#usft

his hand found your throat easily, wantingly. it was will graham's way, always, to keep his violence at the ready. as much as he was your rude southern gentleman when you were sipping cheap whiskey on the porch, he had teeth that craved to tear at flesh and gnaw bone; especially now, sat on your thighs with his shirt open and falling off of his otherwise bare body, rising and falling slowly enough to match his breathing. he was a fisherman, willing to wait for a snap, even with gasping moans being drawn from him near unwittingly with each stab of your dick inside him.

nails, trimmed short, raked up his back and fisted into the hair at the back of his neck. curls tangled across your fingers. a ragged grin slashed its way across will's face and he grunted, moving faster and clenching around your cock. he fell forward, movements devolving into frantic humping in an attempt to reach his climax. his own nails dug into the sides of your throat and seemed to try to draw blood.

you kept one dextrous hand playing with his clit, thumbing over it in easy, fluid, motions even as pain spiked through your system. your other hand fell hard from his hair to hit hard against his ass cheeks, bare and bouncing as he rode you, suddenly desperate. will cried out and ground down further against your other palm at the slap, squeezing deliciously around your cock; the tight, deep heat fluttering before pressing hard. his legs, coarse with hair, pressed hard into your outer thighs and he grovelled in your ear, 'I'm going to cum, keep going, fuck —'

his whole body tensed up and he whined, loud and clear even over the suddenly unsteady rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest. his hole clamped around you and his teeth dug into your shoulder to muffle his cries as he came with a rush of slick.

the body weight on top of yours went slack and will turned into a mess of tears as you continued to use him, lifting his hips to keep him moving even after he stopped. the patient fisherman was selfish after he caught his fill, but you wanted your take as well. his hand around your throat tightened as you pushed his peak further and further past its edge. it was the lightheadedness paired with the clamping of his walls around you that finally pushed you over your own edge and will pawed at you as you came inside him, pumping him full and holding him down against you.

Outside the clinic, the city sounds quiet as if it had somehow been blocked out. Constantine sits, reclining slightly, adjusting his legs to try and hide his arousal. But, she can still sense a certain nervousness about him. It's in his eyes as they flick over her, the inability to keep his hands still in that moment. She feels it too, summoned by all of this being more intentional, alone with him in this little private space.

Resolutely, she begins to remove her clothing and his eyes widen before he rather charmingly averts them. It's hard for her not to chuckle a little as she neatly folds and places her clothing onto the chair before hopping up onto his exam table, clad only in her undergarments. A chill runs through her where skin contacts the cold metal.

"I'm afraid I was the one coming on too strong." He says quietly, deciding to cross over to her. "God I'd love to have something real with you…"

She reaches up, brushing the dyed hair back out of his face, and he sighs. "I'm so tired, I'm letting myself ramble," he whispers. "Just ignore me."

She says nothing, just drawing him to her as he grips the edge of the examination table. Constantine whispers 'Sweetjane" in a soft, wondering way before kissing her very gently. The next kiss is filled with more urgency and she allows this. The hunger is there, like something they both have to have before it disappears. But if he is simply hungry, then Sweetjane is starving… and she answers that call with all that she has lacked for some time, winding her arms around his broad shoulders.

Constantine's skin is oddly cool to the touch, despite the wild hammering of his heart. Her own heart reminds her of a frightened radrabbit's, beating quickly, strongly, but nowhere near the strength of his. She's intrigued by this. It's almost as if she frightens him as much as she interests him.

-Why does this feel as if this is how it should be? Surely, I'm not that intimidating-

Curious, Sweetjane slips her hand inside his shirt, running her fingertips lightly over his skin. She discovers that architecture of his collarbone, the solid expanse of his chest, the coarse little hairs that grow there. She discovers one of his small nipples, quickly standing under her touch. She continues to work it gently between her finger and thumb, and Constantine groans into her mouth. His arms pull her against him, as if he couldn't get her closer into him.

There's a peculiar familiarity to his actions. It endearing honestly if she were able to think on it. However, with a confidence that she doesn't understand; she can only allow it to lead her. She wants to see where this goes; she wants to know.

There's a warm wetness dripping onto her shoulder

-Why's he crying?-

as his hands roam over her body with a strange care, like he's afraid that she's made of fragile glass (She isn't). She returns the caresses, running her hands over his sides before continuing around to his back. Her nails were short but the henna and polish had turned them strong. She digs them into his skin, and he surges against her with a muffled sound. He says something against her neck.

What was dat?"

"I'm sorry, I don't think… I have anything at hand." He repeats, before nuzzling her neck again.

"Don't worry 'bout it." She whispers before licking the line of tears on his cheek.

She'll never know how much he's dreamed of this since she had first walked in to his clinic. He really shouldn't be thinking of patients this way. But during nights too long and too lonely to recall at the moment, Constantine lie awake, slipping into the haze of waking dreams. His eyes half-closing as he thinks of what it might feel like to kiss her wide, full mouth, cupping a hand over her scarred jaw, clutching at her hair until her curls ring his fingers. Would she be as sharp as the knives he has seen her carrying, or would she be soft like the wistful, thoughtful face she had made before she had first kissed him?

"Follow me." He says, pulling away and helping her off the exam table.

Sweetjane moves, and Constantine will always move with her.

They go through the door that separates his clinic from his apartment, and finally he opens the door to his bedroom. She leans toward him, attempting to form as much of a mischievous grin as her face would allow for her. He briefly wondered how her face had gotten like that. Whoever had stitched her face back together didn't know human anatomy and so the muscles under the scars moved in unnatural ways. Maybe it's the reason she hates doctors…

"Ya know, I don't do dis sorta thing too often. Kissin' pretty cryin' doctas."

She tasted like Cherry Nukacola. She tasted like Cherry NukaCola, and spices he hadn't had since the prewar, and the summation of all the things he'd been desperately searching for since waking up in the vault. Her lips parted, and he automatically slipped his tongue in between them. He swore he could feel the low chuckle she had given all the way down in his own chest, and he reached a hand up to brush a stray curl from her face. Her long fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck in response. He groaned into the deepening kiss when she tightens her grip, tilting his head back.

"Think I need ta do this more often, cher?" Sweetjane hummed happily, a sweet murmur against his lips. He almost didn't want to answer, but for the fact that she had spoken to him. The fact that she was whispering these things against his own scarred lips rather than letting it just happen; it picked apart at what he'd woven over himself and he released another blatant admission.

"If it's with me, then I think yes."He laughs softly against her lips. Sweetjane stilled, and Constantine felt a panic starting to creep in again. He was ready to get up, apologize, then leave this room and possibly the entire Commonwealth. But she only shifted, swinging her leg over his, straddling him, the patchwork skirt she wore pooling around him. She smiled as wide as she could; her hands were slowly unbuttoning the rest of her blouse. "Yer a lucky one, ya know."

He'd spent countless lonely nights over the last few weeks thinking about these thighs he was slowly exposing under the skirt. He had wondered what it would be like to be beneath them, in-between them, stroking himself in vague shame and guilt at how vividly he could imagine them. Turned out the vision wasn't even close to the immaculate reality, He dared himself a glance at the milk colored curls at the crux of those thighs. He felt himself grow even redder, snapping his gaze back up to her scarred face. He was trying his damnedest not to think about how he could feel her excitement through his increasingly restrictive clothing,

-oh God if I can taste her I might actually start believing in a higher power again.-

He could only watch as she shrugs the blouse to her elbows, moving over him tantalizingly to tease as well as rearrange the skirt. He could see the peaks of her tiny breasts and he was a goner. he was fucked in more ways than he could count in that moment, and all he could do was watch as something he'd been imagining for the past several weeks suddenly became reality.

She pushed against his breastbone, down against the bare mattress of his room,

-I should have made the bed-

And he lay back to let her do her work. Sweetjane leans forward to kiss him again as he reaches up to cup her jaw, thumbs sliding gently against her scars. When his tongue slid against hers she shifted her hips against him. There was no hiding the fact now, that he was harder than pure iron, as if he'd had any chance of hiding it anyway. He was forced to hold himself back from rutting against her, and she laughed gently as if she could tell how much he had needed, and had been needing her, already. She smiles against his lips again, continuing to smile into the kiss before she pulled her face back as she rolled her hips over him once more.

Almost nervously, Constantine brings his hands over her shoulders, stroking down down until he slides the sleeves off Sweetjane. All he could manage to do after this moment was gaze at her in reverence as she tilted her head and smiled.

"Like what ya see?" Her voice was soft, maybe even confident. He thinks he can hear something in the undercurrent of her voice, something he knew very well. He obeys, tilting his head forward to catch a pointed nipple between his lips. She gasps above him as he swirls his tongue around in a tight circle. She managed to release a single strangled phrase, the words of a woman who preferred to be the one in control. "Guess so."

-I'm more than happy to give her that control-

Constantine continues to lavish attention to her breast, running his other hand up from her waist so he could stroke his thumb along her other breast, making the wine colored pebble peak under his touch. Her breath catches with every pass of his fingertips. She weaves her long, pale fingers through his dyed hair, letting out delicious moans and gasps with every stroke of his tongue.He couldn't have imagined this, not even once in his wildest fantasies. There had been enough of those in the lonely nights he had spent after seeing her the first time. He might have actually taken a gamble earlier if he wasn't so busy trying to prove himself in ways that don't even matter anymore.

He didn't worship any higher power, but he'd worship at the altar of Sweetjane if she'd let him.

She pulls back, smirking at him again. Constantine threw his head back, closing his eyes because if he kept looking at her, at the way her lips curled, he knew he was going to come. he focused on the sensation of her unzipping his pants and pulling his cock free, stroking down his length before guiding him into her greedily. He could only grip her generous hips and let her pull and guide him along the path of her pleasure. She sucked in a breath, eyes closed, as he dipped one hand between them. She smiles down as he strokes her again and again, until her eyes began to flutter.