A/N: Okay here is the second part of the scene, it's shorter than I would have liked but that's mostly because I'm new to writing anything smutty and it was kind of one of those things where I wasn't entirely sure if it came out right. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please take the time to review, its always appreciated =) and hopefully rewarded!
Chloe faintly remembers wedding vows, bowties and perfect smiles, a life that can be sunshine and puppy dog eyes. She remembers security and logic, remembers fading photos of love.
It's all there. And she's here, on this decrepit cot, transfixed by him and the pain she wants to tear away. Movement on his part is minimal, but there's an inferno in his eyes.
It's too much. Bold fingers find their way to the buttons on her jeans; she takes her time. An impromptu strip tease? An act of seduction? But it's not sexual; it's out of necessary, like she's painting him a picture. Maybe she can make it last forever.
Eyes follow the trail of denim down her hips, linger between her legs, graze her thighs and find the concrete below. Davis swallows hard, everything he's ever wanted feels like torture. She's lying on the bed clad in nothing but underwear and a camisole. The distance between him and any sense of strength is shrinking, or maybe it's just waiting for him on that bed.
Chloe has faced mutant meteor freaks, alien invasions, apocalypse one too many times, and somehow the last minute is becoming the most terrifying of her life. Eyes fall shut as her head hits the pillow, shallow breathing, heart racing, she doesn't have to wait long.
There is no reason, no good deed to reward. He doesn't deserve this after the lies he's told, the lives he's taken. There's only need, to be with her, apart of her, something to hold him together, keep him from imploding. And so he finds himself on top of her, between her, wanting nothing more than to be inside of her.
It's like she's awoken something in him, he's alive in a way that transcends any of his jubilant smiles or witty remarks. The mouth taking hers isn't gentle or rough, it's loving and hungry and feels way too right. The hands peeling the shirt off his torso aren't small or fragile, they're taking all of him in, feeding off of his fire.
That's what it feels like, they're burning. The inferno in his eyes has taken over them both, and their desire is the fuel.
Slight fumbling with the belt buckle, but it doesn't take long for his jeans to find their way to the floor. His lips give hers a reprieve and follows her jaw line to her neck, trailing kisses down to her collarbone. Fingers cling to his back, there isn't much room to feel anything but him, and she's perfectly fine with that. The camisole, delicate and pretty, looks like a tattered rag in his fingers. The slightest hint of a smile, and it's back to searing desire and discarded clothing.
Skin to skin doesn't even feel like enough.
The noises she's making don't sound normal, but then again nothing about this pairing quite is. She doesn't bother masking the guttural moan that escapes her lips as he mouths her breasts, wonders briefly if she can even draw blood from the lines she's drawing into his back.
One hand reaches down and grasps the flimsy material between her things, (Another throaty moan) pulls it off hastily, does the same with his own. And now there's nothing left, no barriers, nothing between them but skin and flesh and whatever it is he's made of.
There's a moment, eyes ask silent permission, her lips take his, so light, and he moves into her. He's filling her, body and mind and that desperate abyss her life is becoming. It will never be enough.
His hold on her is unlike anything, and she hooks her legs around his waist hoping to make it stronger. He sinks deeper, time is torture and she could eat it up. It's not slow, not erratic, it's urgent, a two way street.
Its building, their release. And now it doesn't feel like he'll implode, just feels like they'll explode. He movies faster, breathes out her name every so often, she just pulls him in tighter.
Mouths make contact again, an inseparable mass of salty skin and broken kisses. Hips once rocking in unison, become disjointed, uncontrolled, pulling them further and further from circumstance and closer together.
He breaks their fervent kissing, pulls away until he can watch her, completely and irrevocably exposed. Her brain isn't capable of hiding anything, and she knows her eyes say everything her mind couldn't voice. Look away, but she can't. A final brush against her lips and it all comes apart, breaking through them with the weight of the world.
Pleasure ripples through her in waves, and she rides them out until the weight of him burrows into her, a strangled Chloe barely escaping his lips. She's never felt more sated, like she wants to spill over. No that's a lie; she wants to keep it all.
Davis's head is buried in the crook of her neck, breathing into moist skin like he's sustaining her. It lingers in the air, the consequence of their freefall. But the future lies at standstill, gets added to their pile of clothing on the floor and the only truth right now is the gravity of their bodies, drawing them together.
Tonight they are quiet, sleep is the only answer. Tomorrow however, is another question and as Chloe watches the peace that's fallen over Davis's tortured features, she knows all too well what her answer will be.
"But maybe there is something stronger out there than my need to kill."
And now she knows there is.
THE END? Again I'm not sure about whether or not I should/will continue. The future for these two isn't pleasant, and I'm not sure if an overly angsty story is something I want to invest in right now, despite the fact that I love these two together. If I can come up with something that can bring a little light into the situation I'll try to continue. This fic is about the twisted circumstance that binds these two together, but it's rooted mostly in the fact that they're situation goes so much deeper than that. I'm going to mull this over, but I'd love your thoughts!