She gave in without a fuss. She gave him what he wanted from her. He panted above her and his lady let him touch her, let his hands and mouth go where they would. She reacted to his touch and shook her head when he buried his against her neck, sobbing even while she clutched at his back and refused to let him go. He hadn't given her a name to cry out so she just cried, cried when her touched her, cried when he kissed her, cried when he entered her and cried when he finally lay still above her.
He hadn't meant to be so frantic, so grasping and needy for her body. She was worried about a pregnancy and he raised himself up on his hands, lowering his head to look at her abdomen, glistening with mingled sweat, shifting when she slid her legs from his waist back to her rumpled bed that smelled of cinnamon. He settled back over her and pressed his mouth to her skin. He licked the salty wetness from it slowly, brought her arms back around his shoulders when he was overcome with the need to be held by her.
Perhaps she knew of his need to touch, because she held him tightly and ran her hands through his hair and over his skin, wonderfully warm against him, wonderfully alive, wonderfully there as his grip once more dented her skin and pulled her to him. His lady came to him of her own accord, pulling him down next to her and wrapping one leg around his, bringing their bodies together once more but on a more equal setting than their first frenzied session.
This time he watched his lady as they moved together. He watched her dark eyes and the shame and need and desire in them, gauged her reactions to how he touched her, moved against her. She wanted to forget, and he wanted her to forget; forget who they were and what they were, know only that they needed each other and ignore what might come after.
It was her name he bit out before wrapping his arms tightly about her waist and shoulders, their foreheads pressed together as he listened to her whimper with pleasure. It was a far cry from the first time he'd held a woman; there was more pleasure, less tears, less pain. He rolled slightly to his back and brought his lady with him, sat up and listened as she cried out. It was exquisite. She wanted him, wanted the man in her bed. Her kisses and pets came willingly where they had been unwilling before and she looked at him and saw past the scars and saw just a man, a man who needed the woman in his arms.
Later, he lay on his back and she lay curled up next to him, both of them awake but neither of them moving, talking. He wasn't going to stay and she knew it. No matter what romantic fantasies either had enacted, his lady was but a dalliance from his life's work and he wasn't going to stay. Her fingers curled in against his chest and he stroked her shoulder out of reflex. He wasn't going to stay, but he would stay until she fell asleep.
He told her to get some sleep as he stared up at her ceiling and the flickering lights from the city that played there. Her lips moved against the muscle of his shoulder in what might have been an acknowledgement or what might have been a kiss. He would take it both ways.
She was precious, he told her softly as her breathing started to even out. She only needed a little push to embrace the true meaning of virginity, that of a woman who was whole unto herself and not needing others to command her. She would be his virgin lady, he whispered into her dark hair, she would be his virgin lady and he? He would be her court jester, holding up her smile with pride as she held court over all who had once held her back.
It was what he was good at.
A/N: Some disclaimers/explanations about the chapter titles. Except for Anna Grin, they're all song lyrics. Anna Grin is another term for Chelsea Grin or Glasgow Smile (or any combination of the Anna/Glasgow/Chelsea and grin/smile). Ramirez' first name is Anna. It fit. Freezing Fire, Silent Thunder, and Your Desolation are from Take the Kiss, by Inkubus Sukkubus. The Old Familiar Stain is from Hurt, originally done by Trent Reznor and covered by Johnny Cash; Cash's version was the one I was listening to while I wrote this.