poleaxed: static; angry; hand; fight (come here)
joan dority is a problem. ([personal profile] poleaxed) wrote2021-01-09 09:02 pm

OPEN.

ill put an img here l8r.
angelhunter: (pic#16836661)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-17 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)
It bothers him that he can't tell if anywhere he touches her is inherently sensitive or if it's down to the contact he's denied her. It bothers him that he won't know unless they do this again and again, which they can't. He won't. He won't.

His thumb circles her nipple, lips catching and missing hers as she tells him what she wants, then makes it into a request. Acquiescing, he takes over her attempt to undress him and quickly pops button after button until his shirt hangs open. Hap likes it when his partners take his clothes off for him but the heat is building too fast. She might catch it at his elbows as he slips it off, shucking it sharply from his wrists.
angelhunter: (pic#16836659)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-17 09:27 pm (UTC)(link)
His hand roams her chest, planes of uncushioned muscle. His other maps the barely-there curve of her waist, the relief of her ribcage an open accusation of neglect. His counter, and his answer, is to seize her wrist and yank her hand out of his trousers.

Arm winding around her back, Hap slips down her body to hitch her leg up over his hip and lift her remaining foot off the ground. He carries her to the bed where he sets her down none-too-gently on her back. On his knees, he stays close in retreat to lavish her swallow flesh with his mouth. A nip at her collarbone, her sternum, the breast his hand had ignored. He unfastens her jeans as his lips close around her nipple, tongue teasing.
angelhunter: (pic#16836668)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-17 09:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Button loose, fly unzipped, Hap lowers himself to an elbow as he delves inside her pants. They're overworn, loose enough that he can maneuver almost freely.

Hap sucks as his fingers trace her lips through her underwear. He didn't mean to slide his hand in over them, but he didn't mean not to, either. Now he wonders if he can make he come through them, finding her clit as his tongue flicks across her nipple, poised between his teeth.
Edited (and I did mean to hit post comment ) 2024-08-17 21:52 (UTC)
angelhunter: (pic#16836673)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-17 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)
"Stop asking me what I want," he murmurs along her chest, raising up to lick into her mouth. His body rests flush against hers, though he has the vestiges of genuine care not to pin her with his weight. Panties soaked, Hap slicks his fingers along her slit then assaults her clit with rapid strokes.

What he wants is unravel her, but untangling the knot of thorns that is Joan Dority would be long and taxing work. He can settle for taking her apart; brute forcing it the way she does a conversation. That's her cadence, isn't it? If he thought she was trembling from fear, he'd stop.
angelhunter: (pic#16836669)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-18 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
Her teeth tear a curse out of him. His hand fists in the bedding underneath them, the nudge of his hard-on against her hip coiling tight the muscles in his thighs. His nose drags across her cheek as he rolls slightly onto her to raise himself off. With haste, he tugs free the last of her clothes, then pushes down and discards his as well.

Hap kneels again on the mattress, planning to fuck her on his side. But position is her prerogative, now he's wrung some of his satisfaction out alongside hers, and he'll give her what she wants, however she wants it.
angelhunter: (pic#16836668)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-18 04:36 am (UTC)(link)
His gaze sweeps the column of her spine, to her freckle-dusted shoulders. He searches her eyes for the truth even though he doesn't disbelieve her. Hap runs a hand along her thigh, setting himself between her legs.

"If that's how you like it," he says, softer than any words he's uttered all evening. Hap positions the head of his cock at her cunt, coats it in her arousal. He braces his other hand on her hip, looking at her as long as she'll look at him, and pushes in slowly. The pace will soon be unforgiving, their demands of each other intemperate, and his promise that he hasn't forgotten is in the strength of his grip.
angelhunter: (pic#16836665)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-18 06:22 pm (UTC)(link)
Hap's no less desperate to stop thinking. To purge his mind of Prairie, of Leon, of the despicable tryst he's in the middle of. Soon he can't tell whose rhythm is meeting whose. A cacophony of wanting flesh, her heat surrounding him, spreading into him. Being in sync with someone like this is intoxicating. He grips her with both hands, nails digging into her hips, broad fingers bruising her waist. Labored breaths, angered moans, start to drown out the relentless slap of their bodies.

As the pressure mounts, he can't help himself. He reaches around her waist and pulls her to him, back to chest. Hap holds her tight, breast groped, hand locked around her hip. Her hair snags on his lips, his mouth dragging along her ear as he thrusts into her from behind and below.

"Joan," he growls, accusing himself with her name.
Edited (autocorrect wanton to wanting and improve my sentence, phone? How dare you) 2024-08-18 18:23 (UTC)
angelhunter: (pic#16836673)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-18 07:39 pm (UTC)(link)
It's less risky than she thinks, and that's the signal that he should put a stop to this right now. It should sicken him. It, along with his revulsion with himself, brings him closer than everything before. There is no deeper desire she could express for him. Hate feels like love as his hand slides up to her neck. His head drops, mouth agape in the crook of her shoulder as he fuck her recklessly.

Behind closed eyes, instead of nothing, he sees it all. Wheat blonde hair, the flash of a revolver, Joan's throat flexing with shame the first time she peeled her shirt off for him. Hap comes with a guttural cry, buried inside her, his careful grasp of her throat the only tether to the man he wants to be himself.
angelhunter: (pic#16836661)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-18 08:11 pm (UTC)(link)
The guilt is nearly instant, but it begins as a trickle. Hap listens to her with his body; when she doesn't throw him off her, he follows her down and rests partially atop her like a lover, slipping free of her and softening. He noses at the nape of her neck as the cold air on his cock triggers pinpricks of shame in his gut. His touch smooths down her shoulder blade, the back of her arm. He's sorry. He's thankful.

"You don't have to worry," are the words he chooses to burden her with first. Just above a whisper, a half-rasp after their exertion. He means to go on and tell her the chances of impregnating her are below 1%, but it sits sourly on his tongue, cruelly clinical. He inhales their mingled sweat and lets out a deep breath.

"You can stay up here tonight. I'll leave unless you don't want me to." He's ready to move off her, unable to imagine she wouldn't want to be alone.
angelhunter: (pic#16836660)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-18 08:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Hap is trying to reclaim himself. Once again through her. He can't treat her like a subject after what he did, because he doesn't do this with his subjects. He would never. There was an unacknowledged security to Prairie's rejection of him, in that sense. Maybe that's why he couldn't stop himself from wanting her.

In the split second as she shifts to face him, he braces himself for bewildered loathing. Raw, searing disgust. A brittle mask over sorrow. And his heart pitches with anticipation; he could treat her like a subject then. Subjects look at him like that all the time.

He's captivated by the candor in her eyes. A glistening open wound. Hap ensnares her kiss. The tension of readying himself becomes the tension of remaining still, infinitesimal and frantic like the buzzing of atoms.
angelhunter: (pic#16857741)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-18 09:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Her trust — her hope — flickers out. Hap swallows hard, bereft. She has more right than ever to deny him. It will keep him awake, wondering why. The trigger. The core. The rest, he understands. It's his doing.

His hand slides down her back, and off.

"Yes." If that's all she'll accept. "I'll get it ready."

It's difficult to look away from her, as well as a comfort. Apart, with a task ahead of him, he can ground himself, even though a miasma of eager self-recriminations surround him. Hap gets up and leaves the room without another word.

He retrieves a pair of pajama bottoms from his room, then gets underway. After cleaning himself off and dressing in the guest bathroom, he goes about stripping it of anything that could present a danger, an escape, or both. Chemicals, implements, all bath towels but one. The window is a narrow rectangle set near the ceiling. He can't do anything about the glass, or the medicine cabinet mirror, but keep an ear open.

It's not ideal, but Hap gave his word. She can't lock him out, at least. He didn't skip this one when fitting the doors with keypad locks.

Before returning, he checks the state of her on his computer monitor. It grants him insight into whether or not to pause between announcing himself with a knock and opening the door to her room.
angelhunter: (pic#16836659)

[personal profile] angelhunter 2024-08-18 09:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Her stillness could fascinate him. He's not going to make that mistake twice in one night. Hap takes her resilience for what it is and respects it by addressing it as nothing else.

A knock, and then the door is opened. Peripherally, he notes where their clothes are strewn. Distantly, he wants to grab his glasses.

While her back is turned, he glances at the matte gleam of cum streaking her thigh.

"Come with me," he says in the commanding monotone he uses in front of the other subjects.

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