Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: No warnings, no spoilers
Genres: relationship, het, kissing
Disclaimer: Blade: Trinity, the motion picture, is owned by New Line Cinema. This is a not for profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Medie was having a bad day, and Abigail and King kissing would work to cheer me up. Quick and (not as) dirty (as I'd hoped), so unbeta'd.


King kisses like an angel.

It's the last thing Abby would have expected. If anything - and she'll deny to her dying day even considering kissing King before now, even to King - she'd have figured him for the flashy type, all showy moves and too much tongue. Not worth all the fuckedupness that would follow hard on the heels of giving into temptation, no matter how great the temptation seemed at the time.

Abby isn't one to give into temptation. She's too sensible, too focused, too self-disciplined to just succumb like that.

Until, of course, she did. Or he did; one of the two anyway and at this point it doesn't really matter who gave into what - immovable object, irresistible force, what-the-fuck-ever. All that matters is that King's mouth is slowly moving over hers and it's even better than she (n)ever imagined.

King isn't flashy or showy, isn't anything but focused. He takes his sweet time about it, and sweet isn't close to describing how it feels when his mouth meets hers. He doesn't even use his tongue, not at first, not to do anything but tease her, light touches tracing over her lips until she's arching into him, her fingers digging into his scalp and pulling him closer.

He doesn't smile when he pulls back, doesn't smirk or make a smartass remark the way she thought he would. He simply stares down at her as his thumb traces lightly over her cheek, his palm cupping her jaw line, and then he leans in again, pressing his mouth back against hers.

She makes a sound, not a growl or a groan but something halfway between both and nothing like either, dragging him closer and feeling the heat flaring through her. She wants him to deepen the kiss, and her lips part beneath his in anticipation, but he's still a fucking tease; his tongue touches hers for a brief moment, one that leaves her gasping, and then it flicks away again.

She follows it, shameless now, her fingers tightening in his hair and holding him there, tightening in his shirt and pulling him closer, and he smiles. She can feel the corners of his mouth turn up against hers, but any amusement he has at her reaction soon fades, leaving nothing but heat and want behind.

This time when his tongue touches hers, it stays there.

She rises up on her tiptoes, pressing herself against him, all six foot two of him, and it's still not enough. His mouth is still moving over hers, slowly and lazily stoking the fires he's lit, and she's helpless, lost in it, in the warmth of him, in the easygoing seduction of it all.

He's too damned good at this, and she'd never expected it. The defences she'd shored up, the ones that said 'don't let him get too close', 'don't get too comfortable', 'don't open your heart', the ones that she clung to in the face of his smiles, his teasing, the casual touches he shares with no one else, no one but her - in the end, none of them can stand against this, this most simple of things.

King kisses like an angel, and maybe that's why Abigail finally falls.

The end