@fckfield said "come on, give me your worst."
their safehouse felt smaller with every ragged breath they exhaled.
her words, “ come on, give me your worst ” uncoiled something old and patient behind his ribs. the mission stressors still clung to the tensions of their muscle, rounds whizzing by their heads, the radio silence that had stretched for months, the long fracturing with umbrellla that had turned wolfpack into anvil and left them both carrying the same festering wound. our black dog waded and waited through all of it. now waiting was over.
he kept the peace measured at first, hips rolling slow and deep every inch delivers irrefutable mounting pleasure. the death grip on her hips allowed to delicately press his thumbs into the soft give of her skin like he was mapping territories he already knew by heart. when she pushed back to meet he answered with a sharper thrust, nails biting just enough to leave faint crescents she would feel tomorrow. a mark of his territory.
“ careful, ” his voice was low and rough against the damp curve of her shoulder. “ who's in charge here? ”
he slid one hand up the length of her delicate spine, fingers splaying wide between her shoulder blades, pressing her down firmer against the table. the other hand slipped around to the front of her thigh, pulling her back into him with insistence. each thrust came a fraction harder now, controlled, yet animalistic. the same way he moved when the outcome of the objective had to be concrete and the body count had to stay clean, but mounting.
his mouth found side of her neeck, teeth grazing before he soothed the spot with his tongue. the taste of her skin was still faintly metallic from the shower water and the adrenaline they hadn't quite washed off. he could feel the way her body tightened around him, the small static shudders that ran through her time he bottomed out.
“ that’s it, ” he breathed against her ear, the words barely louder than the wet sound of skin meeting skin. “ let me feel how much you can take, redfield. ”
instead of rushing the rhythm, he allowed the tension to build in slow, rolling waves. pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in deep, grinding once, twice, before starting again. his hand left her thigh and slid between her legs, fingers finding her clit with that same surgical patience he used when pulling the trigger on a mark. he circled his target slowly, matching the pace of his hips, giving her just enough impact to make her breath desperate for reprieve.
his fingers tightened in her red tresses, tugging just enough to arch her back further, changing the angle so every thrust rammed against that spot inside her that made her shake. the table creaked beneath them. the safehouse felt even smaller now — nothing but the low sounds they made and the steady, unrelenting rhythm of two people finally letting the tension snap after too long apart.
