"Fuck fuck—" he gasps, fingers curling into the bed-sheets. "Jesus—don't stop—why are you stopping."
She smirks up at him, and wipes her mouth. Cassie climbs up his body, and settles right on Nick's lap, and leans in, places open-mouthed kisses on his collarbone. She counts every scar she knows—that jagged one just below his collarbone from a Mover she didn't see coming, tiny cigarette burn scars from that one time a Screamer thought torture by burning would be better then shattering his ear drums—she kisses every scar, following them up his neck until she looks Nick in the eyes.
He's so very painfully hard underneath her (tiny) skirt, and his eyes are so black she's almost think he was a Pusher, pushing thoughts into her brain. But this is all Cassie, all Nick, and she's seen this coming since she was eight years old, just the flash of skin against skin, and that scar right on his hip where Kira once stabbed him.
("Ow ow ow fuck Cassie—why didn't you see this coming? She stabbed me in the fucking stomach and—fuck me, why are you laughing?
"Shut up, it isn't that bad. Kira could've done worse; stop complaining."
"Easy for you to say, you freaking midget, you aren't the one with your guts spilling out!"
"What—fuck you Nick, what does my height even have to do with this? Anyway, stop being such a fucking drama queen. It's just a scratch. Jesus, you'd think she cut off your dick the way you're moaning—"
"God, what'd I say about the cursing huh? And don't even mention my dick in that context—" Nick makes a face, and looks at Cassie, who at fifteen still wears tiny tiny skirts and multi-color streaks in her hair, "Actually, don't mention my dick at all, it's creepy."
"Fuck you Nick.")
She frowns at the memory, remembering the silence that followed, the angry undercurrent to their every conversation for weeks afterwards.
He never did quite get over Kira; she doesn't really expect him to.
Nick runs a finger under her skirt, fingering her panties and smirks when she moans, arching into him. He pulls her closer, his lips near her ear and his breath tickling her.
"Come on Cassie, stop thinking so damn much—I'd think you were Seeing something, and then all this," his hips bucked, his cock digging between her legs to push against her heat and Cassie whimpers, resisting the urge to grind down on him, and just take him in, "will be gone." He smirks suddenly though, recognizing the look in her eyes or something (Nick's kind of a slut) "I don't think that's the case though. Is it, Cassie."
Cassie just kind of shivers at his voice, all low and velvet-soft and—"Dammit Nick, I am not one of your sluts," she complains, "So stop doing your seductive shit on me."
He actually laughs, the bastard. "Please, like I need to seduce you to get in your pants," he shoots back, before freezing, "Shit—Cassie, that didn't come out right. Um."
But Cassie is rolling her eyes, "You're not actually good at this, are you Nick," she says, amused, and pushes him down on the bed.
"I am very good at this Cassie, don't you worry."
Cassie smirks, and hooks her fingers in her panties and tugs them down, unfolding long thin legs, (metabolism is a bitch when you are psychic apparently) dropping them by the side of the bed. She crawls over him, a predatory look to her blue eyes, "Prove it."
Nick grabs her hips, but doesn't move. There's this oddly tender look on his face, and he just doesn't move. Cassie bends down, kisses him sweetly, and moans into his mouth as she slides down on him, taking him in. He's vibrating with the effort to hold still, and then her eyes flash and she rocks on her knees, hips pulling backwards before slamming forwards. Nick groans, bucks into her, and his fingers tighten on her hips.
Cassie doesn't need to be a Watcher to know that she'll have dusty finger-bruises on her hips tomorrow morning, but she doesn't notice now, not when with every rock of her hips, Nick slams up, hitting that spot. Her spine arches and her head bows, her blonde pink streaked hair tickling his chest and she shudders, his thumb at her clit. Nick thumbs her clit roughly and slams up again and Cassie is splitting apart at the seams, her head going back, baring the pale column of her neck to Nick who leans up to lick at the salt-sweat collected there, and she makes this tiny sound in the back of her throat before the shaking stops and she slumps down, breathing hard.
Nick strokes her hair, Moving the bed-sheets to cover them, and Cassie watches him with darkened eyes, and then Nick smirks. The sheets fall in mid-air and he flips Cassie over. Her eyes are hot and she's already brushing her thumb against the head of his cock, still hard, and then she sucks her wet finger in her mouth. Nick's jaw drops, and Cassie smirks at him and then he just—nudges open her legs and lines up and thrusts in.
Cassie squeaks at the intrusion, glaring at him stifling his laughter and wraps her legs around his hips, hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
She never Saw this, never Saw the laughter in Nick's blue eyes as he thrusts into her, finger at her clit, and Cassie's shaking again, "Nick, Nick," she babbles, that noise in the back of her throat, and Nick groans, because there is the bite of Cassie's nails digging into his back, and then he's coming in her, burying his head into the crook of her neck.
"Jesus," he croaks, "Cassie."
Cassie can't really talk, her body is still shaking and she whimpers when Nick pulls away, cock slipping free and—she wants this. She's always wanted it, (Cassie at sixteen, fucking that boy in the bar she snuck into, moaning Nick against his sweaty neck, Cassie at seventeen, rubbing between her legs furiously while Nick's in the shower because the damn bastard took off his shirt and his pants and almost forgot to close the door before taking off his boxers, and Cassie is horny as fuck.) but she's never realized how—good it would feel with him. She never expected that feeling in her chest, how even though she knew this would happen since she was 8, it still knocks her in the chest, seeing that look in Nick's eyes, dark and wanting,
Nick really is that good.