[ He kisses her back with a growl, and then pulls her into another one as soon as the words are out of her mouth, deepening it immediately. Charles works his hips up again, thrusting slowly to feel his cock sliding in and out of her dripping pussy as his tongue slips into her mouth.
Yes. He'd give anything to watch her hunt these trespassers, on her own turf, in her own tiger skin. Sometimes he still forgets that she's not like every other ruler he's known, preferring to send messengers in their place - either for the sake of intimidation or protection.
Which, to be fair, does make a solid point. ]
What if they aren't here for me?
[ He drags his hands up her back and into her hair, pushing it away from her face, still grinding into her from below. ]
If they did come here to hunt tigers, they might not be easy prey. And they can't have you either, tigress.
[She's been caught once. In fairness, she shouldn't have been, it was sloppiness on her part and it ended with her being put in a cage. She presses down against him, tightening her cunt as much as she can, to get his cock in a grip. She bites a little at his mouth.]
I'd be almost sorry for them, if they caught me, and if they hurt me.
[Charles is not the kind of man who takes it lightly, a threat to the small security and family he has. She thinks he'd be magnificent with his own children, feral and absolutely unhinged about them.
It's why she loves him like she does. Another part of herself, trapped under all that beautiful skin.
She huffs, and reaches to tug his shirt up, trapping him in it for a moment, and then just shredding it under her fingers, her mouth going to his shoulder and teasing up a mark there.]
[ His eyes go bright with lust when she rips his shirt apart, dropping both hands to her ass with a groan so that he can squeeze and pull her down onto his cock. Each of them has seen firsthand what the other can do to their enemies; the ferocity they show in defense of each other is even more vicious. But Charles has never had to rise to Daphne's defense that way. She can fight her own battles.
If something put him in a position where she needed him to protect her, then they'd really call him a monster. ]
I would send their heads home to their families.
[ Seems to him a fair trade, if they came here to hunt hers. Charles groans again, throwing his head back for her mouth, keeping the pace of his thrusts steady to really take in how fucking good she feels. ]
[She echoes his tone as she raises her head just enough that her mouth rasps over his skin as she speaks, and she pushes her hips down and moves her hands over his chest, over the old brand there, her fingers tracing the lines.
He never let her touch it, once. Before he loved her, when they were just two wild things smashing into each other like storms. But now she takes a moment to trace the shape, to run her thumb over the line and then to lean down and kiss him again.
They were both captured once.
She rocks down on him, and takes a heavy breath.]
I missed your mouth, your cock, your skin, the way you smell like the sea-
[She shudders, a full body pulse.]
The way you look at me like there’s nothing else in the world.
[She pushes him down, then, her hands on his shoulders, and she starts to really move, faster, making a show of it as she tosses her head back so he can see the long line of her body, her breasts high and on display for him.]
[ Sometimes when she rides him like this, he takes the opportunity just to lie back and watch her, because it's a privilege no one else is allowed. He does it now, sinking back to the furs, only moving when she needs him to and in short caresses along her waist.
There is nothing else in the world. She saved him from the noose in Nassau, and from that moment on he was dead to his old world and reborn in the one she rules, with her people and her kin and her land. She willingly tied her fate to his, and he won't undo that knot for anything now.
The more intense it feels to him, the more he loses the words to describe it, but it's written across his face in the way he stares at her like a starving man, as she touches him with absolute familiarity, as she rides his cock with the increasingly wild abandon of a woman who is secure in her claim.
God, she's so fucking beautiful.
Panting heavily now, he runs one rough hand up her stomach, between her breasts, just enough to touch them, more to feel her heartbeat underneath his palm. ]
[Her heart is beating hard against his hand, as she tosses her hair back and her mouth opens. She presses one hand against that hand, right against her chest, and then the other stays down to give her some leverage.
She wants to ride him until she's gone, until she comes again and he's in her senses and her blood, until all that he can sense is him, him, him.
Her cunt pulses, again, and she rocks down, and tugs his hand over one of her breasts and pinching.]
I want you to come inside of me before-
[She breathes it.]
And then lick it out of me, and get me off, my lion.
[ His snarl is an eager agreement, and he starts to thrust up into her again like he's been given permission to do it, letting the world melt away from her exactly like she said, until she's the only thing left.
His fingers tug roughly at her nipple, and his other hand slides up her waist to mold the other, and he squeezes her breasts as he fucks her harder from below. It's the exquisite wet heat of her pussy doing most of the work, really, but she just feels too fucking good, and he's drunk on her again, the relief of being home and in her arms, getting to touch her the way he's dreamed about and fuck her properly. Jade cocks wouldn't be enough to tide over a woman like her. ]
Tell me again-- [ because he is not a man to deny or be ashamed of his wants ] --how much you missed my cock.
[ He's already getting close - he can feel it coming up on him, spiked by the delicious peak of her nipples, making him grunt through his teeth as he bucks his hips and grinds himself inside her. ]
[His snarl is a jolt that goes straight the center of her, and she leans against his hands, pressing her breasts down against him. Her breath catches, and she has to focus, to think for a moment. He's filling all her senses, the smell of sex thick in this tiny room, the feeling of him. She missed him, not just for his cock, for the glorious feel of sex, but for waking up with his smile against her shoulder, the way he tucks her against him.
She doesn't ever feel unsafe, but it's incredible how safe he makes her.
But his cock is excellent. Fat and thick inside of her, tucked up in her like they were built for each other, lighting her up.]
You've ruined me-
[She takes a breath, and grinds down against him.]
Your cock ruined me for anyone else, I think I cursed the ocean for having you while I was trying to keep myself happy with three fingers-
[She'll let him play with that image, and shakes her head.]
[ The sound he makes is wild with pure lust, when she gives him exactly what he wanted.
Charles wraps his arms around her back, and leans up just as he pulls her down so that he can hungrily suck one nipple into his mouth. He holds her there, with the perfect leverage to keep fucking her as she keeps riding him, his mouth working over her tit like he's ravenous.
No marks this time. He just wants her to feel the thrum of his groan through her nipple when he finally thrusts up hard and comes, making sure to pull her down snugly against his hips to make sure she feels the heat of his body against her clit.
It leaves him fucking dazed, dizzy with pleasure and release. But before he lets himself settle, he twists them both, and all but throws her down to the furs again. It's torture to pull away from her. But in moments, his head is between her thighs, his mouth against her pussy, tongue working into her to clean out his own come, like she told him to do. ]
[There is that mix of feeling again. She feels him come inside her, feels the lust and the passion in the way he growls and tosses her like she’s a rag doll. No one else treats her this way, no one would dare. She’s had other lovers, men who did as they were bid or women she could dominate entirely, but she’s never had anyone else who challenged her. Who threw her, who moved her body like it was just an extension of his own.
Maybe that’s why she kept such an interest on him.
It’s his beard the does it, the roughness where he hasn’t shaved in a few days brushing on the smooth, sensitive skin of her thighs. She arches up, her fingers in the thick furs, her thighs clamping against his head as she screams at the first touch of his tongue on her. She’s wet and messy and hot.]
Please, lion, please, please.
[Its gibberish, soon, her pleas falling in and out of accented English and desperate panting.]
[ Perhaps if he knew another way to be well enough, he might have become one of her obedient boys, and maybe she never would have cared for him as much. But it's as much in his nature to demand control as it is in hers, and from the start he thought nothing of demanding it from her as well. And she allowed him to do it. Because they both learned the value of a push and pull, of sometimes stepping back to let other, capable hands take the lead.
This is one of those times when he demands because he can't not, and the way he licks his own come out of her radiantly hot pussy is his form of obedience, because if it was up to him he'd keep everything inside her, fill her up with it and leave it like some kind of banner with his name on it. Charles Vane was here.
Every raw mark on his body from her claws and teeth says the same thing about her.
He adds his fingers to the work his tongue is doing, two fingers rolling her clit as his tongue keeps licking her out. He may not have a cat tongue to offer, but that doesn't mean he can't get her clean. ]
[She bucks against him, pressing her cunt against his face. Between the knowledge that he's doing as he's told and the snarl of his beard over her tender skin, along with his fingers, the memory of his dick in her just moments ago, the smell-
It's a wonder she lasts even long enough to scream his name, her eyes closing tight as she comes, her hips dropping down against the furs and her body loosening. She takes a ragged breath and reaches for him, to take his hand, his arm, anything to pull him up against her. She wants a kiss.]
Hold me?
[She asks as if he might say no. It takes a lot to make her vulnerable like that.]
[ He grabs her hip for the leverage to keep his face right where it is as she thrusts her spasming cunt against his face, but when she sinks back, he lets her go. One rugged cheek is just touching her thigh when he feels her hands grasping at him, and Charles lifts his head, pushes himself up, leaves a trail of worshipful kisses up the length of her body.
He kisses her, when he reaches her mouth, letting her taste herself mixed with himself on his tongue, and he draws her into his arms as he stretches out beside her. He'd never say no to this. She's vulnerable because she knows that so well.
[She watches him, her eyes dark as he kisses his way up her body, and then kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. He tastes like everything between them, and even with the two orgasms it sends heat pulsing down her body.
She's ignores that pulse to come in closer, tangling her legs around his and tucking herself close.]
I love you.
[She says it simply, as simply as she can manage it. She didn't say it, for so long, unsure of what she felt, and secretive. She almost never says it now, although he knows, of course he knows. She's not subtle; it's in how she turns her body his way, how she is always aware of where he is in a room when he's near, how her face lights up when she sees him. How much she loves to touch him.
But she doesn't say it. When they meet, after months. Before they say goodbye, when he leaves her in their bed to go to sea. That's it. Too much and it loses power, maybe. Or, worse; too much and it suggests something else.
[ He strokes her like a cat as they lie together, fingers in her hair that knead the back of her neck and trail down her spine, lingering in the spot where he's watched her sprout a tail from nowhere more times than he can now count.
They're both protective of those three words, and even now he doesn't say them back, because they're more than just a call-and-response. Like sharing the most precious gifts he choose for her out of every haul he brings back, they exchange the words out loud like gemstones, precious and finite.
But every action shows it anyway. ]
A gift?
[ Making her come twice before he's even gotten to shore is the gift as far as he's concerned. But this is interesting. ]
[She looks up at him, and reaches for her dress, hooks a finger on something in the waistband, and tugs. There's a little bag, and inside is a necklace made of thick knotted leather. She's not the only one who likes jewelry, and he likes pieces that are broad and loud.
This one comes with something extra.
At the end is a gold-capped claw, thick and the size of a blade, the end wickedly sharp.]
Here.
[She says it.]
It's mine. I pulled it out for you.
[It heals and is back, but that doesn't mean it wasn't a painful affair.]
[ If he wasn't so tangled up with her, it would have made him sit straight up, being handed this necklace with its unmistakable charm attached.
Charles takes it from her, holding it up by the leather thong to help it catch the faint light, just enough to make the gold gleam. It's viciously curved, and sharp as hell; he knows without a doubt that he could kill a man with this, if it came to it. ]
You ripped off a piece of yourself... [ He glances at her, eyebrow raised. ] ...just to give it to me?
[ Another lover might have gasped or cried or begged her not to hurt herself like that for his sake. But Charles isn't the type to worry about what's already been done, or what other people choose to do with their own bodies. He just looks at her with a kind of greedy awe, like he's amazed by her and it just makes him want her more, even while the heat only simmers.
He loops the leather over his neck, and settles the claw against his bare chest. And then he pulls her into a deep kiss. ]
[She knew that he wouldn't gasp or cry or beg. She knew that he would understand that ultimately, the pain was part of it, that it was her body and she would do what she wanted with it, including tearing a piece out for him.]
I did.
[She says it after he kisses her, her hand curved over the curve of his jaw. She leans over, and kisses his shoulder, his throat, soft and careful, and then the spot right at his clavicle. She stays there a while, quiet, her hands on his skin, pressing her mouth against him, nipping a bit, just for a small touch of pain.
She speaks again.]
I can take you again, now, or I can make it worth your while if you come ashore with me.
[ It really is. He keeps his hand in her hair, stroking the side of her face with his thumb, very aware of the tiger claw now resting over his heart. It feels like good luck. ]
But I'm ready to have solid ground under me, and something to eat that wasn't boiled in a fucking pot.
[ Let her be the queen again. This has been a long separation, and he's ready to turn control over to her. Let her be responsible for these men and their appetites for a while; her authority is solid enough to blunt their edges, and then he'll take them back to the sea and whet them to killing sharpness all over again.
Charles kisses her again, slowly sitting up with her so that the untangling can be the last thing that happens. Eventually he has to let go, with a satisfied sort of purr. ]
Oh, I'll have to tell the cook that his plan of boiled vegetables in salt water isn't a good idea.
[She's teasing; there's an entire roast goat, well-seasoned and spicy, and rice, and curried vegetables and other tender dishes. They didn't know he was going to be home until the sails set up, but it's been hours since then and the cook knows his business.
She tugs her hair back up as she stretches out, and reaches for her choli to slip it back one. There's the sweet ache of being well fucked that practically sings over her body.
When she gets up, there are wet streaks in her skirts, and she barks a laugh. She reaches for the shredded shirt and runs it between her legs to dry some of that, and then fusses over the silk.]
I hope you brought silk with you, you've ruined another one.
[Going ashore means coming home, in a way; they spend a glorious day getting reacquainted with one another, another day for Charles to have a real bath (that she interrupts) and to sleep in a bed that doesn't tilt (that she also interrupts).
And then the hunt starts; Daphne shifts, and Charles has his hunting party. Her jungle is sacrosanct for a reason; there's plenty of good game in it, but it's not for anyone who isn't hers. They keep it wild.
Finding the Portuguese isn't difficult, but it's only an hour in before things go pear-shaped. Daphne gets split up from the rest of the group, and while she can take care of herself, there are things even she can't come up against.
They have an elephant.
She could kill an elephant, but it's hard, and she doesn't like to do it. The Portuguese men were ready for a tiger too smart to be just a tiger.
She should have brought backup, another shifter, but tigers are solitary by nature and it starts to look strange when they're in a team. She wanted this to look as normal as possible; she wanted them to fear men, not supernatural beasts.
But she didn't.
There are shots in the depths of the jungle; there is the trumpet of an elephant in terror, there's her roar, cutting the silence. There's sound of shots, and men dying, and men trying to kill, and the death of an elephant, the crash of it.
When Charles' scout finds her, she's holed herself up in a shaded patch of forest. The wounds - bullets, a knife stuck in her shoulder making her unable to move a paw - have overwhelmed her healing abilities. There's a dead elephant and a man stuck under it, yelling for help.
When Charles shows up, the man is still alive, and Daphne is panting with pain, surrounded by mostly dead men, blood on her paws and her muzzle.]
Daphne's people were hesitant to accept him, which suited him just fine because he didn't come here to make friends - he came to be with Daphne, who pulled him from the grave a second time. They weren't his enemies, but they weren't his people, either. He's still not sure he'd call them that, as such, because in some ways he'll always be an outsider here, even though their queen is wilder than he is.
But they've accepted him, and that will always be something. What a fucking thrill that is, to be welcomed in among the tigers and their kin.
It's certainly helped that he's never disguised his own ferocity from them, and on that count the tigers are his only rivals. Daphne has his full attention well into his first night back among the luxurious cushions and open gardens of her villa, but the light of morning swiftly draws his mind back to the Portuguese hunters in the jungle.
If the party was smaller - if they didn't have a fucking elephant - maybe he and Daphne would have gone together, just the two of them, taken the party apart one by one. Instead he brings his best ambush fighters with him, their clothes dark and skin painted to blend with the leaves and vines and shadows. And in the end, it's the elephant that proves their worst mistake; when combat erupts, the massive creature panics, torn between trampling the men beneath its feet and fleeing the lethal tiger suddenly in their midst, and it's that chaos that sweeps him apart from Daphne, chasing down one hunter who thought he could flee to safety.
The fresh gunshots bring him back quickly, and when he meets his scout, it turns his blood cold.
All the death and gore he expected to see, and it gives him a rush of pride to see his lover's handiwork, but that sickening chill swallows the pride up again as soon as he catches sight of her. And when he does, he's at her side in a moment, ignoring the man who's still struggling under the elephant's corpse. She hasn't shifted back, and she's bleeding. ]
Daphne!
[ Approaching a wounded tiger would be suicidal in any other circumstance, and it might still come pretty close to it now. But that doesn't stop Charles from pressing a hand into her fur, and even before her pain-muddled senses have time to react, he grabs the knife and pulls it swiftly and efficiently out. Jesus, there's blood everywhere.
As he unwraps a scarf from his neck and presses it to the knife wound, he throws a wild, murderous look at the man under the elephant, and then turns nearly the same look on the poor scout. ]
[She hears him coming, and it's true that the instinct is strong to try and maul him, but she's not a creature of base instinct, not really. She smells him and it makes her calm, because the pain is intense.
He pulls out the knife and she screams, and huffs, her paw twitching. Charles' scout is one of Daphne's kin, not a shifter, but he knows enough. He kneels next to Charles, hands his sash over to tie it around Daphne's shoulder. She snarls and snaps, but he moves fast to get out of the way. She should. I'll run ahead, and tell her aunt to prepare, and get them to come here.
He gets up, and he's moving, because the important thing now is making sure that they know how to heal her.
Daphne, meanwhile, pants through her mouth, snuffles, her paw twitching. The hunter is still yelling, and the Portuguese is close enough to Spanish that Charles can likely make out not only his cries for help, but his screaming that the tiger is a demon, it's a demon and it came straight from hell.
She butts her enormous head against Charles, to let him know she knows who he is.]
[ The rest of his men appear in the trees, and one of them approaches the screaming hunter, drawing his sword. Immediately Charles snaps at him. ]
Get back!
[ The man does as he's told, carefully sliding his weapon back into its scabbard and falling back again. Charles turns back to Daphne, meeting her large yellow eyes as he rests a hand on her head, stroking just once. Then he gets up and approaches the Portuguese hunter lying beneath his elephant.
Those curses, or pleas, or both, whatever they are all direct towards him as he comes closer, but he ignores it. Not a single word matters. Eyes flashing with rage, he draws his own sword, and as soon as he's close enough to do it, his boot shoves the hunter's head sideways and then presses down, the cries turning to gurgles. Then Charles brings his cutlass down with a roar of fury, the blade slicing clean through the hunter's throat.
Instantly the jungle goes silent, except for the blood spurting from the crushed body. He reaches down and grabs the head by the hair, and then tosses it to one of his men, who catches it with only the barest flinching. ]
Take the heads. All of them.
[ The look he gives to them makes it clear that he's not joking. ]
Including the elephant.
[ Then he swipes his blade on the corpse's fancy coat, and quickly returns to Daphne's side. His men behind him have already gotten to work; now he doesn't see or hear anything else but her. He crouches beside her, sliding a hand into her fur again. This is going to be difficult for her, but it's either this or she has to suffer out here in the jungle, as the stench of blood and death rises like steam from the earth. ]
Time to change back, tigress. Let's get you the hell out of here.
[She watches, her eyes fixed on the man’s death. She can’t help but feel a lick of warm affection; this is her lover, this is the man she chose. Someone who would not let anyone else kill an enemy, because he wants to be the last thing they see. Because he knows the value in it.
The men start to work on his orders, low buzzing arguments about the best way to behead an elephant when he comes back to her, and her attention focuses on his words.
It’s going to hurt to shift back and she doesn’t want to. She knows she should. She knows he can carry her like that, that they must have done something, hit something when they stabbed her because she still can’t move her paw very much.
Still she stays a long moment, huffing her breath and trying to get ahold of herself.
The men are almost done, and she’s been a tiger the whole time. Ten, fifteen minutes have elapsed and Charles is still there with her, watching her, when finally her shape changes and she’s back to herself. The first thing she does is cry out as the pain screams through her.]
Charles-
[Her voice is so low it’s almost a growl. The blood and the wounds are still there, her hands smeared and stained. She reaches her good hand to him, her eyes closing to slits.]
[ He waits, prepared to do so for as long as necessary, because if she doesn't shift then she's not going anywhere, and if she's not going anywhere then neither is he. But Daphne is strong, and proves it yet again as her shape reforms from tiger to woman.
The sound of her pain rakes across his flesh like a knife down his spine, and Charles immediately grabs her hand in his own, giving her something to grip that's solid and won't let her go.
Without so much fur disguising her wounds, it's easier to see the ones left by bullets, which makes him grit his teeth so hard it nearly snaps his jaw, breathing hard at the sight of her so damaged. She'll heal, but this won't happen immediately. He wishes he hadn't killed the man under the elephant so quickly. He's thinking now that he'd have liked to flay him first, and hoist the man's skin like a flag just off the shores of Portugal.
Seeing her in so much pain makes him feel deeply, sickeningly powerless. But the only sign of it is the tightness of his jaw, the hard line through his brow. Charles reaches out, hooking one hand under her knees, drawing the other around her shoulder. It will hurt, but then they'll be on their way. ]
I've got you. Hold on to me if you can. One, two--
[ Before three, and as quickly and smoothly as he's able to manage, he pulls Daphne into his arms and stands up with her cradled against his chest. His men can do what needs to be done here, even if all they do is collect the heads and leave the rest for the jungle. He's taking Daphne home. ]
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chuffle) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cribellate2022-02-27 11:31 am
no subject
Yes. He'd give anything to watch her hunt these trespassers, on her own turf, in her own tiger skin. Sometimes he still forgets that she's not like every other ruler he's known, preferring to send messengers in their place - either for the sake of intimidation or protection.
Which, to be fair, does make a solid point. ]
What if they aren't here for me?
[ He drags his hands up her back and into her hair, pushing it away from her face, still grinding into her from below. ]
If they did come here to hunt tigers, they might not be easy prey. And they can't have you either, tigress.
no subject
I'd be almost sorry for them, if they caught me, and if they hurt me.
[Charles is not the kind of man who takes it lightly, a threat to the small security and family he has. She thinks he'd be magnificent with his own children, feral and absolutely unhinged about them.
It's why she loves him like she does. Another part of herself, trapped under all that beautiful skin.
She huffs, and reaches to tug his shirt up, trapping him in it for a moment, and then just shredding it under her fingers, her mouth going to his shoulder and teasing up a mark there.]
no subject
If something put him in a position where she needed him to protect her, then they'd really call him a monster. ]
I would send their heads home to their families.
[ Seems to him a fair trade, if they came here to hunt hers. Charles groans again, throwing his head back for her mouth, keeping the pace of his thrusts steady to really take in how fucking good she feels. ]
Daphne.
no subject
[She echoes his tone as she raises her head just enough that her mouth rasps over his skin as she speaks, and she pushes her hips down and moves her hands over his chest, over the old brand there, her fingers tracing the lines.
He never let her touch it, once. Before he loved her, when they were just two wild things smashing into each other like storms. But now she takes a moment to trace the shape, to run her thumb over the line and then to lean down and kiss him again.
They were both captured once.
She rocks down on him, and takes a heavy breath.]
I missed your mouth, your cock, your skin, the way you smell like the sea-
[She shudders, a full body pulse.]
The way you look at me like there’s nothing else in the world.
[She pushes him down, then, her hands on his shoulders, and she starts to really move, faster, making a show of it as she tosses her head back so he can see the long line of her body, her breasts high and on display for him.]
no subject
There is nothing else in the world. She saved him from the noose in Nassau, and from that moment on he was dead to his old world and reborn in the one she rules, with her people and her kin and her land. She willingly tied her fate to his, and he won't undo that knot for anything now.
The more intense it feels to him, the more he loses the words to describe it, but it's written across his face in the way he stares at her like a starving man, as she touches him with absolute familiarity, as she rides his cock with the increasingly wild abandon of a woman who is secure in her claim.
God, she's so fucking beautiful.
Panting heavily now, he runs one rough hand up her stomach, between her breasts, just enough to touch them, more to feel her heartbeat underneath his palm. ]
no subject
She wants to ride him until she's gone, until she comes again and he's in her senses and her blood, until all that he can sense is him, him, him.
Her cunt pulses, again, and she rocks down, and tugs his hand over one of her breasts and pinching.]
I want you to come inside of me before-
[She breathes it.]
And then lick it out of me, and get me off, my lion.
no subject
His fingers tug roughly at her nipple, and his other hand slides up her waist to mold the other, and he squeezes her breasts as he fucks her harder from below. It's the exquisite wet heat of her pussy doing most of the work, really, but she just feels too fucking good, and he's drunk on her again, the relief of being home and in her arms, getting to touch her the way he's dreamed about and fuck her properly. Jade cocks wouldn't be enough to tide over a woman like her. ]
Tell me again-- [ because he is not a man to deny or be ashamed of his wants ] --how much you missed my cock.
[ He's already getting close - he can feel it coming up on him, spiked by the delicious peak of her nipples, making him grunt through his teeth as he bucks his hips and grinds himself inside her. ]
no subject
She doesn't ever feel unsafe, but it's incredible how safe he makes her.
But his cock is excellent. Fat and thick inside of her, tucked up in her like they were built for each other, lighting her up.]
You've ruined me-
[She takes a breath, and grinds down against him.]
Your cock ruined me for anyone else, I think I cursed the ocean for having you while I was trying to keep myself happy with three fingers-
[She'll let him play with that image, and shakes her head.]
-missed you, missed this-
no subject
Charles wraps his arms around her back, and leans up just as he pulls her down so that he can hungrily suck one nipple into his mouth. He holds her there, with the perfect leverage to keep fucking her as she keeps riding him, his mouth working over her tit like he's ravenous.
No marks this time. He just wants her to feel the thrum of his groan through her nipple when he finally thrusts up hard and comes, making sure to pull her down snugly against his hips to make sure she feels the heat of his body against her clit.
It leaves him fucking dazed, dizzy with pleasure and release. But before he lets himself settle, he twists them both, and all but throws her down to the furs again. It's torture to pull away from her. But in moments, his head is between her thighs, his mouth against her pussy, tongue working into her to clean out his own come, like she told him to do. ]
no subject
Maybe that’s why she kept such an interest on him.
It’s his beard the does it, the roughness where he hasn’t shaved in a few days brushing on the smooth, sensitive skin of her thighs. She arches up, her fingers in the thick furs, her thighs clamping against his head as she screams at the first touch of his tongue on her. She’s wet and messy and hot.]
Please, lion, please, please.
[Its gibberish, soon, her pleas falling in and out of accented English and desperate panting.]
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This is one of those times when he demands because he can't not, and the way he licks his own come out of her radiantly hot pussy is his form of obedience, because if it was up to him he'd keep everything inside her, fill her up with it and leave it like some kind of banner with his name on it. Charles Vane was here.
Every raw mark on his body from her claws and teeth says the same thing about her.
He adds his fingers to the work his tongue is doing, two fingers rolling her clit as his tongue keeps licking her out. He may not have a cat tongue to offer, but that doesn't mean he can't get her clean. ]
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It's a wonder she lasts even long enough to scream his name, her eyes closing tight as she comes, her hips dropping down against the furs and her body loosening. She takes a ragged breath and reaches for him, to take his hand, his arm, anything to pull him up against her. She wants a kiss.]
Hold me?
[She asks as if he might say no. It takes a lot to make her vulnerable like that.]
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He kisses her, when he reaches her mouth, letting her taste herself mixed with himself on his tongue, and he draws her into his arms as he stretches out beside her. He'd never say no to this. She's vulnerable because she knows that so well.
When the kiss breaks, their foreheads touch. ]
God, how I missed you.
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She's ignores that pulse to come in closer, tangling her legs around his and tucking herself close.]
I love you.
[She says it simply, as simply as she can manage it. She didn't say it, for so long, unsure of what she felt, and secretive. She almost never says it now, although he knows, of course he knows. She's not subtle; it's in how she turns her body his way, how she is always aware of where he is in a room when he's near, how her face lights up when she sees him. How much she loves to touch him.
But she doesn't say it. When they meet, after months. Before they say goodbye, when he leaves her in their bed to go to sea. That's it. Too much and it loses power, maybe. Or, worse; too much and it suggests something else.
One hand rests on his chest.]
I have a gift for you.
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They're both protective of those three words, and even now he doesn't say them back, because they're more than just a call-and-response. Like sharing the most precious gifts he choose for her out of every haul he brings back, they exchange the words out loud like gemstones, precious and finite.
But every action shows it anyway. ]
A gift?
[ Making her come twice before he's even gotten to shore is the gift as far as he's concerned. But this is interesting. ]
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This one comes with something extra.
At the end is a gold-capped claw, thick and the size of a blade, the end wickedly sharp.]
Here.
[She says it.]
It's mine. I pulled it out for you.
[It heals and is back, but that doesn't mean it wasn't a painful affair.]
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Charles takes it from her, holding it up by the leather thong to help it catch the faint light, just enough to make the gold gleam. It's viciously curved, and sharp as hell; he knows without a doubt that he could kill a man with this, if it came to it. ]
You ripped off a piece of yourself... [ He glances at her, eyebrow raised. ] ...just to give it to me?
[ Another lover might have gasped or cried or begged her not to hurt herself like that for his sake. But Charles isn't the type to worry about what's already been done, or what other people choose to do with their own bodies. He just looks at her with a kind of greedy awe, like he's amazed by her and it just makes him want her more, even while the heat only simmers.
He loops the leather over his neck, and settles the claw against his bare chest. And then he pulls her into a deep kiss. ]
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I did.
[She says it after he kisses her, her hand curved over the curve of his jaw. She leans over, and kisses his shoulder, his throat, soft and careful, and then the spot right at his clavicle. She stays there a while, quiet, her hands on his skin, pressing her mouth against him, nipping a bit, just for a small touch of pain.
She speaks again.]
I can take you again, now, or I can make it worth your while if you come ashore with me.
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[ It really is. He keeps his hand in her hair, stroking the side of her face with his thumb, very aware of the tiger claw now resting over his heart. It feels like good luck. ]
But I'm ready to have solid ground under me, and something to eat that wasn't boiled in a fucking pot.
[ Let her be the queen again. This has been a long separation, and he's ready to turn control over to her. Let her be responsible for these men and their appetites for a while; her authority is solid enough to blunt their edges, and then he'll take them back to the sea and whet them to killing sharpness all over again.
Charles kisses her again, slowly sitting up with her so that the untangling can be the last thing that happens. Eventually he has to let go, with a satisfied sort of purr. ]
It's good to be home.
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[She's teasing; there's an entire roast goat, well-seasoned and spicy, and rice, and curried vegetables and other tender dishes. They didn't know he was going to be home until the sails set up, but it's been hours since then and the cook knows his business.
She tugs her hair back up as she stretches out, and reaches for her choli to slip it back one. There's the sweet ache of being well fucked that practically sings over her body.
When she gets up, there are wet streaks in her skirts, and she barks a laugh. She reaches for the shredded shirt and runs it between her legs to dry some of that, and then fusses over the silk.]
I hope you brought silk with you, you've ruined another one.
[Going ashore means coming home, in a way; they spend a glorious day getting reacquainted with one another, another day for Charles to have a real bath (that she interrupts) and to sleep in a bed that doesn't tilt (that she also interrupts).
And then the hunt starts; Daphne shifts, and Charles has his hunting party. Her jungle is sacrosanct for a reason; there's plenty of good game in it, but it's not for anyone who isn't hers. They keep it wild.
Finding the Portuguese isn't difficult, but it's only an hour in before things go pear-shaped. Daphne gets split up from the rest of the group, and while she can take care of herself, there are things even she can't come up against.
They have an elephant.
She could kill an elephant, but it's hard, and she doesn't like to do it. The Portuguese men were ready for a tiger too smart to be just a tiger.
She should have brought backup, another shifter, but tigers are solitary by nature and it starts to look strange when they're in a team. She wanted this to look as normal as possible; she wanted them to fear men, not supernatural beasts.
But she didn't.
There are shots in the depths of the jungle; there is the trumpet of an elephant in terror, there's her roar, cutting the silence. There's sound of shots, and men dying, and men trying to kill, and the death of an elephant, the crash of it.
When Charles' scout finds her, she's holed herself up in a shaded patch of forest. The wounds - bullets, a knife stuck in her shoulder making her unable to move a paw - have overwhelmed her healing abilities. There's a dead elephant and a man stuck under it, yelling for help.
When Charles shows up, the man is still alive, and Daphne is panting with pain, surrounded by mostly dead men, blood on her paws and her muzzle.]
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Daphne's people were hesitant to accept him, which suited him just fine because he didn't come here to make friends - he came to be with Daphne, who pulled him from the grave a second time. They weren't his enemies, but they weren't his people, either. He's still not sure he'd call them that, as such, because in some ways he'll always be an outsider here, even though their queen is wilder than he is.
But they've accepted him, and that will always be something. What a fucking thrill that is, to be welcomed in among the tigers and their kin.
It's certainly helped that he's never disguised his own ferocity from them, and on that count the tigers are his only rivals. Daphne has his full attention well into his first night back among the luxurious cushions and open gardens of her villa, but the light of morning swiftly draws his mind back to the Portuguese hunters in the jungle.
If the party was smaller - if they didn't have a fucking elephant - maybe he and Daphne would have gone together, just the two of them, taken the party apart one by one. Instead he brings his best ambush fighters with him, their clothes dark and skin painted to blend with the leaves and vines and shadows. And in the end, it's the elephant that proves their worst mistake; when combat erupts, the massive creature panics, torn between trampling the men beneath its feet and fleeing the lethal tiger suddenly in their midst, and it's that chaos that sweeps him apart from Daphne, chasing down one hunter who thought he could flee to safety.
The fresh gunshots bring him back quickly, and when he meets his scout, it turns his blood cold.
All the death and gore he expected to see, and it gives him a rush of pride to see his lover's handiwork, but that sickening chill swallows the pride up again as soon as he catches sight of her. And when he does, he's at her side in a moment, ignoring the man who's still struggling under the elephant's corpse. She hasn't shifted back, and she's bleeding. ]
Daphne!
[ Approaching a wounded tiger would be suicidal in any other circumstance, and it might still come pretty close to it now. But that doesn't stop Charles from pressing a hand into her fur, and even before her pain-muddled senses have time to react, he grabs the knife and pulls it swiftly and efficiently out. Jesus, there's blood everywhere.
As he unwraps a scarf from his neck and presses it to the knife wound, he throws a wild, murderous look at the man under the elephant, and then turns nearly the same look on the poor scout. ]
She'll heal from this. Right?
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He pulls out the knife and she screams, and huffs, her paw twitching. Charles' scout is one of Daphne's kin, not a shifter, but he knows enough. He kneels next to Charles, hands his sash over to tie it around Daphne's shoulder. She snarls and snaps, but he moves fast to get out of the way. She should. I'll run ahead, and tell her aunt to prepare, and get them to come here.
He gets up, and he's moving, because the important thing now is making sure that they know how to heal her.
Daphne, meanwhile, pants through her mouth, snuffles, her paw twitching. The hunter is still yelling, and the Portuguese is close enough to Spanish that Charles can likely make out not only his cries for help, but his screaming that the tiger is a demon, it's a demon and it came straight from hell.
She butts her enormous head against Charles, to let him know she knows who he is.]
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Get back!
[ The man does as he's told, carefully sliding his weapon back into its scabbard and falling back again. Charles turns back to Daphne, meeting her large yellow eyes as he rests a hand on her head, stroking just once. Then he gets up and approaches the Portuguese hunter lying beneath his elephant.
Those curses, or pleas, or both, whatever they are all direct towards him as he comes closer, but he ignores it. Not a single word matters. Eyes flashing with rage, he draws his own sword, and as soon as he's close enough to do it, his boot shoves the hunter's head sideways and then presses down, the cries turning to gurgles. Then Charles brings his cutlass down with a roar of fury, the blade slicing clean through the hunter's throat.
Instantly the jungle goes silent, except for the blood spurting from the crushed body. He reaches down and grabs the head by the hair, and then tosses it to one of his men, who catches it with only the barest flinching. ]
Take the heads. All of them.
[ The look he gives to them makes it clear that he's not joking. ]
Including the elephant.
[ Then he swipes his blade on the corpse's fancy coat, and quickly returns to Daphne's side. His men behind him have already gotten to work; now he doesn't see or hear anything else but her. He crouches beside her, sliding a hand into her fur again. This is going to be difficult for her, but it's either this or she has to suffer out here in the jungle, as the stench of blood and death rises like steam from the earth. ]
Time to change back, tigress. Let's get you the hell out of here.
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The men start to work on his orders, low buzzing arguments about the best way to behead an elephant when he comes back to her, and her attention focuses on his words.
It’s going to hurt to shift back and she doesn’t want to. She knows she should. She knows he can carry her like that, that they must have done something, hit something when they stabbed her because she still can’t move her paw very much.
Still she stays a long moment, huffing her breath and trying to get ahold of herself.
The men are almost done, and she’s been a tiger the whole time. Ten, fifteen minutes have elapsed and Charles is still there with her, watching her, when finally her shape changes and she’s back to herself. The first thing she does is cry out as the pain screams through her.]
Charles-
[Her voice is so low it’s almost a growl. The blood and the wounds are still there, her hands smeared and stained. She reaches her good hand to him, her eyes closing to slits.]
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The sound of her pain rakes across his flesh like a knife down his spine, and Charles immediately grabs her hand in his own, giving her something to grip that's solid and won't let her go.
Without so much fur disguising her wounds, it's easier to see the ones left by bullets, which makes him grit his teeth so hard it nearly snaps his jaw, breathing hard at the sight of her so damaged. She'll heal, but this won't happen immediately. He wishes he hadn't killed the man under the elephant so quickly. He's thinking now that he'd have liked to flay him first, and hoist the man's skin like a flag just off the shores of Portugal.
Seeing her in so much pain makes him feel deeply, sickeningly powerless. But the only sign of it is the tightness of his jaw, the hard line through his brow. Charles reaches out, hooking one hand under her knees, drawing the other around her shoulder. It will hurt, but then they'll be on their way. ]
I've got you. Hold on to me if you can. One, two--
[ Before three, and as quickly and smoothly as he's able to manage, he pulls Daphne into his arms and stands up with her cradled against his chest. His men can do what needs to be done here, even if all they do is collect the heads and leave the rest for the jungle. He's taking Daphne home. ]
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