I cannot stress this enough: Warning! Mature themes ahead! That being said, there are no lemons. Just to be safe, I'm rating this M. The theme is very strong, but technically it's still... kosher, for lack of a better word.
Two stories in one day! (Impressed yet?)
Look! I wrote another oneshot! This one takes place during Twilight. It's an inside look into a steamy, intimate moment. It's like my usual fluff... on steamy steroids. If you can handle it, read on, brave reader! I'm curious to know what everyone thinks about this... it's definitely different than my usual style.
She was gorgeous. Even I couldn't deny that. Her beauty was Earth-shattering as she sat on top of me. One slender leg snaked down one side of my body, her other leg resting alongside my other side. A crackling fire sparked next to us as I leaned back onto my back, folding my hands behind my head.
She was dressed simply, like myself, in blue jeans and a lovely sapphire sweater. The sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, leaving her lower arms bare.
The fire reflected off of her porcelain skin, accenting her perfect curves. Her deep red eyes stared down into my own, a soft smirk playing across her lips. The fire reflecting off her eyes accented their deep, seductive depths.
Like a feline, she leaned down toward me, bracing her body with her hands behind my head. Her lips hovered an inch from mine, her locks falling around us like a curtain. I reached up slowly and placed my hands on her hips. Slowly, teasingly, I slid them up to her midsection.
As my fingers grazed past her waist, I curled my fingertips around the hem of her sweater. As my hands moved up her body, past her breasts, I tugged the sweater smoothly along until she sat up and pulled her arms and head out of the holes of the sweater.
I tossed the garment over my shoulder, not really caring where it landed. We would find it later... maybe. She let out a soft laugh, her baby-soft voice fluttering through the air. I felt her soft, agile fingers at my waist, tugging at my shirt.
Without warning, I flipped our bodies over, so she was laying on her back and I was hovering over her. Easily, her long, powerful arms pulled my short-sleeved shirt off over my head. I heard some of the fabric strings tear as she pulled with more strength than necessary in her impatience.
I hovered over her, her bluejeans riding low on her hips, her slender, smooth stomach exposed. Her ample breasts were confined within a thin, black lace bra. I grinned at her wickedly and she returned the expression. Her hair was sprawled behind her deliciously, the delicate coils catching the firelight and throwing it around as if her hair itself was on fire.
Her fingers were like lightening, tugging at the buttons and zipper of my blue jeans. Frustrated with her slow progress, she yanked, breaking the buttons and stripping the zipper.
"Easy, love," I cautioned her softly. She uttered a low noise of impatience. I caught her hands and steadied them before moving to her pants. With a deftness that her impatience lacked, I unfastened the buttons and zipper. In one smooth yank, her blue jeans were down to her knees.
I let out a low, primal groan. Her long, slender legs were beneath me, wriggling with the impatient effort to remove her jeans completely. Once kicking out of them, her legs settled down a bit. Her fingers then returned to my bluejeans, determined to pry them from my hips.
Slowly, I obliged her and slid out of my jeans before leaning back on top of her nearly naked form.
I reached up behind her and slowly slid my hands up her legs, hips and sides. I raised my head to brush my lips against hers. With a girlish laugh, she pulled back and smiled up at me.
As she tossed her head around, her sultry curls moved like liquid fire around us. The vixen beneath me was determined to make me want her so that when I took her, it would be at maximum potential.
Tease. Did she think she could win me that easily? I could play her game just as easily as she could.
I leaned down and sucked on her earlobe, causing her body to squirm beneath mine again. Without warning, her fingers grabbed my hair and jerked my head to hers. Her lips crushed against mine and I gave in to instinct.
My tongue slipped past her lips into her pretty little mouth. In response, she rocked her hips against me teasingly.
Her arms snaked up my back, the tips of her nails dragging along my back. I arched up slightly into her hands as she did so, breaking the kiss.
Her arms then moved around to my front, and like the vixen she was, her fingers slid up my chest, her nails tracing out the patterns of my mucels.
I leaned down and kissed her lightly, softly. It was a game. It wasn't about the feather-light kisses or sweet innocence.
It was the passion.
We were, separately, fires. Burning passions. Together we were a firestorm, paving paths of destruction wherever we went.
There wasn't a soul alive who could stop us.
Her hands quickly came behind my head and pulled me down closer. Her lips pressed against mine tightly, passion fueling her advances.
One of her hands laced into my hair as I reached up with one hand entwining my fingers with her vibrant, fiery curls. I turned my head to the side, dipping low, pressing kisses against her throat.
I groaned softly as she arched her hips up underneath me again, rocking them slowly, weakening my resolve. Her hands moved down and started working on my last remaining garment. I let out a low groan in response.
My hands snapped the clap on her back. The weak piece of satin fell to the side, letting all of her fall into the firelight. It wasn't exposed long, however. My hands were quick to catch them.
"James," I heard her murmur against my lips. I growled again, kissing her more passionately. We lay together in the flickering firelight, moving together as one unit, as we did often.
As my body moved, as did hers. Each satisfied exhale past my lips was mirrored with a whimper of pleasure from hers.
Our passion flared like the flames beside us. The fire, however, would be reduced to embers long before our passion for tonight withered. We would be like this for hours; rolling around in the grass, sustaining the other. Our firelight, a cacophony of raw emotion in a shower of sparks, would burn long into the night, as it always did.
Firestorm. We were Firestorm.