(no subject)

[mycursedface]

Medusa, living as she does in a cave, is still not entirely used this whole having doors business. Nor is she used to knocking, but it wasn't all that long ago that she was living here, so she remembers to knock.

And hope that Sam's in.

And that he isn't...busy.

(she has the invitation in her hand)

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[necessary_child]

Sam makes a soft, moaning-gasping sound at the feel of her on his lap.

"Fun, though," he manages, and pulls her close.

[mycursedface]

"Distracting."

Medusa kisses him, hard and fast, settling her arm back around his shoulders for support. Because, he asked, and she said they'd try, and you can't try without, you know, trying. Which is why, with some maneuvering, she slides him into her.

(She can't help but gasp, slightly and very unevenly, but it doesn't...hurt. Feels odd, but not anything to pull away from)

"Like this?" She asks, not sure if she wants to watch his face or bury her own against his shoulder.

[necessary_child]

Sam half-gasps, half-growls, arms snaking out to hold her hips, eyes blazing again.

"Like that," he manages breathlessly, voice shaky. "Meda..."

[mycursedface]

"Hey, Luce," the Gorgon says softly, bowing her head a little because her cheeks are flaming red and, somewhere, she doesn't want him to watch her. It's easier, even as she starts to move her hips.

[necessary_child]

Sam swears and moans and gasps in all the languages he knows, but always, every few words, Medusa's name is on his lips. Somewhere, far back in his brain, he's wondering why she's not looking at him, but that part of his brain is not in the pilot's seat right now.

[mycursedface]

Medusa is many things, but one of them is a dancer. She knows how to follow a beat, how to pick up the tempo. She kisses his neck, his jaw, kisses and sucks at his skin (when she's not gasping, that is, because this is what her body wants even if her mind is still slightly distant), and she runs her claws lightly up and down his increasingly slick back.

And even as she does those other things, she rocks and slides her hips against him (and oh does she know how to move her hips).

Sex has a rhythm of its own; it's not that hard to pick it up. Not really.

[necessary_child]

Sam moans her name, over and over, fingers digging into her hips, his own hips bucking and rocking against her.

[mycursedface]

"C'mon, Lucifer" she whispers, then gasps again. "P-please..."

(it's possible that even she couldn't explain what she's asking)

Medusa digs her fingers into his shoulder, but her other hand slides up and into his thick hair. And her fingers might not be particularly gentle, but she still twists herself just enough so that she can catch his mouth and kiss him. Not particularly skillfully, given they are both moving, but she kisses him as deep as she can.

[necessary_child]

Sam kisses her fiercely, arms around her, hips shifting against hers with increasing urgency, increasing need...

Until at last he cries out, muffled against her lips, and bucks hard one last time, and slows to a stop.

[mycursedface]

Which she doesn't think about, not...not really. Her own arousal and desire, which had never peaked to there, slowly starts to even out, even as her fingers gently stroke his hair, his back.

A little shakily, she twists her head away from his (slightly) and takes a breath. Then another, before she kisses his cheek.

[necessary_child]

Sam lies back, eyes closed for the moment, and just - breathes. His fingers trace absently over her back, around the buds of her wings.

[mycursedface]

Medusa shivers at that, moving her hands to trail against his chest as he lies back against the bed.

[necessary_child]

Eventually, as his breathing returns to normal, his eyelids flicker open.

Softly, "Hey, Beautiful."

[mycursedface]

Just as softly,

"Hey, Lucifer."

[necessary_child]

He leans up and kisses her briefly. "Love you."

[mycursedface]

And despite everything crawling around in her head, that makes her smile. She leans down to meet him, kisses him back just as briefly before slipping off.

"I love you, too."

[necessary_child]

One of Sam's long arms reaches out to catch her fingers with the tips of his.

"You all right, Meda?"

[mycursedface]

"Yeah, I'm fine."

She tangles her fingers with his, but doesn't move closer.

[necessary_child]

Headtilt. Sam doesn't tug her closer, for now.

"Sure?"

[mycursedface]

"...mostly?"

That doesn't sound right.

"I'll be fine. Just have to shower or something."

[necessary_child]

He swings her hand a little, somewhat concerned.

"Okay."

[mycursedface]

Medusa pushes herself up on her elbow, and kisses his forehead.

"It's not you. I promise."

[necessary_child]

He's not entirely content with that, but he's going to have to be content with that.

"Okay." He smiles at the kiss. "Go have your shower, Beautiful."

[mycursedface]

A quick nod, and then she's off the bed and walking towards the bathroom, briefly stoping to pick up her blouse and get some jeans. She shuts the bathroom door behind her.

She's there for a while, which isn't usual for Medusa - she's too much of a spirit of the desert to condone the wasting of water. But the water is cool, and there are memories crawling and scratching around her head, and she needs...

Well.

Washing away the mess of sex at least calms the prickling panic, even if most of it is purely symbolic.

It's enough.

It's enough so that she can turn the water off and dry herself (wings and hair as best she can) and pull on the clothes before opening the door.

"Hey, Luce? Mind, um. Doing your heat trick?"

Because masses of curly hair in braids, and metallic feathers, take hours to dry without help.

[necessary_child]

Sam has been stretched out languidly on the bed, taking up most of it as he catnaps. He still hasn't bothered to put any clothes on.

(It's not like he has a functioning sense of shame, after all.)

When she appears again he raises himself up on his elbows to smile at her.

"Sure. Come here?"