Summery: several_ways challenge #2: several ways to make love
Rayne, as usual.
He had been sitting at the table, cleaning his girls and his knives and his toys, and she had sat down beside him.
He ignored her. Or tried to.
She watched him, large dark eyes studied his movements.
It made him uncomfortable.
When she reached out to touch one of the guns, it was instinct to cover her hand with his.
She looked down at his hand over hers.
One, she said. Her smile was faint, but her eyes were almost laughing.
Salt and copper and anger on the edge of her tongue as she was knocked backwards.
He didn't understand, none of them did, and she spent the next three days in a haze of medication.
Her tongue was difficult to move, but she tried to explain in slurred words that she needed to know.
She needed to see his insides, to understand him.
Two, she slurred into her pillow.
He lifted weights in the cargo bay, and she floated down to watch him.
Muscles tightened as he lifted, and she was fascinated by the motion in his bicep.
He danced for her, and pretended not to know she was watching.
She saw his mouth move, and knew he was counting.
Three, he grunted.
She smiled for him, but he didn't see.
He always swore when he came back wounded.
He was red and black and pain to her ear, as she listened to him cuss at her brother and their captain.
He said he hated her, which had nothing to do with the men who shot him. Her brother just bandaged him carefully, and asked how many men were killed.
Four, she mouthed with him, his voice low and deep.
She shivered at the sound.
His dreams were full of women and guns and Reavers, and always smelled a little of sex.
She carried a flower in one hand, a peace offering, but he didn't even stop to look at it.
He just grabbed her around the waist, and told her, even as he ran his tongue over her collarbone, that he didn't like skinny little girls with no breasts. His hands were rough and callused and she was bare to him and his bed was covered in pictures of her.
She smelled roses and traced the Greek alphabet on his spine with her fingers as he leaned her backwards, mouth hot on her neck.
How many women have you loved? She managed to ask, words slipping from her mind as he slipped into her.
His voice was deep, and she could feel it in her belly, although she couldn’t hear it.
Five, he told her inner thigh. Five. And you.