A/N: While sexy times do happen in Love and Superheroes, actual love scenes don't really fit into the story. Plus, smut isn't everybody's thing. If I write any other love scenes, I'll put them here for people to read or not to read. Enjoy!
Bare bodies pressed together, skin against skin, slick with sweat. He was above her, in her, around her. He was pleasing her, giving her pleasure through his fumbling. Her cries filled the air, echoing in the dark, heavy breaths and sighs, high-pitched whines and fingernails that left trails of fire down his back.
He was out of practice, a dry spell that spanned years as opposed to her few measly months, but to hear Belle beg him to touch her just there, for more, please, yes, to hear his name falling from her lips, it was otherworldly. She cried out, arching high, mouth open on a gasp, and Richard wished he'd left all the lights on.
To hear her fall apart was beautiful. To know that every cry, every breath, every shudder was his doing, was proof that she desired him (he who was older, bitter, and nothing she should be saddled with), to know that he could give such pleasure made the wait worthwhile.
But to see it... It would be ethereal. To watch her face contort, to see her lip between her teeth in an attempt to quiet herself. To witness the beauty falling apart under the beast, a sight to devour and cherish to be sure, but the lights had already been off when they'd stumbled into his bedroom, and he wasn't going to stop, not even to turn them all on.
Belle had kissed him gently at first, and Richard had murmured "Are you seducing me, sweetheart?" against her lips, and then she was under him.
Her breasts were every bit as lovely as he'd imagined (and he had imagined them a lot, watching her peel off her scrub top in favor of the tank top she always wore underneath). His fingers were too long, hands awkward and rough against the delicate cream of her skin. Pale, she was so pale, milk white, pure under his hands and she arched into his touch, not away.
"Front clasp," she'd gasped when he'd slid his long digits under her button-down shirt in an effort to free her breasts from their binding (a desperate need had filled him, he had to see her, all of her, even in the faint light cast by the single lit lamp and he knew she would be better than anything he could ever picture). Encouraging, wanting, voice so filled with need. How could he deny her what she wanted?
His hands were worker's hands, hands that sewed and gardened and tinkered. Rough hands against soft, soft, soft skin. Callouses that rubbed and teased and gave friction and pressure against the most sensitive of places.
Richard reached out with his shaking hands, daring to fill them with her, and her head fell back on a gasp, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt and she trembled, toes curling in sheer desire when the pads of his thumbs brushed over her nipples.
Aching, pulsating want zinged down her body to pool in her belly and shoot straight down her legs to curl her toes.
Richard touched her with reverence and awe, carefully massaging and feeling, committing her shape, her texture, everything about her to memory. One hand spanned the small of her back, his fingers spread star-shaped to urge her forward. She did not resist him, eagerly following the unspoken direction and was rewarded with the sensation that was his tongue on her breast.
Hot breath ghosting over her flesh and before she could even breathe he was taking her to new heights, mouth endlessly patient, teeth gentle as they scraped over sensitive nerves, his tongue spelling secrets against her skin.
Belle's word narrowed, shrank until there was nothing but feeling, nothing but the electricity in her veins and the blood roaring in her ears, the blaze of lust engulfing her entirely.
Richard had to stop, just for a minute, so they could both catch their breath. And he had to see, to study her when she was so undone, chest bare and heaving, shirt hanging open around her, skirt bunched around her waist. He let his hands trail up her thighs, fingernails scratching the material of her tights. Belle's eyes fluttered shut, lips parting to form a small O, chin trembling.
He wanted her bare, entirely naked as he sweated above her. He wanted to kiss every inch of that pale skin.
He wanted to make her moan and gasp and cry and scream his name as he used his hands and lips and teeth and tongue and then, then he would lift her hips and slide inside her and make her scream again.
Sharp teeth nipped at his mouth, then harder at his neck, following the path clever hands had cleared. His shirt was halfway off his shoulders, Belle was quite proud of herself, and Richard's moan was reward enough, but she wanted him cry out as she had, to feel the world implode and expand all at once. She bit and sucked and kissed and trailed her mouth down to his belt.
His hands dove into her hair, ready to haul her back up, to kiss her mouth, but she was faster, her shoulder against his stomach excellent leverage to get him flat on his back so she could resume her tasting of him.
But he couldn't form any other words, his mind lost to him the second he felt her mouth close around him. He didn't dare watch her, instead slamming his eyes shut to simply feel her. He bit down hard on his own finger to smother his cries, his free hand clutching the fabric of the sheets to keep himself still but it was all in vain. Her tongue traced over him, wicked letters to spell out her want.
He tasted like earth and spice and one gentle nibble ripped his hand from his mouth, body bucking as he spasmed and cried out.
Proud of herself, Belle licked her lips to catch every trace of him, shimmying back up to lay beside him.
"God almighty," Richard gasped.
Belle giggled. The under-wire of her bra dug into her side and, with a wince, she did away with both it and her shirt.
And his hands were on her again, his mouth relentless and bold, and any smug pleasure Belle had felt transformed into sheer pleasure, and then she gripped the sheets, she was stifling her cries.
His mouth slipped lower, down her ribcage and stomach, teeth gently nipping at her hip as he eased her skirt down her legs. He peeled her tights off like a second skin, every inch of flesh revealed immediately the recipient of his lips and tongue, all the way down to her curled toes. One more scrap of fabric, and then she was bared to him.
"Beautiful," he breathed, and it was a poor compliment but all he could manage, and so he put his silver tongue to better use, gently lapping, tasting her, tongue dipping in her, around her.
As he had with her breast, Richard gently (gently) stroked his calloused thumb inside her, mouth working in tempo with his fingers, a rhythm that grew more firm as her cries grew louder. Belle thrashed on the bed, fingers clawing at the sheets, against his scalp, and finally digging into his shoulders almost painfully when she screamed.
Pale gold silhouettes bathed in dim light, bodies dancing, joining as they mated. Richard felt her breasts brushing his chest with every thrust, heard her sharp gasps, her moans of pleasure, the way she screamed his name sent him over the edge. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, crying out into her skin, grateful for his release but unwilling to have it end.
Spent, he collapsed half on top of her, arm thrown across her chest, leg draped over her hip. In apology, he kissed the mark on her shoulder, gentle now against the imprint of his teeth. He felt her hand at his back, tracing the marks he knew she'd made with her nails.
"So you were trying to seduce me," he murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
"And it worked beautifully." Despite the absence of light, the lamp at his back, Belle cast in shadow when she turned to face him, Richard knew without a doubt she was smiling. "Remind me to do it again in the very near future."
"Next time, sweetheart," he breathed into her ear, a predatory purr she felt all the way to her bones, "I will be the one seducing you."