Ficbit
They don't do this often.
When they do, it's never gentle. There are hissed threats, counterthreats, the tearing of clothing, of skin, always just to the edge of endurance. He throws her roughly against the bed, face down. His choice of place, to remind her of her mortal needs. Kicking her legs wide, sliding his large, calloused hands over her soft curves in a parody of a search. Her hair tumbling down her back as she turns over one shoulder to look at him, her hands splayed wide for balance, the angry invitation in her green eyes.
Accept it, her eyes say, and acknowledge that I have to power to invite a Prince, or not, as I choose. Deny it, and admit your fear of my power, if only here, where I will see, where I will know. His hesitation is a moment of respect; he does offer her that much, that he has to think about his countermove before entering her, as hard and fast as she will allow. The momentary distraction as her back bows and a soft sound is torn from her throat lets his other hand come down, the flash and hiss of metal as the silver cuff fastens tight around her wrist. The other cuff falls empty to the bed, his hand hovering a fraction of an inch away from it as he thrusts, their skin slapping together as she grinds herself back against him. It's not quite capture, not quite being trapped. His own eyes bore into hers and reply, Your Freedom is at our sufferance. Move your hand, break the rhythm, and admit that you fear that we can take away what you were given. Leave it there, and you have to trust that the Prince will not treat you like every other monkey, as if you had no more power than the least of them.
Her hand tightens in a fist, but doesn't move. He accepts her invitation, and it's he that climaxes first, the tiny sounds of the chain that almost holds Freedom driving him quickly to fufillment. As always, he vanishes like smoke as soon as he's done, leaving the cuffs as a reminder. As always, it's one more stalemate, the board played with a thousand variations, but always coming down to two kings, glaring their pride across the empty battlefield, neither quite able to take or be taken.
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I like this take on them!
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I wrote something like this yesterday, but then wimp'd and made it private just because I had to get it outta my head.
the angry invitation in her green eyes
That's way hot.
Oh, and Hi.