anita_blake | (no subject)

Who is Damian to refuse the command of his mistress, spoken or unspoken?

His broad hands move over the soft heat of her skin as he takes control of the kiss. After so little from her in the previous months, he is overwhelmed by even these simple touches. It feels so right, being close like this, and he does his best to take it all in without taking advantage, finding that balance between too little and too much.

Anita's hand strokes down his hip again, over his thigh. Damian's skin is soft, so soft, warm under her touch. She knows he's fed, but she doesn't dare ask from who. She merely accepts he's warm and soft where her hand moves and hard where he's pressed against her.

Her tongue slides into her mouth, careful of his fangs. She's become quite adept at kissing vampires, it seems, and she uses that skill now. It's delicious, and she presses for more, her hands moving boldly over his body.

If it's more she wants, she is sure to get it. Damian moans, low and deep, into their kiss. His own hands go on the move, exploring her smaller body with its wonderful curves. Fingers trace down the valley of her spine, and he cups her backside through the lace barrier. It is clear that he wants her, but still he doesn't push. She had ordered 'no sex', after all.

But sex has a very, very narrow definition for Anita, which allows her to feel a little more freedom in what they do. Her hand cups him as she moans into his mouth, tangling her legs with his. He's smooth and long, beautiful to her sense of touch, and she has the wild urge to know what he feels like between her lips.

That particular touch is unexpected, and he jerks in her grasp, his mouth pulling away from hers in a gasp. "Anita... Mistress, your wishes..." he tries to remind her, his face contorting ever so slightly with the effort not to break her trust in him.

"I said no sex," she murmurs, kissing down his throat, letting herself simply feel with him, not thinking. Her fingers dance along the length of him. "We're not having sex."

He fears she'll deny him like his previous mistress was so fond of doing. Anita has no idea how much he fears, but he pushes it aside in order to feel all that she gives him. He doesn't argue with her, taking her word as law for the moment.

Damian doesn't trust his voice so he simply groans around the words of protest that remain stuck in his throat. He wants this so very badly, and the shudder that runs the length of him is a clear indication of that.

Anita shifts their position, pushing Damian onto his back as she straddles his thighs. She has the undeniable urge to see him lose himself, to see what Damian looks like without that carefully crafted, painfully earned control. Her lips move over his chest as her hand continues to touch him, pump him in a languid rhythm.

She's still in her bra and panties, and she has no intention of taking them off. Damian had wanted to touch, to kiss, to be with her, and so she gives him that. Her utter attention. Her touch. Her kisses.

It's more than he could ever have hoped for, and he stares up at her, his hands gripping at her thighs. He struggles to keep that control, but it is quickly slipping away.

It isn't that he hasn't enjoyed the pleasures she offers with others over the last few months, but he hasn't enjoyed them with her, and her touch is more than just skin on skin, it is the touch of master to servant. It makes the experience entirely different and much more intense.

"Anita..."

Anita lifts her head from his chest, her eyes dark as her hand continues to move.

"What, Damian?" she whispers.

"Don't stop," he manages to moan, his emerald eyes wide with desperation. It isn't a command, but it isn't a plea either. Not quite.

He presses as much skin to her as he is able, his hands wide to take in her sides and abdomen with his arms still resting against her thighs.

"I didn't intend to."

Her mouth captures a nipple, her tongue teasing the nub. Anita tightens her hand around him, her pace a little faster now. She reaches between them to cup and stroke his sac, trying to give him all the sensation while feeding that need in her to touch him.

Damian's hands slide over her back, combing for a moment through her hair before gripping at her again. He can't hold back any more and moans, his head falling back as he is bombarded with the sensation of her hands and lips.

He curses in Old Norse, and though the words aren't recognisable, they can easily be identified. His hips rise to meet her hands, and the heat in him grows exponentially.

It is only when he reaches the very edge that he truly realises that she means what she has said and doesn't intend to stop him and make him beg for it. That thought along with the unceasing pleasure pushes him over the edge with a low, sustained moan, his body twitching as he spills over her hand.

Anita shivers, feeling his pleasure splash over her fingers, and she lifts her head to look at him, watch those lingering moment of pleasure. She continues to stroke him until he has nothing more to give, and then she kisses up to his lips, stretching out on top of him, uncaring of the semen smearing over her skin.

He isn't about to stop her from establishing fuller contact. Not after how long he has waited. With pleasure still soaring through his nerves, he cups her face and kisses her thoroughly, holding back only enough to ensure that she doesn't cut herself on his fangs.

Damian can't recall ever feeling so blissfully sated. His pleasure had always come with conditions with his old mistress, and to have it given without torture or terror makes him so very happy.

"I think you're the first guy I've had in bed with me who's satisfied with a handjob," Anita teases between sweet kisses.

Damian chuckles, and it is probably the first time such a sound has passed his lips around Anita.

"I would have been satisfied with less," he informs her, some of the shadows chased away from the depths of his eyes. There is still sadness there, the kind that doesn't go away completely, but it is eased by his pleasure and gratitude.

Anita brushes her lips over his.

"But I wouldn't have been."

It's a huge step for her, and Anita sighs, resting her head against his chest. She's content for the moment, despite the stickiness.

"I like your laugh," she murmurs.

She wouldn't have been satisfied with less from him? By the gods, it's just one shock after another!

Huge step? It's a giant leap, as far as Damian is concerned. He had arrived at Anita's room looking for a reassuring word and touch, nothing more. Instead, he has just had sex with her and had one of his deep fears assuaged.

This night has turned out to be quite different than he had expected, and he is certain the shock of it all will wear off sometime the following night. When the shock dissipates, he'll probably question everything and think too much. For now, however, he just experiences it with a confounded but glad spirit.

"You haven't truly heard it yet," Damian says in regards to his laughter, enjoying every touch and kiss as if it will be the last. "Chuckling is rare, laughter even more so. You have yet to hear me laugh."

"Then I look forward to hearing it," Anita whispers.

She remains cuddles on top of him for a few minutes more, and then she crawls off of him and heads to the bathroom to fetch a wet washcloth. As much as she misses the feel of him, the immediate desire to return to his side, she would like them to be less sticky now.

Damian doesn't complain. He realises how much the zombie-raising, crime-scene-examining Executioner values being free of various fluids. When you have a dirty job, being clean becomes more firmly engrained.

He wonders if the metaphysical ache that overcomes him when they physically part is as strong for her as it is for him, and for those few moments that she spends in the bathroom, he worries that she will think too much, second-guess herself, and withhold her touch again.

It's striking to him how very much that thought affects him, and he mentally prepares himself for the worst. Lying on the bed, he enjoys the moment. He might be in Milliways, but right now he's naked in Anita's bed. The scent of sex lingers here, as well as Anita's personal scent. He can even smell traces of her leopard bedmates, Nathaniel's sweet vanilla and Micah's subtle, but masculine cologne. All together, this has to be one of the most comforting scents he has taken in for a while.

He closes his eyes, remaining calm when he hears and senses Anita emerge from the bathroom and approach again.

Anita slowly approaches the bed again, hesitating for a moment before she crawls atop the mattress with her cloth. It's odd, seeing him naked, sprawled as he is, and she pauses only once before she sets to wiping up the cold semen. She tosses it to the hamper in the corner and lays down beside him once more, her hand splayed over his stomach.

She knows she'll overthink this once Damian leaves for the day. She knows she'll think it to death and worry about her choice and regret things. She knows this because she knows herself. The doubt is there, a kernel, a small ember waiting for the air to breathe life into it, make it a raging blaze that will devour all the compassion she feels in this moment with Damian.

But that will come later, once he's gone.

For now... for now she presses against his side, resting her head on his shoulder as her fingers draw idle patterns on his alabaster stomach. The contact is calming, soothing; it keeps the doubts at bay and her mind silent so she can simply enjoy what they've shared -- what they share.

That first touch still brings a small gasp from him, like a switch being thrown that sends a jolt of electricity through him, but the tension eases quickly this time as relief washes through him.

With her power close, his heart beats steadily in his chest. No matter what the future brings, this moment feels as close to perfect as he is likely ever to come. It's been a long time since someone has traced patterns aimlessly on his torso, and he likes the familiarity of it.

Tilting his own head slightly, he rests it against Anita's at his shoulder. It's the only contact he initiates, careful not to push her. "This is what I needed," he breathes into her hair with the softest of sighs. "This is what I need from you, and what you need from me as master and servant. Would it be too much to ask that we do this again?"

Anita pauses for a moment in those patterns, and then begins again.

"When?" she murmurs.

He's right, regardless of whether she's happy about it or not. Right is right, and dammit, Damian is right. She needs this. He needs this. No matter her doubts, the need can't be denied.

Damian hears that hesitancy and understands it. He never expected Anita to particularly like that she needs to be around him, but he commends her for at least internally admitting it.

"Next Saturday," he suggests. "I know you have a raising to perform, but after you are home and clean, you might enjoy it most. Just us, Anita." He gives her a small smile, knowing what is probably going on in her mind. "I'm not asking for sex once a week, just your undivided attention and touch for short periods while the world isn't about to end." Though, if it were up to him, the stressful times would mean more contact rather than less.