Author: B. Cavis
Spoilers: Bete Noire, Reveille
Disclaimer: not mine, never mine. I just pervert them.
Summary: "He is looking at her like she is his last meal and he has starved for months. She has been starving for just as long." Fifth story in the Lion Series.
Title translation: holy ground
Her tongue is fire up his neck, rubbing and tasting in all of the spots that make his eyes close and his breathing quicken, and whatever he did to make himself this lucky, it was well worth it.
Caitlin is alive and moving against his chest, legs thrown across his waist to straddle him and keep him still and captive. Her mouth stays firmly attached to his skin, lapping at his right earlobe and breathing in a way not to be borne for long.
This is a very nice way to wake up in the morning.
"Ari," she grunts against his skin, and the vibrations set his mind shaking and heavy, "touch me."
He swallows hard and thick, and there's a taste in his mouth that reminds him of grapefruit and sugar and all of the creature comforts he doesn't allow himself to fully enjoy nearly often enough. Whenever he would find such pleasures in life and was no longer acting the part of Hasswari, he indulges. Violently and desperately devouring the source of his joy up so that there is less of a chance of anyone else coming upon him and snatching it away before he can have his moment of beauty.
Sex is the one indulgence he's never allowed himself when out of character. It has remained holy ground--untouchable and unmarred by his own desires for companionship and someone real and alive underneath his body. Ari has never had sex. Hasswari has only fucked.
Sometimes, sitting alone in the apartment with no name on the door, he would sit and stare at the dying sunlight on the horizon and wonder what kind of woman would he allow to know him that way. What kind of person would she be to be strong enough to hold the knowledge that he might be gone in the morning and for a hundred mornings after that before contacting her? Who could hold him despite the dirt on his skin and touch, and not wince or ask him where he had been?
Before he had met Caitlin, he had never been able to picture one.
After all, didn't women want to be held? Told the truth about their lovers' lives? Made to feel worshiped and special and never have to part from their other half? He could offer none of that with any frequency, and any attempt he made to do so could prove fatal. And who would want him if he couldn't even answer the honest question of "so what did you do this afternoon at work?"
And then he'd met Caitlin. Well, encountered her was more apt, actually. He'd been holding her peers hostage, and she had wandered into his den without even realizing it.
He'd seen her as she walked off the elevator, proud and beautiful, and there was a pain in his stomach that he had never felt before. She was trapped in his plans, entangled in the strings of his intent, and the pain had grown more intense.
She'd tried to stab him, and he'd pulled her up against him and looked down into her eyes. She had searched his face for something, and what she found made her forehead bend in confusion before he tossed her away and turned his attention elsewhere.
But that didn't stop the knowledge that the pain had subsided when he'd had her up against him. And it didn't effect his desire to have her right there against him once more.
Caitlin's thighs are soft and smooth and bare, and he wonders how he missed that last night. While she offered him sweatpants and a t-shirt, her own wear consists of a pair of boxers and a thin strapped tank top. The sheer amount of skin is dizzying and forbidden, and his hands find her thighs defiantly.
She shivers under his touch, and he moves his palms gently upwards, stroking and warming with his own skin. Her teeth find the base of his ear, and he groans loudly in the quickly warming air at the sensation.
"Ari," she whispers, "God, just touch me."
He blinks and takes a shuddering breath. "I am."
Her head is shaking back and forth. "No, not there." She lifts herself up from the crook of his neck, and he watches her ascend to her throne resting upon his stomach. Her hair is loose and wild around her face and throat. There's darkness in her eyes that he never imagined he'd be able to put there.
Her hands wrap around the tank top's bottom and slowly pull upward, baring first stomach (so soft, so firm, so...) then ribcage (she'd fit in my hands perfectly), followed by the pair of what he'd only seen separated before.
She sits back on him an looks down at his face with dark satisfaction. She is comfortable in her own skin, comfortable with his on hers, and he watches her nipples swell and harden under his gaze for a long moment.
One of her hands slips down to take his own, and they trail, intertwined, up to her mouth. She kisses the back of his knuckles, a place that broke a man's nose three days ago, and shows no concern with the bruises she can see on them and where they might have come from.
Her other hand comes up to join, and between gentle force and the soft manipulation of her skin on his, his palm is suddenly opened.
And her breast is suddenly in his palm.
Her head falls back just as his jerks forward, and he can see her entire body shake with her next exhalation of breath. The nipple is hard and firm against his palm, and he will never let this image leave the place it now has in his mind.
The first time Caitlin allowed him under her breastplate and the armor of her clothing. The fist time he was allowed to truly... touch her.
It will be a holiday of his own design for the next lifetime or two.
"Touch me like this," she purrs gently, and she is truly the kind of woman that all of his maternal figures warned him about with half-amused smiles--the one who would entrap him so quickly in love and never let him come up for air.
His other hand cups her left breast, and she smiles at his quick learning. "Touch you like this?"
His pointer and middle finger spread apart, and suddenly his hands are cupping her breasts and her nipples are being squeezed, and there is no greater fire in the world than the one you make yourself in the body of your lover.
Her wail lets him know she's in the same mindset. He smiles. She shifts to let him sit up in bed, and he never releases his firm grip on her nipples and breast the entire time he's struggling to rise. The movement makes her pant softly.
His back hits solid oak, and he pulls her forward to truly straddle him this time. He can't look away from her face and he never, ever will. She lowers herself onto his lap, and the bulge under the cotton that she has been solely responsible for creating makes her gasp and shift. He smirks. What were you expecting, shein?
Her arms stay at her side, and she watches him through the careful disarray of her hair as he rolls her nipples between his fingers and lifts and pulls at her breasts with his palms. He doesn't look down at her flesh--he can know her body just by watching her face and learning her eyes.
When her lips have parted and her tongue is coming out periodically to taste the air, he settles back and lets her breasts drop without prelude. Her entire body shudders at the loss.
"Ari," she whimpers softly, and her breath comes out in a sobbing gasp for a pained moment.
"You would like nothing better than for me to keep my hands right there all afternoon, am I correct, shein?" Her eyes pick up the word and her lips quirk for a fraction of a second in embarrassed appreciation.
"Uh...huh." She puts her arms up around his neck, and her chest up against his shirt. He can feel her nipples burning against him, and she rubs them in a little bit firmer to benefit from the friction and sensation.
This is heaven and sin in one experience.
"Yes," he murmers against her desperate movements, "I thought so." She tries to find his hands again, but they intertwine at the small of her naked back, and now there is no opportunity for her to move away from him and there is very little desire remaining to try and do so.
He is looking at her like she is his last meal and he has starved for months. She has been starving for just as long.
His head dips, and she feels his mouth come down on the side of her throat, just above her pulse, and suddenly the world has shrunk down to a point of contact. There is a dull noise of life starting up outside of her window--the street being reborn in the hour or so before sunrise. She hears none of it.
There is blood rushing in her ears. And Ari is feasting on her jugular.
Teeth and tongue come down to trace the same figures she marked on his neck to wake him at four in the morning. His bite is firmer, more masculine, and the stubble across his face leaves little doubt as to who is eating his fill off her skin. The worn-through boxers are starting to stick to her. Her cunt is wet and hot, and there is no way he doesn't know because she's sitting right on his lap and God why doesn't he just do something and fuck her up against the headboard until they're both screaming and crying out for more?
She had never imagined that sex with him could be so good.
She'd never needed to--she'd always known.
One hand trails up from her bare flesh to her head, and she feels his fingers get a hold in her hair before he actually moves to change anything. She finds herself looking up at the ceiling, her scalp held in the firm grip of gold-coated muscles, and his mouth attacking every inch of her he can find.
His teeth follow the curvature of her muscles down to her collarbone, and the first nip of his teeth makes her puddle hot and wet in his lap. Even she can smell herself now--there's no way that he can't.
"Ari," she gasps, and he chuckles against her flesh. "If you don't hurry up and be naked soon, I'm going to make a mess on your pants."
His teeth still against her throat. There's a smile lurking behind his tongue. "Is that right?" he whispers into her flesh, and the vibrations make her throat expel a word that has no meaning. He laughs this time, gentle and soft and full of all of the humor he's never allowed to slip into the bedroom with him and whatever woman he was bedding. "But what if I happen to like the idea of you making a mess?" And his tongue licks from collar to chin, and she is a mass of nerve endings and strings that all lead to her clit in his lap. "You being a mess means that I get to clean you up."
He pulls away and lets her head free of his grip, as two pairs of hands work the heather gray straightjacket up over his head and toss it to the floor. He hopes it get torn to bits by ravenous dust bunnies.
Her fingers find their home pressed splayed against his chest, and he can feel her gasping for air and marking his skin with her name. Their eyes are locked once more.
"I have wanted to see you like this for ages," he whispers into her open, wanton eyes, and she smiles with a pant that can't be stifled.
"And I have wanted you to see everything for longer than I should have." She shifts onto her knees to link her lips into his, and he feels her cool hands work the sweatpants off of his body in her absence from his lap. He kicks them down and tastes every emotion she holds in her mouth. His tongue dips into lust, and he pushes her legs together with more force than is probably warranted and banishes the boxers from her skin with his hands and feet. She grunts and bites down on his lower lip.
He pulls her back to the warm cove of his lap and chest, and his cock bounces hard and thick up against his stomach. She presses into it and stuffs her whimpers into his chest. She is so wet that he can feel his thighs become damp and sticky underneath her, and he grunts as he catches her earlobe in his teeth. One thing has to be completed. One thing has kept him up at nights wondering.
She squeals softly as he pushes her off his lap and back onto the bed. Her ass hits the bed and he is right behind, hands on her thighs, face against her belly. There's a softness here that he never would have associated with Caitlin. She smells like heat and cinnamon and home. This is home.
Her thighs part for him when he presses against them, and she rests her head back on the softness of the comforter and watches the progress of his head against her skin. Dark on cream, rough on silk, and she loves the contrast of the two of them together.
His thumb is more adventurous than the rest of him. It slips out of his tightly clenched fist to draw a first tentative line down her cunt, and she shudders as her clit strains to make contact. He watches her layers of control unfold and come apart, and smiles to himself in awe. Home.
He repeats the move, slower this time, and when his thumb comes to trace the line back up it is joined by his pointer finger. Her lips part and she gasps for something her body knows only he can give her.
"Do not rush me, Caitlin," he chides in a voice that would be playful if he could get enough breath in his body to give it emotion or tone. The buzz of the outside world is getting louder and the blood in his ears is making it hard to think straight. Or maybe that's her scent that's doing that.
Her body is open for his perusal, open for his use, and she herself is looking at him like he is her only chance for survival and satisfaction. It's a heady rush of power and beauty and need, and it goes straight to his cock and his tongue, and when his fingers part her open the smell that knocks his brain out forces the rest of him forward with a desperation he's never known before.
She tastes like heat and tang on his tongue, and her warmth fills his mouth and bubbles over his lips. He bites and nips at all of the flesh he knows will make her come to pieces, and when she whimpers and clenches the bedspread between her fists, he is not disappointed.
Two fingers are inside her, stroking and learning, and his tongue is soft and teasing on her clit. It's a new experience for him, she realizes through the fuzziness he's instilled, and he's learning through her and her reactions. The strength of his hands on her hips is all her body needs to recognize him as someone who can work her over and over again, however, and her clit doesn't care that her mind knows he's never done this to a woman before. It's willing to be deluded and root itself in denial.
I'm his first, comes the unbidden thought, and she smiles into her arm for a reason she won't admit to herself when she's in her right mind. I am Ari's first. Hasswari has had many, but Ari's the one here with me now.
It's incredibly appealing to know she's the one who will be the standard set for him.
His teeth are on her now and she's moaning nonsense and need into the air above them both. She can feel him pushing harder, throwing his whole arm into the movement of his fingers inside her and his whole back into the firm ownership his teeth and mouth are setting up. He's making her skin melt off and her body liquefy with a overpowering, all-consuming heat she's never felt before.
He's making her scream, reports her ears as the world comes to swallow her up with the strength of her orgasm, and she bucks up against his face as her throat tilts back and lets it all spill into the air.
He's kissing her thighs when she the white light vanishes. She looks down at him, and he smiles proudly. The laugh slips out of her throat without conscious effort, but it's there and she means it.
God, what this man does to her.
He sits back up against the headboard, and she follows willingly. Her fingers skin a scar across his belly, an injury she healed in another lifetime, and he seals his arms around her back again to keep her from focusing for too long on the issue.
Her entire body is buzzing, and the warm comfort of his shoulder is a bit too much to be turned down. She finds herself with her head pressed under his chin and her lips against the ball that dances when he swallows.
She owns him. He owns her.
Her ear peeks out of the dark velvet of her hair, and he takes it willingly against his lips. "It's not too late to back out."
"Yes, it is."
"You can still look him in the eyes and tell him nothing is going on."
And she pulls back and seals her gaze to his, while reaching between their bodies and grasping him thick and firm by the root, before thrusting herself forward and down, down, down onto his body.
His head slams back against the headboard, and his entire body seizes up at the sensation of her hot and firm and all-encompassing around him. There's a burn at the back of his eyeballs, a desperate heat that whispers that it has never felt this way before to be inside a woman's body, and he knows that this is all the world should be.
Her breath is hot and desperate against his neck, and he feels her tongue slip out limply to his throat. There are groans coming from one or both of them, and neither one of them can silence themselves.
"The only eyes I ever want to look into are yours," she whispers against his neck, so softly he almost doesn't hear her and wouldn't if he were anyone else, but it's enough and it's more than he ever imagined she'd bless him with.
There is nothing in the world greater than this. Nothing ever could be.
Her head flies back and her entire body shudders as he starts to move. A swivel of his hips, and buck of his lower body--her being rests solely on how he clenches his muscles and how fast he moves his body. Her fingernails are bites on his shoulders, and his palms form dark bruises on her hips.
Caitlin's mouth comes forward to seal itself to his and he indulges in the kiss willingly. His lips still taste like her, and she licks her own completion off his face.
"I..." Her eyes are glazed and heavy. He speeds up his hips and she whimpers. "I wanted you... so long."
He bites down on her lower lip desperately, needing to tether her to him. There's no way she is getting away, repeats the mantra over and over again in his mind. No way, no way, no way...
"Wanted you longer," he grunts, and she laughs breathlessly. "Wanted you in my bed, in my home, in my country. Wanted you like this and every other way imaginable." He can see her body arching and her mind evaporating away into nothing.
"Have wanted to make you scream for me," he groans into her skin, and suddenly she is doing it again and suddenly he is nothing but melted clay and suddenly the world outside is gone and the world in her body is all that could ever matter and nothing is here but him and her and that is just perfect.
Her cell phone chirps beside the bed, and Ari and Kate lift their heads of each other's sweat drenched bodies to look down at it in mild post-satisfacton confusion. Her hand drifts down the side of the bed to grab it and she glances at the caller ID before answering.
Her cheek finds the curve of his shoulder and neck a comfortable resting place, and she talks while his fingers take silent inventory of the woman pooled in his lap limply. Her breath is soft and heated against his neck.
"Yeah, I remembered. Okay. Do you want to..." She listens for a moment longer. "All right. 'Bye."
The phone is tossed aside to land on a pile of familiar-looking clothes, and she kisses his skin with an open mouth.
"Abby wants to meet me at three for a haircut and manicure."
"Are you dolling yourself up for me, Caitlin?" He smirks against the sex-scented air pressing into his nostrils, and she giggles.
"I have to go to a formal dress ball at the White House tonight." A small part of him falls and he sighs internally, pained. He will never be able to escort her to a dress ball. Or anywhere else for that matter.
Perhaps he should have stayed away. This makes it pretty unofficially official, after all--he can never just go back to being mild acquaintances with her or watching her from afar. This makes things... difficult.
Her mouth appears soft at his ear. "If you don't wipe that expression off your face, I might have to do it for you."
The bubble builds softly in his chest. Beautiful woman. "Shein..."
"I want you, Ari. That means all your flaws, all of your limitations, and all of your wonderful self--I want you." She kisses the skin behind his ear. "And I would much rather spend time in private with you than go to this ball and spend it with both Gibbs and Tony as my escorts/babysitters."
She pulls him down to lie flat on the bed, and curls herself against his chest once more. His hand slides off the side of the bed and grabs his jacket. The lump in the front pocket is a heavy weight in his hand.
"Will this work with your outfit tonight?" he asks, and links the silver and amber around her throat with gentle fingers. She looks down at it and a soft gasp works it way out of her lips.
Her skin is glowing and her body is humming. He is looking at her like she is the only image he could ever want to see, and she kisses him because she's going to start crying soon if she doesn't.
Amber and silver are warm against her, and he is hot underneath her.
"I'll make it work," she whispers into his teeth, and he smiles softly and contentedly.
There is no greater warmth than the warmth you create with your lover when they are truly your lover and not just a fuck for the evening.
Kate and Ari are the envy of the sun and the stars. They glow soft and heated in her bed, and their hands leave signatures on each other's skin.