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[ailerons]

[ Her nails catch and claw. His aren't far behind, an easy bend to something as simple as her annoyed exhale, minute and passing and still held as precious. Jake rears up just enough for distance, just enough to tug his henley over his shoulders, off, strewn aside, hard muscles pulling and rolling with the tension and release. Underneath, his body wears the distance more: the up-close view of harsher times, physicality wrought out of monotonous routine. The same fuzz of his chest hair, the same broad cut of his body — nothing anew, save a small, puncture-mark of a healed scar at his side. It's funny, the kind of things you end up owing. How much, how far, to who— ]

Fuck.

[ Inelegance and rip-roar need, pressed out between a hiss or a grunt or some other hungry noise. Undone, unspun, by the easy slip of her body against his. All those years, fought for with a blinding smile, and he unravels, for her. Jake shakes his head as if it'll clear it, the haze and bolt of all of it, even though her fingers strain into his hair and grip him tight. ] Yeah. Yeah, [ like he knows it. Like he's saying Yes. all over again, too pulled apart not to be honest. As if it's his first goddamn go around. Yes. I do. I do, I know, I know. In this frame, in this light, everyone plays for keeps.

Blunt pressure bears down. Inch by inch, slick and wet and messy and tight as his cock presses inside. Something about him stills even then, careful and sure, continuous and full until he's sunk to the hilt. He groans and resettles his weight, hitches a broad palm under her thigh to hook her knee over his shoulder. Partly folding her in half, chest to chest, forehead pressed to her temple. Deeper. Closer. The rasp of his cheek against the sticky swell of her mouth. His ring-banded hand, bruise-tight at her hip.

He doesn't move. Not immediately, not then. He stays inside her, spearing her open, swallowing both of their shudders in a kiss.

The flash of teeth in the stall of a shower. Her back slipping along the tile. It feels right even if it sits askew, and Jake's hips grind hopelessly, a shallow mimic of a thrust that's uncontrolled and desperate and raw. It spurs him into motion, the long drag back and the harsh thrust in, a brutal snap of his hips. Hoarsely murmurs, ]

You feel so fucking good.

[ He fucks her into the floor with a groan. Strong and heavy and the hard plane of his weight stretched out over her body, rhythm slow and sinuous and deep until the last, harsh jolt at every crest. ]

Gonna stay right here. [ His touch travels upward. From the curve of her hip and the flutter of her ribcage and up still, further, until he's braced over her with an elbow, fingers twisted clumsily into her hair. The green of his irises, blown into glitter-dust flecks, as he looks right at the woman he loves. ] You taking me like this. Fill you up as many times as you want it.

[haggle]

( when was the last time anyone called her good? the bigger question: when was the last time someone said it and meant it as more than a play? (the biggest question of all: when was the last time she didn't let them take from her anyway, let them call her sweetheart and baby while she closed her eyes and pretended they all felt the same, fucked the same, wanted her the same?) not like jake, who says you feel so fucking good like being inside of her again is goddamn biblical. looks straight into her, and suddenly ani exists as the sun at the center of his orbit, blotting everything else around her into black.

a soft palm cups his jaw, possessive against the grit of his stubble. presses herself in — breath to breath, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, too needy to share the scope of his attention with anything but her. she flutters, impossibly tighter, impossibly wetter. drips slow and filthy where he's buried deep, leaking past his cock to pool into the carpet beneath them, gone by how that word — good — burns, lights up her nerve-endings worse than any cherry-red cigarette sting pressed too long to the skin. it sounds obscenely slick when he fucks back into her, hungry punctuation on her need. )

Oh. Shit. ( a punch of surprise through her ribs, a ricocheting gasp that darts out of her swollen, kiss-bloomed mouth and crashes into his. typical fucking jake seresin still unlocking new secrets in the corners of her body, even the ones ani didn't know existed, a scavenger's hunt for what sparkles in the dark. a pull of her teeth nibbles her lip, eyes sliding to the thick stretch of him swallowed by the shine of her cunt — perfect proof he was real, he was here. another breath, huskier: ) You look so fucking good inside me.

( he always did infect her with that gorgeous greed of his. because it's not enough to be good; it's only enough if he forgets every other place he's been but her, always his last safehouse, always curled around the ghost of him in her bed. it's only enough if he fucks her like he's forgiving her for every time she forgot who she is — ani mikheeva, who fights and claws for everything. ani mikheeva, who forgot how to fight and claw for him, who wears the cost of giving up like a bruise on the inside of her ribs.

her nails score down his bicep, red lines like she's tallying every thrust, every day without him. her other ankle drapes on his shoulder, despite the vulnerability in the position — folded up beneath him completely, trusting him with all of her soft parts she's spent months armoring. it shifts him deeper on his next stroke forward, the tease of his absence — the chase of him slamming home like a rhythmic promise, right into that fucking sweet spot that's always made her thighs vibrate like a body straining against g-force: i told you i'll always come back.

ani whimpers, hot and open, into his mouth — high, gutted, sounds she's only ever made for him — strobe lights in her vision, clit sparking where the hard planes of him grind against her. meets him with a desperate tilt of her pelvis, in an answer: i've always been yours to come back to. )

Yeah. You're gonna take care of me. You promised. ( an old, unforgotten vow. she tilts her head, mouths at the muscle of his forearm where it brackets her. a demand that won't settle for less — until it shakes like the rest of her, reassurance she hates needing: ) You gonna come in me, baby? Make up for every fuckin' night you left me empty?