mycursedface | (no subject)

One day, Medusa (who has entirely forgotten about being told what Valentine's Day is, and that a Certain Someone Forgot) finally decides that Lucifer Needs To Get Out More, and goes to Milliways to kidnap him.

Sam is very much not adverse to this kidnapping, possibly because Medusa is wearing a very pretty bodice.

Beyond Milliways' front door is an open area as would grace any farm; chickens in their house, a couple of goats stoped from their quest to eat the vegatables by a cunning wall, a shed and the peach-coloured wall of Medusa's own garden. There is another low building, too low to be anything but built partly under ground.

It's late afternoon, and actually fairly cool - autumn does that, even in North Africa.

And while she would give him a grand tour of the outside, she does have things cooking in the kitchen, so she leads him down some steps and around the corner. The kitchen is a large cavern, doubling as their main living space, and it is back up against the bathhouse. No sense in wasting heat, after all.

There is a large table in the middle, a working table, and it's a working kitchen for three people who love food and eat a lot.

"Welcome to my home."

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"Mmmhmmm."

Distracted. Working. Belt is being tossed onto the floor.

Sam watches her, head bowed just a little, running his hands caressingly along her sides.

(He doesn't want her too distracted, not just yet)

Button, zip (tricksy things, jeans), and she glances up through her lashes as she hooks fingers around the top and slides them down.

Sam's watching her, dark eyes wanting. He slides his hands slowly along her sides.

His hands are distracting, and gentle, and teasing, and far, far too good at...whatever it is he is doing. Making her blush, if nothing else.

"You could help," she points out (voice husky and snakes hissing a soft undercurrent) once her hands have slid down his thighs.

"I could do," Sam agrees, his voice a murmur and his hands still moving over her skin. "But you're doing so well on your own."

His pants are now low enough to drop on their own, so she kisses him again. Deeply, passionately, with one hand around the back of his neck.

The other hand is trailing back up, claws ever-so-light against his skin.

Sam kisses her with just as much passion, and though it's just a little rough there's something completely adoring about his kiss too. He makes a soft, growling sound far back in his throat as her claws skate over her skin, hands neatly flicking down her panties to leave them pooling at her feet.

Damn, but she can't concentrate when he makes that sound. She kicks her underwear away somewhere over by her skirt, and pushes him towards the bed.

Still kissing him, of course, but Medusa can be very bossy when she puts her mind to it.

And Sam is totally complaining, except for how he really isn't.

(Light, he loves strong women.)

He steps carefully out of the clothes puddled at his feet as she pushes him towards the blankets, breaking the kiss only to let himself fall carefully backwards onto the bed. He tugs Medusa with him, on top of him, all the better to kiss her again.

This is easier. If nothing else, she can pin him down as her hands roam across his body, caressing and not-quite-scratching and teasing.

Sam shivers under her touch, making soft growling noises as his own hands returning the favour, stroking teasingly over her skin.

Medusa wriggles back slightly, just enough that she can push herself up into a sitting position. Well, straddling - straddling him - and her head just clears the rock above her (have to remember that).

Slowly, she trails her fingers down his chest and watches him, only just biting back a grin.

Sam moans under his breath and bucks against her, hands running down her sides and settling on her hips.

"Meda..."

"Hey, Lucifer," and her voice is almost-not-quite a purr. It's the laughter, really. She moves again, up and adjusting and there she slides him into her and she really can't help the gasp.

Sam laughs, but it's almost gasping, just a hint of another moan behind it as he rocks his hips against Medusa, his hands a little tighter on her hips.

...she is going to hit her head if she doesn't move, she manages to think. Move down, not...not like that. Next time his hips go back down, she lets herself forwards, just catching herself on her hands. There. She can't hit her head, once she works out this rhythm, she can kiss him again.

Clumsily, with a certain amount of laughter, but she can kiss him even as their hips move.

Sam laughs, too, laughs and moans her name as his hands move further up her body to support her, his thumb finding and running circles around one nipple.

He gets a moan in response, but she can't do anything back - not without falling against him and that'd mess up their movements and she really, really would like that to not happen. Instead, she hooks her claws into the rug to brace herself with a certain amount of 'damn, Lucifer'.

Sam croons her name, rocking his hips against hers, harder and quicker now, head tipped back against the quilts.

Harder, faster, and she can match him easily. It's not gentle, not slow, but right now it doesn't matter. It feels good, even if her breath is ragged enough that she can't say his name.

He can say hers, though, over and over, though it's not long before it doesn't sound much like her name any more, but it's need and want and love and more more more.

(And his hands on her hips, holding not quite tight enough to hurt.)

She can still kiss him, sometimes, kiss his throat and jaw, and the snakes flick their tongues against his skin. But as the pace speeds up and everything builds and builds, that happens less and less. Her concentration is elsewhere, and here and now and she is so-damn-close-

-- And Sam cries out, sharp and pure, and his fingers dig into her hips and then relax.

A moment later, Medusa echoes him; crying out and then slumping against him, breath rugged. She does, however, kiss him once she can.

Edited 2009-02-09 23:36 (UTC)

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