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xp_logsAngelo finds Amanda in their suite in Attilan and they finally stop dancing around at least one or two of their issues. Warnings for smut.
'Magic as belief made tangible - making what you imagine actual. Reality shaping on a minor scale, with spells as the framework...' Amanda paused and made a couple of notes on her scratchpad, before turning the page. A lot of Charlie's notes were his own speculations on the theory of magic, but she'd found them more useful than many of the established scholars. And sitting curled on the couch in the small suite she'd been shown to on arrival with a binder of notes from a dead magic enthusiast probably wasn't exactly polite, given she hadn't said hello to her hosts (or in fact anyone), but she'd begged off, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the whole idea of associating with anyone outside of Snow Valley much. The trip had worn her out, she needed some time to recover, she'd make her apologies in the morning, she'd told the servant, who'd taken in her pinched looking appearance and quietly nodded.
She grimaced suddenly as an itch flared on her shoulderblade and she laid down the binder to scratch it, fingertips rubbing against the raised scar tissue there. The marks left by Candra's spell were almost as healed as they were ever going to be, but the skin still got irritated. Especially depending on what she was wearing - with an annoyed noise, she unclasped her bra and pulled it out from under her tanktop, tossing it at the other end of the couch. There. Much better. She'd already ditched the loose black cotton shirt she'd been wearing on the plane, unwilling to let anyone see the scars, but the heat and humidity on the way to the airport had served to make her fairly uncomfortable.
Angelo had been given a key to the suite and shown the way on his arrival, and didn't bother announcing himself by any other means than the rattle at the door just before it swung open and he stepped into the living room. "Hey."
At the rattle, Amanda lunged for the discarded shirt, knocking her notepad and pen to the floor. Holding it up to her front, she half-turned in her seat to see who was coming in. When she saw it was Angelo, she smiled wanly, and dropped her hands - only to move instead to pull the shirt on over the top of her tanktop. "Hey," she said lamely. "I thought you'd be downstairs with the rest."
"I was. But they're gettin' ready for dinner, it was time to get changed... an' I figured I'd come up an' see how you're doin'. If that's okay?" There was an uncertain note in his voice, suddenly.
The shirt in place, she felt safe enough to nod. "Sure, if that's what you want," she replied, suddenly awkward. "I was just... tired. Didn't feel up to the crowds yet. I'll catch up with Crystal and Medusa tomorrow, tell them I'm sorry." Inwardly, she was wondering just how the hell they were going to manage this, sharing a suite for several days - they hadn't been together since Louisiana, due to her carefully avoiding letting him see her back, engineering excuses. The truth was, she wasn't sure he'd be able to look at her now, without remembering what had happened. She didn't blame him for it - she just wasn't sure if he didn't blame himself. "How're things going?" she asked, hating the stiltedness of her tone.
"Not bad", he told her, still cautious as he padded over to sit down on the other end of the couch. "Bruises are gone, an' my ribs are gettin' better. Be back up to speed in no time."
"Good. That's good." She turned to face him, pulling up her knees into the old defensive posture. It pulled at her back a bit, the skin a bit tighter there from the scars, and she rested her chin on her knee with a sigh. "Big party, huh? Everyone and their dog's here, by the looks."
"Well, it's a big occasion", he said with a shrug. "Not often a Lady of Attilan gets engaged, I guess."
"Hmm." She wanted to reach out to him, but wasn't sure how. "How're the kids doing, the ones that were caught up in everything?" Another of those wan smiles. "The journals don't always tell you much, and I've been keeping to myself a lot. "
"Not too bad, far as I can tell. They were scared, but everybody got out of it alive, an' all of them got out pretty much unhurt. So they're dealin'." He hoped.
"Good," she said again, fiddling with the edge of one sleeve. "Ange, I..." she paused, not really sure what it was she wanted to say. "You're all the way over there," she said at last, feeling lame.
"I..." he started and trailed off, then asked directly, "D'you want me not all the way over here? I thought..."
No secrets. "Please?" she said, her tone almost pleading. "I just... I miss you. Which is dumb, 'cause it's been me pushing you away, but I didn't mean to. I just didn't want you seeing, that's all." Her cheeks burned, and she ducked her head. "I don't want you to look at me and feel guilty every time you do."
Angelo paused, looked down at his hands, then twisted abruptly to look at her. "You think that's why I haven't been comin' around so much? You said you needed..."
Amanda winced and moved her head to rest on her knees. "I know I did," she said, a little muffled since she was talking to her knees and not him so much. "Which is why it's so bloody stupid. But... I know you don't want to push, but sometimes I think I need you to, if only so I don't go working myself into these fucking holes." She hugged her knees tighter, hunching in on herself. "'m a plonker," she added. "Sorry."
Angelo sighed, shifting down the couch a little, and reached out tentatively to wrap an arm around her. "It's okay."
The contact helped - she uncurled enough to shift and rest her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "It's not," she said, sounding weary. "I don't want to be a victim, Ange. 'M not gunna let that bitch ruin my life. But sometimes I'm not sure if that isn't how everyone else sees me. Poor little Amanda, all scarred up again." Her hands tightened on her knees. "So I keep away. And yo-- they let me, 'cause they don't know how to react to me." She snorted a little. "So I get the whole isolated thing. Catch-22 - I stay away, so everyone else stays away to give me space, and I stay away from them 'cause I think they want me to."
He looked down at her for another long moment, then sighed again. "Okay. Sit up, Amanda. Look at me." He tugged very gently at her hair, emphasising his words.
The firmness in his tone got a reaction, and she raised her head reluctantly, biting her lip as if she was a naughty child expecting a scolding. "Did I mention the part where I'm a plonker?" she repeated, a little defensively. "'Cause I am. You know that."
"You are", he agreed, not really joking. "But now... I'm gonna prove those scars right there don't make me think any different of you. An' it's not... I'm not gonna feel guilty about this."
She frowned a little. "You don't have to," she began. "You don't have to prove anything, not like that..."
"Sssh", he said, quiet but firm, shifting round on the couch. "I want to." And with that he reached for the sides of her baggy shirt, peeling it slowly back off her arms.
"Ange," she began, but even that half-hearted protest died at the touch of his fingers brushing her sides as he peeled off the cotton shirt, revealing the tank top underneath. "It's... you haven't even seen it yet," she said, unable to meet his eyes even as she began unfolding herself. "It's pretty ugly."
"Then I'll see it now", he said quietly, intent and focused as he pulled the shirt sleeves free of her hands and dropped it onto the couch before taking her hand and starting to get up. "Come with me."
Amanda hesitated, but let him pull her to her feet. Goosebumps marked her skin revealed by the low cut of the top, and she knew the low neckline at the back revealed the first few lines of the scars. She wanted him - fuck, did she want him - but she wasn't sure she could handle seeing pity in his eyes. "You lead," she said, stalling the inevitable.
"Okay", he agreed - if it was how she wanted it, there was no harm there. He wasn't letting her get out of it, though, holding onto her hand and leading her towards the bedroom.
The bed was another football-field sized one, and she smiled involuntarily at the sight of it, the memories it evoked. She was still as nervous as hell, though, like some inept schoolgirl about to lose her virginity. "You know, I'll take your word for it that it doesn't matter..." she began, but she still held tightly onto his hand as she nudged the door shut behind them.
"Maybe. But you'll believe it better if I show you, won't you?" Not waiting for an answer as they reached the bed, he sat down on the edge, tugging on her hand to draw her down next to him.
Words lie. "You know me way too well, " she said wryly, sitting down. She caught herself beginning to bite down on her thumbnail and made herself stop. "Ange... I'm not... I'm fucking terrified, actually. I want to, but I don't know if I can..." She trailed off with a nervous laugh. "The Human Mattress afraid of sex. That's a bit rich, isn't it?"
"Not after what happened", he said firmly, trying to keep the sadness off his face as he looked at her. "We'll go slow, okay? An' we'll see." With that, he reached carefully for the hem of her tank top.
"Okay," she said, biting her lip a little and trying not to jump too much as his fingers brushed the skin of her sides. "I'm sorry?"
He didn't comment on the apology or the goosebumps under his fingers, intent and focused as he was. He just kept drawing the top up, pausing when he reached her arms and giving her an expectant look.
She took a breath and slowly raised her arms so he could take her top all the way off. The urge to cover herself up was strong as her arms came free of the shirt, even though the scarring was all on her back. But there was also something reassuring in the way he was focusing on her, intent on what he was doing, and she resisted the urge, instead very tentatively laying her hands on his shoulders.
He smiled at her, reassuring, and - after pulling the top free of her hands and dropping it aside - paused in whatever he had in mind to lean in for a kiss - long, slow and gentle.
At the touch of his lips, her eyes fluttered closed, her hands tightening a little on his shoulders. It was the sort of kiss that always turned her to jelly, the soft contact far more arousing than bruising passion. And it, like the gentle but firm touch of his hands, the way he looked at her, spoke volumes. When he pulled back, there was a certain suspicious brightness to her eyes.
He ran a light hand over her hair, then, and on down her side, and finally spoke again. "Turn around."
Again she bit her lip, a certain trepidation coming into her face. "Ange..." she said again, not really sure what she was going to say. But then she looked in his eyes, saw only love there, and she nodded, a small inclination of her head, before slowly turning her back to him. Of their own accord, her arms moved up to cross over her chest, hands holding onto her shoulders. Across her pale skin, arcane symbols and writing glared almost angrily in the light, black and harsh and raw-looking.
They were as ugly as she'd warned him, and there was a brief pause before he did anything, taking in the sight of them. Candra, you should be glad you're already dead. He didn't know how sensitive the scars still were, didn't want to hurt her, but his fingers traced feather-light over the symbols and letters. And then he leaned down, dropping a kiss on her knuckles in passing, and his mouth followed them.
At the first touch, she flinched - she just couldn't help it, even though she'd been expecting some kind of contact. But then she felt him tracing out the patterns with his fingertips, then the warmth of his mouth and tongue on skin still sensitive despite the abuse it had suffered, and the flinch became a rather different sort of shiver. A soft noise escaped her and she unconsciously leaned towards him.
He smiled fleetingly against her skin, but didn't stop what he was doing. Not until he'd covered every single scar.
By the time his fingers traced out the last symbols on her lower back, Amanda's breath was coming short, small sighs punctuating his movements. No-one had ever paid that sort of attention to the scars, the old version or the new, and the effect was somewhat overwhelming. "Ange," she said again, but this time her voice was heavy with want and she turned around again to kiss him hungrily.
He pulled her down to him as she turned, finished with the task he'd been so intent on, and his mouth met hers with just as much passion. If he hadn't proved by now that the scars made no difference to his wanting her, he never would.
Her hands gripping his head, Amanda pushed herself towards him, straddling his lap. Her skin was on fire - not the searing agony of the scarring, but something altogether different, somehow cleansing, as if Angelo's touch had burned away Candra's. Only just his hands weren't enough; she slipped one hand to the front of his shirt - one of his favourite eye-searing ones - and began fumbling at the buttons, all the while kissing him almost desperately.
He'd already taken care of her top, so there was no need for either of them to break the kiss until they needed to breathe... and even then, not for long. Angelo's hands dropped to her hips, holding her in place for a moment, then to her waistband and finally the buttons of her trousers.
Her other hand had gotten involved with his buttons when one proved too slow - freeing the last one, she tugged his shirt down over his shoulders as far she she could without him letting go of her. Only then did she break the kiss, working down his jawline and neck to his shoulder, where she nipped at the network of scars there, mindful even in the throes of desire of how sensitive the skin was. The touch of his hands at the front of her pants made her squirm, the muscles of her stomach jumping as he inadvertently tickled her and she snorted a laugh into his shoulder. The sound was the closest she'd been to her old self since the day of the hijack.
He couldn't help a smile at hearing it, even as he trailed kisses down the side of her face and her neck, with an intake of breath at the attention to his scars. Getting her buttons open, he started to push the pants - and her underwear - down her legs.
He didn't get very far, considering she was sitting on him. "Wait a sec," she breathed, and paused her ministrations to his neck and shoulder long enough to stand up. Her pants soon were shucked off, underwear included, and she took advantage of his distraction to quickly pull his shirt all the way off before leaning over, fingers tugging at his belt and then the fly of his jeans as she kissed him again.
He leaned into the kiss, eyes closing, and waited for her to tug his jeans down over his knees so he could push them the rest of the way off with his feet... meaning he never had to take his hands off her skin.
Almost impatiently she slid his jeans and boxers over his hips and down his legs, effectively losing interest as soon as she got them as far as his knees. In contrast, it was almost torturously slowly that she settled back onto him, brushing his legs with the soft skin of her inner thighs, sliding her hands up his chest and over his shoulders. A small gasp escaped her as she felt him against her, his want clearly obvious even as his hands tightened on her hips.
Shoes off, jeans in a heap on the floor, and then... no more distractions. He turned, lifting her with him, to press her back against the blankets.
She lifted her face as he leaned down over her, capturing his mouth again with her own even as she moved against him, one arm hooked around his neck and her hand kneading the muscles of his neck, and other stroking down the muscled planes of his back, nails digging in lightly. She kissed him fiercely, desperately, pressed so close against him she seemed to be trying to get inside his skin.
He made no objections - well, okay, at this point he was getting beyond clear speech, but he wouldn't have anyway, as he tried to get them both into the least awkward position possible without breaking the kiss.
They were getting beyond a lot of things, not the least of which was coherent thought. She wanted him so badly right now, it was almost all she could think of. "Ange..." she moaned into his mouth, hands roaming everywhere she could reach. "Please tell me you've got a rubber in your wallet, 'cause I don't think I can wait much more."
He groaned and pulled away just slightly, only enough to glance round and see where his jeans had landed. He didn't take his hands off her, silently blessing a mutation that was almost as good as telekinesis for meaning he didn't need to. "Yeah."
Hooray for powers making your sex life easier... The downside was that he had to move off her slightly to put the bloody thing on, and even that short span of time was too long. But once he had... She gasped as he slid into her, clutching at his shoulders as her hips lifted and her back arched. "Yes. God, yes."
He couldn't hold back a groan of pleasure at that, not that he was really trying. His hands clamped onto her arms as he moved against and inside her, then slid down her body, one slipping to her back to run over the scars.
She cried out at that, then ducked her head to kiss and bite at the place where his neck joined his shoulder, her own hands sliding down to cup his butt, urging him deeper into her, and for one brief moment she knew she didn't want to be with anyone else but him. "I love you," she gasped, almost unintelligibly as their rhythm increased. "So much."
His own mouth had been pressed to her neck, but he raised his head to look straight into her eyes, managing to bring the coherence from somewhere to respond. "Love you. Always."
She kissed him at that, long and hard, moving in time with his thrusts. It wasn't going to be that long for her now, she could feel her climax building, but there was part of her that never wanted this to end. His hand was warm and gentle on her back, holding her close to him, even as she was doing the same, running her hands up his back, fingernails digging in lightly.
Light or not, the feeling of her nails on his back pushed him closer to his own edge, and he groaned into her mouth, increasing the rhythm again.
His groan excited her all the more, and she dug her nails in a little harder, certainly not enough to damage his tougher-than-normal skin, not with the nail biting habit back in force. Small cries were escaping her as she edged closer, and she strained against him, trying to push them both there already, wanting to feel him shuddering against her, to hear him cry out.
She wasn't disappointed. Just a few seconds more, a few more thrusts, and he was there, rocking against her hard and fast.
His climax touched off her own, between one moment and the next, and the force of it made her cry out loud, wordless noises of pleasure. The power of it, the release after so long, the whole emotionally-laden experience... it all hit so hard she was overwhelmed, tears coming to her eyes. She loved him so much, and he loved her, and he wasn't going anywhere. Still moving against him, she had to press her face into his shoulder whilst she rode it all out, wave upon wave.
His hand curled against her back, the other tightening on her hip, and Angelo turned his head to kiss her hair. It would have been her mouth, but he didn't have a hand free to nudge her head up.
At the touch of his mouth on her hair, she lifted her head, face tear-streaked but somehow glowing as well. "Thank you, love," she said, voice shaking a little. "I think I needed that. Fuck, did I need that."
He freed the hand on her hip, moving it to her face to brush her hair away. "I couldn't guess", was the answer, voice deadpan but coming through a grin.
She laughed then, hugging him tighter to her. His weight on her was reassuring and comfortable, and whilst she knew they'd have to eventually, she didn't want to move just yet. Time enough when practical matters reasserted themselves. "Don't know what I'd do without you," she told him, turning her head to nip at his fingers.
"Likewise", he returned. "But you'd survive."
"I would," she said, after a long moment's consideration. "And so would you." And it was true - as much as she didn't want to consider life without Angelo in it, they were both strong enough to survive without the other, and that thought was strangely liberating. There was no need here. Only want.
Lifting her head a little, she kissed him, softly but with every ounce of feeling she had. "Want to blow off dinner and stay in bed?" she murmured, as the kiss ended.
He chuckled quietly, shifting a little to let her move. "There you go with your great plans again."
'Magic as belief made tangible - making what you imagine actual. Reality shaping on a minor scale, with spells as the framework...' Amanda paused and made a couple of notes on her scratchpad, before turning the page. A lot of Charlie's notes were his own speculations on the theory of magic, but she'd found them more useful than many of the established scholars. And sitting curled on the couch in the small suite she'd been shown to on arrival with a binder of notes from a dead magic enthusiast probably wasn't exactly polite, given she hadn't said hello to her hosts (or in fact anyone), but she'd begged off, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the whole idea of associating with anyone outside of Snow Valley much. The trip had worn her out, she needed some time to recover, she'd make her apologies in the morning, she'd told the servant, who'd taken in her pinched looking appearance and quietly nodded.
She grimaced suddenly as an itch flared on her shoulderblade and she laid down the binder to scratch it, fingertips rubbing against the raised scar tissue there. The marks left by Candra's spell were almost as healed as they were ever going to be, but the skin still got irritated. Especially depending on what she was wearing - with an annoyed noise, she unclasped her bra and pulled it out from under her tanktop, tossing it at the other end of the couch. There. Much better. She'd already ditched the loose black cotton shirt she'd been wearing on the plane, unwilling to let anyone see the scars, but the heat and humidity on the way to the airport had served to make her fairly uncomfortable.
Angelo had been given a key to the suite and shown the way on his arrival, and didn't bother announcing himself by any other means than the rattle at the door just before it swung open and he stepped into the living room. "Hey."
At the rattle, Amanda lunged for the discarded shirt, knocking her notepad and pen to the floor. Holding it up to her front, she half-turned in her seat to see who was coming in. When she saw it was Angelo, she smiled wanly, and dropped her hands - only to move instead to pull the shirt on over the top of her tanktop. "Hey," she said lamely. "I thought you'd be downstairs with the rest."
"I was. But they're gettin' ready for dinner, it was time to get changed... an' I figured I'd come up an' see how you're doin'. If that's okay?" There was an uncertain note in his voice, suddenly.
The shirt in place, she felt safe enough to nod. "Sure, if that's what you want," she replied, suddenly awkward. "I was just... tired. Didn't feel up to the crowds yet. I'll catch up with Crystal and Medusa tomorrow, tell them I'm sorry." Inwardly, she was wondering just how the hell they were going to manage this, sharing a suite for several days - they hadn't been together since Louisiana, due to her carefully avoiding letting him see her back, engineering excuses. The truth was, she wasn't sure he'd be able to look at her now, without remembering what had happened. She didn't blame him for it - she just wasn't sure if he didn't blame himself. "How're things going?" she asked, hating the stiltedness of her tone.
"Not bad", he told her, still cautious as he padded over to sit down on the other end of the couch. "Bruises are gone, an' my ribs are gettin' better. Be back up to speed in no time."
"Good. That's good." She turned to face him, pulling up her knees into the old defensive posture. It pulled at her back a bit, the skin a bit tighter there from the scars, and she rested her chin on her knee with a sigh. "Big party, huh? Everyone and their dog's here, by the looks."
"Well, it's a big occasion", he said with a shrug. "Not often a Lady of Attilan gets engaged, I guess."
"Hmm." She wanted to reach out to him, but wasn't sure how. "How're the kids doing, the ones that were caught up in everything?" Another of those wan smiles. "The journals don't always tell you much, and I've been keeping to myself a lot. "
"Not too bad, far as I can tell. They were scared, but everybody got out of it alive, an' all of them got out pretty much unhurt. So they're dealin'." He hoped.
"Good," she said again, fiddling with the edge of one sleeve. "Ange, I..." she paused, not really sure what it was she wanted to say. "You're all the way over there," she said at last, feeling lame.
"I..." he started and trailed off, then asked directly, "D'you want me not all the way over here? I thought..."
No secrets. "Please?" she said, her tone almost pleading. "I just... I miss you. Which is dumb, 'cause it's been me pushing you away, but I didn't mean to. I just didn't want you seeing, that's all." Her cheeks burned, and she ducked her head. "I don't want you to look at me and feel guilty every time you do."
Angelo paused, looked down at his hands, then twisted abruptly to look at her. "You think that's why I haven't been comin' around so much? You said you needed..."
Amanda winced and moved her head to rest on her knees. "I know I did," she said, a little muffled since she was talking to her knees and not him so much. "Which is why it's so bloody stupid. But... I know you don't want to push, but sometimes I think I need you to, if only so I don't go working myself into these fucking holes." She hugged her knees tighter, hunching in on herself. "'m a plonker," she added. "Sorry."
Angelo sighed, shifting down the couch a little, and reached out tentatively to wrap an arm around her. "It's okay."
The contact helped - she uncurled enough to shift and rest her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "It's not," she said, sounding weary. "I don't want to be a victim, Ange. 'M not gunna let that bitch ruin my life. But sometimes I'm not sure if that isn't how everyone else sees me. Poor little Amanda, all scarred up again." Her hands tightened on her knees. "So I keep away. And yo-- they let me, 'cause they don't know how to react to me." She snorted a little. "So I get the whole isolated thing. Catch-22 - I stay away, so everyone else stays away to give me space, and I stay away from them 'cause I think they want me to."
He looked down at her for another long moment, then sighed again. "Okay. Sit up, Amanda. Look at me." He tugged very gently at her hair, emphasising his words.
The firmness in his tone got a reaction, and she raised her head reluctantly, biting her lip as if she was a naughty child expecting a scolding. "Did I mention the part where I'm a plonker?" she repeated, a little defensively. "'Cause I am. You know that."
"You are", he agreed, not really joking. "But now... I'm gonna prove those scars right there don't make me think any different of you. An' it's not... I'm not gonna feel guilty about this."
She frowned a little. "You don't have to," she began. "You don't have to prove anything, not like that..."
"Sssh", he said, quiet but firm, shifting round on the couch. "I want to." And with that he reached for the sides of her baggy shirt, peeling it slowly back off her arms.
"Ange," she began, but even that half-hearted protest died at the touch of his fingers brushing her sides as he peeled off the cotton shirt, revealing the tank top underneath. "It's... you haven't even seen it yet," she said, unable to meet his eyes even as she began unfolding herself. "It's pretty ugly."
"Then I'll see it now", he said quietly, intent and focused as he pulled the shirt sleeves free of her hands and dropped it onto the couch before taking her hand and starting to get up. "Come with me."
Amanda hesitated, but let him pull her to her feet. Goosebumps marked her skin revealed by the low cut of the top, and she knew the low neckline at the back revealed the first few lines of the scars. She wanted him - fuck, did she want him - but she wasn't sure she could handle seeing pity in his eyes. "You lead," she said, stalling the inevitable.
"Okay", he agreed - if it was how she wanted it, there was no harm there. He wasn't letting her get out of it, though, holding onto her hand and leading her towards the bedroom.
The bed was another football-field sized one, and she smiled involuntarily at the sight of it, the memories it evoked. She was still as nervous as hell, though, like some inept schoolgirl about to lose her virginity. "You know, I'll take your word for it that it doesn't matter..." she began, but she still held tightly onto his hand as she nudged the door shut behind them.
"Maybe. But you'll believe it better if I show you, won't you?" Not waiting for an answer as they reached the bed, he sat down on the edge, tugging on her hand to draw her down next to him.
Words lie. "You know me way too well, " she said wryly, sitting down. She caught herself beginning to bite down on her thumbnail and made herself stop. "Ange... I'm not... I'm fucking terrified, actually. I want to, but I don't know if I can..." She trailed off with a nervous laugh. "The Human Mattress afraid of sex. That's a bit rich, isn't it?"
"Not after what happened", he said firmly, trying to keep the sadness off his face as he looked at her. "We'll go slow, okay? An' we'll see." With that, he reached carefully for the hem of her tank top.
"Okay," she said, biting her lip a little and trying not to jump too much as his fingers brushed the skin of her sides. "I'm sorry?"
He didn't comment on the apology or the goosebumps under his fingers, intent and focused as he was. He just kept drawing the top up, pausing when he reached her arms and giving her an expectant look.
She took a breath and slowly raised her arms so he could take her top all the way off. The urge to cover herself up was strong as her arms came free of the shirt, even though the scarring was all on her back. But there was also something reassuring in the way he was focusing on her, intent on what he was doing, and she resisted the urge, instead very tentatively laying her hands on his shoulders.
He smiled at her, reassuring, and - after pulling the top free of her hands and dropping it aside - paused in whatever he had in mind to lean in for a kiss - long, slow and gentle.
At the touch of his lips, her eyes fluttered closed, her hands tightening a little on his shoulders. It was the sort of kiss that always turned her to jelly, the soft contact far more arousing than bruising passion. And it, like the gentle but firm touch of his hands, the way he looked at her, spoke volumes. When he pulled back, there was a certain suspicious brightness to her eyes.
He ran a light hand over her hair, then, and on down her side, and finally spoke again. "Turn around."
Again she bit her lip, a certain trepidation coming into her face. "Ange..." she said again, not really sure what she was going to say. But then she looked in his eyes, saw only love there, and she nodded, a small inclination of her head, before slowly turning her back to him. Of their own accord, her arms moved up to cross over her chest, hands holding onto her shoulders. Across her pale skin, arcane symbols and writing glared almost angrily in the light, black and harsh and raw-looking.
They were as ugly as she'd warned him, and there was a brief pause before he did anything, taking in the sight of them. Candra, you should be glad you're already dead. He didn't know how sensitive the scars still were, didn't want to hurt her, but his fingers traced feather-light over the symbols and letters. And then he leaned down, dropping a kiss on her knuckles in passing, and his mouth followed them.
At the first touch, she flinched - she just couldn't help it, even though she'd been expecting some kind of contact. But then she felt him tracing out the patterns with his fingertips, then the warmth of his mouth and tongue on skin still sensitive despite the abuse it had suffered, and the flinch became a rather different sort of shiver. A soft noise escaped her and she unconsciously leaned towards him.
He smiled fleetingly against her skin, but didn't stop what he was doing. Not until he'd covered every single scar.
By the time his fingers traced out the last symbols on her lower back, Amanda's breath was coming short, small sighs punctuating his movements. No-one had ever paid that sort of attention to the scars, the old version or the new, and the effect was somewhat overwhelming. "Ange," she said again, but this time her voice was heavy with want and she turned around again to kiss him hungrily.
He pulled her down to him as she turned, finished with the task he'd been so intent on, and his mouth met hers with just as much passion. If he hadn't proved by now that the scars made no difference to his wanting her, he never would.
Her hands gripping his head, Amanda pushed herself towards him, straddling his lap. Her skin was on fire - not the searing agony of the scarring, but something altogether different, somehow cleansing, as if Angelo's touch had burned away Candra's. Only just his hands weren't enough; she slipped one hand to the front of his shirt - one of his favourite eye-searing ones - and began fumbling at the buttons, all the while kissing him almost desperately.
He'd already taken care of her top, so there was no need for either of them to break the kiss until they needed to breathe... and even then, not for long. Angelo's hands dropped to her hips, holding her in place for a moment, then to her waistband and finally the buttons of her trousers.
Her other hand had gotten involved with his buttons when one proved too slow - freeing the last one, she tugged his shirt down over his shoulders as far she she could without him letting go of her. Only then did she break the kiss, working down his jawline and neck to his shoulder, where she nipped at the network of scars there, mindful even in the throes of desire of how sensitive the skin was. The touch of his hands at the front of her pants made her squirm, the muscles of her stomach jumping as he inadvertently tickled her and she snorted a laugh into his shoulder. The sound was the closest she'd been to her old self since the day of the hijack.
He couldn't help a smile at hearing it, even as he trailed kisses down the side of her face and her neck, with an intake of breath at the attention to his scars. Getting her buttons open, he started to push the pants - and her underwear - down her legs.
He didn't get very far, considering she was sitting on him. "Wait a sec," she breathed, and paused her ministrations to his neck and shoulder long enough to stand up. Her pants soon were shucked off, underwear included, and she took advantage of his distraction to quickly pull his shirt all the way off before leaning over, fingers tugging at his belt and then the fly of his jeans as she kissed him again.
He leaned into the kiss, eyes closing, and waited for her to tug his jeans down over his knees so he could push them the rest of the way off with his feet... meaning he never had to take his hands off her skin.
Almost impatiently she slid his jeans and boxers over his hips and down his legs, effectively losing interest as soon as she got them as far as his knees. In contrast, it was almost torturously slowly that she settled back onto him, brushing his legs with the soft skin of her inner thighs, sliding her hands up his chest and over his shoulders. A small gasp escaped her as she felt him against her, his want clearly obvious even as his hands tightened on her hips.
Shoes off, jeans in a heap on the floor, and then... no more distractions. He turned, lifting her with him, to press her back against the blankets.
She lifted her face as he leaned down over her, capturing his mouth again with her own even as she moved against him, one arm hooked around his neck and her hand kneading the muscles of his neck, and other stroking down the muscled planes of his back, nails digging in lightly. She kissed him fiercely, desperately, pressed so close against him she seemed to be trying to get inside his skin.
He made no objections - well, okay, at this point he was getting beyond clear speech, but he wouldn't have anyway, as he tried to get them both into the least awkward position possible without breaking the kiss.
They were getting beyond a lot of things, not the least of which was coherent thought. She wanted him so badly right now, it was almost all she could think of. "Ange..." she moaned into his mouth, hands roaming everywhere she could reach. "Please tell me you've got a rubber in your wallet, 'cause I don't think I can wait much more."
He groaned and pulled away just slightly, only enough to glance round and see where his jeans had landed. He didn't take his hands off her, silently blessing a mutation that was almost as good as telekinesis for meaning he didn't need to. "Yeah."
Hooray for powers making your sex life easier... The downside was that he had to move off her slightly to put the bloody thing on, and even that short span of time was too long. But once he had... She gasped as he slid into her, clutching at his shoulders as her hips lifted and her back arched. "Yes. God, yes."
He couldn't hold back a groan of pleasure at that, not that he was really trying. His hands clamped onto her arms as he moved against and inside her, then slid down her body, one slipping to her back to run over the scars.
She cried out at that, then ducked her head to kiss and bite at the place where his neck joined his shoulder, her own hands sliding down to cup his butt, urging him deeper into her, and for one brief moment she knew she didn't want to be with anyone else but him. "I love you," she gasped, almost unintelligibly as their rhythm increased. "So much."
His own mouth had been pressed to her neck, but he raised his head to look straight into her eyes, managing to bring the coherence from somewhere to respond. "Love you. Always."
She kissed him at that, long and hard, moving in time with his thrusts. It wasn't going to be that long for her now, she could feel her climax building, but there was part of her that never wanted this to end. His hand was warm and gentle on her back, holding her close to him, even as she was doing the same, running her hands up his back, fingernails digging in lightly.
Light or not, the feeling of her nails on his back pushed him closer to his own edge, and he groaned into her mouth, increasing the rhythm again.
His groan excited her all the more, and she dug her nails in a little harder, certainly not enough to damage his tougher-than-normal skin, not with the nail biting habit back in force. Small cries were escaping her as she edged closer, and she strained against him, trying to push them both there already, wanting to feel him shuddering against her, to hear him cry out.
She wasn't disappointed. Just a few seconds more, a few more thrusts, and he was there, rocking against her hard and fast.
His climax touched off her own, between one moment and the next, and the force of it made her cry out loud, wordless noises of pleasure. The power of it, the release after so long, the whole emotionally-laden experience... it all hit so hard she was overwhelmed, tears coming to her eyes. She loved him so much, and he loved her, and he wasn't going anywhere. Still moving against him, she had to press her face into his shoulder whilst she rode it all out, wave upon wave.
His hand curled against her back, the other tightening on her hip, and Angelo turned his head to kiss her hair. It would have been her mouth, but he didn't have a hand free to nudge her head up.
At the touch of his mouth on her hair, she lifted her head, face tear-streaked but somehow glowing as well. "Thank you, love," she said, voice shaking a little. "I think I needed that. Fuck, did I need that."
He freed the hand on her hip, moving it to her face to brush her hair away. "I couldn't guess", was the answer, voice deadpan but coming through a grin.
She laughed then, hugging him tighter to her. His weight on her was reassuring and comfortable, and whilst she knew they'd have to eventually, she didn't want to move just yet. Time enough when practical matters reasserted themselves. "Don't know what I'd do without you," she told him, turning her head to nip at his fingers.
"Likewise", he returned. "But you'd survive."
"I would," she said, after a long moment's consideration. "And so would you." And it was true - as much as she didn't want to consider life without Angelo in it, they were both strong enough to survive without the other, and that thought was strangely liberating. There was no need here. Only want.
Lifting her head a little, she kissed him, softly but with every ounce of feeling she had. "Want to blow off dinner and stay in bed?" she murmured, as the kiss ended.
He chuckled quietly, shifting a little to let her move. "There you go with your great plans again."
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