faderift | playing house on the road.

Entry tags:

playing house on the road.

WHO: laura kint, matthias
WHAT: a very serious mission that is definitely not a date
WHEN: sometime in drakonis don't worry about it
WHERE: out of kirkwall, moving toward the planasene forest
NOTES: sexual content, references to prior nonconsensual sexual experiences

Laura's happier as soon as they leave Kirkwall and the heavy scents of people and filth get smoothed away by the rest of the world. Earth and salt from the sea replace them, trees begin to grow, and the distant mountains feel more possible. Everything seems more real: ground and sky, the pony they've been allowed to take with them, Matthias' hand in hers.

The first day, they travel, starting early in the morning and going until the sun is low, and the forest threatens to become too dark to see. Then, they find a clearing to stop in, one with a creek close enough to hear, and Matthias promises he'll build them the finest fire possible. The pony is tied up to rest and eat, supplies taken from its saddlebags, and Laura hunts.

She comes back with two fat nugs, already gutted, her hands still bloody. "We will need to make a spit."

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He could get used to this, the feeling of her eyes on him, an echo of what he feels looking at her--and the push of her fingertips, again getting a little shiver out of him, and a grin--and his fingertips as well, callouses and bitten-down nails, tracing a pattern along the line of her shoulder, the little dip of her throat--

He looks up, quick, when what she's said sinks in at last. "I haven't cocked it up, have I? Spoilt it, I mean, not-- If you've changed your mind, 'course, that's--" Awful, not what he wanted, should have done more to avoid, maybe not brought her to the woods, maybe not stopped kissing her so he could stop bloody supper from burning-- "That's all right."

Then again she's just there, looking at him, with her face half-lit by the firelight. The glow of it makes her skin look like it's glowing as well, turns her eyes dark. Her fingers have traced along the line of the flail scar and they are there again, or maybe still. Time is funny. Matthias swallows, hard. His fingertips are pressed to her skin, right near the spot he'd been kissing her.

"Have you? Changed your mind?"

"No," she says quickly, her chin tipping down until it touches her neck. That was the wrong time to say it, the wrong way to say it--something about it must have been incorrect, or the answer would have been different. Matthias wouldn't be looking at her like he just spotted a storm cloud above them. "You have done everything right. But if I do--"

That's all right. Perhaps that's all that needs to be said; her throat rebels at the thought of offering an explanation, tightening all the breath into her lungs. But it doesn't feel like enough. Laura inhales again, with some effort.

"If I change my mind, I will tell you." She has to finish the sentence herself, say this is what will happen and wait for him to agree. And he will, she thinks--she has to believe that much, that Matthias will say yes, of course. "And we will stop."

And that will mean this really is different from every other time. She waits, her hand resting atop his heart, absorbing the thud of it, and keeps her eyes on his. This is an agreement she needs.

Oh.

Matthias, feeling very stupid, closes his mouth. Then he lifts his hand and lays it atop hers, pressing it to his chest. She'll be able to feel so much from that, he thinks--or maybe hopes--how hard and fast his heart is beating, how hot his skin is--and she'll know, too, how badly he wants her, to kiss her and to push her back onto the blanket he'd had the good sense to lay out in the dirt near the fire--or let her push him back, it wouldn't matter either way.

"Yeah." She's tipped her face down and Matthias stares down at the top of her head, willing her to look back at him. "'Course. I wouldn't want to do anything if you didn't want to. That's-- that's what this is, right? Both of us wanting it. So--if you change your mind, you only have to say. I swear. All right?"

"Yes." Matthias is a good person. Matthias is kind, and he's gentle, and even if he has a funny comment for everything in the world, he understands when she needs him to be serious. He doesn't ask for anything else from her; he gives what she asks for, and he does not complain. Laura looks up at him, her eyes finding his. "That is what this is."

It is something else--something different, walled off from everything else either of them have ever done. The way that choosing to fight is different from being told to, the sensation of eating something spicy after a lifetime of porridge and suddenly understanding a new sliver of the world. It is new.

And his heartbeat is so strong under her palm. Everything smells green and smoky, and Matthias is looking at her with a kind of intensity he usually saves for breakfast and practicing magic.

"I do not wish to talk anymore," she informs him, scooting over until their sides are touching. And when she kisses him, it's with an intensity to match his. Her hand travels down from his chest, away from his heart, over his ribs and further down. To his stomach, his skin soft under her fingertips, knuckles just brushing against his breeches.

There are people that he has loved and people that he loves and people that he has slept with, and those circles have often overlapped--but this is still different, and maybe everyone thinks that, always, or frequently, maybe if he knew anything he could say that for certain--but he wouldn't want to. It should be something different. Him, and Laura.

He'd released her hand when she moved it. Barely conscious of his hands, in turn, one sort of vaguely at her arm, the other might well belong to someone else, if they weren't side to side he can think of a hundred places he would want his hand, all of them on Laura--so, too, the light pressure of her fingertips is almost distant, all his focus in the push of her mouth against his, teeth and, he'll try it, tongue, a little, and then her fingers are pressed to his stomach, knuckles, and Matthias makes a noise against their kiss, half an inhalation and half something else. He thinks then to shift, a little, if only to take some pressure from himself, breeches too tight and her hand like a brand, heated, and he's moved against her but it's good, as blindly he kisses her, it's still good, better than anything else.

"I can," he starts to offer, "these, um, off," maybe, he's got to say it all between kisses, and between breaths, spare that they are.

Laura nods intently, nearly swallowing up the words as he says them. Her breath spills over to his cheek, and a little kiss as well--she could spend all night kissing him and still feel she hadn't kissed him enough. They could do nothing but curl up naked on a blanket in the new spring-scented dirt and kiss and she would fall asleep content, her arms around him.

But given the choice, she thinks she would rather save contentment for later. The taste of his mouth and the sounds he makes when she touches him, the heat that clouds under her skin when he touches her--she wants that first.

He will need some space, since she isn't removing his breeches for him; she will have to let go of him, at least for a moment or two. (She could take his off--wants to, even, to touch his thighs and shins and all of him--but he might want to do the same with the hosiery still clinging to her body. And that, she would prefer to do herself tonight.) Reluctantly, she draws back, giving another decisive little nod.

Pulling off her hose takes little more than a moment, as they land with the rest of her half-forgotten clothes, and then she's turning back to Matthias to see how he's managed with his breeches. Her legs are as scarred as her arms, especially at her thighs, but her self-consciousness is second to the desire to touch again. As soon as he's naked, she's reaching out again, a hand sliding over his hip and brushing lightly against his cock as she kisses him. It's little more than a tease, at this point, but there's a promise of more.

He has a moment to look at her, naked--and he does, a quick look--and he would keep looking except she moves in toward him again, and there's nothing at all between them now. Her mouth is already on his when her hand brushes against him, and Matthias makes a sound against her mouth, somewhere between gasp and groan. Every bit of him jolts toward her. He wants or else needs more of that, burning and fraught with desire--he wants her, Laura.

And they're still kissing, fevered, he's almost mindless with it, but it's good, still, it's Laura and he knows that. And that does make a difference, all the difference in the world. At some point he's fit his hand back to one of her breasts--and when he breaks their kiss it's only so he can breathe--but instead he presses another kiss to her throat--and another lower, burning. She wants him too, or else she would tell him to stop, but she hasn't, and if he touched her he would find her wet, surely, and he will, but for now he's kissed down her sternum, and now at the swell of the top of her breast, shifting his hand to make space.

She's prepared to spend the rest of the evening focused on him, getting to know his body and seeing what reactions she can draw up from him. There's a familiar sort of intellectual challenge to it, combined now with a much more insistent longing that comes of the fact that it's Matthias she's touching. Laura wants to see what happens to him, which places he likes best to be kissed and how close she can bring him to coming without actually doing it--and the sounds he makes, more than anything.

But Matthias isn't content to lie back and be explored and toyed with. He kisses her, finds her neck and collarbone and chest and makes her breath disappear from her lungs. Being touched in return isn't new by any means, but knowing it's Matthias changes it; the heat of his mouth isn't something to endure but to want. (Somewhere in the back of her mind, the lack of discomfort is almost discomfort in itself, but it's a discomfort she can think about later. I am used to this feeling bad, but it doesn't. She pushes it away.) She makes a small noise, pleased, as his lips come to her breast, a hand tangling in his hair. Her other hand, the one at his hip, tightens its grip slightly as she buries her face against his scalp, breathing in deep.

Eager as always to please, good at hints--especially hints that are too blatant and clear to be hints, really, and still, a reward of their own--Matthias keeps up. His hair prickles where her fingers have twisted, and that feeling spreads all the way down his neck, his spine, while her grip at his hip is like a heat, and he doesn't let himself get distracted, not yet.

He's on this now, as he presses his neck kiss to her. Her nipple has gone stiff from his hand has been--stupidly his chin brushes against it, first, clumsily, and that nearly throws him off before he thinks of what he knows, what he's heard, and he puts his mouth there, next--careful, a little cautious but trying to act sure of himself--listening for her reaction, either she'll like it or she won't, and then he'll know.

It's a sharper sensation than any of the rest so far; if his mouth on her collarbone is heated, here it's a blaze. The light pressure of his lips on her nipple draws a throb from her clit, makes her fingers pull in slightly more against hip and scalp.

Her head's still tipped down toward his, and she kisses his hair, the most encouraging response she has at that moment. It feels as if she should be doing things, more than simply sitting there and being kissed, but she wants him to keep kissing her more than she's ever wanted anything out of sex.

That's good enough to know he's chosen right, and good enough encouragement for him to keep it up--so he does, with his skin all prickled from the pull and the pressure of her fingers. A little more firm now, assured--and when he pulls away, it's only so he can press a kiss between her breasts, right on that hard line of the bone, before he skips over to the other one, and tries it again--firmer here than even before, with confidence, mouth and tongue and all.

It's strange, all this familiarity--there is nothing so familiar as this, after all, tangled up against Laura, gripped to her, with his mouth on her breast, nothing at all between them. Stranger still is all this time that they have. Before sex was a rush and Matthias still feels that impulse--eager, wanting--but there is nothing better than this, he thinks, now (in what capacity for thought he has). He can feel her breathing, he can, if he thinks of it, hear her heartbeat, even, maybe, and her every reaction telegraphed by the grip of her fingers--and if he licks instead of kisses, that does something different, and then he can switch back again. This could be hours, and hours, and time is theirs, out here in the woods.

The strangest thing--for Laura, at least--is how unconcerned he is with himself. It feels as if they could be here forever, sitting here in a quiet corner of the forest, and he'd still be focused on her. He hasn't moved her hands where he wants them, hasn't asked anything of her. (She knows him better, at least, than to think he'd demand.) It's enough, apparently, to hear the hitch in her breath when his tongue flicks over her nipple; he can guess, perhaps, how the wet empty heat has its match between her legs.

It becomes overwhelming, slowly and then entirely, to realize it. She doesn't know what to do with the feeling--it lives someplace between fine and claws--but she has to do something. It's becoming too much. Not in the way coming is--this is more like the day he'd caught her following him, the sensation of his gaze alighting on her in the shadows.

"Matthias," and her voice is almost entirely breath as she tugs lightly back at his hair, trying to draw his eyes back up to hers. (A strange feeling, the conviction that feeling him looking at her will be less to bear than his singleminded focus on her body.) When his head's tipped up, she'll kiss him, taking refuge in the familiarity of his taste as her fingers find his cock again, this time stroking down the length of him in what's decidedly not an accidental touch. There's safety in familiarity, especially when so much of this still feels new.

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playing house on the road.

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