| Subject: This I Offer 18/20 - NC17 (long and smutty) |
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Athena4
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Date Posted: 18:32:14 03/11/02 Mon
In reply to:
Athena4
's message, "This I Offer" on 14:58:36 03/03/02 Sun
The night was a comfort. Given Section and its mission, it was rare for Madeline to be outside its confines long enough to truly enjoy the power of the night. Tonight, however, she stood on her balcony, watching the clouds of an incoming storm obscure the full moon.
As the wind picked up, she pulled her sweater more tightly around her body, her gaze never faltering from the pull of the moon. Beneath its light, everything seemed so insignificant. So simple.
The soft squeak of the door behind her heralded his arrival, and she waited patiently for his warmth to envelop her, for the strength of his arms clasped before her. She didn’t have to wait long.
“There’s a storm brewing. Come inside,” he said quietly, his breath warm in her ear.
“I’m not ready to give in,” she replied, just as softly.
The wind had picked up once more, and Paul tightened his arms around her, bringing his head down to rest by her cheek. “Then we won’t.”
“He’s dead, you know.” It was a statement, not a question. By now, Madeline knew, the rumours and truths had spread throughout One. Ryker was dead, against Adrian’s orders, and Madeline was being reassigned to Substation Five, a hot zone for terrorist activity, and a virtual death trap for the under-trained.
It wasn’t that Madeline doubted her ability to survive at the substation. She knew that if anyone could, it was she. What had brought her out onto her balcony, to fight the storm, was her belief that she deserved her punishment – that she had reacted in anger and shame and had cost Section an important ally.
It was unacceptable. She’d needed closure, and she’d behaved irrationally.
Substation Five would clear her mind.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, turning her around to face him. He believed in her, even if she didn’t.
“I’m not so sure. He was going to talk.”
“He was going to tell lies. He was a pervert, Madeline. Section is better off without him.” The sky had darkened perceptibly as they spoke, the moon now completely obscured by the dense clouds.
“Shades of grey, Paul. Adrian thought he could help us. I’m not sure anymore than she was wrong. I reacted emotionally, I let the Boys have their way with him. I knew this could happen.”
“And so did Adrian. Even Francis could have killed him.”
“But Francis didn’t. I did.” Rain was falling heavily from the darkened sky, soaking them thoroughly. Neither moved, Paul’s hands holding Madeline as though he wanted to shake her.
“Madeline, you didn’t kill him. He had a pre-existing heart condition. George’s goons should have tested for it before they started.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I do understand. You think you need to be punished for reacting emotionally. But Madeline, I was there. He wasn’t going to respond to other means.”
“You were there?” It was getting colder, the wind whipping rain at them from all directions, the sky rumbling with thunder.
“I was in the observation room.”
Madeline shook her head. He seemed so certain she shouldn’t blame herself, but how could he know what she’d been putting herself though; how much Ryker’s slur had hurt her, how much it had hit home. “It doesn’t matter. I’m off to Substation Five in two days. Nothing is going to change that.”
“No.” Paul paused, squeezing her arms gently. “But I would feel better if I knew you weren’t looking for trouble while you were up there.”
She smiled weakly, blinking her eyes against the rain. “I can’t promise anything.”
“Promise me you’ll be careful?”
She nodded, her smile stronger this time, and he dropped his arms, reaching out instead to take her hand.
“You’re freezing,” he said, tugging her towards the door. “And so am I. Let’s go inside.”
They shed their wet shoes and jackets as they entered, shutting the door tightly against the wind and the rain. It pounded on the windows behind them, flashes of lightning the only illumination in the room.
“Why don’t you take a hot shower?” Paul said, pushing her gently towards the bathroom. “I’ll get the lights, and make us some tea.”
Turning on the taps in the bathtub, Madeline slipped out of her sodden clothing piece by piece, kicking them to the corner of the room as she did so. As the room began to fill with steam, she sighed deeply, realising once again just how much her life was about to change.
Her assignment to the substation meant living on base, with the barest of necessities, and very little comfort. Not that her life now was easy, but she would miss the familiarity of her apartment, and the warmth she had tried to create there. And she would miss Paul.
Stepping into the spray of the shower, she smiled slightly and shook her head. She shouldn’t really be surprised by the way things had turned out. Whenever she had made a major decision in her life, something had thrown a wrench into it. And being separated from Paul now, when she’d finally resolved that she wanted him, fit with that pattern perfectly.
A burst of cool air brought Madeline out of her reverie, and she turned to find Paul, pulling the curtain shut behind him. “I- I thought you were making tea,” she attempted, her voice catching in her throat as she took in his naked form.
“The tea can wait,” he replied, pressing forward to join her under the spray. She jumped as his hands cradled her hips, pushing her backwards until she was pinned against the wall, the spray assaulting his chest.
“Your hands are cold!”
“I know,” he grinned, releasing her hips to plant his hand on the wall behind them. He leaned in to kiss her fiercely, steadying her with one hand on the small of her back.
Unconsciously, she brought her own hands up to brush his hips. He quivered and tensed at her touch, his hand tightening at her hip, his eyes clouding with desire. “Paul…” Madeline began, her voice catching in throat, her gaze dropping momentarily downwards. She recalled the last time they’d been in this position, and dropped her hands, trying, but failing, to increase the distance between them. His hand remained tight on her hip, his gaze fixed on her eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this…I –”
“I’m positive.” She felt his hand skim past her buttocks as he shut off the shower, the final drops missing their bodies as Paul pulled her into his arms. “But we’re going to do this right,” he smiled, pushing back the curtain. His mouth found hers again as he lifted her carefully out of the tub, depositing her on the mat at its base.
“There are towels on the sink,” he smiled, climbing out after her into the steamy bathroom.
“Thought of everything, did you?” she replied, tossing him one of the bathsheets.
“No,” he grinned. “Just towels.”
Wrapping his own around his hips, Paul quickly made a grab for hers, succeeding in wresting it out of her grasp even as she tried to dry herself. “Turn around,” he said, gesturing for her to turn her back to him. “Let me do that.”
She turned, and almost immediately felt his touch on her skin. He worked the towel in slow circles across her arms and shoulders, massaging even as his touch caressed her. She closed her eyes as the sensation continued, her skin heating slightly with every touch. The towel, and his hands, slid lower, resting at her hips before moving inward.
A small moan escaped lips her as one of his hands slipped down between her legs, the rough texture of the towel and the pressure of his hand driving her up on her toes in surprise. His other hand fondled and dried her buttocks before meeting the first between her thighs, bringing the towel down to stroke her legs.
“Paul…” she said softly, her hands clenched tightly on the basin in front of her. She kept her eyes closed, but she knew he had heard her, because he paused in his exploration, the towel stopping mid-calf before continuing.
“Turn,” was his only reply, and she obeyed, bracing her hands behind her on the basin. His touch beneath the towel deepened into a gentle massage as he reached the front of her thighs, and he paused for a moment, teasing, before sliding his hand between them. Out of reflex, she moaned again and bucked towards him, but his hand on her belly steadied her, keeping her pleasure under his control.
Releasing the pressure, he stood, allowing the towel to brush roughly along her belly as he did so. “I think we’re even now,” she gasped softly, the recollection of his own discomfort during her attempted seduction forming a hazy picture in her mind.
“Not hardly,” he chuckled, and she felt the pressure of his hands, and the towel, on her shoulders, rubbing in soft circles. “But we’ll deal with that later…”
Madeline felt the towel drop to the floor at her feet, but Paul’s hands continued his previous actions, travelling downwards until his fingertips traced circles around her nipples. “I don’t think we need that anymore,” he whispered, cupping her breasts in his hands. He massaged her nipples softly between two fingers, steadily increasing pressure until she once again moaned with pleasure.
His fingers and hands continued to knead her breasts as his mouth captured hers in a searing kiss, each sensation, each touch, intensifying the other to the point of euphoria.
“Paul…” she moaned again, her knees beginning to waver under the onslaught. As though sensing her weakness, Paul lifted her into his arms, carrying her easily from the bathroom, into the adjoining bedroom, his own towel falling, forgotten, to the floor.
As he laid her on the bed, a crash of thunder rattled the windows, startling them both. “The gods are angry,” Paul smiled, running a hand down between her breasts and across her stomach, his fingernails grazing her skin.
Writhing beneath him, she pulled herself up from the pillows, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him down atop her. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” she mumbled, her lips meeting his passionately. “And probably won’t be the last…”
Another clap of thunder, louder this time, sounded as if in answer, and Paul chuckled, returning her kiss with equal fervour. “Ever the optimist,” he grinned, pulling himself further onto the bed to lie next to her.
Their lips met once again, and Madeline allowed her hands to wander, stroking downwards along Paul’s back until they came to rest on, and fondle, his buttocks. Then, in one swift, methodical movement, she was above him, straddling his hips, her hands planted firmly on either side of his torso.
From her new position, she could watch his reactions, could see his erection twitch as she stroked his chest, could feel his breathing become more ragged as she inched forward onto its base. It was a position of power; it was the position she preferred.
Paul was watching her warily, his body tense beneath her, his fists beginning to clench at his sides. It wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting. Bringing her hands up from the bed, she slid them across his chest, her nails grazing the sensitive flesh below his abdomen.
He shuddered beneath her, and then his own hands were moving, one grasping both of her wrists, while the other pushed him into a sitting position. Startled, she slid off him, struggling to read his expression as she caught her breath. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, concerned. When he didn’t answer, she crawled forward, eyeing the flesh she’d been touching before he’d grabbed her.
“No.” He seemed to be catching his breath too, but also struggling with something, as if trying to find the correct words. Maybe Section had done something to him – maybe he couldn’t….No. Everything appeared functional.
“I don’t understand, then,” she said, stroking the flesh along his hip with the back of her hand. He quivered. “You seemed quite willing…”
“Oh, I am,” he said, a little too eagerly, then shook his head as if pushing aside a thought. Leaning forward, he touched her thigh. “You didn’t see it, did you? You didn’t see what just happened?”
“You grabbed my arm, I was startled.”
“No, before that,” he said. Madeline shook her head, her confusion mounting. “Let me put this another way. What were you thinking, just a minute ago, when you were straddling me?”
“That I was in the perfect position, that I could sense your breathing. I could touch you in all the right places to direct your reactions.”
“That’s it,” he said. “Right there.”
“What? That I was touching you?” Madeline’s mind was spinning. This wasn’t making any sense. He either wanted her, or he didn’t – why were they talking about it? He’d said, twice, that he wanted her, wanted this – but maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe he’d changed his mind.
Looking up, Madeline met his eyes. She could see the passion there, the love. He hadn’t changed his mind, but something else was wrong. Something she couldn’t anticipate, couldn’t deal with until he spelled it out for her. Perhaps it was some kind of weird fetish -- he didn’t want to be touched in certain ways, on certain parts of his body. It wouldn’t be the first fetish she’d catered to, for Section or for herself, but it was certainly surprising. Section tolerated such things only so long as they didn’t interfere with missions and this…would definitely interfere.
No, she thought, watching his reaction as her hand came around to caress his thigh. His eyes clouded with desire, and he shut them, seemingly to regain control. He definitely enjoyed her touch.
Releasing his thigh, she waited for his eyes to open, then pressed further. “You don’t want me to touch you? Is that it?”
“Of course I want you to touch me,” he sighed. “Your touch drives me mad. “ Madeline moved to speak, but he raised a hand to forestall her. “Let me finish. I want you to touch me. But I want you to do it because it gives you pleasure, not just because you know it will give me pleasure. I want it to be instinct, not method.”
“Instinct,” she repeated, unconvinced. He was asking too much. “We’re both well trained Valentine Operatives, Paul. I don’t know what instinct is anymore. I don’t know that I ever did.” She paused, swallowing the emotions and memories that that realisation brought up.
“I know the difference,” he replied, reaching out to take her hand. “And I think, deep down, you do too. And what I saw in your eyes wasn’t instinct. It was technique.”
“We’ve both been trained to give pleasure. How can that be a bad thing?”
“I don’t know if I can make you understand. I love you, Madeline. And your actions, and your words, tell me that you love me too. Am I right?”
Yes. She’d been caught off guard before, and now, she found she couldn’t say the words aloud. Turning away, she tightened her grip on his hand. Apparently, it was enough of a response.
“All right. Well, that’s why I stopped you – now, and in my quarters all those months ago. We can have sex, and I’m quite certain it would be pleasurable.” He paused, smiling, and turned her chin towards him. “But, sex isn’t just about pleasure – not when love is involved. That’s where instinct comes in. That’s what makes it special – deeper. “
Deeper again. There is nothing deeper. Her words from so long ago came back to haunt her once more. She knew about sex – she’d been initiated into its rituals much earlier than she would have liked. There was nothing beyond the method. You touched, were touched, and responded to those feelings. It was chemical, physical – not emotional.
Suddenly, she froze, turning towards him defensively. It always came back to the same thing. He was asking her to lose control. “You’re asking me to give in to you. This is about control.”
“In a way, it is about control,” Paul said softly, squeezing her hand tighter as she tried to pull it away. “ But I’m not asking you to give in to me. I know how that hurts you.” He paused again, meeting her eye. “I’m asking you to give in to instinct. Let go of what you know to be true…and feel your way.”
She’d been wrong before. All those months ago, she’d been so sure there was nothing deeper than her surface feelings. But they’d talked and fought, and he’d been right all along. There was something deeper, and with each passing month, she understood more. And now he was asking her again. Asking for her trust, asking her to look within herself. Perhaps he was right this time as well?
“I’m not sure I can,” she whispered.
“Then let me make love to you,” he said softly. “Let me show you how instinct feels.”
She nodded tentatively, and he reached out to her, closing the distance between them. Closing her eyes, she allowed him to lay her back on the pillows, feeling the warmth of his hands as they massaged her arms carefully. “Technique is part of it,” he said gently, positioning himself next to her, his hip touching hers. Her skin began to tingle where their bodies met: a shiver of heat from her hip to her groin, a wave of warmth where his hands caressed her body.
“But there’s more than that,” he continued softly. “Technique will only get you so far.”
The heat of his hands left a trail down her arms and across her torso, the steady pressure of his fingertips dragging like claws across her skin. Then it was gone. Eyelids fluttering, she shifted beside him, seeking out the warmth of his hands, the steady sensitising presence of his fingers on her flesh.
Then it returned, upwards this time, towards her breasts, and she sighed deeply, resting herself against the pillows again, allowing him to grasp and fondle, her nipples hardening under his ministrations. “Method will bring a person to orgasm,” he began again, and his attention to her breasts increased. His hands cupped them, massaging and stroking, fingering her stiffened nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “But, a lover, someone who truly loves you, can bring something more.” He paused, and for a moment, she felt his breath along her shoulder blade, heard his breathing in her ear.
His hands had moved again, their pleasant heat moving down over her hips, but his face remained by hers, his breathing steady in her ear. “The kind of pleasure that will bring you to the edge…” Madeline fought, and failed, to stifle a moan as he took one of her breasts in his mouth, sucking softly at first, then increasing the intensity. She arched her back towards him, her hips stationary on the bed only because he held them there.
She moaned again as he released it, this time an almost anguished plea, then opened her eyes, meeting his with a fierce gaze. “Bastard,” she gasped softly, unable to keep the desire from her voice, nor the smile from her face. The man was maddening. She craved his touch, wanted to feel his mouth on her. But it wasn’t as it had been with Ryker. It wasn’t a desperate need; it was a need to be connected, not to be lost. She would never be lost with Paul.
As if sensing her thoughts, he tongued her nipple roughly as he slid away from her breasts, forcing her once more to squirm beneath him. Reaching forwards, she gripped his shoulders, closing her eyes as the warmth of his breath reached her stomach. Then, as her breathing slowed, he began speaking again, completing the thought he had begun several minutes before. “….But not quite take you over the precipice…”
His hands massaged her thighs and calves, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along her hip and stomach. She sighed, her breathing deepening again, as each touch of his lips became a centre of heat.
She’d never felt like this before. So dependent on someone’s touch. So powerless, and yet so unwilling to return power to herself. She hadn’t wanted, hadn’t allowed herself, to be the centre of anyone’s attention in eight years, not without some degree of control falling into her hands. But now she wavered. She was entranced by Paul’s touch, by his kiss - by his gentleness.
“A lover knows what will make you beg, ” he continued, one hand sliding between her thighs, one finger sliding gently along her folds. Madeline’s breath caught, and she bit her lip, forcing back the moan, the pleading moan, that threatened to escape her. “Can make you beg,” he whispered, his breath on her thighs sending shivers up her spine. His finger slipped deeper, and she did moan, forcing herself upwards against his hand. “All without making you lose yourself,” he finished, pressing his fingers still deeper.
Her mind, even clouded as it was, grasped that one thought, and held to it. He was right. She was in his power, but not lost. The question of control – to the degree she was used to – did not exist. She gave herself to him, as he would to her. It was trust, pure in its simplicity. She felt safe in his arms – safe enough to give herself over.
She squirmed beneath him, arching her back and pressing her body against his, forcing his fingers deep within her. Cruelly, he removed them, causing her to moan at their loss, writhing in anguish beneath him. Lifting his head, his shifted his body above hers, kissing her gently. Slowly, he shifted backwards from where he sat, his hands clasped at her waist, until the tip of his erection slid easily between her folds. She gasped as he rubbed himself against her, her hands gripping his thighs in a vain attempt to pull him forward and inside her.
“Paul,” she moaned, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. Dropping her hands to the bed, she clenched at the covers as he shifted his body against hers, his manhood pressing deeper, his body heavy over hers. A low moan escaped her throat as his first thrust came, and Madeline felt her entire body shudder beneath his as a wave of pleasure came over her.
It had never been like this before. Passion and lust had always guided her – an animal hunger that had her craving release. But instead, each stroke was like a caress, a gentle touch that sent warmth radiating throughout her body.
It was pure instinct.
After a moment, he fell into a steady rhythm above her, and she responded in turn, arching her hips to meet his, her legs wrapped around him, deepening each thrust. Every movement was agonising, every touch electrifying. Her breathing became more ragged, a tingle in her abdomen signalling oncoming orgasm, and she tightened her legs around him, drawing him still further inside her, the friction of skin against skin only adding to the physical sensation.
She felt him shudder against her, his breathing coming in rough gasps as he reached his own climax. Reaching upwards, she allowed her fingers to trace the lines of tension that marred his features. He was struggling to hold on, battling to hold his tempo until she came; ensuring, unlike the men she’d been with before, that her gratification equalled his. The realisation almost sent her over the edge, the emotion hitting her deeper than physical pleasure ever could.
Touching his cheek gently, she smiled. “It’s all right,” she gasped softly, the final word caught in her throat as a wave of pleasure took her again. When her mind cleared, she continued, clenching her muscles around his cock. It was her turn to give. “Thank you...”
Paul came with an audible gasp, his motion quickening, his body tensing against hers. The tension left his face, replaced by a relaxed pleasure that drove Madeline over the precipice. Moaning, she arched towards him, gyrating her hips against him, allowing her own orgasm to follow quickly on top of his.
Their breathing slowed and Madeline loosened her legs from across his buttocks, allowing him to roll off her, placing his body next to hers. She shifted to lie against him, his arm curled around her shoulder, her leg draped across his. They remained that way for several long moments, neither speaking, each slowing regaining their equilibrium.
His hand stroked the small of her back, and she returned the touch, her hand sliding along his chest in a gentle caress. Closing her eyes, she marvelled at the feeling of safety the warmth of his arms provided. She’d sensed it months ago, the first time she’d awoken in his arms, but it was only now that she realised its power over her.
She’d never thought it was possible to feel this safe.
His arm tightened across her back, his hand seeking hers to entwine their fingers. “I love you,” he said softly, and she squeezed his hand in return, a lump rising in her throat. She loved him too. She could no longer deny it. But somehow, the words seemed to fail her. She started to slip away, but he held her fast. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, kissing her head. “Someday you’ll say it.”
She squeezed his hand again, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. Someday. With her tenure at Substation Five looming above them, someday could be a long way off. Or it could never come at all.
Sighing deeply, she pushed aside the thought, refusing to let her worries interfere. Laying her head across his chest, she felt his heart beat against her cheek, its steady rhythm lulling her towards sleep.
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