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asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2013-05-13 07:24 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2013-05-13 07:24 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.6
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≈ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.
≈ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.
≈ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.
≈ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.
≈ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.
≈ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.
≈ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 19/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-14 11:39 pm (UTC)(link)Petite, the blonde woman was slim of frame. Her lovely, full mouth, tangled, golden hair and bright, cerulean eyes didn’t hurt none too much either. But no matter who it was, Thomas never took too kindly to anyone who had him at the business end of a musket. And this one didn’t look none too afraid it use it. Nope, not judging by her venomous expression of glee and the tight set of her square jaw.
The swipes of what he could only assume was black war paint slashing along her cheeks was right unsettling. Her black and white striped cloak tossed about her shoulders appeared woven of coarse, homespun wool. Combined with the duo of feathers fastened along the crown of her head, she appeared more savage than Connor. That certainly was a feat in and of itself. Like Connor, she also dressed in a more masculine manner. Beneath the cloak, she sported a black leather tunic edged in white. It matched her tan buckskin breeches, which were stitched up along the sides, and her tall, black boots. About her waist were a trio of belts sheathed with a couple of daggers, a small golden tin and her powder horn. They were in turn lashed about a white, fur sash. She also wore black leather gloves and matching leather gauntlets. He honestly couldn’t tell if they bore those mystifying hidden blades, similar to Connor’s.
Then again, his eyes were trained on the barrel of the musket aimed straight at his heart as she roughly bellowed, “Who in the bloody ‘ell is this lobcock?!”
“Fuck off, ya crazed cun-”
“Hickey-”
“This blasted ‘lil shit started it!” he barked at Connor as she strolled up the stairs behind him, having finished stabling her horse out back.
The blonde hellion dangerously leered, “Oh, and I’ll be fuckin’ ecstatic to end it too, ya sonofabit-!”
“Peace, Emily,” Connor raised a hand of placation and nodded at Thomas. Ignoring his incensed expression, she swiftly added, “We are allies, Thomas and I.”
Frosty gaze narrowing with suspicion, Emily curled her lip and sniped, “Ya sure, hon?” Gaze sweeping over Thomas like a hunter toying with her prey before pouncing, she snorted, “He be a handsome ‘nough lout, yeah? But I still don’t be likin’ the cut ‘o his jib.” Cocking back he hammer of her musket, she derisively spat out her chewing tobacco onto the floorboards. It barely missed Hickey’s boots, causing him to jump back and fix her with a malevolent glare, even as he kept his hands raised in surrender.
“Ya be outta ya blasted mind, ya poxy wench!”
“First off, ya blaggart, it be ‘Emily Burke.’ Or ‘Calamity Mily’ if ya know me. Which ya fuckin’ don’t,” Emily smirked, poking her bayonet into his chest in warning when he attempted to sneer out a retort. “Secondly? Shut yer filthy mouth, boy, ‘n consider yourself lucky. If Connor weren’t traipsing up ‘ere with ya, I’d have blown yer brains out some couple a hundred yards back there when I first spotted ya,” she jerked her head in the direction of the open door of the cabin. “In the meantime, good to see ya, Con!” she shot a vulturine smile at the Assassin. “It’s been hella long since we be meetin’ out here on the Frontier.”
“Too long,” Connor nodded. “If I may ask, where’s Caleb?”
“Oh, him?” Emily chuckled, though her finger didn’t falter from the trigger of her weapon. “I wore ‘im out plenty last night,” she winked, “So much so that I’m ‘fraid the bed took a sound ‘lil beatin’.”
“I…I see,” Connor immediately blushed and swallowed down her embarrassment.
Emily let out a crude guffaw. “Forgive me, girlie. I be forgettin’ ya be a green as a saplin’, poor dear!”
“Seriously,” Thomas muttered next to Connor, “Ya’d think she’s been livin’ in a cave all this time.” However, he hastily shut his mouth as both Emily and Connor shot him a sharp glare of admonishment.
Fuckin’ Assassin women, mate.
“Anyways, it took me sharpshooter ‘bout half the day to go gettin’ ready,” Emily snickered before her expression fell to serious again. “Headed out ‘bout an hour ago. I was cleanin’ up a bit before catchin’ up with ‘im. We’ll be headin’ back to the outskirts ‘o Boston, as per usual. Gotta keep them rural roads all safe ‘n whatnot.”
Letting out an annoyed sigh, Thomas testily asked, “So, ya gonna get rid ‘o your musket pointed at me heart already or wot? For fuck’s sake-”
“He’s got a right foul mouth on ‘im, that much be true,” Emily cut him off, ignoring his curse, “So much so that ya should have been beaten as a child.”
“Oh, I’d love to give ya a right proper beatin’ right ‘bout now, ya mingy git!” he snarled.
“And I’d like to see ya try!” she sneered right back.
“Miss Burke,” Connor chided.
“Fine, fine,” she huffed. Gaze darting back and forth between the other two, she chortled, “Frankly, I’m shocked ya haven’t knifed ‘im through the ribs yet. Or,” she glanced down at his crotch, causing him to slightly wince, “Though his man bits. Judging by that lewd ‘lil glint in his eye, somethin’ tells me he’d miss ‘em more ‘en life it very self, eh, Thomas?”
“Balmy ‘lil bitch,” he hissed, though not loud enough for Emily to hear.
Somehow, Connor picked up on it easily enough, for she shot him a look of reproach as she murmured, “Do no tempt me.”
Seeing Thomas roll his eyes as Connor stubbornly crossed her arms, Emily threw back her head and cackled. On the other hand, she finally lowered her musket. Dropping the butt of it to floorboards, she causally leaned on it while running a quick, gloved hand through her flaxen locks. “So, what brings y’all out this way?” she asked with genuine curiosity, “Specifically, the city boy?” she sent a feral grin at Hickey. “He seems rather outta his element and too far outta town from ‘is usual foppish pursuits.”
Taking a threatening step forward and about to reel off an insult, Hickey was stopped by Connor’s firm hand against to his chest. Lithely moving in front of him, she solemnly said, “General Davenport originally. And now, Eleanor Mallow-”
“That high-falutin’, redcoat bitch?” Emily grit her teeth, expression sliding to murderous as Connor nodded in agreement. “What, her daddy done gone ‘n sent ‘er out a-murderin’ again?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Thomas grunted, “Along with ‘is Hessian dog.”
As the two women fell into hushed conversation over what’d occurred over the last few days, he glanced around and took in the simple, two-room log cabin. One area contained a single bed on an iron frame. The hearth sat a few feet from the foot of it, simple and built of grey stone. The room they all stood in held a crude but heavy stove, a sink sitting over a cupboard and a large larder next to the window. Hanging over the stove on an iron grate suspended from the ceiling were a cadre of cast-iron pots and pans. In front of the larder was a dark, wooden square table and two chairs. Next to it sat a worn out, leather chair that’d seen better days. Due to only two windows in the place, the light was dim, save the flicker of a few candlesticks scattered throughout. Roughly only about 800 square feet of space, combined with the small stables out back only large enough to hold two horses, the house was obviously meant for short stays. Likely during the spring and summer in the hunting season. Thankfully, the logs comprising the place were sealed up pretty tight and seemed to do a decent job at keeping the cold and draft at bay.
“Somethin’ be on your mind, Connor?” Emily tilted her head to the side in question as the assassin slipped into silence.
Glancing back at where Thomas had dropped into the chair and now warmed his hands in front of the iron grate of the stove, she jerked her head for Emily to follow her outside. The two women quickly made their way to the front patio, closing the door behind him. Careful not to lean against the rickety railings of the porch, Connor clasped her hands in front of her and gathered her thoughts. Emily settled for staring out into the drifting snow, humming a little tune to herself. Having known Connor for just over a year, she was used to the other woman’s long bouts of quiet by now.
“May ask your assistance for something?” Connor finally proposed.
“Anythin’ for ya, sweetie,” Emily grinned, giving her an efficient, two-fingered salute from her brow.
“Duncan is back in Boston, as Clipper should be by now,” Connor began. “I need either you or Caleb to inform them to contact William de Saint-Prix as soon as possible, for the Hessian has him in his sights as his next target.”
“Ain’t that a flyin’ shame?” Emily frowned, scratching her head for a moment.
“No doubt.” Looking back at the cabin, Connor declared, “We should prove able to return to the city in the next three days or so. Nevertheless, I would rather ere on the side of caution than leave anything up to chance. Or in case we are delayed any further.”
Pulling out her pouch of coins and counting out a few, she pressed them into Emily’s hand. “In thanks.”
“Well, this’ll be fun,” the blonde pocketed the payment, “It’ll go a long ways to helpin’ with gettin’ me ‘n Caleb more supplies back in Boston.”
“I would rather you join our Brotherhood,” Connor lightly implored.
Letting out a hearty laugh, Emily shook her head to the contrary. “Much as I be likin’ you folks ‘n your outlook, I be the independent sort, through ‘n through,” she shrugged. “Plus, I can’t claim that I be hatin’ Templars for anything more than all sorts ‘o selfish reasons.”
Shaking her head in understanding, Connor replied, “Avenging your father and brother, of course.”
“Ya see?” Emily knowingly said, “We both be orphans of a sort. But you be able to rise above yer past better than I.”
“Hardly,” Connor retorted. “Moreover, you have unwaveringly served the Brotherhood out here in the wild with Caleb. In various capacities and far better than most, I freely admit. Barring any sort of sacred ceremony, you are an Assassin in all but name.”
“‘Tis ‘nough for me, I guarantee ya,” Emily reiterated.
“I will not belabor the point-”
“Then don’t,” Emily chuckled. Nonetheless, she threw an arm about Connor’s shoulders. “I get y’all, through ‘n through. And I swear on my grave that I ain’t never gonna betray ya. Or any ‘o the others.”
“It seems that for now,” Connor murmured, stifling her initial instinct to flinch at the contact, “Your loyalty is all I may ask of you.”
Heading back inside, Emily left the other two to go finish packing her things. Adding more logs to the fire within the stove, Connor withdrew to peruse the larder. It was fully stocked, thankfully.
“Well,” Emily yelled out, clomping in from the bedroom after a while, “This is where we go partin’ ways, hon.” Spinning about in his chair, Thomas stared at the two. Mouth hanging open in disbelief, he was utterly astounded as Connor allowed Emily to freely pull her into an enthusiastic embrace.
“The storm will only strengthen over the night,” Connor clucked to her, withdrawing and dropping her hands to Emily’s arms, “Hence, you are welcome to stay.”
“Eh, it be headin’ north and I’m goin’ south,” Emily waved off. “‘Sides, bein’ indoors for the last few days or so has got me all jittery ‘n such,” she flexed her fingers for emphasis. “Furthermore, I gotta catch up with Caleb. So don’t you worry none ‘bout me.”
“Safety and peace, then,” Connor clasped a fist over her heart.
“Sure!” Emily replied, giving her other hand a squeeze of goodbye. “See ya when I see ya!” she briskly waved, turning on her heel and wandering outside.
“A pleasure, ya demented harridan,” Thomas sarcastically snapped out.
“A pity ‘bout ya, I gotta say,” Emily barely spared him a glance over her shoulder. Gathering up her supplies, she gracefully slung her musket over her shoulder.
“Wot ‘en?” he snarled.
“Yer mother shoulda drowned ya!” she taunted with a brassy hoot.
Before he could get in a word edgewise, the door slammed shut with a rattle.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 19/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-15 02:07 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 20a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-18 10:11 pm (UTC)(link)The chill of water eventually woke her. Scrubbing herself clean with her usual soap she took with her on the road, she unbraided her hair and washed it as well. Dunking under the water one last time, she listened for any movement from the bedroom. Thankfully, there wasn’t any. Stepping out of the tub, she dried off, slathered herself in a bit of scented oil to protect against cracked skin and then pulled on her small clothes, long-john bottoms and her chemise. The cabin was almost too warm now, considering the roaring fire in the bedroom and the stove. But it was a minor complaint in the grand scheme of things. They had a solid accommodations against the storm, which was far more than they could hope for but a few hours ago.
“So,” she heard a loud yawn behind her. Swiftly spinning about on her heel, she instinctively snatched up her loaded pistol and dagger from where she’d set them on the table before her bath. “What’s for dinner, lass?” She dropped her weapons back in place at seeing Hickey idly braced in the doorway of the bedroom. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he ran a languid hand through his mussed, dark hair. It caused it to stand up at odd, spiky angles, making him look strangely harmless.
About to snap out a smart remark about how she wasn’t a servant and he could damn well fix how own damn dinner, she opened her mouth to retort. Yet his loopy look of contentment bore no signal of heckling or derision. Pausing, she instead settled for pointing at the larder. “It is stocked with plenty of food and liquor,” she steadily said before turning her back to him. It undoubtedly helped distract her from the fact that he only wore a thin undertunic and breeches. All in all, it left little to the imagination concerning the hard, solid planes of his torso. As well as the ink that covered them, as she discovered last night.
“Ya lovely folks be havin’ alcohol up in ‘ere?!” he gleefully said, “Well halle-fuckin’-lujah!”
Taking in her brief nod, he let out a piercing whoop of joy and crossed the room in a few long strides. The space small, he was forced to brush his chest along her back as he shoved between her and the table. She held her breath at the unexpectedly warm contact while he whipped open the door of the larder so hard it creaked on its hinges. “Well, fuck me backwards!” he cheerfully cursed, foraging for a bottle of whiskey and gin. He also pulled out a side of pork, some bread, a block of cheese, a handful of dried apples and a stick of butter. “Sandwich?” he exaggeratedly waved to his supplies.
Nodding, she distantly watched as he prepared two of them. Dropping hers on a wooden plate he’d found on top of the larder, he retreated to the kitchen table. Though not before grabbing a lamp and a few candle holders from around the room and lighting them from the flames of the stove. Sitting across the table from each other, they ate in unexpectedly comfortable silence for a bit.
“Drink?” Hickey suddenly said around a mouthful of food.
His voice causing her to jump and startle out of her thoughts, she stared at him for a hard moment. Finally shrugging in acquiescence, Connor let out a huff of agreement. They were safe and secure, in familiar territory and he hadn’t ambushed her yet. Why not? “No cups or tankards?” she tentatively asked.
“Nah,” Hickey smirked, “And quit bein’ so full ‘o it. I ain’t judgin’ if ya take it straight from the bottle. Hell,” his hazel eyes mischievously sparkled in the dim light, “Might even make me respect ya uptight disposition a tick more, sweetheart…gin ‘o whiskey?”
“The latter,” she swiftly said. She’d tried gin but once, at Dobbie’s urging in a tavern New York. It left her throat dry and aching, in an unpleasantly harsh sort of way.
Hickey guffawed, shoving the glass bottle over to her side of the table. Glancing at him for a moment, she picked it up and took a long draught. While she sputtered for a bit, it went down relatively smooth. “Come now, poppet, don’t go drinkin’ the whole flippin’ thing!” he winked, snatching it away from her and taking another pull.
“You are saying that I cannot?” she retorted with such blatant rebuke that she surprised herself. She chose to blame it on the liquid courage newly flowing her veins, though logically, she was completely sober for now. Likely, it was more the result of the lethargic ball of comfort skimming along her skin in tingling relief. A fresh bath, shelter, plenty of food at her disposal; for the first time in weeks, she felt utterly at ease. That it was with only a decadent Templar for company didn’t bother her much. Their alliance so far remained remarkably beneficial.
To reassure herself of her instincts, she allowed her vision to slip to its eerie talent for tracking truths and lies. The world slid to grey, save Hickey who appeared…a faint violet? Neither red nor blue. In fact, the color flickered slightly closer to the latter on the spectrum.
“Ya ain’t addled in the head, is ya?” he snapped his fingers in front of her pale face as she caught her breath. “Fuck!” he suddenly lurched back, “Why ya bloody eyes be lookin’ all weird ‘n golden-like out ‘o the blue?”
Rapidly blinking at her realization, she closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Opening them, she hastily allowed her sight to swing back to normal. “It must be a trick of the light,” she lied with a subtle shake of her head, “And the liquor hit me quickly.”
“So eat ya damn sandwich already,” shrugged, “As I sure in the hell ain’t gonna go cleanin’ up ya drunken puke.”
“That much we can agree on,” she snorted, leaning in and stretching over the table to easily unhand the bottle from him. Taking another long drink, her gaze narrowed in challenge. “Try to at least keep up, Hickey,” she shoved it back over to his side.
Eyes widening at her boldness, he was about to go chiding her on how little girls shouldn’t go playing grown-man games. At the same time, it dawned on him that in spite of her youth, she no child. Far from it, what with her murdering, meticulous planning and foolish, if lofty goals. She could handle herself just fine. So arching an impish brow, he crooned, “Wot’s this ‘en? Do ‘Lil Miss ‘Stick Up ‘Er Arse’ be darin’ me to a game ‘o cups?”
“You are lucky I have not removed the proverbial stick in order to beat you about the head with it,” she shrugged, causing him to let out a bellow of wicked laughter. “And what do you mean by ‘cups?’” she asked.
“Nothin’ fancy,” he seemed to magically produce a deck of playing cards from somewhere on his person. Expertly shuffling them with a nimble flurry of his hands, he added, “Just what I like to call a simple drinkin’ game,” he waggled his brows.
“Ah, I aware of such,” her eyes lit up with recognition. “Those of my village usually partake during various festivals and important rites. The last occurred during what you colonists consider the summer equinox. Le jeu de la crosse, the French have taken to calling our game, for it is too complicated to say in my language,” she hummed. “It is played upon a great field between warriors over a few days. All in order to give thanks to the Creator. Bets are placed on the victors, either with items or via drinks in order to give honor.”
“Yeah, well, this ain’t so grand,” Hickey smoothly replied, cutting his deck of cards a few times. “Just a harmless game ‘o Pharaoh. Ya know what that be?”
“I am thoroughly unfamiliar with such,” Connor’s mouth twisted in confusion as she drummed her fingers along the table. “No doubt, you cheat at it, yes?”
Hickey snickered, taking no offense whatsoever. “Of course I do! Now,” he swiped out the cards into a fan pattern on the table between them, “Lemme teach ya some ‘o me tricks, darlin’. Then, after a few practice rounds, whoever be losin’? Well, he ‘o she needs to swig a drink,” he pointed at the bottles with a flourish of his hands.
Hesitating, Connor was about to reject his offer. But looking up and seeing the taunting confrontation etched along his expression, she utterly refused to retreat. “Fine,” she held out an unwavering hand, which Hickey eagerly shook with a roughish smile, “I agree to the terms.”
Now, the game was afoot.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 20b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-18 10:13 pm (UTC)(link)She’d lost far more games of Pharaoh than he did, of course. Granted, he’d taught her a few of his tricks. Still, he wasn’t a total moron and hadn’t shown her nearly of half of everything he knew of his usual deceptions. Regardless, she picked up on most of his sleight of hands with relative ease. Yet it didn’t save her from the bottle. He had to give her credit, for she never refused to honor her end of the bets. Which explained why her head currently rested on the table, her cheek likely imprinted with its ridges from sitting there for so long. The bloody apocalypse must have rolled in at some point, for she was freakin’ laughing into her hand.
It sounded bizarrely charming, her looney little chortle as he recalled hauling ass through the stinking, squalid streets of London. His pockets weighed down with the pounds he’d won in a gambling hall made it all the more treacherous. Having around thirteen years to him but big for his age, no one realized they’d been swindled by a mere kid. At least not until he started drunkenly railing on and on about all the fine French wine and Swiss chocolates he’d get to go buying for his brothers and sisters. The god-damned complimentary, fancy little glasses of scotch had done him in.
Duke Dumbass Who Was Too Much of a Fucktard to Realize He Was Getting Fleeced by a Cheeky Tyke for the Last Couple of Hours or So naturally didn’t keen too kindly to that. His calling the guard sent Hickey leaping over the railing from the second floor. Crash landing to the slick, rain-soaked cobblestones below, he nearly broke his ankle. Stumbling to his feet, he took off back to his usual stomping grounds in Whitechapel, over in the East End. Easily losing the soldiers on his ass, he and his family had the best Christmas and New Year’s in well, ever.
“And that’s when I got to learnin’ the true power ‘o havin’ a nice bit ‘o coin linin’ me pockets,” he shrugged, dealing the cards again.
She suddenly frowned at that. Slipping along her seat and struggling to sit up, she swayed as she finally managed it. He couldn’t quite tell if she shook her head in disagreement as she slumped back in her chair. Judging by her silence as he looked down to cut the cards, she was back to her usual judgmental self. If he were sober, he would’ve reeled off some slur about her misplaced faith in humanity versus the surety of having resources within reach. Whatever, he’d always been a cheerful, jovially randy sort of drunk.
Speaking of getting all frisky, why in the fuck-all did she have to be so damned comely?
He hoped to God that she didn’t realize how finely spun her chemise was, for her smallclothes were clearly visible beneath it. It’d certainly afforded him a shadowed view of her tits all night. Not to mention, the soft contours of the rest of her beneath it. Not bothering to braid her hair back, it remained loose and streaming down her shoulders, save the beaded piece along her left ear. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove and liquor as well. Combined with the flickering, orange light from the lamp and candles along the table, her freckles stood out in fetching contrast to her bronzed skin.
“You are,” she sluggishly began, “Fortunate that I am far too…inebriated to lecture you…unfortunately.” Fingers scrambling for purchase against the table, she grasped the bottle of spirits after a bit. For she’d lost the latest round of Pharaoh.
Her lips parting as she took a languorous swig of whisky, Thomas’ gaze heatedly traced along the supple line of her throat. Especially as her tongue darted out to lick away a few remaining drops of the amber liquid. His groin tightened at how her heavy-eyed gaze never left his as she did so. Dark eyes fiery and bright, her mouth curled into feline grin. Which only deepened as she slid the bottle back to his side of the table.
She couldn’t be purposely fuckin’ with him, could she?
Could she?
“And with that,” she waved with a flowing hand, her relaxed murmur yanking him out of his lascivious thoughts, “I fear that I must…retire for the evening.” Thankfully, her expression abruptly slipped back to her usual one of distant appraisal. Yep, there was no possible way she was deliberately toying with him. Not in the slightest. It was all a just the result of his intoxicated, increasingly heady hallucinations.
“So ya givin’ up?” he taunted, “Just like that?”
“Per…haps-”
“It either be a yes…’o no,” he slurred.
“You,” she retorted, lazily pointing at him, “You will not…remember if I did come morning, no matter. So, uh…yes,” she threw up a hand of surrender, “I do not seem to be victorious tonight. Fancy…that.”
Holy shit, did she actual reel off one of his sayings?
“A pity sweetheart,” he swayed in his chair, hearing the legs of it creak as he leaned back on two of them, “I was always rootin’ for ya.”
“Lying does not become you,” she smirked, “Or rather, I expect no less of you…yes, that sounds fairly more accurate.”
“Now, why ya always gotta go thinkin’ so ‘lil ‘o me, dearie?” he crookedly smiled, expression full of lusty promise. "Like I be sayin' 'afore," he winked, "I got all sorts 'o talents that'll go makin' ya toes curl somethin' fierce, if ya go 'n gimme a chance at ya."
"Hmm?" she slowly arched a brow of question. That she didn’t backhand him across the face or stomp away in a huff was right miraculous, as far he was concerned. Instead, she settled for asking, "Is that so?"
Hand slapping out, his fingers twitched along the table before they settled on the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. Knocking back the last of it, he messily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He lifted bleary eyes at hearing her chair scrape along the floorboards, only to be met by her inexplicably standing right in front of him. Snickering and waving the bottle right under her nose, he taunted, “Maybe…maybe there be a lot more to me than meets ya eye, eh-?”
Without warning, her mouth sloppily captured his, fervent and determined.
Not since he’d been a callow youth, years ago and back in England, had he found himself so absolutely frozen at such a gesture. Frankly, it took every fiber of his being not to grab her pert behind, haul her down into his lap and let his hands start their heated exploration. After all, he always finished what he started.
‘Cept ya didn’t start nothin’, his mind distantly reeled. Drunk…she be drunk as shit…can’t conceivably be knowin’ what in the fuck she be gettin’ goin’…
The silky feel of his hand tangled in her dark tresses while he shoved his other one all up under her chemise. The sight of her writhing beneath him as he fucked her into the table, sending his cards flying all over the damned place. The sound of his name falling from that delicious mouth. Her heels digging into his ass as her fingernails scraped down his back. The taste of her skin as he ran his eager tongue along every nook and crevice. The images of it all tilted and whirled in his thoughts, causing him to let out a ravenous groan of appreciation. But bloody hell, instead of sending her off, she only deepened the kiss. While her lack of experience was obvious, her enthusiasm more than made up for it. Her tongue sliding against his, he tasted whisky and fresh mint.
His strained to keep his arms pinned to his sides. Praying that she didn’t notice his shaking hands, he took her by the wrists and lightly pushed her away. “Nope, love,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded and watching in carnal fascination as she ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. Good lord, did she even realize how hard that careless little gesture was making him? Probably not. “That a-ways lays disaster,” his breath hitched, chest heaving with effort to keep his distance.
"In spite of the fact that you...kissed me first?" she scoffed, eyes snapping open. Her pupils blown, her lips were slightly swollen.
"A distraction," he slowly retorted.
“I care not for…a supposed catastrophe,” she sniffed.
His mouth going dry at the sight of her dark tipped breasts outlined through the thin fabric of her shift, he swallowed for a quick moment before he drawled, “Oh, you’ll go carin’ come mornin’.” Yanking his hands from her as through she burned to the touch, he let out a labored chuckle, adding, “‘Sides, I ain’t lookin’ to be no one’s hazy mistake.” So what if it was a bald-faced lie? She surely didn’t need to know that. Or how much he appreciated keeping his balls intact. For as easily he could handle a crazed woman come morning, he had little desire to deal with an armed one.
Straightening, she swayed to her feet. Yet her knees still touched his as she clasped her hands in front of her. “So I was a mistake back in the alley outside the tavern?” she carefully inquired, furrowing a brow.
“What?!” he snorted, “Why would ya think…it was just a way to…No,” he finally settled on, “No, ya weren’t-”
“Then…what has changed?”
I don’t fuckin’ know me self, ‘lil wolf, he wanted to say aloud, ‘Cause I’d have me mouth all up on ya right now if ya was another other. Instead, he slurred, “Nothin’. Ya be plenty tired, Connor,” he scraped his chair back away from her. “Have a good night, yeah?”
Slitting her eyes at him, she pressed her mouth into a thin line. Then, without further ado, she spun on her heel and all but fled towards the bedroom.
Author’s Notes:
Pharaoh – A French card game originally called “Faro” that originated in the late 17th century. By the 18th century, it was extremely popular in England. While it’s not a direct ancestor of Poker, it has similarities.
“…his usual stomping grounds in Whitechapel, over in the East End.” – Thomas Hickey has an obvious Cockney accent despite being born in Ireland. So at some point, it can be surmised that he and/or his family moved to London and settled somewhere in the East End in order for him to retain such a strong accent.
Traditionally, those with his accent are generally of an area of London within the earshot of “Bow’s Bells.” Bows Bells refers to the church bells of St Mary-le-Bow, located on Cheapside Street in the East End. Meanwhile, Whitechapel is considered a core district of the East End, which is one of the areas from where people who speak with a Cockney accent come from. So all East Enders are Cockneys, but not all Cockneys are East Enders. As a result, my fanon is that Hickey spent most of his childhood in Whitechapel, which explains is accent.
Le jeu de la crosse – This phrase is believed to be from where the word “Lacrosse” came from. It roughly translates to the French term for field hockey. The Mohawk and other tribes in the area and in Canada played lacrosse, though a different version from the modern game. If you look closely in Connor’s bedroom at the homestead in-game, he actually has a lacrosse stick leaning up against a cabinet of drawers.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 20b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-19 12:49 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 21/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-22 11:20 pm (UTC)(link)I think about you inside.
And your mother, givin' up on askin' why -
Why you lie, and you cheat, and you try to make
A fool outta she...
--Short Change Hero, The Heavy
For the first time in her life, Connor wished she was a hell of a lot more drunk. If only to render herself completely unaware of Hickey sinking into the bed behind her. His heavy weight shifting the mattress, she let out a huffed snarl as he pulled up the blankets over them both.
“Don’t ya go a kickin’ me,” he sniffed in terse warning.
Infuriated that he could feel her reeling back her leg, her snarl rose into a growl as she took an extra pillow and mercilessly shoved it between them. Back rigid, she snapped her eyes closed. She didn’t know what she hated more; the fact that she had no legitimate reason to kick him out of bed, or that in spite of her pride, she could already feel her hands starting to trail downwards. Her fist gripping the edge of her chemise, she let out hiss of retort as her fingers began making lazy little circles along her upper legs, seemingly of their own volition. Heading upwards, they ran closer and closer her smallclothes…
Stop this madness! her mind furiously railed against her. It wasn’t as though she was alone, exploring herself in the dead of night within her quarters back at the Homestead. Or stuffed into a tiny room at a tavern in one of the cities. She certainly wasn’t lying solitary in her tent next to the campfire, her hushed, shaking cries muffled by the crackling pop and crackle of the fire. His infernal proximity was of absolutely no help at all either. His scent of lemony soap, a tinge sweat and whiskey invaded her nostrils. The solid weight of his calf propped against hers only magnified the throbbing ache, deep and heated in her core. Not to mention, his breathing still hadn’t evened out. So she knew he was just as wide awake as she was.
“What ‘n the bloody hell-?”
“I would prefer to sleep in the other room,” she spat, alternately ashamed and incensed as she attempted to jerk out of bed and yank the topmost blanket from it. However, the alcohol in her system prevented it, instead sending her crashing back into the bed in a heap of limbs.
Oh, how she loathed his arched brow of question as he swiftly sat up and leaned back on his hands. Or the way his hazel eyes flashed with brief pity while he held out a steady hand for the blanket. So she settled for hurling it at his face. Of course, he easily ducked it. Of. Fucking. Course he did.
Vainly attempting to save herself for further embarrassment, she flopped back down to the bed, rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut. Surely, all that whiskey would soon knock her out, right?
“Like I be sayin’,” his words abruptly caressed her ear, “I ain’t lookin’ to be ya plastered lapse in judgment.”
Her back was suddenly spooned against his chest as he moved against her. While she flinched, she was admittedly stunned at how she didn’t summarily threaten to disembowel him at his action. She also despised how she shivered at the feel of his hot breath dancing along her skin as he leaned over her. Or how she didn’t attempt to elbow him in his smirky little face. It had to be the liquor. That was the only explanation. It seemed to cruelly toy with her baser desires, shoving them through her well-honed filters of restraint to the front and center of her brain. Her mind was utterly afire, thoroughly unable to focus on anything else. Now, she was rapidly discovering the single-mindedness she utilized for everything else apparently applied to her carnal desires as well.
“I ain’t a good sort ‘o man, lass,” his voice snapped her attention back to the present, “Not ev’en a ‘lil bit.” He lightly dragged his fingers along her wrist, feeling her heartbeat pounding beneath his touch. “And I ain’t got no problems with that. Yet, ya do.”
She definitely didn’t slide her hand under her pillow and unsheathe her dirk. Or tumble over to her knees to straddle him as she pressed her blade to his jugular.
Well, actually, she absolutely did.
“I know you would not take advantage me,” she shallowly exhaled, thumbing the edge of her blade, “For you did not do so back in Bridewell, which proved your best chance.”
“Which be explainin’ why ya got a blade pressed all up on me throat?” he slowly raised his hands in surrender on either side of his head, all in spite of his lecherous grin. “Ya social skills be needin’ some work, mate.”
“I always ere on the side of caution,” she swallowed.
“But like ya said, I didn’t lay a finger on ya back in Bridewell,” he rejoined with a churlish pout. “Well,” he winced, “Save when ya went ‘n jumped me in that crazed attempt to go breakin’ me neck-”
“Why?”
“Why didn’t I go violatin’ ya?” he shrugged. Seeing her nod in agreement, he breezily drawled, “Probably ‘cause maybe, just maybe, I ain’t a completely evil piece ‘o shit?”
Leaning back on her haunches, she slit her eyes at him, muttering, “Still, I find you rather loathsome-”
“In spite ‘o your efforts to fuck me?” he let out a low chuckle as he was met by her indignant expression. “It be a funny sort ‘o thing, being in sexual congress with someone ya supposedly so despise, sweetheart,” he clucked, “Bein’ six sheets to the wind be tendin’ to only enhance those sorts ‘o impulses.” She sneered in reply. It only caused him to harshly laugh even more. “Ain’t no shame in satisfyin’ natural urges due to proximity,” he knowingly snickered. Cocking his head to side, he gave a lazy wink and purred, “Frankly, I’m surprised a lovely ‘lil chit like ya self ain’t done it before.”
“I-”
“I ain’t mockin’ ya neither,” he interrupted, voice dropping and gaze locking with hers.
While her blade didn’t falter, she didn’t force it any harder to him. If anything, judging by the feel of her shifting, she leaned back even more. “No,” she carefully retorted, “I do not believe you are.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the air thick between them before Hickey slowly murmured, “Connor?”
“…yes?”
Gradually letting his hands drop to mere centimeters from where her knees were braced on either side of him, he airily declared, “I’d rather ya not go slittin’ me throat, I’m just sayin’. We can at least go agreein’ on that, yeah?”
She stared at him for a long while before nodding in ascent. Slowly moving the blade away, she leaned over him and carefully set it on the table next to his side of the bed. Biting his lip, his closed his eyes for a moment at the feel of her breasts brushing against his chest as he retreated. Still, he never took anything of that sort without solid confirmation.
“Connor?” he repeated.
“Hmm?”
“If ya don’t get off me, I can’t be sleepin’ up here in this bed with ya. Not without givin’ in to ya,” he muttered. “So it be best if I go make me self comfortable in front of the stove-”
“I release you from it,” she insistently cut him off.
“Wait,” he arched a bemused brow, “Wot’s this ‘en?”
“We will share the bed tonight,” she steadily added.
“Oh, we gonna be doin’ much more than sharin’, darlin’” he lewdly winked, “If ya catch me drift, aye?”
“I do,” she inhaled, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “I…I believe that I do.”
He smirked, letting his hands slowly move upwards to rest just above her knees. Tentatively running her hands under his tunic, she pressed a fiery palm to the solid muscle of his torso. He relaxed beneath her touch, letting her continue her cautious exploration. At the same time, he began drawing little random patterns along her lower thighs with his fingertips. Straightaway taking note that she didn’t withdraw, he lifted his hips and lightly jerked them up into hers. While she blushed, she didn’t flee.
“So,” he hummed, “I take it you be saying yes to all ‘o this?” he languidly waved around a hand.
Shaking her head in agreement, she closed her eyes. His hand at the small of her back guiding her to tumble forward onto him, before she could question it, his mouth was upon hers. But he lightly pressed his lips to her. In spite of his other hand moving up her thigh inch by inch, he didn’t venture under her chemise. If anything, she sensed him holding back. In turn, she took it as encouragement to shyly nip at seam of his mouth.
He promptly realized how her fervor made up for her inexperienced movements. Likely, all that whiskey up in her as well. No matter, she was likely a fast learner, judging by her youth and other skills. Drawing his arm across her lower back to clutch her closer, his other hand tangled in her hair. She leaned into his touch, though she let out a startled exhale as his hand palmed her behind. Taking the opportunity, his mouth slanted against hers. Possessive, hot and deep, he nearly stole her breath away. She retreated, sucking in air, only to claim him again. At the same time, she scratched down the hard planes of his chest. Not roughly enough to cause harm, but impulsively impatient.
Without hesitation, he braced his hands against her upper arms and swiftly rocked her over to her back, reversing their positions.
His burly form surrounded her with little warning. All solid, blistering heat and heady awareness as he friskily licked and nibbled a path of kisses across her jaw. She moaned in bemusement when he reached her neck. The junction of her shoulder, the curve of her clavicle, the swell of her chest; he committed each part of her to memory with his tongue. His mouth reaching the dark, tightening bud of her breast, he sucked at her skin through the homespun fabric of her chemise. It created a tantalizing friction that seemed to shoot straight to the depths of her belly. Her toes curling along his calf, her throaty surprise as she arched up into him earned her his licentious chuckle. His hand palming her other nipple, he stroked her in time with his attentions.
But then his knee delved between her thighs, firmly moving them apart. Settling in between her legs, at the same time, he grasped her other wrist and brought it above her head. Interlocking his fingers with hers, he lightly pinned it to the bed. His lips moving to her other breast, she was met with a ravenous flurry of teeth and tongue.
Overwhelming, it became too much. This sort of contact, all so new, so foreign. Her heartbeat thudding in her ears, a strangled tingling of warning zipped through her.
Trapped.
Her free hand flailed, snatching at his short hair. Only her own discipline stopped her from reflexively driving her knee into his crotch and flipping him off and to the floor.
“Hickey?!” she stammered, vexed and uncomfortably stiff beneath him.
Combined with that, her anxious tone immediately caused him to pause. “Yeah?” he looked up at her, dark lashes framing heated, hazel eyes. Nevertheless, taking in her peaked countenance, ruddy cheeks and sharp frown, he immediately released her hand and propped himself up on his forearms above her.
“This is…extraordinarily fast,” she swallowed, chest heaving.
“Dammit,” he purposefully exclaimed, “See ‘ere now, I don’t be meanin’ to scare ya half to death, I swear to it.”
Pursing her lips for a moment, she lifted her chin in understanding, “I do not assume that you do,”
Letting out a deep sigh and running a hand over his face, he firmly continued, “Look, if you don’t wanna, well, ya know,” he ruffled a hand through his hair, “I’ll go headin’ to sleep in front ‘o the stove in the other room, yeah?” After all, he could attend to his own balls if need be. Anything to avoid her knife in his back for taking things too far.
“It is not you-”
“Even if it be that, ya got all the right in the world to go stoppin’ me,” he deliberately replied.
Worrying her bottom lip, Connor took a deep gulp as her mind scrambled to reflect on her current situation.
She did not contain any true fear of what they were undertaking. Thankfully, Prudence back at the homestead insisted on becoming her source for such embarrassing questions. And frankly, it wasn’t until now that Connor wholly appreciated the other woman’s candor in explaining everything. Of course, Achilles attended to all other forms of her education. But he never touched on the more physical aspects of the fact that when she first arrived for her training, she was obviously a girl growing into a woman. Not that she blamed him. Prudence also discreetly supplied her with Queen Anne’s Lace. Ensuring she would not become with child until she wished it, Connor ingested the herbs to her clear instructions. So she held no qualms about that aspect of it. Still, her mind reeled with the implications of continuing. Thoughts drifting away in abrupt analysis, she fell silent.
The sudden but steady feel of Hickey’s thumb painting little circles of comfort along her forearm didn’t cause her to lash out and slap him away. In fact, his touch settled her. Much like an experienced rider soothing a frightened colt.
Be without fear in the face of the unknown.
“Connor?” he finally snorted, “How ya fairin’? ‘Cause whenever ya be goin’’ all quiet ‘n whatnot, things don’t go…endin’ up for the best.”
Eyes snapping open, she looked down to find him resting his chin on her belly. Even more striking in the firelight, he appeared golden and warm.
Never one to dally, she took his other hand and placed it on her breast. His fingers at her arm stilled while he quietly questioned, “Ya sure?”
“Yes,” she resolutely replied.
“If I be doin’ anything ya don’t be likin’, don’t ya ever be afraid to go stoppin’ me. Understand, darlin’?” he all but ordered.
“As though I have ever feared such with you,” she defiantly retorted.
“Well ‘en,” he burst out with a cackle of bawdy laughter, the sound washing away the tension as he resumed their little diversion, “Challenge accepted!”
Author’s Notes:
Queen Anne’s Lace – Daucus carota. A type of wild carrot plant whose seeds women have historically used as birth control for centuries. They can be taken daily, or around ovulation to prevent implantation of the fertilized egg into the uterus.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 21/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-23 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 22a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-26 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)Obviously, there was no doubt Connor was of the fairer sex. Especially with her rich brown locks free of her usual hooded coat. For once, they weren’t plaited back into a braid and tucked into her layers of clothes at her back. Or tamed into a twisted knot at the nape of her neck. Now, her hair fell thick and soft to her mid-back. Her full lips, sharp, freckled cheekbones and the darkening depths of her eyes betrayed so much more as well.
She did not prove petite and demure. Nor flirtatiously enigmatic and full of the usual female seductions most women found at their disposal. She did not contain that delicate, fragile quality that brought most men to their knees in a fiery desire to protect her from the world’s evils. Her physical strength was evident, honed muscle beneath subtle curve. Her calloused fingertips tracing along his arm as he ghosted his hand along her side, there were not soft and yielding. Rough from her constantly wielding weapons, they exhibited the obvious marks of her trade. Yet Connor was beyond so simple a description as “pretty.” In fact, if he were to bet on it, she’d likely consider being called such an epithet of sorts.
Strikingly arresting, though? Aye, her beauty proved remarkable.
As she apprehensively pulled her chemise over her head, Thomas’ hands wandered upwards above her smallclothes. Like him, she too bore a litany of physical scars. Regardless, she didn’t react as he expected. While she blushed under his hungry, wandering gaze, she made no rush to conceal herself with a flurry of ashamed hands. Nor to direct his attention elsewhere with an anxious surge of her mouth to his. Instead, she tensed before closing her eyes and gracing him with a light tremble when he ran a delicate fingertip along the largest of them. An old, vertical stitch, a few inches long, it cut parallel to her right breast.
“Ya be a right lovely sight,” he found himself declaring aloud before grazing his lips across her ear. Experimentally sucking it between his teeth, he hummed with lecherous satisfaction at her accompanying moan. Not to mention how she unflinchingly bowed up into his hand lightly brushing along her midsection.
Eyes snapping open and narrowing in reproach, she shakily countered, “I assure you that there is no need for flattery-”
“I don’t be lyin’, Connor,” he huskily answered, dropping a quick peck to her hollow of her throat. “Wot this be then?” he asked of her scar, voice remarkably free of any sort of sarcasm.
Fixing him with a stare of utter disbelief, she slowly began, “One of my first injuries. I did not realize the bayonet sliced me until a half hour later or so. The fog of battle, one must assume,” she fitfully shrugged. “The barkeep at a tavern in Boston I returned to after a scuffle with the night watch was rather horrified at the blood apparently seeping through to my overcoat. The doctor he sent me to?” she steadily continued, “Perhaps even more scandalized.”
“Hmph,” he cocked his head to side, “I doubt he be used to seein’ a woman with them sorts ‘o injuries that be signalin' fisticuffs.”
Furrowing her brows, she replied, “Nevertheless, you do not appear to find it odd-”
“It ain’t a bad sort ‘o thing,” he swiftly cut her off with a hint of a grin. “Different?” he carefully rubbed the pad of his thumb along the middle of the scar, “Fuck yeah. But that don’t be makin’ it necessarily terrible. See?” he leaned down and licked a stripe along the mark. Planting a sloppy kiss at the bottom of the stitch, he smiled at her ticklish, startled snort even as she heaved up towards his mouth for more, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a few scratches ‘n wot not.”
“I…thank you?” she quizzically replied.
“Nah,” he shot her lopsided grin, “Thank you-”
“For?”
“Oh, you’ll be seein’,” he simpered, eyes darkening with debauched promise.
Without further ado, his mouth traveled downwards yet again. Gentler this time, he knew he had to take it slowly. It’d been a long while since he bedded a green sort. And judging by their willful dance back and forth, he would have to be deliberate and clear. So he left a flurry of kisses along her tits while his fingers wandered. Alternately pecking lighter and harder, he increased his contact depending on her pleased breaths.
His hand grazing a round indentation along the top of her abdomen, he casually asked, “Musket ball, ‘eh?”
She shook her head in agreement and muttered, “The worst of them, so far. A fortnight to recover from it after Achil…the doctor removed it. It was not too deep.”
“You be a lucky lass,” he moved a bit, lips sweeping that scar as well. His cock hardened at the moan that she sent up at his action, as well as how her stomach quivered beneath his mouth. “Quite a few men be tendin’ to die of infection.”
“Evidently,” she distractedly inhaled. Her hands dropping to the top of his shoulders, she dug her fingers into his skin while he continued his journey of discovery.
“Don’t go bein’ nervous,” he drawled when she flexed her upper leg against him dropping a large hand near the junction of her legs.
“I am not,” she lied, voice going high.
“Whatever ya wanna tell yourself,” he rolled his eyes before changing directions and crawling back up her.
She sniffed at that, retorting, “Do you think me craven, Hickey-?”
Interrupting her insult and covering her body with his, he rewarded her with a hard kiss to her mouth. She accepted the unspoken dare, returning it in equal measure. Her hands sliding along his sculpted back in eager purchase, she shoved his tunic upwards. In reply, he hastily stripped himself of it and hurled it to the floor. Only her hand abruptly tracing along his left pectoral and over his heart stopped him from diving back in.
Her fingers outlining the strange script reading, “Fe Mhoid Bheith Saor" above the large, green, four-leafed clover tattooed there, she murmured, “What does it mean?”
“Ya be seriously wonderin’ at that?” he countered, “Right now? Of all times?” he attempted to claim her mouth again. However, her resistant push against him kept him at bay.
“Yes,” she rejoined, “I would like to know of what it says.”
Mouth curling with genuine astonishment at her insistence, he brushed her hand away before quietly answering, "'Sworn to be free-’"
“In what language is it written?” she probed.
“Fe Mhoid Bheith Saor,” he repeated, “It be Gaelic…the mother tongue of me people.”
“And the word ‘Dempsey?’” she lifted an inquisitive brow, splaying out her hand along the ink, “Below it?”
Biting his lower lip, he briefly glanced away before softly replying, “It be me family’s Irish name. ‘Afore we crossed the sea to England and be changin’ ourselves to ‘Hickey’ to go fittin’ in.”
“To ensure you may never forget your birthplace,” she whispered, “For the blood of a man always runs from his homeland.”
“Somethin’ like that,” he distantly recalled as he leaned down and captured her mouth. Admittedly, she found herself far too distracted to inquire about the significance of the list of names inked along his right ribs. Nor the tattoos along his arms.
He was pleased at her growled annoyance when he withdrew after a few moments. Bracing himself over her on one elbow, he resisted her clambering attempts to pull him to her again. No matter how potent her hot, increasingly frantic touches felt. “To go answerin’ as to whether ‘o not I think ya craven?” he breezily replied, breath dancing along the tops of her breasts, “Oh ya be a lot ‘o nutty things, fer sure. But cowardly ain’t one ‘o ‘em, me lovely.”
“I do not know whether or not to be insulted,” she questioned, face twisting with charming confusion.
“So don’t go worryin’ ‘bout it,” he swore against her ear before returning to her mouth again. Grunting in indulgence, he dropped a hand to bring her knee up his side. His weight settled between her thighs as she tentatively nipped at his lips. She wasn't nearly as skittish this time. So he opened to her, deepening the kiss and lazily sliding his tongue against hers. His cock hard against his breeches, she certainly didn’t seem to mind how he began slowly grinding himself against her. Not judging by how she pushed up against him in return. Curling a leg around his, she panted with increasing need as he purposefully rolled his hips into hers.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 22b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-26 07:53 pm (UTC)(link)“I, erhm…well, I assume that you…?” she faltered, hesitantly gesturing at the bed. Sitting up on her elbows and looking down at him, she took in his easy, lackadaisical expression.
“Patience, ‘lil wolf,” he purred, voice low and ebbing in her ears.
Bewildered by his casual reply and about to comment, she instead let out a flabbergasted moan as he kissed the inside of her knee. Her flesh sensitive and not anticipating his action, she shivered as the swirl of his tongue along its crease. His other hand gripping her other leg, he stayed her instinctive flex of her foot. Had she moved more, she would’ve nailed him in the chest. Thankfully, that was avoided as he nibbled at her. Smiling against her as she gasped, his gradually moved his hand upwards. His fleeting touches left modest spots of pink along her bronzed skin as he pressed into her flesh. Soon, made his way to her undergarment.
“Hickey?” she stammered, placing her hand firmly over his some inches above her knee, “What…what are you-?”
“Ya think I’m a gonna go hurtin’ ya, Connor?” he questioned, bright gaze locking with hers as he withdrew from her leg. As he awaited her answer, he determinedly hooked both his hands along the hem of her undergarments. However, he didn’t move to strip her of them. Not quite yet.
“No,” she directly replied, without second-guessing herself.
Pleased at her unblinking answer, he smirked. His head dipping to drop a quick kiss to the hollow of her upper thigh, his words were liquid fire against her as he replied, “Then trust I ain’t gonna make ya regret nothin’, yeah?”
“I regret little in general, truth be told,” she throatily replied, still distracted by the feel of him upon her. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, so his stubbled cheek created a pleasing sort of contrast against her. Her stomach fluttering in the dim firelight, warmth whipped through her with building frenzy as she said, “But I-”
“Or do nothin’…unseemly,” he added, almost as an afterthought. However, his voice was muffled, his lips briefly against her again. “No matter what prudish idjits be a sayin’ of how they expect a man and ‘his woman to go lyin’ together,” he continued, “They don’t know shit, understand?”
“Y-yes,” she trembled as his mouth meandered along her inner hip. This time, he gave her a quick, strangely affectionate nip of his teeth, causing her to words to hitch, “Please?”
“Please do ya want me to go doin’ what?” he wickedly replied, pulling away again, even as he maintained a firm hold on her. Quick as a cat, he maneuvered her legs so that her knees were now braced over his shoulders, her heels dangling above his shoulder blades.
Though she could move easily enough, it occurred to her that she was now thoroughly at his mercy. She also found she had no qualms about being such a position. And so she nearly begged. “P-please,” she panted, mouth parted and pink, “Continue…?”
“Ya don’t be soundin’ quite so sure, love,” he cocked his head to the side in supposed confusion in spite of the roguish glint in his eye. “I’ll get to stoppin’ right now, if ya wish-”
“No!” she speedily declared, hands trembling to her sides in protest. “No,” she repeated, steeling herself to sound calmer, even as she snatched at his hand. “Go on,” she whispered, giving him a squeeze of permission.
He chortled at her becoming unwound. That much was obvious, judging by the flush running along her. All because of him. Something primal and possessive flared up within, knowing that he could bring her to such a state with a few strokes and caresses. He was rather startled that it caused a strange sort of pride to well up within his chest. He chuckled aloud again, for they hadn’t even gotten to the diverting part. “If ya wanna stop, me lady-”
“If you dare do so,” she nearly hissed, “I swear on high that I shall -”
“Are ya sure?”
“Whatever do you mean by that, you imbecile?!”
The insult bubbled up from her mouth, the edges of it laced with the barest of drunken amusement. Just a bit higher, her brain seemed to order him, of its own accord. She had no idea why. She’d never done this sort of thing before. Well, not with another person at least. Yet she positively ached for him to get on with it. Her hands falling to his, she tried to shove them closer to fully divest her of her undergarments.
“Patience, ya naughty ‘lil git,” he smirked in reply, “I’m a gonna go doin’ this in me own time. After all,” he paused to give a ticklish lick at the top of her hip. Closing his eyes and reveling in how a panting groan escaped her parted mouth, he grinned, “I always be rewarding them that ‘as me back. Ya could’ve let me go a freezin’ to death out there.”
“One would hope you would do the same for me,” she huffed, voice tense with anticipation.
“Aye,” he darkly chuckled, “For ya skills with those blades ‘o yours, of course.”
Slapping his hand away from her behind, she retorted with breathless indignation, “You are a thorough miscreant.”
“Oh, yeah?” he guffawed, withdrawing slightly, “Well ‘en, ya be seein’ why I be mildly surprised ya let me continue to go livin’. ‘Specially when ya could’ve easily gotten rid of me bein’ such a fuckin’ albatross ‘round ya neck.” he drawled. “So don’t ya go worryin’ that pretty ‘lil head ‘o yours, ‘cause you’ll be gettin’ ya just rewards ‘n whatnot. Of that,” he snorted as he finally divested her of her smallclothes and carelessly tossed them to the floor, “There ain’t no doubt.”
Rapidly blinking, she muttered, “I do not understan…oh my!” she keened out in her as his mouth was suddenly upon her. He gave a throaty laugh at her instinctive reaction as his tongue dipped and ebbed into her. Taking his prize like a starving man at oasis, his other arm dropped to her lower abdomen, firmly holding her in place beneath him. Her hips beginning to buck into him, her rhythm proved haphazard and unpracticed at such things. He didn’t mind at the least. Not with her eyes locked with his, half-lidded, pupils dilating and bright with rising desire. Not with how she tasted, sweet and tangy, more ribald than his darkest dreams.
Her hands balled into the sheets on either side of as her, threatening to tear them to shreds as he continued to make love to her with his mouth. But it wasn’t enough, and he found her fingers dancing in his hair, pulling him closer. Anything to lose herself to him and the havoc he wrecked upon her. She welcomed it, reveling in his boldness. Begging for his mercy while at the same time demanding he never stop, her slurred words came out in short, shaky spurts of need. Soon, her native language slipped through. Swirling about him in foreign melody, it was a sweet litany upon her lips.
Throwing her head back, she panted a filthy curse of appreciation as his thumb slicked over the center of her pleasure. Descending, he plundered her wetness, sinking first one and another finger into her. Moving in time with his mouth, he urged her ever upwards. Her hips jerked and trembled, his willing hostage as she scrabbled for leverage, digging her heels into his shoulders and lifting her thighs from the bed. He growled in approval as she grasped his hair. Goading him on, his vibrations caused her to squirm and writhe in earnest. Her rising gasps and moans now mingled with his name. A sacred prayer for deliverance, her words were supplicant his efforts.
So he decided to deliver her from this exquisite task.
“T-thomas!” she howled as he captured her clit.
His tongue licked and sucked at her as his hands fell to her bottom, opening her to him. As he brought her closer to the brink, he delicately scraped his teeth about that little bundle of nerves. For that, he was rewarded with his name feverishly spilling uninterrupted from her lips. Her motions combined with her increasingly bold noises of delight crackled and sizzled around him. Almost painfully hard for her, the final threads of his control were fraying by the second. Near about to shove her back onto the bed and fuck her hard and deep beneath him, loosing himself to her searing depths would be just reward for them both.
She was seconds from her peak when she suddenly found him braced over her. His mouth devouring hers, she tasted herself on his lips, rich and intoxicating. Pulling him flush, she reveled in the feel of his sweaty, sturdy strength engulfing her. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once. Wild in their searching, she ran them along his chest, shoved them down to the small of his back, along his sides, even slanted her fingers beneath the hem of his breeches.
When he suddenly pushed away from her, she babbled something in her mother tongue that sounded mightily pissed. At least he assumed so, judging by her amusingly petulant expression. Not to mention how her hands immediately fell to his forearms in an effort to keep him close.
“This may go hurtin,’” he panted.
Sure, he didn’t have proof that her virtue was intact. Still, it would do well to remind her just case. One of his hands still worked her wet folds. But lightly, keeping her from tumbling over the edge. Frustrated, she clawed at his back and buried her nose in his shoulder. Yet she could feel his hardness along her thigh, thick and heavy. Somehow, he’d shed his breeches. Not that she gave a damn, at least not in her current state.
“W-why?!” she slurred, thighs squeezing his hand between them in a vain effort to gain more friction, “Why would you assume-?”
“Just makin’ sure ya be aware,” he clenched. Withdrawing at feeling her begin to tighten around his fingers, he stroked his cock between their bodies.
She furiously shook her head in disagreement. “I…I do not care,” she strained, “You must…please…I will not ask…again!”
“Fine, fine” he huskily teased with a cavalier smile, “Ain’t gotta go tellin’ me twice,”
Thrusting into her, he swallowed her loud exhalation into his kiss at the sudden, throbbing invasion.
“Iah tewake'nikonhraién:ta's,” she hissed against him, mouth desperately sliding against his and hands dropping to his hips to stop him from pulling back.
“What ‘en?” he grunted. Now, he was acutely aware that it was her first time. Especially as she jerkily bucked beneath him.
He admittedly refused to dwell on it.
“It…it is strange!” she hitched, fingers digging into him with increasing desperation, “This feeling...all of this!”
“It be gone in a bit,” he rasped, “I promise on me grave.” Mouth claiming hers again, he momentarily distracted her from the sharp sting as he snapped up to sink into her again. Blinking in surprise, she took in deep gulps of air. Wrapping her legs around his, her entire being fluttered with this new sensation. “Fuck me, lass, ya gonna be the death ‘o me!” he grit, fighting to remain still again to assuage her. While he didn’t understand her keening reply, she didn’t appear to want to kill him. So he took her hand and interlaced his fingers with hers as his other slid down to rest on her hip.
Before long, instinct compelled her to move again. However, the twinging prickle made her halt, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Reverently kissing away the tears of discomfort on her cheek, he kissed the tip of her nose as well before moving again. Thankfully, her tenderness seemed to steadily dissipate.
"Ya be a hungry 'lil minx, ain't ya?" he groaned, words sultry upon her ear.
She retorted with something garbled in her language as she moved under him for a bit. The unease slowly spilling away into wanton gratification, she eagerly propelled her hips up against his.
"Connor...me Connor," he rumbled as the feel of her, hot, tight and wet around him, "Keep goin' sweetheart," he breathed, restraint hanging by a thread. “Just…like...that!” he strained in between his drives into her.
They began moving in the age-old carnal dance, sight and sound peaked and blurring the edges of their exquisite desperation. Sucking at her lower lip, he moaned her name as she scraped at his arms. Tongue darting out to wet her lips, she mewed in pleasure as their actions became more frantic. Her pace was careless and jumbled. But he gave no indication of displeasure, all sorts of his filthy declarations recklessly spilling into her ear. Her hips eventually moving in time with his, her ramblings in her language were indistinct, mixing with his steady groans of reckless gratification. As he rocked in and out of her, her hands moved to his back. She distantly marveled at how hard muscle moved under soft skin.
Without warning, he sucked a mark of possession onto her neck, where her heart beat in frenzied time. It sent her over the precipice. A strangled cry, she drove upward. Hands scraping down his back, her body and mind were completely overwhelmed with this compelling delight. Without warning, she shuddered and cradled his body to hers. Plunging into her over and over, he grabbed her by the thighs as he groaned in blessed release. His fingers massaged her still, drawing out her desire to the fullest as she came down from her own heights. Collapsing back onto the bed, though it was illogical, she swore she saw the ceiling above them tilt and swirl together in time to her breath.
Silence fell between them, save their labored panting. Shifting, she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, lips moving against his skin as she murmured.
“I hope that wasn’t no threat against me life,” he half-joked, pulling away a touch to settle his gaze on her.
Her eyes widened slightly before she resolutely replied, “No...it is not.”
“Good ‘en,” he proclaimed, dropping a kiss to her lips for a long moment. “Good,” he reiterated, twining his fingers through her hair before rolling off of her.
Silently moving to her side the bed, she started at the feel of him dragging her towards him. “What-?”
“You be fuckin’ delicious, love, that’s wot,” he groggily slurred, spooning against her back, “But sleep…now.” She stiffened at the feel of his arms draping around her. One hand grazing her breasts, the other fell to her waist. “‘N calm the fuck down, yeah? I ain’t gonna murder ya,” he hummed at her stillness, “Too much blood ‘n whatnot to go cleanin’ up.”
“A likely tale, Hickey,” she drowsily retorted, even as she relaxed into him. Tentatively moving a hand to where his arm ensconced her waist, she ignored his little huff of contentment. As well as how he almost protectively shoved a leg over hers. “You would not bother to scrub the sheets and floor of the mess," she added, "Due to your own, sheer indolence.”
“Shut-up, ‘lil wolf,” he woozily chortled, his lips at her cheek taking the sting out of the order, “I’m a trying to get some shut-eye.”
Her hasty, acerbic sounding reply in her language was unintelligible. Then again, it fell on relatively deaf ears as he slipped into unconsciousness. Besides, there was always tomorrow to deal with the repercussions of whatever in the hell they’d just gotten themselves into.
Author's Note:
“Iah tewake'nikonhraién:ta's” – “I don’t understand” in Mohawk.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 22b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-27 12:16 am (UTC)(link)“Fuck me, lass, ya gonna be the death ‘o me!”
Eeep... I hope there's no foreshadowing here...
/Goes off to reread/
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 22b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-11-14 08:11 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 22b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-07 10:10 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 22b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-17 05:19 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 22b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-17 02:04 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 22b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-12-17 09:18 pm (UTC)(link)