[mature] Trekk.

[Noori]

Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines

Be calm, my love, and know that I love you, she thinks as worry blossoms on his lovely face at the sight of her rebirth. To witness such a tender expression breaks her heart in such a way that the pieces can finally reform her heart: a heart which had been fundamentally shattered by her own doing. Now, however, he heals her. In that one simple look of love and concern, she feels herself coming undone in the best of ways.

She tastes the tang of his love for her and memorizes its flavour, memorizes the curve of his hipbones and the grooves of his stomach as they meet with that which she presses her lips to now. Her every movement and suckle is met with the smallest of moans cast from her lover's parted lips, and the response only furthers her dedication to him, to his body, to his soul: that she would ever consider another is an abomination, one that she knows is no longer a possibility for as long as she lives. He is hers, and hers alone. She holds him in the palm of her hand, in the curve of her tongue - that is proof enough of her ownership of him.

His hands reach from her shoulders and pull her to him as she stands to press her open mouth to his jaw, welcoming her, brushing the hair from her face and running over the lithe muscle of her back until the come to rest at the crests of her hips. She can feel his desire growing and bumping hungrily between her thighs; her hands grab and devour the flesh of his back, needing him closer, closer, closer. His broad ribs are expanding against her own, the muscle over them flexing and extending in a mesmerizing way, manipulating her breasts and calling to her most deeply seated desire. She whispers the words then, her breath hot on the underside of his jaw - make me yours.

An audible gasp escapes her as his fingers dip between her thighs, but he takes away their pressure and delight to respond to her request. With an ease that further wettens her, Trekk hoists her into his arm and for a moment, she is flying. He is her wings, her freedom. With him, gravity ceases to exist. They align perfectly in the time it takes for him to cast her wantonly onto the bed, and her hips raise the second she lands there in a show of desire for their becoming one. Her arms extend above her head, breasts falling to the sides as her weight travels to her shoulders.

But that is not Trekk's intention - yet.

He pushes her legs further apart with a greedy smile that sends electricity racing up her body from the pit of her stomach, and then melts his lips into her labia. His tongue teases and adores her scrupulously, calls from her throat moans and cries of utter abandon and amour; her hips swivel and jerk beneath him, and her hands tangle themselves into the mess of his hair, tightening and releasing just as her hips do.

She is on the cusp of ecstasy as he leaves her soft flesh - a cry sits on the tip of her tongue, uncompleted and stunted, furious at having been denied the right to existence. Her ribs are expanding and contacting rapidly, heaving, really. Her hands clutch at his figure as he slithers up from below, pressing her own fluids to the nape of her neck. Her hips are still writhing, pressing and wiggling against him in pure and utter desire.

The breath in her lungs escapes at the sound of her name on his lips. The first time, it causes her to stop, for her nerves to stop responding: it feels too good, too right, too lovely, her system becomes overloaded in that one simple word - the one simple word with which he claims her. Makes her his own, and never to be anyone else's. She could live forever in this moment, never needing to take another breath.

He repeats her name, and it is better than the first time. It revives her, brings her to throw her arms around his back and to draw him closer to her. The third time, she is nuzzling his mouth away from her neck and onto her own. She tastes herself on his tongue, and he tastes himself on hers - for a long moment this exchange is all the exists between them, the film of their lives stuck perhaps permanently on a single frame. Then, he says her name a fourth time. She bites his bottom lip and moves to make herself available to his truest desire, delirious in her need for their joining.

The weight of him disappears without warning. Her green eyes snap open and find him next to her, with a self-indulged smile writ clearly on his unfathomably perfect lips. Lips that, only minutes before, had brought her to the edge of ecstasy, had spoken her name and stopped time, had melded with the warm flesh of her tongue. Now, those self same lips crow out his vindication, flirt with her impatience in the most insinuating and arousing of ways.

"My darling," she murmurs, a brow cocked, a hand just barely tracing the lines of his stomach until they reach the stiff shape of his desire. There, they stop; there's a twinkle in her eyes, a lust on her breath. "Do you really want to play this game?" She leans forward as she speaks the words, so far that her mouth is only centimeters from his ear. She can see the goosebumps the warmth of her breath causes him. Whimpering as only dollish girls can, her tongue reaches and caresses the lobe of his ear, the curve of its inside.

He is on top of her again in an instant, looking disheveled but determined. She grins at him, foxy and red, the same sun-kissed girl from before, except that her freckles have taken on a far more tantalizing hue. Tell me my dear. What do you want? She bites her bottom lip, arches her back so that her hardened nipples brush against his chest. Her eyes toy with his knowingly, daring him to wait for her answer.

When the beginning of him meets the beginning of her, she loses all sense of playfulness and dollishness - his stiffness against the folds of her body utterly destroys her mental fortifications, leaves her in absolute chaos that can only be reined in by the full brunt of him inside of her. The change in her eyes is apparent, flashing from foxy to that of the vulnerable girl he once knew and loved, who then and now and and always will need him.

She shivers.

"I want to be one with you," barely audible, an admittance so sacred that she could not say it louder even if she were screaming. One small hand reaches up to cup his face, to bring it carefully closer to her own in a most delicate of ways. "I love you, Trekk," her voice breaks, but there is no time for tears.

Their lips meet as he presses himself into her innermost part. Her lips part in a gasp but the weight of his lips against hers brings her attention back to the kiss, back to the rhythm of his hips and the way she can't help but arch her back and move with him in perfect harmony. The hand that was on her face moves to his lower back, pulls him deeper within her. He goes slowly at first, and she marvels in his design, at how with every liquid movement he reaches the part of her that she never knew could create such carnal sensations of utter bliss.

"I love you, Trekk," she says again, more urgently, needing him to know, to never forget. Her finger nails drag against the skin of his back, their chests are pressed together and the heat of his breath is the only weather she will ever know. Their sweat and saliva and arousal mingles, rejoicing in their reunion in a cocktail of fluids and scents. She begins crying out again, softly at first, in response to each of his full-length thrusts. Their bed is a cacophony of the sense, of scent, taste, touch, sound, and smell.

To ever leave it again would be her life's end.

She moves against him in absolute bliss, utterly incapable of anything except accepting him into her, over and over again. Her eyes roll back in pleasure and delirion, and it is to his every beck and call that she responds; a figment of his imagination; fit to perform his every desire.

noori

Saw the chance to accurately use the word "labia," and on behalf of all of us here at Beqanna who have slandered that word's meaning, I took it.
Also:
Word count: 1466.
1466 words of pure, glorious smut. ENJOY.