[ he'd very much like her to repeat it — over and over and over. hearing her say his name almost seems to shock him out of his stupor. rather than her tone be filled with contempt, it's filled with something warmer, hotter, that it almost spurs his hips onward and into her. but his arms shake, just a little, from all the strength it takes to not simply do just that and cave in. ]
[ he has a feeling she's already doing just that — killing him. it takes him by surprise, the tone of her voice and the way she just says it — he'd been expecting a girl who was too shy to demand what she wanted in the sheets, but he wonders why a bed is any different to a battlefield. clarisse calls out commands and attacks with all the firepower at her arsenal. why would the lack of clothes make any of this different? ]
[ his gaze upon her is soft, something full of wonderment. he doubts he's ever really seen this creature before, not in the years that he had known her at camp half-blood. clarisse la rue had always been bossy and overwhelming, but he finds her presence washing over him like that of a wave, the force so powerful it knocks him off his own steady feet. ]
[ your wish is my command is on the very tip of his throat, but his hips seem to override his mouth as he slowly pushes himself into her with a deep, rumbling groan, a fuck mixed up within there. where their hands are one, his fingers squeeze hers tight, almost in an attempt to squash the birdlike bones beneath her skin to dust. he pulls their joint hands up and over her head, finding himself anchored there as he makes himself at home deep within her. he drops his head to her shoulder to bite at the flesh there, before he pulls himself back, withdrawing from her warmth, to only to return with another thrust. ]
no subject
[ he has a feeling she's already doing just that — killing him. it takes him by surprise, the tone of her voice and the way she just says it — he'd been expecting a girl who was too shy to demand what she wanted in the sheets, but he wonders why a bed is any different to a battlefield. clarisse calls out commands and attacks with all the firepower at her arsenal. why would the lack of clothes make any of this different? ]
[ his gaze upon her is soft, something full of wonderment. he doubts he's ever really seen this creature before, not in the years that he had known her at camp half-blood. clarisse la rue had always been bossy and overwhelming, but he finds her presence washing over him like that of a wave, the force so powerful it knocks him off his own steady feet. ]
[ your wish is my command is on the very tip of his throat, but his hips seem to override his mouth as he slowly pushes himself into her with a deep, rumbling groan, a fuck mixed up within there. where their hands are one, his fingers squeeze hers tight, almost in an attempt to squash the birdlike bones beneath her skin to dust. he pulls their joint hands up and over her head, finding himself anchored there as he makes himself at home deep within her. he drops his head to her shoulder to bite at the flesh there, before he pulls himself back, withdrawing from her warmth, to only to return with another thrust. ]