Author's Note: I *really* enjoyed the twitter art from Mashima today. I don't typically write in present tense so please forgive any slips. This was an experimental bit of writing and I admit it looked better in Word than in the text box but meh. What can you do?
She whispers,"Please."
And he smiles.
The moonlight reflects in his grin. His teeth are white. His smile is dark. She doesn't see it.
His fingers brush her crossed wrists and he can hear her breaths... in... and out... in and... out...
A hand settles on her back.
...inandout...
He loves the way her hair spills over the expanse of skin and sheets. It has never looked more beautiful.
The bed isn't theirs. That is part of the game.
Touching all of her at once seems a waste. Her thighs are hard with muscle but the skin is soft. The round shape of her backside is a pleasing curve. His fingers leave a pebbled trail of anticipation.
She is hot – trembling. He knows she has been waiting. Her legs were crossed all evening. The hem of her dress riding up just enough to entice. The smooth wetness he finds between the perfection of her thighs does not surprise him. It never does.
He knows she knows better than to squirm but does it anyway.
He will allow it.
Even in the dark he knows her body. Her head turns to the side and her lips part. Red lipstick smears on the sheets.
in... and... out...
Her breasts are pressed into the mattress but he can see the swell just above her angled ribcage. He decides that later he will have them in his hands, too. He will touch all of her tonight.
But not all at once. Not yet.
Her climax is elegant and he is inside of her before the spasms stop. She is made of silk and when her back is against his chest, he sighs into her neck.
Her submission belongs only to him. She is fierce but pliant beneath him.
He releases her wrists and suddenly her fingers are in his hair. She is agile and reaches behind her with a grace that only rides him harder.
"Jellal," she whispers.
But he doesn't smile. He gasps.
The city below still flickers and thrives. He hates the bathrobe. It scratches his skin but she enjoys pushing it over his shoulders.
She is not as patient as him.
Control is nice. He likes control. He's never had so much of it before.
But the wild beauty of being at her mercy sets him on fire.