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A bead of his sweat dripped against her cheek, and his eyes were closed, and she made some sort of noise — his fingers were buried deep inside of her and maybe it was the spot they touched, or maybe it was the desperate desire to have him look at her, but they opened and Rose almost came right there.
He probably knew. Rose felt herself spasm around him for half a second before she managed to compose herself a little, and he swallowed thickly, the only sign that he even knew what just happened. The two fingers dug in and out, though — slow and hard and luxuriously.
"Ddd... ddnnghh... Dave..."
He was watching her, teasing her, she couldn't and didn't want to stop him. He would breathe a little harder just when she did, his mouth would hint at a smirk when she whined out syllables, and above all, he kept his eyes locked with hers and never let her look away.
She could die in that shade of apple, she thought. She wanted a kiss but knew better to ask.
Sex with Dave was all taking and no giving. Dave Strider got to choose whose clothes came off first, in what order, and where his mouth would be afterwards. Rose didn't have to be quiet, but she wasn't allowed to be loud — you know, unless today he was feeling a little ridiculous.
Rose really loved ridiculous. Ridiculous meant she was being fucked against a wall two seconds after he got in the door but god damn if he didn't pull her hair a little and groan against her ear and hold her right down onto every short, deep thrust, and ridiculous meant he'd sing the music playing in the background and every now and then say a word that made her heart go white and electric.
His thumb, lightly calloused from discs, touched her clit gently and tediously moved in circles, back and forth and back and forth. She tried gripping at his sheets but fumbled and couldn't, and gasped and blushed when instead of getting a good hold, she found his hand. Not accidently. He had reached for hers, she thought out of pity, because he was seeing her struggle to stay lucid, but this definitely wasn't helping and Dave Strider finally did snort as her smaller fingers held onto his as if she would die if she didn't. Rose's nails dug into his skin and he chuckled quietly and her throat got tight.
His fingers left her and she swore.
"N-no — back, please, p-put—"
"One hell of a vocabulary, Lalonde," purred Dave Strider, who casually licked the translucent juices off of his hand. "Try again for daddy."
Rose's whole expression fell, and she briefly considered telling him to fuck off, followed by shoving her tongue down his throat and finally ripping those stupid, delicious black skinny jeans off of his scrawny waist but she only heard herself saying, "Dave, if you would kindly continue finger-fucking my undeserving cunt, I would greatly appreciate it."
His tongue, infinitismally, licked his bottom lip.
"Eloquent," he said. He ran his hand through his hair and leaned down so close to her she stopped breathing. "What if I kissed you instead."
Rose kissed him with humiliating fervor, her shaking hands cupping his face as their tongues slid against each others'. His mouth tasted like her and heat and apple juice and she wanted to taste it forever, she wanted that on her in the most horrible ways, she wanted to make sure it never left her senses. Dave Strider was an unparalleled kisser. He was deft and subtle and drove you up the wall — he bit her bottom lip so softly and threw her back against the bed to taste her moaning into his mouth.
"Ssshhhh..."
He took his time to let his fingers trail down the pale, moonlit skin of her arm, to pinch her wrist when she tried to touch him, to drag his nails down her thigh ever so lightly and then back up again to her incredibly wet entrance. Dave regarded Rose's expression fondly before flicking a finger against her clit.
"Get busy. Ask nicely." The words were rough and sweet against her lips and she trembled needingly. "Talk, Lalonde, I know you love to."
And she knew just what to say.
"I would love to. I can talk about how every time I happen upon a sound, a mellifluous noise that happens to quench your undying thirst for pleasures only I could serve to you, your eyes flicker the barest hint shut, perhaps as if you're trying to savour the note. Truly, Strider, you are a musician at heart, and I would never blame you for enjoying such an exquisite quality of performance such as that which is exclusive to me."
Dave would've liked to say that while she said all of this, he nonchalantly slid every one of his fingers in and out of her, making her voice crack and get breathy as she recited. And he would've liked to tell you that he didn't go still as wax, his fingers only barely touching her thigh, his eyes locked onto hers unfalteringly, and Dave Strider would not have liked to tell you that when Rose talked like that, all of the blood in his body pulsated down — hard — and for just that second he felt very undeserving of the creature in front of him. They were so awfully similar sometimes; both were so smugly proud that sometimes it made the other doubt themself, but a challenge was a challenge, and they certainly would not say no to one as luscious as that.
Rose gave the most seductive, sugary smile he'd ever seen and she sat up, crawling onto his lap and taking his hands and putting them on her hips lightly. He squeezed them. Oh no, Dave was not still jostled by her siren's voice, no, he was just curious as to what she'd do, really. He let his breath come out slow and restrained as she pressed her supple breasts against his chest, her tongue faintly touching her bottom lip as she kissed him with her eyes open. He stared back at her, mouth watering a little, preparing to deepen the kiss, but was suddenly distracted by the sound of his belt clinking and sliding out of the loops. That was fast — a new personal record for her, surely.
The song changed in the background to a dubstep remix that was initially too peppy, but it started building up for the drop very quickly and he found his heart racing with vulgar anticipation, and Rose sighed and her mouth curved slightly, all cool and collected and holy fuck.
She had smeared her own fingers with her juices, and was now rubbing his completely solid erection with them slowly, up and down up and down twist, Dave felt his throat go very dry and he bucked up into the touch with immediate shame afterwards. Rose tutted and paused, using a hand to guide his fingers to her entrance; two fingers pressed in instantly and he was sure he was the only person on the planet who would recognize that aforementioned momentary flicker in her eyes that meant the pleasure had hit. Hard.
The bass dropped and god if he hadn't forgotten what that song could do to someone who was halfway to cumming, because his free hand suddenly clenched her thigh and he was certain it was a little painful for her by that unexpected gasp, but she breathed out with desire and he kept his cool. Complete poker face. All right, so she liked it. He could work with that. He would, in fact.
Rose seemed to be just daring him on, because she was now looking away boredly (he saw her eyes sideglance him, though, as if he wouldn't catch that) and Dave pressed his fingers in so hard he felt his hand cramp slightly, but it was worth it for the hiss and shudder she made. She was completely, utterly wet, to his complete and utter delight, and as he felt himself getting way too close for comfort, he stopped.
So did she, unsurprisingly, and her gaze narrowed with displeasure, but it turned into surprise when he scooped her up onto his lap and began grinding right against her. Rose had instantly scrambled to grab onto him, her hands clinging to his shirt and her arms shaking slightly, and he smirked. Good, back in control. It was never good when Rose thought she was getting ahead of him.
Rose didn't like that he was getting ahead of her, but was also confused and dizzy, and managed to bark out a very strangled, "Why aren't you fucking me?"
"Better things to do with my time, darlin'."
His voice was raw and rough and Rose laughed at the southern accent that just touched that last word and she didn't regret it when he tch'd and dug his thumbs into the soft spots under her hips. It tickled and hurt and felt like ecstasy. She muffled his name against his jaw, and Dave laughed back mockingly.
Her back was arching in a particular way that meant she was getting close, so he slowed down and grabbed her by the nape of her hair, leading her forehead to press against his. Their hair, sweaty and plastered to their skin, mixed, and her foggy, tourmaline eyes met his own, leaving a spark between them that he needed, needed, needed. They didn't like to talk about this afterwards, the fact that they both really got off on this personal staring contest when an orgasm was looming, and they would never admit it. For a second, he kissed her, never breaking the stare, and she whined a little bit, lips parted and swollen, and then he heard his name and the dirty, grinding beat of the song fade out and change.
"What the FUCK."
Rose smiled in the most sickening way, and made a sound in the back of her throat that sounded like purring. Oh, had she thrown her favourites from J.S. Bach on that playlist? Her bad. Maybe she'd write out a four page apology later. These thoughts were quickly silenced because Dave was snapping out some very cynical words against her temple and it vibrated in just the best way. Rose wouldn't complain, oh no, because he definitely wasn't stopping (his erection pressed against her and ground and his hipbones, sharp and sophisticated, were undeniably bruising her own, and she badly wanted him inside of her—)
"Dave."
She stressed his voice in her most deadly, dirty tone possible, and it worked. He stopped and she saw his eyes go half-lidded and he bared his teeth. She kissed him hard and smoothly, swiftly, crammed herself down on him.
"Rose."
Now she had never heard his voice get that sharp. His fingers tangled desperately in her hair and she was lost, all semblance of self-control out of window. She crushed her hips up and down on his with urgency, clinging to that building electric heat in her core, and Dave grunted and gasped and his breath was hot on her mouth and still they stared: cerise on sangria. The grating, violent chords from the violin piece (Ciaccona in D minor oh god oh fuck) was too much and finally there was a shrill, shaky scream from Rose and Dave's nails dug right into her neck and hip as he burst at the seams.
Nobody even blinked, but amidst that pefect shade of red she saw the entire fucking universe and Dave was really certain he could kill to keep her like this forever, right against him, Dave and Rose, Rose and Dave, all mixed up and together and perfect.
The blistering orgasm subsided very slowly, deliciously, and the long, luxurious kiss that followed was heavenly. Dave slowly tilted backwards until he was laying on the bed, cupping Rose's thighs and pulling her up onto him properly, before gently holding her face and kissing her jaw, her ear, the corner of her eye.
"You kiss by th' book, Strider," she murmured teasingly.
"Shut up." He stroked her hair.
"You say that as if I'm capable."
"Lalonde."
"Strider?"
"I like you." I love you.
Rose didn't have to say anything past her sly smile, and that was all.