Between my thighs, he belongs. He is in his element, like a mechanic working on a car. He runs his hands down my spine, he sucks the breath out of my lungs.

He is as perfect as some kind of fictional character and I am loud from his touch, panting into a dark, empty room, screaming sometimes, but only when I want him to have a confidence boost. Not that he needs one, but still.

It's almost sad that before he came along, my only ideas on intimate romance were through filthy novels that had Erza's drool between the pages. Still, I'm not regretting the fact that he was first, even if it was rather painful way to start off my sex life.

He called it fucking; really, the man was not eloquent. He had no reason to be either. He was brash and cocky, crude and sharp and I hated to admit that it made me sticky between the legs, but he was proud. His smirk was as wide as his ego but I can't complain. Especially when it's late and I'm following it down with my gaze as it moves past my belly, feeling it on me, his cold metal on my hot skin, making me arch up.

And he is strong. His hands are rough and coarse, but his strength keeps me stuck to the mattress, back practically attached to the sheets as I writhe, or, at least, try to writhe. He keeps my hips down as I try to buck up into his impossibly hot mouth, and he keeps my upper body arched and aching as I stay down, obedient and helpless.

I hate to admit that his danger makes me hot and bothered, I dislike when I spot him and start fantasizing about doing it in a closet, or a basement, or HELL, anywhere because he just knew what he was doing. Even though before it made me jealous, I stopped thinking about it when his hands cupped my breasts and his breath ghosted on my legs.

He was observant and attentive, his piercings were just the right amount of cold when he pressed up against me and the perfect amount of hot when he was up inside of me, and he was just….good.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a sex fiend (okay, so maybe I am). But I don't imagine going at it 24/7. Still, I know I'm far from some kind of saint. At least, now I am. Once you've been thoroughly ravished on someone else's bed as your boyfriend's revenge plot, you've kind of crossed the line of no return.

Actually, now that I think about it, it's okay up to that point. I think what really did me in was when I told him I wanted to again. Even if I knew that Natsu was furious and burned his mattress, even if I knew that Lucy couldn't really look at me the same way and that the two of them had already christened their bed, I couldn't help but giggle when I remembered that it was my butt that was on their sheets, and it was me who soaked the mattress because of him.

It felt right, so sue me! Though, I suppose they one-upped us when we came home to find our own bed in a similar state, with the sheets on fire. Being honest, I laughed as loudly as I could and we stayed on the couch that night, but Gajeel's anger was soothed when I promised him that we'd thoroughly initiate our new bed.

His hands knew how to make me mewl and how to make my toes curl. I used to imagine that it would be awkward with our height and size differences but he told me that he'd manage.

And he did. Oh boy did he. I really never knew that I could bend in so many ways. I didn't know that my ankles could go behind my ears, I didn't know that I could practically bend in half, and I definitely didn't know that it would feel so good. I didn't know that he could hold me up with just one hand, the other pressed between my legs, all the while thrusting into me, shushing me with his mouth against a tree. I didn't know that he could just hold me up against him while we were going at it, my back not even hitting the mattress.

Oh boy, no way did I know half the things I do now.

He was experienced in the ways that every girl wanted and yet dreaded. I hardly knew what to do with my hands and so he pinned them over my head. I didn't know what to say so he demanded me to scream. He bent me like I was made of rubber and I was so very pliant in his hands, willing to be flexible, in fact, yearning to be flexible.

He wasn't gentle. Well, sometimes he was, but most of the time it was FILTHY being with him. I learned curse words that I didn't know existed and he made me feel like I was some kind of slave for his own personal enjoyment and I LOVED it because it was so new. He treated me like a china doll on our dates, but I knew he'd rip my dress the second we were alone.

Sometimes, alone was even up against a wall, not 10 feet from a crowd.

He liked it dirty and raunchy, no sweet words but "Shit, Shorty, you're goddamn tight."

I blush like a virgin every damn time and he laughs about it every single time too. And I didn't think he had a sexy voice until he was telling me he wanted to fuck me like an animal, until he was growling in my ear, telling me he was RIGHT there and I better fucking hurry up or he'd leave me behind.

I call his bluff, he's never actually left me behind. And he smoked afterward like he was a chimney. I have to wonder how he's not addicted but he only smirks at me, teeth still around the death stick and tells me he only smokes when he's had some good sex and since we got together, he always, ALWAYS has a carton by his bedside table.

And then he had a carton at my bedside table. And in the closet, and the bathroom, and around the guild and eventually, he just started to carry it with him.

It's the small things that make me feel accomplished. Like the fact that I know I'm the most flexible person he's ever met and how he loves that I'm submissive under his hands and how he growls possessively when I'm under him.

And of course, how I make him smoke every single time we've had a romp.

Still, I get embarrassed when the girls and I have sleepovers and we gossip. They ask so many questions like "Was he your first?" or "Is he any good?" and how do I say either answer without blushing like a maiden or having my insides churn in their pleasant anticipation? He lights me on fire, his smirk is always in my vision, my body feels RIGHT attached to his and the little breathy moans I let out only become heated when HE'S the one there.

Not even I can do as good a job, and I've known my body far longer than he has. Still, it doesn't surprise me that his fingers know just where to go, or his banter knows just how to make me throb. He's an animal deep down inside, gruff and tough, rude and primal.

You don't know just how GOOD primal feels, by the way. And when he tells me, "Hurry the hell up and cum, shrimp." I can't help but do as he says. He makes my vision blurry, my head swirls when he's there. And I never knew just how hot I could get when I see that he's licking his fingers clean of me, his tongue piercing glinting and enticing me.

Oh boy is he at home between my thighs. And if I had anything to do about it, he'd be under house arrest without negotiation. Still, it's always funny when my friends tell me I'm some sort of angel when they don't know half the things I've done with him. He's cooked up plans and positions that I've never heard of before.

Still, the one downside of our love life is how addicting it is. So when he's gone for, say, a week and I'm thinking about him, snaking my hand down and breathing heavy, I know it's not as good as it can be. It almost drives me crazy, depending on someone else to make me feel good, but that's just who Gajeel is. And when he comes back, he tells me he misses me and we don't waste our time, smacking flesh against flesh because we're both too deep in and I know he loves it too.

Can you blame me? Have I become some kind of dirty woman, the kind I read about in the novels and feel almost disgusted by? Erza likes them but I couldn't help but feel a little out of place. The way the books described it was nothing like how I experienced it. We had hardly dated for two months before he was attacking me with his mouth. There was no handsome, caring young man fumbling with the virgin, there was no gentle "Are you ready?", there was absolutely no "If it hurts, just say so, I'll stop!".

No, all it was, was him pushing me against the wall on my birthday, my breasts pressed up against his chest and my feet dangling. His hands were holding me up and I was already squirming, his knee between my legs. The way he moved was ridiculously intoxicating and I was breathing so damn hard. He liked to bite and I had a million hickies, my lips were bruised and puffy. And he was not gentle, his hands on my bottom, his fingers ripping at my panties, suddenly pressing against me in ways I didn't even know existed; somehow managing to be in me and all around me all at the same time.

He didn't need to ask if I was ready because he knew. He didn't need to tell me that I could say stop, he would know if something was wrong. As a lover, Gajeel was alpha male, top dog, some kind of machine, insatiable and hungry. I made a wet stain on his wall and then many more on his mattress and eventually, he threw the sheets on the floor after we got tangled in them one too many times. And it hurt with all his piercings at first, but then it hurt in all the RIGHT ways. He made my head spin when he grasped my hips, when he left marks on my legs and stomach. There were hickies on my shoulders and back and breasts. I moaned loud enough so that no one came to his apartment even though Pantherlily had to room with Happy for the night.

Any novel that described the sex I had would have made me blush and sputter if I read it. It would make me clench my legs together and flush from head to toe. And it did. He didn't even seem to get tired, instead, making it a mission to outlast me, to keep me so weary that I was boneless and then he could twist me into different positions, bend me to his will like he did before.

And then there was the shower and the kitchen counter when we got hungry.

The next morning, he told me I shouldn't go to the guild. However, it had been my birthday just the day before and he had monopolized all my time, so I at least wanted to see everyone, if not to get my presents. I tried to stand and crumpled down to the floor, my legs feeling like jelly. He told me that if I was that determined, he would carry me, and he did. Bridal style in his arms, he walked into the place. With his wide smirk and my heavy blush, everyone knew what had gone down (him, by the way) before a single word was uttered.

I had never wanted a drink so much in my life. But that was it. There was no magic, no gentle caresses. He didn't tell me he loved me during, he didn't bother making me feel comfortable and there was no chance afterward to feel regret or ponder on how the loss of my virginity affected me.

It was just sex. But he somehow reverted to a semblance of normalcy when it was all over. When I was bone worn and panting, he would just lay down, one arm around me, cradling me to his body and it was not like the books but it was still perfect in its own, absolutely tiresome way. The closest he got to a sweet, gentle caress was when he ran his hand down the curve of my body, starting at my breasts, moving down to the dip of my waist, settling on my hip as he pulled my rump to his groin, licking my neck in a soothing gesture.

What did I expect? I had sex with a dragon slayer.

Still, it was enough to tell me that he cared about me and the sex was just a cherry on top. It makes me giggle now when he tickles me and I must say, my endurance had gone up significantly since I started being intimate with Gajeel. It was a fact that he pointed out smugly when the girls all competed on an endurance course. It was easy for me to lose breath and get tired, being as small as I was with my even smaller organs, but I came in third, behind Erza and Mirajane, beating out Lucy, Evergreen, Wendy, Bisca, Cana, and even Juvia, though she came in fourth. Everyone gaped at me and I blushed, but his smug grin was all the proof they needed.

Still, sometimes, I felt very insecure of our relationship. I wasn't the most well endowed woman and when a guy like him comes along, no one even assumes we're a couple. Seeing him on the street, it seems like he'd like them tall and busty, with a big cocky attitude.

Turns out, Gajeel prefers to settle his attentions a bit more southward, which I'm honestly grateful of. Of all the girls in Fairy Tail, I have the widest hips and the most shapely lower body. I've always been small up top, but at the very least, he doesn't mind. Really, it's the width of my hips that even made sex with him possible, because he was just so much larger than me.

Which brings me to the point of: As far as insecurities go, I'm sure he has none. He's ridiculously muscular, to the point where women stare at him when he's wearing a T-shirt. I suppose that's one upside from being a practical blacksmith and a dragonslayer, but not even Natsu has those muscles. In fact, he's closer to Gildart's and Elfman's size rather than someone like Gray or Natsu. Don't get me wrong, they're not scrawny schoolboys either, but in comparison, Gajeel is just…bigger. He's taller, broader, bigger boned and more masculine. He oozes domination, cockiness and confidence. He can lift me with one hand, probably with just two fingers. It takes him almost no effort at all to throw up three grown men at once, so I'm certainly no challenge.

Still, I looked for the one bodily flaw he possessed that he was ashamed or insecure about.

And found nothing. But he's definitely someone who hides his personality. It's why he prefers to do the talking with his body. He's not the most eloquent man I've met and not the kindest or cleverest. But one thing he is, is honest.

He told me he really didn't give a crap about what breast size I was, as long as there was enough to fit his palm and keep him interested.

They barely managed to fill his hands, but they did, and that gave me hope enough.

I like to think that as a couple, we help each other in the right places. I'm innocent and carefree, he's serious and invert. I'm bookish and shy, he's buff and confident.

I'm a blushing virgin, and he could be a porn star.

Okay, okay, don't quote me on that one, but it had to be said! We fill each other's hollows (him filling mine more than I fill his) and somehow manage to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Though, sometimes, I wonder if we're having the worst effect on one another. It was only until he started being with me that he began to like cuddling.

And, well, I'm writing this, aren't I? That already proves what a profound effect he's had on me. Still, I enjoy his company and even if you'd think he'd be a horrid sight to wake up to, I disagree. Of course, I've also seen it.

In fact, I'm the only woman who's seen him with her in bed in the morning, because he'd bolt with all the other girls he was with. Still, the sight is not a bad one. His black hair would be disheveled, his eyes closed. His chest moves, up and down, in deep, steady rhythm. Without fail, every morning, his bare arm would be hugging me to him, his guild tattoo stark against his tan flesh. The sharp, chiseled look he usually had would be softened, melted into a relaxed and comfortable expression. He doesn't snore but he does breathe a bit loudly. Our legs would be tangled up, his hands around my waist or shoulders, sometimes, tangled in my hair.

And I never get tired of it. When he wakes up, he makes a clicking noise as his mouth opens and closes, trying to put moisture back in. His hand flies to his eyes, rubbing the sleep out and he lifts himself on one arm, settling to his side and then dropping to his elbow to look at me or play with my hair.

He belongs with me in his bed, warm and comfortable, not wanting to get up because we're just too used to examining one another's face in the glow of the dawn. And his hands would reach out, warm and inviting, just the night before holding me up as we partook in far more interesting activities. His palms would be calloused and rough on my cheeks as he leaned in, giving me a single kiss before calling out "Time to get up, Shorty." And he'd grin at me with his canines gleaming as I settle against his chest, a simple "5 more minutes" echoing out along with his chuckle, knowing that we'll stay in the bed because when I'm there, it's his favorite place to be.

When he's there, it's mine too because I just like to be with him, but I'll never tell him that. I know he's a big softy on the inside, and one day, he'll tell me he loves me every single day. But, for now, I'll settle with what we have, when we're filling up the room with our breath and our noise, perfectly molded to one another.

After all, that's just where we belong.

With each other.

Well, I've only written ONE story like this before. It was a ShikeTema and it's called "Beating the Learning Curve". Well, the darned thing was a HUGE risk for me and it became my second most popular story with 1,400 hits (still climbing). So, after seeing the almost depressing lack of Gevy M fics...I wrote my own.

Now, I don't write smut. To quote "How to Read Literature like a Professor"-"have you ever tried to write a sex scene? Tell you what, try." It's ridiculously hollow. You fret about every single word you put, you obsess over how much you describe and how awkward you're coming off. And if you've never written one, realize just how REPETITIVE it is. A sex/smut scene is one of the least satisfying things I've ever written. However, explaining the emotions, deeper development, and giving a peak into a party's mind, now THAT is fulfilling. As I've already written TWO Gavy/Gevy/GaLe fics with Gajeel (yes, I spell it Gajeel, not Gazille) narrating, I chose to have Levy speak this time. I'm still...a bit IFFY (at best) on this fic, but that's natural for me, as I blush like a maniac every single time I write anything over T. Still, I get it done.

But, I have ONE gripe to rant about...piercings. Gajeel is one of the few characters I write about that has body modifications. I am an author that also happens to have body modifications (six outer shell piercings, 6 gauges on my lobes, two size 0, two size 4, and two size 6, two nasal piercings and a tragus piercing). Fanfiction writers must understand the workings of body bod to understand Gajeel a bit more intimately. The ones on his eyebrows are microdermals. They are not rings, and do not go through the full flesh of his eyebrow skin. Instead, they are planted there as a permanent piercing. he has a total of FOUR nasal piercings, not TWO. Even if it's possible to put a full bone through the cartilage of your nose, it's painful and carries many risks. There is a reason why piercers pierce the "sweet spot" on a septum instead of through the harder parts of the nose. Now, on the subject of microdermals, they're on his arms too. As in, they're just studs technically anchored in his flesh. You can have these ANYWHERE including your hips, thighs, sides, neck, ect. Normal piercings need to have an entrance and exit point but not Microdermals. Instead, they kind of just go nowhere and only have an entrance point. I speculate that this is because in a fight, they can't be ripped out and leave a jagged gash that is unfixable (such as if someone ripped out your eyebrow ring). Also, it is easier for him (in grave situations) to absorbe something like a microdermal rather than a ring. Imagine a microdermal like an arrow. The pointy part is in the skin and it keeps it in while the opposite end is a decorative stud. I like to believe that they're actual body mods, and not just metal growing out of his skin.

How does this attach to my fic? Simple. I speculate that he has piercings on his lower body as well. I like to hope hips, but also in more intimate areas. My speculation? A ladder of microdermals plus a magic cross piercing. If you don't know what that is, it's an ampallang piercing along with an apadravya piercing. Look them up on Wiki if you don't know those. Why the magic cross? Because I think Gajeel is a bit too...out of the box to settle with a Prince Albert. Plus, the magic cross is just kind of more up his alley.

Well, now that I've fully embarrassed myself, I hope I haven't total turned you off from the entire fic and haven't failed miserably. Until next time!