Getting Kandovany to do anything is always a trial for Lukas. He's seen Danicka do this a dozen times: the treat goes into the carrier, and then Kando goes in the carrier, and then the zipper goes up and around and that's when Kando usually starts meowing fervently and pawing at the mesh sides, thoroughly disgruntled at having been tricked, only settling down when she's given a gentle stroke, but generally being against the whole premise. After all, her range of motion and vision are both limited suddenly, and they usually end up at the vet.
However, it's entirely a different story when Lukas tries to get Kando to come when called or get into her carrier. The treat goes into the carrier, and Kando bolts under the couch. Lukas, so long as the water is running and Danicka can't see him, decides the most logical approach is to move the couch, but he's scarcely gotten it off the floor before Kandovany turns out to not be under the couch after all. The next time he sees her she's eating the treat and he's wondering how in the name of god she got in and out and co to kurv--.
It isn't until Danicka comes out, bag on her shoulder and flipflops on her feet, that Kandovany makes a run for her mistress and Lukas all but pounces. He scoops her up deftly, draws her in against his chest -- because he knows this trick works, because he is large and warm and Kandovany can at least respect the greater predator once she is captured. She seethes, but tucks her tail against his forearm as though to admit: well played, my old friend. She hates it when he chases her, and is still quite grumpy when they get her in the carrier. Immediately she begins gnawing at the zipper and pawing it downward, til Danicka notices and gives a sharp snap of her fingers near the mesh, saying "Stop that!"
Kandovany retreats, and despite everything, Lukas's heart nearly breaks in half. Danicka kisses his cheek as they head out, and wraps her arm around his waist. "Cats have to have alphas, too, baby," she tells him gently, without pointing out to him that this is why Kando is obedient to Danicka. Danicka is Alpha Cat. And that is why Danicka doesn't instantly coddle or praise Kandovany for stopping her naughtiness, or else she'd never get her in the carrier again.
Down in the car, though, Danicka settles Kandovany's carrier in the back seat and unzips the top a little to reach in and give the cat a stroke. Her voice is very soft, cooing in Russian to the Czech-named kitty, giving her another treat. But no, they aren't going to let her out. "She wouldn't be as safe," Danicka says, a touch of concern in her voice that is one of the things that eliminates any thought that she is strict because she doesn't care, that she is mean to the cat because she has no affection for it. "And she needs to learn not to be scared of her carrier," she adds, a touch more firmly.
They head out of Chicago then, the most spontaneous thing they could have done tonight when he came to her door a little tired and she was already worn out and then, well. Then they fucked, and fucked again, all rather wildly, until she realized she wanted to go Home. They hold hands across the center console and listen to whatever music he has in his car, or NPR, or the silence and the sound of the wind outside the windows. She leans over and lays her head on his arm when they're cruising, when he doesn't have to keep shifting gears, and smiles when he mentions breakfast, letting her sleep, but she can make him kolaches if she watns to.
"Oh, can I?" she says, feigning eagerness and laughing at him. She turns her head and rubs her face on his arm. "Like I would ever feel bad about you feeding me," she says, "when I know there's precious little in the world that makes you happier."
She yawns, as the night sweeps past them outside. "I think we have pancake mix. If you get milk, could you get some nectarines, too? I've been having wild cravings lately."
And so it goes, on the way out to the sleepy little town past the forest preserves, where a tiny house made of twigs sits atop the rocks in a tabletop water fountain, where there's a carved wooden box on a shelf in the bedroom holding ticket stubs from the Shedd, a pen from the W, a little sparkly glove, handfuls of tiny, meaningless things collected without intention or purpose since they met, until she realized what they all meant when put together. Their house with the handprints, and the litter box down where the laundry machines are, and the old saggy couch, and the wonky little television that doesn't get cable and the rocking chair that is really just Danicka's,
their house with its empty rooms downstairs. All the space they don't use and don't yet need. That's the place where she thinks of raising children. And she'd lose the apartment in River North, get on the school board out in Stickney because she'd rather her kids go to school near home than commute to a private school in Chicago proper. That's where she thinks of the future when the office and bookshelves and computer move downstairs to the den and the room connected to theirs becomes a nursery, but how later on they'd convert the den into a bedroom and the nursery back into a study so that the kids -- and it's never been a question to her that there would be multiple children -- could have bedrooms away from their weird mom and dad. Later on they could renovate and add another bathroom, maybe, turn the basement into a real family room. Of course she'd wait til they were all weaned and toddling before she went back to school, then a nanny of course, someone from the Nation so they don't have to make use of daycare --
and somewhere in the drive Danicka finds herself saying all of this. Talking about those rooms and those future renovations she's thought about, switching the 'study' around, but how of course the bedroom right by theirs would be a nursery so they could have the baby nearby when it was still very tiny and needy. It's all quite practical, truth be told, but it's also all ...very detailed.
"I can't believe I'm a junior already," she muses, as they're getting near their own neighborhood.
LukasLukas doesn't know, of course, that some of these thoughts have been Danicka's mind nearly since the day he took her to the den for the first time. That, when she saw how the two bedrooms were adjoined by the bathroom, she thought of how this was one way they could both listen for the baby crying at night without having to have a monitor, or worse, the crib in the bedroom. That she thought of filling the empty rooms downstairs with family, cubs. That later on, while he and her father were discussing the cabinets and the outer walls, Danicka mulled instead about moving the study, furnishing the basement.
When she begins to muse about this -- perhaps because he was musing about trees and walls, and then they were talking about the house, and then she was talking about renovations and families -- Lukas is very quiet, almost uncertain. He'd talked about it himself earlier tonight. Something about wanting children, something about wanting cubs. But when she talks about leaving school, when she talks about putting all that off under the kids were weaned and toddling, Lukas's brow seems to furrow of its own accord.
She's a junior already. He glances at her; it's almost sharp, the quickness of that look, the way his eyes catch the light and toss it back. Then he turns back to the road, his one hand on the steering wheel gripping the leather.
"I can't either," he admits. "I think I thought you were ... a sophomore, maybe. I don't know. It doesn't feel like we've been together so long."
This, from the man who just an hour ago was mulling about having known her forever, through all their lifetimes, all the ages of the world. And this too, with a sort of forced lightness:
"When did we talk about having kids again?"
DanickaShe laughs gently, and she holds his arm. She quiets soon after though -- it isn't a long laugh, or a loud one, or even that mirthful. Mostly, it's just tender, and endeared. She strokes the top of his hand, the bony ridges of his knuckles. "I started my freshman year a couple of months before we went to New York," she says, remembering. She doesn't mean that trip where she ran away after yelling at Sam in the park, but the most important visit to New York. The day he took her away. The day he made her his own. "But I only just started my junior year, baby," she says softly, and lays her hand atop his, still. Warm.
"I don't graduate til twenty-thirteen," she goes on, and her voice is low and slow and gentle, as though reassuring. "I mean, if you really think about it, we've only been together for... less than three years?"
Danicka pauses there, and laughs. "Less than three," she repeats, amused, and hugs his arm. "And it'll be another two or so before I go off of birth control, and then probably a few months at least before it's out of my system enough to have a good chance of getting pregnant, so ...don't be scared," Danicka says. There's no mockery in it. There's no levity assigned to his anxiety. Just the truth, and her gentleness. "The earliest you're going to have cubs is still probably a good three years away."
Lukas"I wasn't scared," he says. It's almost automatic, and then he thinks about it; says, "Well, I was scared. But excited, too."
His arm gets hugged; his mouth smiles almost as though there's a reflex arc between one and the other. Without taking his eyes from the road, Lukas tips his head sideways and nuzzles his cheek against the top of Danicka's head, a sort of rough, impromptu affection. "It's scary and exciting all at once, the thought of having children."
They're turning into their garage, then. Lukas is parking the car, trying his best to put the car in first and pull up the parking brake without dislodging Danicka. Then he reaches up, pushes the button to make the garage door rattle closed again.
"I'm not ready," he adds when they've exited the car, when he's taken Kando for a moment so she can get out of the passenger's seat, "but I can't wait. Does that make sense at all?" - and he laughs a little, putting his arm around Danicka again, thinking that soon it will be winter and cold outside and snow and he'll hug her just like this on their way to the front door so she doesn't get cold. Silly.
DanickaAs they come to their street, Danicka slips away from his arm so he's free to shift, free to drive them safely home. Kandovany mrows at the turn of the car and Danicka shhs her gently. The garage door rattles upward, and Lukas doesn't want Danicka to move but she does. She's near, though. Still close. Laughs softly. "Oh, you're scared," she teases. "Try being pregnant and giving birth, buddy."
Leans over the center console after the parking break is up, and she kisses him as he's closing the garage door. It feels so normal now, so right, coming home like this. She wishes it weren't so far, but she's glad it's far enough that they don't live In Chicago, that they have a nice and quiet and safe neighborhood, that they live near a Czech place and the forest preserves and a dentist and a Jewel-Osco. It's a good den, everything about it. It will be better when she doesn't have to commute for school, too. She can be here more. She can be home.
They get out, getting her bag and Lukas grabbing Kando's carrier. Kandovany is pawing at the mesh, meowing, knowing she gets to be out soon, have the run of the place -- particularly the basement, which is slightly more Her Territory. This place is alive with spirits, though only Lukas -- and perhaps, to a far lesser extent if at all, Danicka -- can feel it. The glass shimmers a little brighter. They'll clean all the windows in the morning, shine them and free them from all dust and grime. The oak in the back yard groans softly, almost inaudibly, as it grows, faster than any sleeping tree. They'll refill the water in the fountain and turn it on again, and the fresh water will gurgle and churn and welcome them back. Kandovany will hunt mice for sport as much as anything else, honing her skills even without claws.
Danicka holds his hand as they walk towards the door. She smiles. "Yes," she tells him, simply, when he asks if fear and excitement, anxiety and anticipation, make sense together. Given their earlier conversation, it amuses her, and her smile is warm and secretive and knowing as they approach the door. She tucks herself under his arm. "I know exactly what you mean."
LukasWarm. Secretive. Knowing. These traits - as divergent and nearly contradictory as they are - define Danicka in so many ways. At times, Lukas looks at her and she seems ageless, timeless, connected to the earth and the world beneath the surface. Sometimes he remembers, unprovoked and out of the blue, the solstices and the equinoxes, the priestess of the season his mate would become.
"Good," he says quietly, smiling. "Because I barely know what I mean."
At the door, Lukas unlocks the lock and Danicka starts unzipping the carrier. Kando streaks out nearly the second she's allowed. They see her bounding up the half-flight of stairs, tail straight up, and then she cuts a quick turn and vanishes. The two-legged ones are a little slower to follow, pawing on the lights, the male yawning as he follows the female up those stairs.
"You should go warm up the bed," he echoes. He really hasn't stopped smiling since they got home. "I'm going to make sure Kando has food and water, and then I'm going to shower and come to bed."
DanickaWhen they met, the last thing Danicka was thinking of were the children she'd one day have. They were a distant thing, even -- especially -- after two fruitless pregnancies. They were something she detached herself from, hoping that maybe during pregnancy she could both protect herself and the unborn from whatever mate she was given to and come to some kind of warmth towards the child before it took its first breath. That was how she felt. She never thought she would fall in love. She didn't really think she was capable of it, having never felt that way before.
Not three years later, and she's holding her husband's hand as they carry her cat into the home he bought to share with her, and they're talking about how the best time to have children would be after she graduates, but that's still two years away, and it'll take some time after that to get pregnant, and then to carry the child to term, and so on. They're talking about how, by the time they have their first baby, they will have been together for about five years. To most people that would be very fast -- insanely fast.
They live in a different kind of world. They are not most people. They are not, either of them, people.
The door gets unlocked and opened, Kandovany is set free to go tearing around and inspecting the home, and they leave the carrier down by the door along with their shoes. Danicka reaches up and lets her hair out of her ponytail, giving a little yawn. Yes, it's nervewracking and anxiety-inducing conversation, and yet: so very exciting. So cheering to think about. Danicka even realizes it's a bit misguided to get excited about decorating bedrooms for children, but she doesn't deny herself any of it. She doesn't want to have children so she can dress little girls in tiny dresses. She wants to have children because she wants to have children with Lukas. There is no real explanation other than that -- it isn't wanting to see what they'd look like or how they'd behave, though she is curious. It isn't because she wants to cement their relationship somehow, because if they needed children to do that they would have already broken up. It isn't to prove their virility to the world or to add to the Nation, though perhaps the latter is vaguely important. She just wants to have children. She wants to be a mother. She would not want either of these things without the proper ends to those sentences: children...with Lukas. and be a mother...and Lukas a father.
Lukas lets her walk ahead up the stairs, protecting her from all the imaginary and real and unlikely and well-known dangers of the universe. She ascends, because this is their home, and they are safe here, always, and because she is fearless, and because she has him at her back.
"Mmkay," she says, and stops to give him a kiss on the cheek before going up another flight of stairs, up to their bedroom. She isn't lazy up there, though. While he's putting food in Kando's bowl and filling the other one with water, Danicka is refreshing the water in the fountain upstairs and plugging it in. She plugs in the lamps on each nightstand and opens the blinds to let the moonlight in. When Lukas comes upstairs, Danicka makes no overtures of joining him in the shower but kisses him again, nuzzling his jaw and telling him to wake her up when he comes to bed if she zonks out before he gets there. She knows him well -- he wouldn't, unless she asked.
Later on, though, she isn't curled up in a lump under the covers when he gets out of the shower. The house is dark and quiet, and so is the street it's on. A single lamp is on in their bedroom, as though left on to light his way when she knows very well he wouldn't need it. She hears him turn off the water, the rustle of his towel, and she perks up, setting the book she picked up back down and rolling over, looking towards the door he's going to come through and smiling. Smiling because he's coming.
And she isn't wearing some gifted lingerie he bought for her, or something from that endless closet of hers. She's just wearing a camisole, a little peach-colored thing with pale blue lace along the edges and straps, the fabric thin enough that he can see the faint darkness of her nipples through it, the outline of her breasts and her waist. Her panties are mostly lace, low-waisted, the sort of thing called a boyshort that doesn't bring to mind anything even remotely masculine. She's smiling at him, kneeling on top of their comforter, waiting for him to walk over to her.
It's just a couple of feet of distance to cross before he gets to her, before she puts her hands on the edge of his towel and unwraps it from his hips, dropping it to the floor as she looks up at him.
LukasGiven she told him to wake her when he comes to bed, Lukas is fully expecting Danicka to be curled up asleep. A great part of him looks forward to it, even: the thought of his mate warm and safe in their bed; the thought of her curled under the comforters, waiting for him to come and crawl in beside her and fit himself to her the way he does.
They're like animals in that regard. A human couple might stop spooning so closely after a year. Two years. Nearly three. They are not human, though, and they sleep the way their primitive instincts tell them to: close together, relaxed and warm and close for the unconscious, subconscious comfort of it.
Except she's not sleeping when he comes to her. She's awake, and she's kneeling on the bed, and he stops in surprise and looks at her. She's smiling. And waiting. He comes to her in his towel, beginning to ask her what she's doing up, baby, don't you have school tomorrow? and she puts her hands on the edge of his towel and the tuck comes free with a gentle tug. It drops to the floor and his head bows as he watches it go. When he looks up, his eyebrow is a little quirked; he's beginning to smile.
"Znovu?"
DanickaPerhaps they still sleep so close because for the longest time, they might go a week or two -- or more -- without so much as seeing one another, much less spending the night in the same bed. For the longest time, they didn't even share her bed, or his; they went to hotels, spaces that didn't belong to either of them, as though they could leave what they had in some anonymous room and walk away from it. After just a couple of years though, even though they've married and he comes to her as often as he can and she comes to him when she can, they get into bed and sleep curled up together, his arms around her to keep her warm even in the middle of summer.
They didn't have that at the beginning. They didn't have that knowledge, that certainty, of being accepted by the other. What passes for butterflies and titillation at the beginning of an affair becomes anxiety and pain if it goes on too long, unbearable and harmful. What some consider boredom and the death of love is, truthfully, something far more intoxicating and lasting. He thinks of her in bed, already sleeping, thinks of wrapping her up in his arms and kissing her shoulder and waking her, if only for a moment, to let her know he's there, and it makes him happy. She thought of letting herself drift off, knowing he'd come to her, knowing he'd hold her, knowing he'd stay until she woke up, and it made her happy.
Of course, then there's also this: their hunger for each other, unabated in all this time. Danicka is happy, and she's home with her mate, and she loves his body. She loves the way he fucked her tonight in her bed, pulling her atop him and thrusting up into her, the way he groaned aloud at the feel of her, the way he kissed her. She looks down at his body as she bares it, because he isn't stopping her. Saw her kneeling on the bed in simple, comfortable, but alluring underclothes and walked over to her, knowing full well what she was telling him without words. She thinks of lingerie as sexual warpaint, always has. It makes her intentions so very clear.
It makes him so fucking hard, too. It makes him let out this ragged gasp of want when she tells him to just tear her panties or pull them aside and fuck her like that. It makes him horny -- because it conveys to him so quickly, so instantly, that she is.
Danicka doesn't answer him. Her hands are on his waist, watching the taper of his abdomen into his hips, the tuck of his obliques. The way the flesh goes from darkly tanned to lightly tanned to pale, the thin line of hair from his navel to his pubic line. Her eyes move more than her hands, running slowly over him as though this is the first time she's seen him naked in days. In weeks. Danicka sighs, and leans forward, taking his left nipple in her mouth and licking it softly, suckling gently on him until it hardens against her tongue.
There's a moment where it seems she might just leave it there. Move her mouth to the other side of his chest and give his other nipple the same attention. Slide her hand down his belly and touch his cock, trace the edges of it with her fingertips. But that isn't what happens. What happens is this:
Danicka's hands on Lukas's waist urge him back a step or two from the bed. She slips off of the edge and onto the floor, kneeling on the carpet. Her breathing is coming faster when she lays that first warm kiss on his hip, close enough to his cock to make it twitch. She doesn't look up into his eyes and tell him she loves him but it's there, somehow, in how tender her hands are on him, how simultaneously gentle and hungry her mouth is. Her palms run over his thighs before she takes his cock in her hand, holding him while she strokes her tongue across the head, licking the tiny, dark slit, pressing the tip of her tongue against it gently before
her mouth opens and takes him in, sliding quickly but unhurriedly down his cock with a low moan.
Sometimes it's mind-blowing how near-impossible it is to think of Danicka as feeling degraded by this, or coerced into doing it, or anything less but turned on and eager for it, anything less than wanting to make him feel good and, quite simply, enjoying it. And sometimes it's just mind-blowing, period, what she does to him. How she does it: getting on her knees and sucking his cock, while the strap of her camisole falls off her shoulder, while her free hand moves between her legs to rub herself through her panties.
In their warm little bedroom, in their sturdy little house, on their quiet little street.
Lukas
This is when he's most animal. Closest to his primitive self. It's in the way his eyes watch her as she moves to the edge of the bed, as he's moving to her. It's how his eyes follow every little movement - the drop of his own towel, the way her hands lay against his waist. His arms open a little, unconsciously, to give her room. His chest expands when she touches her mouth to his nipple, and this, too, is unconscious.
She can hear him laughing softly as she licks him. It turns into a sip of an inhale near the end. His hand cradles her cheek; cradles her head close to him. When she stops his eyes are open again, looking at her inquisitively, curiously, waiting to see what comes next.
He knows what's coming next when she shifts him back from the bed a little. He's half-hard already, hardening as she slides down from the mattress. His help is not necessary, but his hands are at her waist anyway, supporting her as her feet touch the ground. When she starts to go to her knees, a flare of arousal goes through Lukas's brilliant eyes. His hands follow her body all the way up. That loose strap of her camisole catches on his pinky and he thinks of drawing it back up, but lets it lie where it is, looped against the summer-gold skin of her arm.
Some deep muscle of Lukas's abdomen pulls and quivers for a second beneath her lips when she kisses him. That's when his hand slips into her hair, strokes it back in all its tumbling golden thickness. When she takes him in her mouth, though, his hand finds hers instead - folds over her hand where it presses to his lower abdomen. He holds her hand as though it's a means of connecting to her even deeper, more potent than what she's doing to him now, while what she's doing to him makes his head fall back, makes his stance shift a little wider as though to maintain balance even as the world realigns around this moment.
"Oh..." he whispers, barely voiced. When he looks at her again, his brow is gently furrowed, his lips parted, and his breathing is already beginning to rise.
DanickaThere was a time when Lukas would never show Danicka that he was an animal. It was something he locked his teeth down on, subdued like everything else, dominated like prey. Among his pack he would sometimes be more animal, more primitive, but even then, he was Lukas. Shadow Lord. Unbroken Circle, then Unbroken. Raised by well-heeled Kin and fostered by a Philodox, taught to honor his lineage and his tribe but to fight the war, above all. And he could not fight that war if he was just a beast.
Then, Danicka. And her delight in his moments of exuberant joy. And her acceptance of his bursts of temper, anger, even rage, because she was neither aroused by it or willing to let her fear of it destroy her. There was Danicka, and the way she responded to him when he showed her how badly he wanted her, how easily she let herself show him she wanted him, how bold that was, how strange, and how affecting. There was Danicka, who did not want him in spite of the fact that he was an animal and did not want him because he was an animal but wanted him, period, and it simply didn't matter what he was, other than himself.
She kisses him and licks him and he starts to harden for her, to her, drawn into the heat of her mouth and the anticipation of what she's doing to him. Again? he asked, amused and affectionate, because they keep coming back together tonight. Tonight they're touching and stroking and nuzzling, caressing, insatiable. Again, she seems to say, when she slides down to the floor and strokes him, and takes him in her mouth, and touches herself. Lukas, looking down past where his fingers cut through her hair, can see the top curve of her breast as that camisole of hers slips further down, as her... well, enthusiasm for him shakes the loose scrap of fabric from any place it might rest on her soft, soft skin.
Her mouth slides off of him, slowly, in one long stroke. Danicka's breath washes humidly over his flesh as she murmurs, laying kisses along his shaft: "Bůh, miluji svého ptáka," just before she opens her lips and takes him inside again, deeply this time, moaning around him as her hand moves a little faster between her legs. Over and over again, blowing him the way she hasn't in -- let's face it -- months if not longer, like she's never gotten to before, like she's been thinking about this for weeks.
Lukas"Oh, my god," Lukas sighs as her mouth takes him inside again. There's never really a pattern for when she'll do this for him. Or to him. It's not some prerequisite of sex; they don't follow a manual where first she sucks him and then he licks her and then they fuck.
It's not something he asks for, either. He asked once, and she walked away from him. Walked away so alluringly that he followed her, famished for the taste of her -- but walked away nonetheless. The lesson, whether it was meant as such or not, whether he recognizes it consciously or not, stuck. And anyway, he likes it like this better.
Unexpected. Unheralded. He thought he'd bring her here and they'd go to sleep together; he would have been more than happy with that. But then she went to bed, only not really to bed, and when he smiled and asked her, Again? she answered
like this.
And he's breathing raggedly now, the slide and suction of her mouth pulling low moans out of him. The sight of her hand between her thighs makes him moan, too; makes him reach down and flick the other strap of her camisole off, makes him work that little scrap of fabric down her body until he can reach in and palm her breasts.
"I love what you do to me," he mutters. His hands knead, rub, slide down as far as he can reach and up again. He runs his hands all over her, her breasts and her shoulders and her neck, her face; he kisses her mouth if she lets him, her brow if she doesn't. "Ach, Bože, ty pÅ™ivád t k šílenství."
DanickaSometimes they can't get enough of each other, it seems. They run their hands everywhere as they roll in bed, or grind against each other on the couch gasping into each other's mouths. Sometimes they do it just like that: she sucks his cock, and he licks her pussy and then, then they fuck, wet from each other, their mouths tasting of each other, and it's this messy, slick, grunting, primitive thing. Sometimes, too, they're up in some tower of glitz in Chicago or New York City and she's wearing some scraps of three hundred dollar fabric and he's watching her reflection in glass, or fucking her in the bathroom of some swank restaurant while her jewelry dangles from her earlobes, swinging and glittering.
Sometimes they get into bed to cuddle each other to sleep and make love like some kind of 'boring' married couple, close and slow and under the sheets, hands in each other's hair, Danicka whispering that she loves him, Lukas groaning that he needs her,
even if it isn't in words, even if those words never, ever pass his lips. She knows. The way he holds her then, the way he wraps himself around her afterward, the way he is never the same as when he's just been with her, the way it seems the world can't touch him. It took her so long to realize just how he felt in those moments, how he was vulnerable in a way, how she needed to protect him. And that was when she began to understand him. That was when she knew she was falling in love with him, though she's quite sure she was falling in love with him long before she ever let herself recognize it.
All that time ago, she wasn't trying to teach him a lesson. She wasn't trying to put him off of asking her to go down on him forever and ever, though she wouldn't be who she is if she hadn't noticed by now that Lukas never asks her for this, never suggests it, never tells her he wants it even though she doesn't hesitate whatsoever to tell him when she wants him to come over and kiss it for me, baby, please. She's thought about that night in the W, the Chinese food, the banana rolls, the way they made out on the floor until she told him to take off his shirt and he told her she should suck his cock and she... got up and walked away. Danicka didn't mean it to teach him not to ask. It was just something about the way he said it. Maybe something about the you should that she rebelled against, that she would always rebel against, that she would still rebel against, most likely.
The truth is that he likes this better, unexpected and unheralded and sometimes even shocking him, how fucking eager she is, how she moans around him like she's the one being pleasured, how she nuzzles and rubs his cock against herself. And the truth is what she just said: she loves it. Loves his body. Loves his cock, and loves the way he can make her feel when he lays her down and gives it to her. This is the woman who wanted him to rub her entire body over his cock on their wedding night, who moaned as it stroked over her belly, who flickers with arousal when she tastes his precum. So fucking demure in public, and that first night when she pushed him away, and he thought
he thought she wouldn't want it rough, didn't want it -- well, dirty. Wanted to make sweet tender love and would never just fuck, wanted things from him he didn't think he could give her then, couldn't ever give her, couldn't ever give anyone, because that wasn't what he was. That wasn't what he thought he was. And he didn't know what she was then, either. That she was shameless, that she was insatiable, that she never berated herself for wanting what she wants, for indulging, for telling him in no uncertain terms to give it to her. That she doesn't balk at even begging for it.
Danicka moans again as he pushes her camisole down and touches her breasts. Strokes her body, all over her skin, til the other strap has been pushed down and the whole thing is falling around her ribcage, the straps hanging on her elbows, the lamplight hitting her skin and illuminating the contrast between the skin she bares to the sun and the skin she bares to his mouth and his fingers. But then Lukas is pulling his hips back, bending to her to kiss her mouth and she's whimpering at the loss of his cock but opening her mouth to him all the same, shameless, heedless. Her hands come up to cup his jaw, to wrap around him, and she wants his cock but she wants his body, too, she wants
what he wanted when he covered her hand with his own.
She wants him.
Danicka wraps her arms around his neck as he straightens, drawing herself up by his strength. She pushes off of the floor and lifts herself onto him, not to wrap her legs around him but to get her lace-covered cunt against his cock, rubbing herself on him with those whimpers, those gasps. That deep, aching sound of need.
LukasEven as Danicka is pushing off the floor, Lukas is catching her, hoisting her up. Their bodies meet solidly; they both burn so bright, burn so hot. When she puts her cunt against him he throws his head back and groans like she's taken him inside already, like what she began with her mouth is finished. And she's whimpering, too, she's making those little sounds like they're fucking, like what she needs is this fuck, what she needs is this cock she's rubbing herself against.
He kisses her. Of course he does: they've always kissed like this, like they can't resist, like if they don't have this kiss they'll simply fall apart. He kisses her, and kissing her, feels himself falling into her -- feels his gravity tilt as his eyes close, but
the bed is right behind them. It catches them when the backs of his knees and thighs hit the thick mattress, when he drops down on it heavily enough to jostle her against him, make them both groan. She's atop him now, the way she was the second time in her bed, no more than an hour ago -- was it so recently? -- and his hands are on her thighs, gripping, squeezing as they slide up to cover her ass.
"Rub that sweet cunt on me," he mutters. His mouth doesn't leave hers. He kisses her again a second later, fiercely. "Go on, rub it on my cock, get me wet." He laughs, low, a little breathless, and it's another kiss as hard as the last, "Mark your territory, láska."
DanickaIf Lukas hadn't bent down to kiss her then, gasping for her mouth, Danicka very well might have stayed on her knees until she made him come, until she worked her clit with her fingers to her own orgasm, until he grabbed at the wall for balance and pushed his hand into her hair for connection. Nothing about the way she was sucking on him indicated she was bored, wanted to stop, didn't want to give him this. Do this for him -- or to him, yes.
But he did kiss her, and she climbed up his body like he was a tree, lifting herself up and trying to get his body between her legs, against her pussy, please. Her top dangles from her crooked arms and her breasts point towards him, bare and pale, the nipples a fair pink and hardened into tiny nubs. And instead of anything else, instead of all the things he could do with her or for her or to her, Lukas simply falls. Into her, or while holding her, taking her with him.
For all that this seems inevitable between them, like they've always loved each other -- and yet simultaneously feels like they haven't been together even the few years they have -- it used to be so hard. They used to be afraid they were going to lose each other if she got pregnant, or if Vladik found out, or if they couldn't get past a certain argument, or if they simply couldn't trust each other. And it did take so, so long for them to trust each other, even when he'd saved her life, even when she'd given him her heart. Trust was never built into them. Trust was the enemy. Sometimes, together like this, it's easy to forget the way things used to be between them.
And that's as it should be.
The bed rebounds as Lukas's weight -- and Danicka's -- hits it, roughly. The springs jostle even as the soft top of the mattress and all its covering absorb them, let them sink down. Danicka is straddling him now, bent over him to groan in his mouth, rubbing herself on his body through her panties, gasping for that cock she was so very, very eager for. Her hands are on his chest, holding her balance, holding him, moving and pressing on him at turns as she all but rides him.
Lukas grabs her ass and she lets out a loud moan, working her hips faster, shuddering at the touch. That's as it always is: he knows where to touch her, he knows how. There's so much they never said aloud, almost everything learned from inference and trial-and-error and sheer dumb luck. That her ass is more sensitive than her breasts. That he likes feeling her arms and legs wrapped around him when he comes. That when they crave closeness, she wants to be able to not just see him but have him near her, sitting up and facing her or holding her to the wall or atop her, and that sometimes when he craves closeness he wants to be behind her and over her, covering her, their bodies aligned completely. Truthfully, it took them awhile to be able to talk about sex more openly, to say this and not that, and if Danicka were to look back, she might say that it only really began when Lukas -- though he was uneasy and uncomfortable doing it -- talked to her about those moments when something she did, something she liked or didn't like or pulled away from or refused, made him feel rejected in a fundamental and heartwrenching way.
Of course, all that is so far from her mind as to make it true enough to say that right now, Danicka has lost her mind.
Lukas laughs, tells her to mark her territory, and he never would have said this when they started. Never the first time she rubbed herself on his cock and moaned for him, clinging to him while she wordlessly begged for it, fucked him without fucking him. But he's been hers for so very long. She's vicious with people who so much as sniff in his direction, vengeful in a nasty -- and even petty -- fashion. But he's not just telling her to mark him. He's telling him to mark his cock as hers, her territory, her male, hers. And it is. He is. Danicka leans over him, her hand on the back of his neck, and kisses him so hard it's nearly a bite, her hand pushing down on his shoulder as she grinds herself on top of him.
"Rip my panties off," she mutters against his lips, through a gasp, and by god she's got to stop saying this, she buys underwear that costs thirty to fifty dollars a pair and then tells him to just tear it off of her as though she can't even be bothered to lift her hips and move her legs and wiggle out of them. As though those two seconds of Lukas grabbing the fine, thin fabric and shredding it between his hands is even too much, and she doesn't want to have to stop rubbing against him in order to be able to fuck him. If these panties were thongs, if it were an easy cut to just pull aside, she might just do that, but truth be told,
Danicka likes it better when he just takes them off of her. Opens her legs. And fucks her.
She swivels her hips on him, changing the pattern of her grinding for a moment and moaning as his cock slides over her clit in a new way, a new stroke. "Slzný je pry
a kurva m na zdi," she moans again, the tail end of it a whimper, a plea.
Tear them off, she says, and he laughs low and rough even as arousal slams through him like a thunderbolt. Every time she winds her hips on him his breath catches, his eyes flare. Every time she moans he kisses her again, a claim in that kiss the same way there's a claim in the way she moves.
Mark your territory, he tells her.
Mine, mine, my, mine, he tells her.
And - tear them off, she tells him again, in the language they were born to. And he kisses her again, fiercely, rising off the bed to do so. His hands are big, so strong. He grips the fragile fabric of those expensive panties of hers and his knuckles press against her lower abdomen; the cords in his forearms stand out and his shoulders harden as he shreds the last of her clothes off her body. Then he's sitting up, catching her up with his hands under her thighs, getting up off that soft comfortable bed of theirs, that bed that Danicka bought carefully because even though the couch downstairs and the tv are off craigslist, this is theirs and theirs only, and it's important.
She's balanced on his body, then, his hands supporting her, her thighs wrapped around his waist. Lukas can't stop kissing her, so they go kissing blind across the room, but not very far. Just far enough that her back hits the wall and then he's got her caught against it, caught between his hot torso and the cool wall, his hands coming up to cover her breasts, rub her tits while he moans into her mouth. Moans into her mouth while he grinds against her, fucks his slick hard cock against her with the same hard, liquid thrusts of his hips that he'll fuck her with later.
Now:
catching her under the thighs again. Hoisting her up a little, far enough to let her re-wind her legs around him. "Open," he mutters against her mouth, the way he did the very first time, only not. "Open for me, baby. That's it, take that cock and guide me in. That's it,"
and he's lowering her now, his head bowed, looking down to watch her body, his brow pulling and his teeth parting, his lips drawing gently back in a silent snarl of pleasure. That's it, he whispers, oh, that's it, before his mouth is on hers again; he's pressing her to the wall like he's out of patience suddenly, pressing into her and pushing himself into her, every inch, nailing her to the wall.
Lukas[oops! lukas bought bed. danicka bought bedding!]
DanickaWhen Danicka tells him to tear her panties off and fuck her against the wall, she knows that Lukas would have been happy standing beside their bed, trying hard not to fuck her mouth as she sucked on him. She knows he would have been happy lying back and watching her ride him, would have loved to see her lifting that camisole up, up, off her body, looking down at him as she worked herself on his cock. She knows he would have been happy if she'd moaned and wriggled and turned over and arched her back, lifting her hips to telling him in this primitive, nonverbal way what to do, how to mount his mate. She knows he would have been happy to roll her under him and love her, love her again and again tonight. And truth be told, there's not a single way he could fuck her tonight that wouldn't make Danicka very, very happy, too.
What happens is that she realizes, while grinding down on him, that it's been a long time since he held her up against the wall. She remembers the second night they fucked, meeting at the Shedd and going to the W for the first time, and how he stopped just before he entered her, told her -- like it surprised him -- that he wanted to see her face. She remembers, kissing Lukas, how it was that afternoon, and how strikingly it confirmed what they'd both tried to ignore or dismiss since the first time they made love: that they were, in fact, making love. And for no real reason at all, she realizes she wants him to lift her up in those arms of his, that body that keeps evolving into something more and more dangerous, more and more powerful, and hold her up like that while they fuck.
It's a whim. Like so much of her life, even the decisions that turn out to be life-altering, are whims. Whims that turn into needs. Needs that are closely intertwined with who she is, at her heart.
Danicka gives a laugh, low and warm, as he rips her panties off. She squirms to make it more difficult. To tease him. To make him have to wait a few more fractions of a second to be inside of her, even though she's the one that can't be bothered to take off her underwear properly. She rubs her tits against his chest while she holds his face and kisses him, slowly now, deep, and one, two shrieks of tearing lace later, the pale blue scraps of fabric slide down his legs to the floor. She moans, even at something as simple as the feel of her camisole's hem brushing against her newly bared hips. He can feel for the first time since he came into the bedroom how wet she really is, because
her legs are opening around him as he rises off the bed, and he doesn't have to ask her moments later to open for him, doesn't have to ask her to wrap around him because she's gasping even as he's taking those steps to the wall. She's reaching between their bodies, her knuckles brushing his abdomen, and taking his cock in her hand. Maybe it'll make him stumble; she doesn't know any more than she cares, but she takes him and starts to work herself down onto his cock, moaning as she does so. At first his head just slips and slides against her lips, making her catch groans in her throat, and then her back is to the wall and he's palming her breasts, his hips moving, her pussy sliding down onto him.
LukasOf course she doesn't cooperate. Danicka is one of the most uncooperative people Lukas knows. Ask him if he minds. There's no malice in it, anyway. She doesn't do it to hold it over him, to show him who really holds power here ... any of that. She does it because it's who she is.
The fox to the prince. The clawless, fiercely independent cat. Or just: herself. Danicka. His mate.
His.
His, so he snarls at her - playfully, it must be said - when she squirms to make it harder for him to tear her panties off. That only makes her squirm harder, so he grabs her hips and spanks her ass. Then the panties are scraps, and they're moving across the floor, and he's trying to walk her to the wall she asked for when she sabotages that, too, starts working herself onto him.
It makes his head drop to her shoulder. It makes his teeth grip her shoulder, makes his hands tighten on her ass. "Netrp liví hol
i
ka," he calls her, and then her back is to the wall; he's touching her and she's taking him inside and he's raising his head again to catch her mouth, doesn't stop kissing her even to say, muffled now,
"To m poser. Vezm te si, že kohout pro m , lásko."
Lukas[fucking jove. he said:
"Fuck me. Take that cock for me, baby."]
Lukas[oh and first thing was: "Impatient girl."]
Danicka[DIRTY!]
DanickaThere's truth in that. She doesn't cooperate, and she refuses to simply to buck expectation, to turn up her nose at convention, to protect the one thing that's kept her mind intact and her psyche unbroken despite everything she's been through. She belongs to herself. As much as Lukas claims her, as much as losing him would affect her, the underlying truth of the matter is that Danicka belongs so solely and entirely to herself that even he recognized it at the start, and was drawn to her for that reason. She remembers that day at the Shedd, those ten minutes before they left to go fuck again, and how he didn't want her to be like those schools of fish upon whom he projected whatever he was feeling at the time. He didn't want her to simply be whatever he wanted her to be at the time.
Lukas signed up for every single argument they've ever had in that moment, in a way. Every time she's done something he didn't like, every time she's been rude to Katherine or Genevre, every time she's refused to agree with him about Martin or about Sam or anything else, every time they have run up against the threat of losing each other because neither would back down, give in, change their minds, submit -- he probably agreed to endure that when he told her, not in so many words, that all he wanted was for her to be herself. But the other side of that is that he gained his first real foothold in her trust right then. Accepted that she was not like other Shadow Lord Kin, but could play the part, and liked both of those things about her, and didn't want her to stop.
Early on, they fell in love quickly, into need, into adoration. They didn't always like each other. But there were moments, like that one, when they sort of did.
She likes him now. She likes his snarling and she growls right back at him, kisses him like they're already fucking. She likes it when he spanks her, and moans aloud, arching her back and rubbing her pussy on him. She is, in her way, quite primal as well -- stroke her the right way, give it to her when she's like she is tonight, when she's in fucking heat, when no matter how many times he makes her come she wants more, and she just dissolves for him.
Then turns around and makes some new demand. Turns around starts fucking his cock before he can even get her to the wall, makes him grab her and grab the wall and bite down on her shoulder, muttering in her ear. She just takes him deeper in answer, her cunt tight despite how many times he's been inside of her tonight. She obeys his words, at least, but pushes herself against him, lifts herself up -- which drives her harder onto his cock -- and reaches down to lift her camisole
up, up, off,
dropping it past his back and wrapping her arms around him in the process. "Ne," she says, the word like a pout on her lips, "jste kurva m ." Not that she's stopping. Not that she isn't riding him between the wall and his body, looking down between them to see where their two bodies join.
Danicka[stupid tags!]
LukasIn those early days when they didn't really like each other, certainly didn't trust each other, were falling in love with each other anyway --
in those early days, he could've never snarled at her like this, in play or otherwise, without seeing her immediately flash into exactly the sort of submission kin he knew she wasn't. He couldn't have done that because it wouldn't have even been fully conscious, her dissolution. It would have been something akin to survival instinct. She's known nothing all her life but Shadow Lords who would break a kin for daring, and so all her independence, all her rebellion, was secret and subtle.
These days, she leads him down her hallway by the cock. She tells him to rip her panties off and then moves until he can barely comply. She asks to be fucked against the wall and takes him inside while he's still getting there. He asks her to fuck him
and she tells him, pouting, pouting with a flash of teeth behind her lovely lips, to fuck her.
His laugh is a snarl. Or the other way around. He's on her then, he's grabbing her hips and holding her steady and all but lunging for her, all but biting that kiss onto her mouth. She was looking down to see him sliding into her, but he'd rather kiss her, rather taste and feel her right now. He's not slow, the way he enters her. He's not slow, but neither is he brutal; he's on the edge of rough, and perhaps the word for it is eager. Aggressive. Robust.
"Mmmph," is the noise he lets go into her mouth as he's filling her. When he's inside her he breaks the kiss to gasp, gasps and bends to her and kisses her neck, lifts her breast in his hand and kisses that, too, sucks her nipples for an intense, sharp second before he lets go. And then he's fucking her, holding her by the hips and looking her in the eye and fucking her, deep and solid enough that the wall behind her bears the impact of their bodies.
Danicka
Now when Lukas snarls at her, playfully and yet with some layer of truth to the arousal and the answer contained in that sound, Danicka doesn't fold her petals and bend to him, bare her throat in hopes that he'll spare her, beg him with her fingers touching his hair to not do this to her, not like that. Now, when Lukas growls and laughs and spreads her legs further to fuck his cock harder into her, Danicka arches her back and puts her hands on the wall behind her, moaning for it. Her throat is bared, but there's no calculated submission in that: only trust, trust that is so complete it doesn't require thought.
All night, now. A little studying, and the suggestion that they were just going to bed and warm each other up and sleep, but now they've fucked over and over, pleasured each other, stroked each other, and chances are even this won't satisfy her, won't get Danicka to be a good girl and just close her eyes and sleep. Every time it's gotten more intense. Every time, he's fucked her harder, and she's cried out louder for him. Danicka's head is forced up by his kiss, her eyes closed by it, and she grabs his hand where it holds her leg and pulls it up to her breast even as he's quickening the pace of his thrusts, even as her back is bumping over and over against the wall.
Her eyes open when he lets go of her mouth, when he's gasping and kissing her neck which tilts for him. Danicka all but purrs, squirming as she can. It seems like every time they do this, every time he lifts her up and shoves himself into her and fucks her just like this, there's nothing gentle about it. Even the way he cups the breast in his hand to his mouth, like lifting a handful of water to sip at, turns into something fierce. She lets out a whining sort of noise, bucking on his cock, and whimpers when he lets go, whimpers, "Baby, lick it better," the words fuzzy and slurred, mindless. Her hands are in his hair now, stroking those shorn hairs that grow into curls as they lengthen, looking at the sweat bead on his brow, looking at his face. "Lick it all better," she whispers again, lower and softer this time, as the fresh heat of her wetness makes his cock slip that much more easily into her.
LukasHalfway between a gasp and a laugh, the breath that escapes Lukas then. He leans into her and his forehead bumps hers, then lays against hers; he kisses her softly in the midst of all that roughness and wildness and energy.
Then he takes her hands in his. Her wrists. He pushes her arms up against the wall, looking down at the shift in her body as more of her weight centers on her thighs. There's room now only to grind against her, to catch her between the wall and his body and grind into her, his hands rough and warm on her forearms. He's sucking and kissing the inside of her bicep, lips brushing over the quick-beating pulse through that artery; teeth making her triceps quiver for a second when he bites her.
And then he's at her breast again. He holds her against that wall, fucks her slow and deep like that while he opens his mouth and licks her nipple, circles it with his tongue, presses it to his tongue, wraps his mouth around her and sucks at her slower this time, slow and gentle and hot and wet, mmming against her flesh like the very taste of her is something fine and rare.
DanickaA smile flashes across Danicka's face at that laugh, at the way he comes so close, tucks his head so near to her. She holds him there, her mouth trying to kiss his brow but open, laying moans past his skin, til he kisses her. They're still kissing when he strokes her arms up over her head, which makes her let loose a soft groan into his mouth. It takes trust for this, too -- not just the way he holds her hands down but the way she has to trust herself to him, trust her weight to his body holding her up. Which she does, as thoughtlessly as he laughs, as she trembles.
Words are starting to tumble out of her now, aching utterances of want, telling him to fuck her, please, just like that, yes,
saying his name like a prayer or a plea,
the words broken with a shudder and a moan when his moan lowers to her breast and licks at her there, sucks on her just where she wanted him to. Licks it all better. She's so very warm against him, her pussy so very wet, her skin pink and gold in the lamplight. Even if the way she was crying out to him over and over like this weren't sending signals up and down his spine of what's coming, he'd feel it inside of her. He'd see it in the way her torso tightens up, the way her back arches to take him, the way she seems to lift up to some new height, almost there, before quivering away, clenching down on him to hold on, hold on.
When some switch gets flicked inside of her, when the way he's fucking her against that wall seems to drive her up to that height and then over the precipice, Lukas hears it in the sudden break in her voice, feels it in the sudden, involuntary spasms around his cock, sees her clutching at his hands and at the wall. But Danicka feels it. Feels her entire body go rigid but somehow she's still riding him, pulling at his body, even though she's glowing, she's sure she's shining somehow, worries that she'll blind him as she comes, again, for the fourth or fifth time tonight, her body collapsing all around her.
LukasSo often when Danicka comes like this, Lukas is fucking her hard and fast, almost mercilessly pounding that orgasm out of her. Not this time. This time he's so close to her, he's aligned to her from hip to the tips of their fingers, and while the position he has her in is overtly dominant, is him holding her to the wall, the truth is he's just as much holding himself to the wall. To her. His hands around her wrists are big and warm and -- there's something almost reassuring about the way he holds her, holds on to her while he feels her arching, going rigid, turning to one tensile band.
His mouth never leaves her breast. He never fucks her any faster, or harder; but he doesn't relent, either, he fucks her slow and deep and firm, feeling the shudder of impact up through her spine, feeling the shuddering in her body. Eyes closed, Lukas thinks of tensile bands - he thinks of the wedding rings on their fingers, those flawless metal arcs; he thinks of an invisible arc running through her body, breast to cunt, thinks of that same arc running through him where he joins to her, cock to mouth; thinks of the way she shudders, like a gold ring struck and vibrating; thinks of
well. Her, really. No more, no less.
When she goes suddenly pliant, suddenly limp, sagging against the wall, his hands release her arms. He gathers her in his arms and holds her close, plants himself deep and stays still, gives that to her, gives her this moment while she's putting herself back together. He's whispering as he gathers her to himself like that, murmuring i'm here, i'm here, kissing her shoulder and the soft indent under her ear.
And then - some time later, whispering, "Připraveni?"
Lukas[He sez: "Ready?"]
DanickaDanicka's orgasm lasts for what feels like forever when she's in it, and no time at all when she starts to come back down, wrapping her arms around him and laying on his shoulder, holding onto him and gasping, panting, giving the softest whimpers when his cock twitches in her or when her cunt clenches on him, releasing echoes of pleasure through her body all over again. She's shaking, shaking the way that used to worry him, that used to simultaneously endear him, captivate him, and stoke the fires of his protective nature until he almost couldn't bear it. Shaking simply because she's overwhelmed. Shaking because her mind feels like it has burst into fragments, into dust, an aura of consciousness that may never entirely recoalesce.
And he holds her up there, lets her arms go so that they can wrap and drape around him like they do. She's stronger than she used to be, but compared to him she's still so slender, so light even if she's much less fragile than she once was. No longer made of glass, made of china, but something far more flexible and far warmer. Her heart is pounding so hard she imagines he must be able to feel it echoing in his chest, but she doesn't ask him. She can't talk. Her hips move gently on him, shifting for comfort or pleasure or both, for reassurance of that closeness. Lukas murmurs to her that he's with her, and his lips nudge aside strands of her hair from her ears, whisper past them like a veil, or the lattice within a confessional.
It takes a little while for her to be able to breathe a little more normally, a few attempts at deep breaths, and she knows he's waiting for her, feels him rigid inside of her, feels him controlling his breathing and the firm way he holds her. Danicka doesn't start working herself on him again any time; Lukas eventually murmurs, asking her if she's ready, asking her -- though not in so many words -- if it's okay if he fucks her now, if she's okay, if she's ready for him.
Slowly she lifts her head and kisses him, her eyes never opening, her lips parting to give him that deep, slow kiss. And draws back from it far before he's ready, lifting her hips and stroking herself on him once, twice, as she murmurs back: "Chcete se ohyb m nad postelí?"
Danicka[Czech: Want to bend me over the bed?]
LukasThose words send a streak of fire through his eyes. She can feel his hands tightening on her back. She can feel his cock twitching inside her from nothing more than the words, the thought, the subtle shifting of her body on his. He kisses her again because he hasn't had enough, because she drew back so quickly, and because of what she drew back to say.
But then - he shakes his head. There's almost a little uncertainty there. All this time, and the truth is Lukas rarely says no to anything in the bedroom. He's so eager with her, so wanting, so hungry all the time. It's not that he thinks he'll displease her. It's just that he's not used to it. Not used to saying no, because --
"Chci být blízko vás."
DanickaThe first time Danicka turned over for him, or bent over for him, he was surprised and he wanted to get atop her and have her like that, fuck her like that -- and didn't. He wanted to see her face. He wanted, though he couldn't say it at the time, to be close to her. And there have been times -- there were times enough that he finally had to tell her, had to talk to her -- when he felt like he couldn't say no to her, not about anything, but she could always say no to him, always tell him not like that, always reject him.
There was some truth in that, if she's honest. The need to be able to exert more power, more independence, more control between them was one she felt keenly. It wasn't that she was ever testing him, at least not consciously, seeing how far she could push before he'd lash out or walk away. But there was an exploration to all of that. There were tests of each other, each one trying to figure out what it means to be in a relationship that matters, to be in any kind of relationship at all. With all of his strength, with all of his dominance, with the fact that he all but owned her -- body, property, will -- in this city and could do what he liked to her, with all her broken experience with how little I love you actually means,
there was a time when she needed to know that she could say no and he wouldn't hurt her for it, that she could tell him this way and not that way and he would comply, that it mattered more to him to keep her feeling safe and secure and respected than it did to keep himself feeling satisfied and pleased. There was a time, and if they spoke of it now she could probably be able to express it finally, when that was how it was, he wasn't imagining it, even if she wasn't consciously intending it. But that he always let her go if she drew away, fucked her how she liked even if he wanted it differently...well. That is why, now, Danicka does not find it strange or even notable that Lukas tells her no with that uncertain shake of his head.
Danicka puts her hands in his hair and kisses him, full and deep this time, for a long time, moving herself on him as she does so, as though she's trying to work a groan out of his mouth as much as an orgasm from his body. She knows he's turned on by the idea of turning her over and fucking her like that, hard and fast and bent over her, shielding her and feeling her beneath him. She knows, too, why he looks hesitant to tell her no, not quite afraid of upsetting her as much as uneasy, as though some part of him might even worry that if he doesn't want her, any way at any time and doesn't care how, doesn't care as long as he's fucking her, then she might think his lust for her is flagging over time.
Which is very silly.
She kisses him hard like that, and when their mouths part she meets his eyes, grinding herself down on him. "Pak pÅ™ijít sem."
Danicka[Czech: "Then come here."]
LukasIt was necessary.
Every time she drew away at the beginning. Every time she said no, not like that. No, not this way. Every time she denied him, every time she changed her mind - every time he began to act in the way he had been taught, the way that had been all but imprinted into him - every time she resisted, it was necessary. Not because she was playing with him, not because she was establishing her dominance, not any of that. Because, quite simply, he holds all the power in their world. Between them, the only control he has is what he can exert over himself. And he was, in the end, so very inexperienced.
She's the first girlfriend he's ever had. She's the first real relationship of his adult life, besides his family and his pack. If she didn't help him, no one would.
He doesn't hate it anymore. He never really did; he used to be afraid, was all. Afraid she was toying with him. Afraid this meant so little to her when it meant so much to him. Afraid she was saying no to show him she could. Afraid, period. He can't remember when he stopped being afraid. He can't imagine ever feeling that sort of fear again, it seems so far from him now.
So when she kisses him, he doesn't think to hold back that low sound from the bottom of his chest. He doesn't think to hold back the urge to grind against her, to push into her, to groan again into her mouth as their bodies slide together. Her slick is all over him. Her sweat is all over him. He smells like her; he smells like he's hers, and he loves that.
When she draws back his eyes open, glazed and dazed. When she moves they all but roll back, shutting again. He gasps a sound out; kisses her again. Wraps his arms around her and holds her clasped to his chest, cushioned from the wall; wraps her close to him as he starts fucking her again,
and there's something almost desperate about it this time, mindless and instinctual. He moves in her like he's losing himself in her, like he's already lost his mind to her - his mouth pressed to her mouth, or her face, or her neck, panting hot humid breaths over her skin, groaning on every stroke before long, moaning, not giving a damn if their neighbors are asleep, if their street is quiet and docile, if they're in a nice suburb full of slightly shabby little diners and modest little dentists, not caring about anything except that
she's close to him, she's got him held so close to her, and he's so close he can't think straight.
DanickaThey likely never would have been together, stayed together, if it hadn't been a prerequisite for Lukas. If his mind hadn't been so locked down on what was worth it and what wasn't, if they could have just fucked each other with no talk of loyalty or monogamy, there's no telling if they'd have come as far as they have now. But then: they did break up. He did leave her when she pushed him away. And when he came back, when Mrena died and the Unbroken Circle avenged her and when he found Danicka in the aftermath, he would have given anything just to have her again. He gave in to her completely, and Danicka couldn't understand it, couldn't understand why he thought that sort of capitulation was necessary.
She loved him. She had begged him not to leave her. And he came back, came back like it was a submission.
They were a jumble of chaos in the beginning. Lukas coming on too strong some nights, acting like she didn't matter to him at all a moment later, hating her in turns, aching to protect her and longing to have her there in his bed, not just to fuck her but to have her, to be near her, to keep her. For her to be his. And Danicka, refusing to give herself over even to herself, despising what he was and everything he represented to her, wanting him vividly, madly, constantly. It was only when he was inside of her, when he'd open his eyes and look at her, or when he laughed, or when that facade of the brutal, cold Shadow Lord would drop that she saw there was a man there. A Lukas. Who was, she felt deep in her bones as though she'd known it since before they met,
hers.
Hers, now, when he's trying to follow her to the shower like a friendly canine. And hers when he rips in half something that threatens her. And hers when he rolls her body under his and kisses her, moves himself between her legs and mutters for her to take it, that's it, take it. Hers especially in these moments when she's come and he's holding onto her, waiting for her, when she can watch him as he starts to fuck her again, needful and lost. Her mouth seeks out his. She wraps her legs and her arms around him, puts her fingers in his hair, and murmurs his name over and over as he begins to thrust again, hard and firm, faster, groaning aloud for her.
And they don't give a fuck about the neighbors. And the windows are closed, the night deep. It's unlikely even their closest neighbors can hear anything. Which is as it should be: this is their den. Though it wouldn't matter if anyone did listen in, could hear them as Danicka gasps for him, as Lukas's cries get louder and harsher, it is comforting to her, arousing to her, right to her that no one can. That this place is just theirs, always theirs.
"Come in me, baby," she whispers, stroking his back, arching her own to take him deeper. "I want to feel you come. God, you beautiful -- ah!" she hitches as he thrusts harder, as he starts hitting her hard and fast, mindless, and her legs wrap tighter around his body, hold him closer in her, "-- beautiful boy."
LukasIt's almost natural that Danicka would only see the brutal, cold Shadow Lord. That, and the ghosts of all the other brutal, monstrous Shadow Lords that have come before, and the wreckage they've strewn across her life. Stranger, though, that to some extent all Lukas saw at first, too, was Shadow Lord Kin. Deceitful. Dishonest. Untrustworthy and untrustable. Dangerous, if he let her get too close.
And yet they couldn't help themselves. They fell into each other; it didn't seem to matter that they didn't even like each other, that every time they met they scraped sparks off each other. It seemed inevitable, when they finally got each other alone and naked, that it would always end up like this. And it seemed impossible, when they were finally inside each other and stripped down to elemental truths, that they could ever be anything else to one another but a man, a woman, a Lukas, a Danicka, one another's.
Oh, but they do forget. They did forget, and sometimes they do still forget. Which is why sometimes they argue, and sometimes she puts her hand on his face to remind him, and sometimes he stays close to her to feel her. What they're doing now is, in a way, essential. As essential as prayer to religion. Adoration to love.
When she pulls him closer, when her legs wrap tighter, he lowers his mouth to her shoulder. So often he comes like this, seizing her in his teeth like some primitive instinct tells him to love her just like this - to hold her with every grip he has. This is the third time they've made love tonight, and the first was sweet and playful and the second was urgent and needful and this --
this is something else entirely. He's beyond words when she tells him what she wants. She's arching her back and he's responding to this invitation, this signal she sends: he's planting his feet apart and fucking her, pounding her against the wall. When she calls him beautiful boy, her breath hitches, his breath shudders, he makes some muffled noise - perhaps in another life those words were oh god! - his voice is strained, rough, he takes one hand off her back and grasps at the unyielding wall, clenches it to a fist, tries to tell her --
but then he's just grabbing her hip after all, taking that hand off the wall and grabbing her hip and pulling her in counterpoint against the motion of his hips, pulling her to him and holding her right there, locked to him, as he comes inside her.
She can feel him shuddering on every pulse of his cock. Hear the sounds he makes, raw and rough. Feel the way he holds her, feel the way he fills her, feel the way he bears her to the wall when the first blinding crest of his pleasure is past and grinds against her, fucks her without ever quite withdrawing from her, not even an inch; moves against her like somehow, somehow, he can make their joining more complete, shatter his mind into smaller pieces.
"Keep going," he mutters, ragged, muffled against her shoulder. And it's so rare -- might be the first time -- that he asks for this; so often that she keeps going anyway and he's bucking and groaning and telling her to stop, stop, for the love of god, stop, "udržet na koni m , láska, chci, abys pÅ™išel znovu."
Lukas[DAMMIT. "...keep riding me, baby, I want you to come again."]
Lukas[FIRST TIME WAS SLOWTENDER.]
Danicka[DAMN STRAIGHT]
DanickaLukas comes, and Danicka holds him through it, gasps during those last forceful, grinding thrusts of his, as he holds her in his teeth, emptying himself into her, all but roaring as his orgasm tears through him, makes him press her hard against the wall. She squirms on him gently near the end, working bursts of pleasure out of him, taking him deeply, rubbing herself against him as he holds her tight, close, right there. He doesn't even wait after that, doesn't let himself start breathing normally, he's still moving his hips and pressing his cock into her when he starts telling her to keep going, to fuck him, ride him,
and this time it's Danicka's turn to laugh, softly and gaspingly. She rolls her hips and moans at the sensation of it, her eyes closing as they roll back. She doesn't open them, tips her head up and seeks his mouth blindly to kiss him. This time it's Danicka's turn to tell him no, but she's less hesitant, less unused to it, because so much of her will and her safety and her strength has depended on being able to say no. So much of her sense of self depended, from early in her life, on being able to say 'yes' aloud even if the answer was truly 'no', if that was what she held onto inside.
She laughs softly, kisses him in a warm rush, and shakes her head, lips brushing over him because they're still so close, so very close. "Ne, láska. Nemůžu." She smiles at him, drowsily moving with him now, like waves slowing from high tide. "I can't even feel my legs," she adds in whisper, stroking her nose gently over his cheek, his nose, his chin.
Danicka[Czech: "No, baby. I can't."]
LukasLaughter shivers unevenly out of Lukas. He's so far from anything close to baseline right now - so far from calming, so far from being calm and quiet again. Exhausted, worn out, run ragged in arguably the best way possible, he nuzzles her back blindly, thoughtlessly, heavy as the large and affectionate mammal he is when she kisses him. Touches him. Strokes him with her nose, her lips, her face.
"Okay," he breathes. His teeth close on her shoulder again, very gently now. He kisses her skin afterward, thinking: lick it better. "I'll take us to bed. I'm going to take us to bed now, okay?"
Only, he doesn't. He just leans against her, leans against the wall, thoroughly spent. His body feels warm and heavy against hers, as though he's already asleep on his feet. His thumbs are still stroking gentle arcs on her back, though. And his breathing is still settling, settling.
"Any minute now," he whispers, some moments later.
DanickaTruth be told, Danicka's surprised Lukas is still standing. She knows he has literally inhuman levels of strength and stamina, but she also knows that those levels only truly exist when he is in an inhuman body. There are mortal men who are as strong as Lukas, though they are few. The fact that he is still standing comes, she thinks, from two things: from the reality that he knows how much farther he can push himself, that his life and the lives of his packmates and the life of his mate often depend on being able to push himself harder than anyone no matter what form he takes
and the fact that right now moving to bed means moving, period. Means lifting her from the wall and turning, taking two or three steps past the nightstand to lay her down on the bed, and it's entirely possible that without the wall to hold them up, he'd collapse in those two steps.
Danicka nuzzles him, mmms thoughtlessly to him, and lays her head on his shoulder while he licks hers, kisses the spot where his teeth left a shallow but dark imprint. He strokes her lower back with his thumbs, which makes her sleepy,
as though fucking repeatedly here and in her apartment wouldn't. As though a day of classes wouldn't. Nevermind all that. In between words she yawns, feeling his chest expand and contract against hers, and it makes her smile drowsily for a moment before her lips can't keep it up any longer.
Any minute now, says Lukas, and she suddenly flashes a grin against his shoulder. Turns her head and kisses him there, nuzzles his skin and smells his sweat. She doesn't even care about taking another shower, about going to bed sticky with sweat and cum, about having to wash the sheets tomorrow. Doesn't care at all. This is their den. If not here, where?
"Let me down, baby," whispers Danicka, nuzzling his neck. "I'll help you."
Lukas"Nnf," he complains; he doesn't want to let her down. Rather, he doesn't want to let her go, which is a different thing altogether. A moment where he nuzzles her shoulder extra-affectionately, and then - reluctantly - he lets her down. Withdraws from her with a sigh, sets her very carefully and gently down, holds her by the waist until he's sure she can stand,
as though he were so much steadier himself.
He smiles at her then. They apart again, and his eyes are open again. There's a little distance between them, less than usual because he's slouching a little, he's tired and happy and he doesn't care, either, that they're about to crawl into bed drenched in each other. Warmly, his lips press to her brow.
"Okay," he says, and gives her his hand. "Let's go."
And halfway on that long, arduous journey all the way to bed five feet away, "Can you sleep in tomorrow? Or maybe I can pick you up after class. So you don't have to drive sleepy."
DanickaThat complaint softens her lips into another smile, and her arms close around him again for a moment, holding him near. She knows he doesn't need some kind of reassurance, but she wants to hold him. Wants to hug him. Does so, smiling, as he rubs his face on her skin as though if they do this enough they can forego any kind of separation all together. She understands that. She doesn't want to move, either. Her eyes close and sparks go off behind them as he draws his cock out of her, and she looks down to see him wet and still half-hard, smiling tenderly.
It's strange, and perhaps silly, but she's so very fond of him. All of him. And yes, he may as well be her own personal form of porn at times, the way she looks at him. But other times, when she's so innately satisfied she can't imagine ever fucking again just yet, she is simply and utterly endeared by his body. She's infatuated with his skin and with the way the muscles in his thighs are, at the moment, trembling slightly, almost imperceptibly. She nuzzles him as he lets her down, gentle and careful, and she wraps her arms around his waist, holding him there.
They aren't steady. His back isn't straight. Her cheek rests against his solar plexus, their bodies close and warm and sweaty against each other. Lukas kisses her brow as they draw back, just enough for Danicka to prove that she can walk, even if her legs are coltish and wobbly. She strokes her hand down his arm and takes his hand, breathing in and drawing him with her towards the bed. "Mm," she answers in the affirmative, crawling first onto the bed and tugging back the covers as she goes, flopping them out of the way as she crosses to 'her side'. "I am so sleeping in tomorrow."
LukasRidiculous little things make them happy. It makes her happy that he's warm and close to her. That they hug like that, leaning into each other like they just might fall asleep like this, too. It makes him happy that she takes his hand and they walk those five or six feet back to bed. It makes him very happy indeed when she agrees to sleeping in, makes silly thoughts like mate be rest good! flit through his mind again, and he can't even voice them right now so he just tugs her a little closer and kisses her temple.
When he follows her into bed, the mattress sinks beneath him. Barely jostles her side. This makes him happy too: he found a good den, and she made it warm. He found a good bed, and she made it soft. He flops down with a mighty groan, like the overblown sequel to that first oof! so much effort! noise he made earlier tonight when he moved closer to her. Then he's tugging the covers up, sorting them out, tucking his mate in and turning on his side to face her.
"You make me so happy," he murmurs. His foot finds hers under the covers. His shin crosses hers, and his smile grows a little, slowly. "Miluju te tak moc."
DanickaWarm and still sweaty, they crawl into bed and flop down on the thick, soft pillows she bought for them. She stretches her arm out as Lukas is climbing in with her and flicks off the lamp she bought, the one that matches the one on his side, the lamps she bought for their nightstands. In the other room, the little tabletop fountain quietly gurgles and babbles away, barely heard. In the darkness leftover by the lamp being extinguished, Danicka curls up and gets comfortable and then stretches her legs out again, and she yawns. It's a very nice bed, and it doesn't shake all over when Lukas gets in with her, making her roll around. She does bounce slightly, though, when he flops. And chuckles to herself.
She waits for him to come near, and he draws the sheets and blankets up. Right now it's too warm under there for the comforter, but she knows as soon as her skin cools off and she falls asleep she'll want it, so she doesn't complain. She smiles at Lukas trying to tuck it around her, though, shushing him like his fussing is a noise he's making. Her back is to him, ready for him to wrap around her and go right to sleep, so when he lays down she scoots backward, tucking herself into the curve of his body in the center of their bed. Yawns again, and hasn't bothered to set an alarm on her phone -- unless she already did that while he was showering and she was putting on that near-transparent camisole and those lacy panties that are now a scrap of torn fabric on the floor -- so she must really intend to sleep in through at least one or two classes.
p>"Mmm," she says, for what feels like the dozenth time now. She is drowsy, her body absolutely worn out now, limp from satiation. She rubs her foot back against his gently, too, then settles, snuggling closer to him. "I'm glad you're here," she murmurs, and she means this on every level.Here in bed with her.
Here in their den.
Here with her, tonight, because some nights he can't be.
Here in her life. Here, on this earth.
