Sol's Note: I'd finished this story a long time ago, but had shied against posting this chapter on FFN because I was worried it was too explicit even for the higher rating. I've since come to realize that this story pales in comparison with some that are housed on this site. The decision to post this here was driven by the fact that where I had this chapter originally posted, people couldn't find it to read it. I offer my apologies to all who've messaged and emailed me asking for the link to this that I never responded to. I hope you'll still enjoy it under the concept of better late than never.
I thought he'd continue his examination of my scars. Instead a quiet trill left him, prompting me to lift my gaze. His hands went to the belt he wore, made of something that looked like leather but I knew was not. With a swift, deft motion he unfastened it, and rather then let it fall he set it down carefully. Codpiece gone, I now found myself faced with the hunter in all his entirety. He was completely and undeniably male; the evidence of said maleness rested between his thighs, a phallus quite similar in appearance to that of a human man. Arousal, apparently, was also similar between our species, and for the span of several heartbeats my gaze was fixed on the rigidity of his member, of the girth and length that while impressive was not as monstrous as I'd half feared.
Scar didn't move under my scrutiny. He stood before me naked as I stood before him, his bearing proud, almost regal. It struck me then as my eyes traveled eagerly, anxiously over every aspect of his body how very primal he was, how fierce and how alien he appeared with a body honed to prime condition by a life, a society that dictated strength and honor above anything else. Without the mask to hide away his true features I found my gaze draw to his own, his amber eyes intense in their regard unblinking, unwavering. One of his lower mandibles moved slightly as a soft, short chitter left him. I could only stare at him, at those eyes so inhuman that carried in them despite that fact intentions I could recognize, at the body of a hunter, a warrior, marked with scars from innumerable battles that were testaments to his prowess and power. And then, in the fragile stillness that had fallen between us and over the erratic thunder of my heart, I came to a sudden, undeniable realization.
I wanted him.
Wanted the touch of those hands, capable of incredible violence but never towards me. Wanted to feel his skin, rough, pebbly and so not human, against my own. Wanted to know the intrigue of what he offered—and I had no doubt now about what he was indeed offering. Wanted to know the driving force behind the act that had brought us both here—his marking me once upon a time as his own.
When he reached for me, I met him willingly.
His massive hands spanned the length of my waist carefully and purposefully, testing my reaction. I didn't hesitate; I placed one palm flat on his chest and lifted up with the fingers of my other hand to touch the scar on his forehead, the sister mark to my own. His head tilted then, as though my reaction was not what he'd expected; I almost smiled, because my reaction wasn't what I had expected either.
He moved suddenly with that speed I knew he possessed but was always surprised by. He lifted me up and moved swiftly, and then I felt the wall at my back, cold and firm. He pinned me there, positioning his knee between my legs, shifting me so that I rode his thigh. The texture of his skin against the more sensitive areas of my own was startling, exhilarating, but I wasn't given time to react on it. One of his hands curved around my neck, his thumb roughly running over the mark on my cheek; the other grazed a trail from my chin downwards, brushing hard over my nipples, scratching at my stomach before coming to rest at the juncture of my thighs. The breath caught in my throat and every muscle I had suddenly tensed; he stilled then, his eyes holding my own captive, reading my reaction and interpreting it.
One finger entered me, eliciting a gasp. The penetration wasn't gentle, but it was carefully measured; he was mindful of his talons, of the fact he could very easily rend my flesh. The withdrawal was slow, torturously so, and I caught my lower lip between my teeth at the sensation that had very quickly transitioned from being uncomfortable to raw pleasure. Inserting another finger, widening my body around him, he bent his head to mine with a thick, throaty trill. My eyes found his and were thus held; within me his fingers moved and I made a choked sound. His face was now a hairsbreadth from my own, and as he flexed his ensconced fingers, as I raggedly sucked in a breath his lower mandibles grazed either side of my face, his upper mandibles brushing against my lips. It was, I knew instinctively, a very intense, very intimate gesture.
His other hand moved from my neck then, tracing a path to one breast. The feeling of his talons raking over my nipple coupled with the slow, sinuous movement of his fingers incited the blood in my veins to race and threw my mind into utter and complete chaos. When he removed his fingers I clutched at his upper arms in dismay; both his hands moved to my waist, encircling it. He bent slightly, lowering his head again so that I felt his breath against my neck. He inhaled deeply, mandibles brushing at my flesh. His thumbs were rubbing concentric circles at my hips, and again while his touch wasn't gentle it stopped just outside of being rough. I didn't mind; this was who he was, what he was. It didn't matter to me. I wanted him for all the things that made him not human.
He exhaled and then I felt pain, sharp, jolting—he had bitten me. And as I stiffened in reaction he was shifting me, positioning me—I felt the hard, swollen length of him brushing against my thighs—
And then he was inside of me with one swift and seamless plunge. I was wet and still it was slightly painful, a discomfort that faded the moment he withdrew and thrust again. He raised his head, moving his face even with mine, and the skin on my neck throbbed from the bite. It was a mark of possession, I knew, of ownership, but I didn't care. My hands tightened reflexively on his forearms as his fluidic penetration and withdrawal quickened, became rougher. I could feel the odd texture of his phallus within me and the friction it caused as it slid rhythmically to and fro made it very hard for me to breathe. I wasn't alone in my pleasure; Scar's breathing had deepened, quickened, and as the rocking of his hips became slightly wild a guttural, drawn out growl reverberated throughout his entire form.
I felt the pleasure begin to crest; my fingers curled with the intensity, my nails digging into his skin. As if sensing my impending release he pushed himself as deep as he could, pulling me closer at the same time with his hands on my waist until my entire being was centered on the hard, unrelenting, throbbing length of him buried almost to my core. He held himself there, flexing, and as the pleasure broke, as I rode the exquisite, powerful sensation I could not tear my eyes from the warm amber of his own. As the final shudders rolled over me he ducked his head and withdrew only slightly before pushing back in again. He growled loudly, lowly, and I felt the tremors wrack his frame as he came hard inside me. He kept me pinned for long moments after; we were both completely still but for our fast, mingled breathing. His mandibles brushed once more at my cheeks, my lips and then he pulled away, sliding free of my body and setting me down carefully. I leaned against the wall, weak-kneed and breathless and more exhilarated, more satisfied than I could ever recall being before. I watched dazedly as he knelt before me, as he reached up and tugged me down to him. He probed the bite on my neck with one finger, his other arm curling around my midsection. When his eyes returned to mine I could read the challenge there; and as he emitted a deep trill I knew he was waiting to see if I would deny the significance of the small wound, of his mark of claim over me. I shook my head but did nothing else; he touched his forehead to mine after another moment of speculation, his mandibles framing my face.
I knew what had just transpired here was more than sex. I knew that by accepting our union, by accepting the mark of his teeth on my neck I was also accepting the fact that I belonged to him—I was his in the most absolute sense of the word. Such a thing would have bothered me once, but I knew him, had fought alongside him, had tended to him when wounded, had bonded with him through hellish trials that both of us had narrowly survived. We had been tied together through all of that, and his coming here had been, I knew, for the sole purpose of discovering whether I accepted being thus bound or whether I was against it. He had given me ample opportunity to back down; I was the one who had decided to further twine myself to him, completely giving myself in the process. It was what I'd wanted, what I'd needed, though I'd deluded myself for a long time against that truth.
He chittered then, the sound the way I remembered it—open, almost amused. He coiled a length of my hair around his finger and pulled; I smiled in answer. When he stood and lifted me up with him I wondered only for a moment what was to happen next before shaking my head.
It really didn't matter. From this point on wherever he would go, I would follow.