Work Text:
And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I'll ever ask of you
You've got to promise not to stop when I say when
She sang
“Everlong,” Foo Fighters
**********
They’re playing the pirate game again, and in this variation Lady Mackenzie has turned the tables on her captor Dread Pirate Dyson, the Wolf of the Sea. She led his own crew in a mutiny against him, but she’ll allow him to resume command of the good ship Wolf Junk if he pleases her tonight. He’s at her mercy.
She put him on his back with strict instructions to not move anything but his hands, he can touch but not hold, and now she’s riding him with exquisite, agonizing slowness. He thinks this might actually kill him.
She looks almost ethereal in the candlelight, poised above him in shades of gold and shadow. He’s heard of people who practice prolonging sex as a way of achieving some kind of spiritual transcendence, and he finally sees the appeal. He thinks his soul might leave his body if she ever lets him come.
He’s at her mercy, but he’s far from passive. He explores her body, lightly calloused fingertips trailing over her porcelain skin. He’s found an area on the back of her left thigh that when stroked makes her close her eyes and shiver. He has discovered that if he presses two fingertips into a very specific spot in the small of her back, she’ll clench hard around him, spontaneously arch her back, and involuntarily gasp out some of the filthiest things he’s ever heard. He thinks he’s never been harder in his life.
She raises herself until he’s in danger of slipping out, holds herself there, trembling, for an agonizing moment. As she begins to lower herself again, he reaches out and brushes the back of his hands across her rock-hard nipples and she shudders and makes a noise. It’s a deep, low-pitched moan that makes every hair on his body stand up. He’s never experienced anything like it. What the fuck was that?
She repeats the slow rise and fall; no moan. He experimentally brushes her nipples again, and there it is. The sound makes him vibrate like a tuning fork and puts him in serious danger of coming too soon. He wants her to stop making that noise. He wants her to never stop making that noise.
She opens her eyes and looks down at him. Her pupils are blown wide and she looks surprised. “What the fuck was that?” she breathes. “Make me do that again.”
He cups her breasts, slots her nipples into the V between his index and middle fingers and gently squeezes. Her answering moan is even deeper than before, an impossibly deep sound to be coming from such a small woman, and it goes on and on. It makes his bones ache, and he growls without meaning to.
He’s suddenly reminded of a long-ago time in his life when he ran with his pack. The nights when in wolf form they’d all howl at the moon just for the joy of it. The way their voices rose and fell, separate and then together, winding around each other in an eerie, shivering chorus.
“Aaaaaaaaaa,” he cries, incapable of holding it in any longer.
“Oooooooooo,” she replies.
“AAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOO,” they sing together.
Downstairs, Bo sits up in bed and pulls off her sleeping mask. “What the fuck was that?”