[ She sinks beneath his grip and it's easy to close his eyes, to breathe in as she exhales, press a little harder and let go only to repeat. There's something like a huff of laughter that sparks across the link, faint and humorless. ]
(Me? Never.)
[ It'd been a warning, he thinks, maybe, but she's right; it's a stupid one. He knows the feel of her mind, knows the echoes that lay beyond her - a little thing like darkness whispering in the back of his mind, fraying tatters hanging listlessly in the wind hardly compares, no matter how all consuming it feels to him.
Will they drag each other down, he wonders, is it too much too soon is she gonna feel the Nyx-shaped absence all over again, heaving and fresh the way he feels Bucky's -
But he doesn't care. He doesn't know why the hell he didn't come to her in the first place, when she's the only one he knows who'd really get it - the only one other one dumb enough to twist themselves so far down into a broodmate that losing them was losing a piece of themselves.
His hand ghosts over hers, following the path down, and he pulls her in - and pulls, and pulls, desperately drinking in her colors and letting her fill him up. His hand trips over his own thigh, teeth biting absently at his lower lip as he sinks into their connection, pushing it open wider.
[ All those dumbs echoing, tumbling down a rabbit hole. The Hole: the empty void space where other Hosts kept disappearing in to. As void does, it had a hypnotic quality, repulsion and allure; a miserable, maddening, ringing absence. She was just dumb enough, to pour herself into someone who should have been a stranger. So desirous of the genuine taste of connection, despite all her protestations about the dangers of opening herself up and letting others push and pull at her, that she just kept doing it. Like she couldn't fucking stop herself.
Her bad habits have a way of justifying themselves: cunning and baffling in their self-sabotage against her. Play a game like it's just a little flirting, the kind of sweet talk that would normally be left to the imagination -- if they couldn't just share imaginations. ]
(I dunno how these other idiots stop themselves.)
[ Was the idea of anyone else knowing they were sexual creatures really that repulsive? At least a few people have her back when it came to need. November. Lakshmi. Shepard. Nyx. They live inside of her now, so fucking loud, so fucking good: all the hands and mouths and heat she could possibly need.
She can fill up some deadened space. She can scream and groan and toss her head. As much as a sad fuck could need. ]
[ He laughs at her response, and it follows her words down, lost to the abyss. Without her to hold his attention, he might have been tempted to reach after it, to chase it down until he - but she’s there, so unlike the other connections he’s made that came slow, one choice at a time until he was in so deep he couldn’t come back out.
Annie’d rushed in all at once, grabbing and sinking in and the clash of teeth, coming together into a desperate intimacy - then because she’d needed something, someone, to cope with Nyx, and he needs the same to cope with Bucky.
There’s a sadness in that somewhere, twisted through all the other sadnesses in Sam at the moment, a dull stab in an already mangled heart. Annie deserves better.
But this is no place for sadness like that, not in the shared mind space they’ve created and he guards fiercely. ]
(Uninterested. Too private.) [ He understands enough to respect it, not to push, believes that physical sex is a hell of a lot different than this - less intimate in a lot of ways, more in others. But this is no place for that, either.
He lets his mind flow over hers and back again, the flash of two bodies rolling in the sheets, hot wind rushing in to tug and tease before he opens up more for her, pulling her in deeper. ]
[ Anybody who doesn't want to fuck all the time was an outright mystery to her. She rolls over in her cot, for something physical to press herself against, the small of her back dipped, ass up just that little bit. It's a comfortable easy position to keep, just enough room in the lift of her hips the carry on with herself, but it's almost a secondary endeavor. She has Sam to fill up and keep warm, and goddamn aren't other people's problems always easier to manage than your own. When she was on the other side of it, she'd hated herself just as much. Been aware of herself as a wailing mess and had merely chosen to cement that fact licking her way up his mind when he tried to entrap her in it -- like catching a nasty wasp before it could inevitably land somewhere else and sting.
And now here she is, daydreaming about him like he was even her type. She'll swear up and down he isn't, that all his feel good, goody-two-shoes bullshit was just so fucking far off her base.
She exhales a huff of a breath into pillow, tenses the muscles in her thighs and stomach. She wouldn't be too opposed to having his shoulder to bit into about now though. There's something satisfactory about that give of skin, the little prickle of pain that gets so quickly overwhelmed by pleasure endorphins. Like a speedball, a little up, a little down, and real good in the middle. A prickly little ball of pins in his central space, but one that'll kiss what she pricks. A little up, a little down. She mutters a short groan. ]
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sizeofyourbaggage) wrote2016-05-22 03:26 pm
no subject
( Me? Never. )
[ It'd been a warning, he thinks, maybe, but she's right; it's a stupid one. He knows the feel of her mind, knows the echoes that lay beyond her - a little thing like darkness whispering in the back of his mind, fraying tatters hanging listlessly in the wind hardly compares, no matter how all consuming it feels to him.
Will they drag each other down, he wonders, is it too much too soon is she gonna feel the Nyx-shaped absence all over again, heaving and fresh the way he feels Bucky's -
But he doesn't care. He doesn't know why the hell he didn't come to her in the first place, when she's the only one he knows who'd really get it - the only one other one dumb enough to twist themselves so far down into a broodmate that losing them was losing a piece of themselves.
His hand ghosts over hers, following the path down, and he pulls her in - and pulls, and pulls, desperately drinking in her colors and letting her fill him up. His hand trips over his own thigh, teeth biting absently at his lower lip as he sinks into their connection, pushing it open wider.
And closing out the rest of the Nest. ]
( You mind? )
no subject
[ All those dumbs echoing, tumbling down a rabbit hole. The Hole: the empty void space where other Hosts kept disappearing in to. As void does, it had a hypnotic quality, repulsion and allure; a miserable, maddening, ringing absence. She was just dumb enough, to pour herself into someone who should have been a stranger. So desirous of the genuine taste of connection, despite all her protestations about the dangers of opening herself up and letting others push and pull at her, that she just kept doing it. Like she couldn't fucking stop herself.
Her bad habits have a way of justifying themselves: cunning and baffling in their self-sabotage against her. Play a game like it's just a little flirting, the kind of sweet talk that would normally be left to the imagination -- if they couldn't just share imaginations. ]
( I dunno how these other idiots stop themselves. )
[ Was the idea of anyone else knowing they were sexual creatures really that repulsive? At least a few people have her back when it came to need. November. Lakshmi. Shepard. Nyx. They live inside of her now, so fucking loud, so fucking good: all the hands and mouths and heat she could possibly need.
She can fill up some deadened space. She can scream and groan and toss her head. As much as a sad fuck could need. ]
( I got you. )
no subject
Annie’d rushed in all at once, grabbing and sinking in and the clash of teeth, coming together into a desperate intimacy - then because she’d needed something, someone, to cope with Nyx, and he needs the same to cope with Bucky.
There’s a sadness in that somewhere, twisted through all the other sadnesses in Sam at the moment, a dull stab in an already mangled heart. Annie deserves better.
But this is no place for sadness like that, not in the shared mind space they’ve created and he guards fiercely. ]
( Uninterested. Too private. ) [ He understands enough to respect it, not to push, believes that physical sex is a hell of a lot different than this - less intimate in a lot of ways, more in others. But this is no place for that, either.
He lets his mind flow over hers and back again, the flash of two bodies rolling in the sheets, hot wind rushing in to tug and tease before he opens up more for her, pulling her in deeper. ]
no subject
[ Anybody who doesn't want to fuck all the time was an outright mystery to her. She rolls over in her cot, for something physical to press herself against, the small of her back dipped, ass up just that little bit. It's a comfortable easy position to keep, just enough room in the lift of her hips the carry on with herself, but it's almost a secondary endeavor. She has Sam to fill up and keep warm, and goddamn aren't other people's problems always easier to manage than your own. When she was on the other side of it, she'd hated herself just as much. Been aware of herself as a wailing mess and had merely chosen to cement that fact licking her way up his mind when he tried to entrap her in it -- like catching a nasty wasp before it could inevitably land somewhere else and sting.
And now here she is, daydreaming about him like he was even her type. She'll swear up and down he isn't, that all his feel good, goody-two-shoes bullshit was just so fucking far off her base.
She exhales a huff of a breath into pillow, tenses the muscles in her thighs and stomach. She wouldn't be too opposed to having his shoulder to bit into about now though. There's something satisfactory about that give of skin, the little prickle of pain that gets so quickly overwhelmed by pleasure endorphins. Like a speedball, a little up, a little down, and real good in the middle. A prickly little ball of pins in his central space, but one that'll kiss what she pricks. A little up, a little down. She mutters a short groan. ]