what a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

[mycursedface]

After this:

Medusa is in Sam's room, alone, and, yes, she's still annoyed. Angry. Despite the cookies and calming down, because it's just playing into other frustrations, and without being able to read, she doesn't have a lot of ways to distract herself, which she needs because after a week or so or however long it's been, here with him and it's...

Lucifer-who-calls-himself-Sam is many, many things. Kind and gorgeous and he makes her laugh and he is careful, careful, careful and gentle and just occasionally Medusa wants him to pick her up, dump her on the table and, just for once, kiss her roughly.

Among other things.

Other things involving hands and hot, hot, hot skin and that wicked voice of his whispering words dirty, filthy and lovely. Other things involving mouths kissing skin instead of lips, leaving red marks and making her feel giddy, swollen, unaware. Run his hands down her wings because metal, yes, but she can feel it against her skin and it feels good. Scratch her claws down his back and whisper please as his hands-
(she wishes that in her mind, if only in her mind, his pants had long since been discarded on the floor but she can't, she can't, she can't)

- well, she just likes his hands.

Not that, Medusa thinks as she chews her bottom lip in something akin to anger, he would. Fragile Medusa, breakable Medusa, as Atton made perfectly clear and even that fact that, normally, she adores being treated gently and (because she is in that frame of mind) gentle can be a torment all of its own, does nothing to relieve her current frustration.
Fuck it. Fuck him (that's the idea) and when Sam walks in his room, messy-haired and still out of breath from training, Medusa ignores the sword in his hand to shove him against the door and kiss him.

Hard.

Comments

[necessary_child]

Headtilt.

"What're you sorry for?"

[mycursedface]

"Ambushing you?" She suggests, turning red.

[necessary_child]

"Hey, I was having fun," Sam reminds her, offering her a grin.

[mycursedface]

Exceedingly red now.

"Oh. Good. I mean, I hoped you...not that I was, um, thinking."

Pause.

"I know you, uh. Stop when I ask. But could you...kiss me again?"

[necessary_child]

It's quite tempting to tease her, really, but this time Sam doesn't say anything, just laughs, and pulls her forward, and kisses her again, thoroughly.

[mycursedface]

Kissing is good. She likes kissing (some of the time). Especially Sam's kisses. All logic regarding her never really have kissed anyone else will be ignored.

At some point, though, she lets her dress slip down. It's still hugging her hips, but there's bare skin against bare skin and she's trying hard not to think about how much it makes her want to burst out in embarrassed giggling.

Or just how much it's twisting the butterflies in her stomach.

[necessary_child]

Thinking is, clearly, very much over-rated indeed. Sam's hands are running over her skin, his arms around her, and a little after her dress slides down they move from her sides and back and shoulders to play over her front, just touching, for the moment.

[mycursedface]

That causes her to shiver, but Medusa doesn't move away. Twisting nervous whatamidoingfeelsgood and even as the fingers of her right hand, the one around his neck, twist and move and fidget because this is strange and new (and her wings move, too, shifting and chiming), she moves her left hand down Sam's side.

The movements are similar to his, just run hand over skin and touch, touch, don't stop touching, but even as she does so there is the faint sensation of her claws. Not enough to scratch, not enough to leave a mark that lasts for more then a moment, but it's not quite the same feeling as nails.

[necessary_child]

Sam groans, just a little, at the feel of her clawsfingers on his skin, his own hands just skirting the borders of roughness as they move over her skin, then gentler again as they run over her breasts.

[mycursedface]

Medusa buries her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, breathing shaky even as her claws skate along his arm.

[necessary_child]

"Lovely, lovely, lovely Meda," Sam murmurs, fingers moving in slow circles over the soft skin.

"Lovely, lovely, lovely."

[mycursedface]

That gets a laugh, soft and breathy and shaky, shaky, shaky.

"Lovely Meda," she says into his skin, claws not so gentle now (she doesn't know it, anymore than a cat is aware while playing), "has no idea what...what she is doing."

[necessary_child]

Sam gasps, a little, as her claws dig in.

"Doesn't matter. Not to me."

[mycursedface]

"Why not?" Medusa asks, turning her head to kiss his neck.

[necessary_child]

"I'm four, five thousand years old, Meda. D'you have any idea how many girls - or guys - I've known who haven't had any idea what they were doing?"

Or who they were doing, but that's a different matter.

"All I mind about is that you're okay with it."

[mycursedface]

"Mmmm, no? But," another kiss and he continues. Her fingers smooth out, claws retract.

"I like...um. Feels good." Medusa informs his shoulder. "But I...can we stop?"

[necessary_child]

"Absolutely." Sam's hands are at her waist almost immediately.

"What's up?"

[mycursedface]

"Nothing." Quickly, as she keeps her head down. "I just...starting to freak myself out."

[necessary_child]

"Okay." His hands grope for hers.

"Want to go sit?" He nods towards the bed. "And talk."

[mycursedface]

She tangles her fingers with his, briefly, before pulling back to pull up her dress.

"Um. Sure."

[necessary_child]

"It's okay, Beautiful." Tugging her towards the bed.

[mycursedface]

She ties the knot of her dress and lets herself be pulled. Sitting on the bed, she scouts back and hugs her knees to her chest.

"No. It's not. I'm messed up."

[necessary_child]

"You are," Sam agrees, leaning back. He's always been very good at The Lounge.

"But we'll get there, eventually."

[mycursedface]

Medusa smiles at him, a little crookedly.

[necessary_child]

"Hey." He offers her a half-shrug and a small smile.

"It's not like either of us is short on time."