albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[Making Jack work for anything's always a delight. It's tempting even to leave him to the strain of rutting solo despite the way the edge of the desk bites into her skin for it. Or maybe because of it.

But eventually she lends herself to it, toes pressing down against the glossy floor so that she can match his rhythm with her own, fingers still tangled low across his chest. And she's getting off to it (how could she not?) but in the back of her mind there's a certain repetition of facts: an itch she's scratching with every twitch of her abdomen, with every hitched breath. They're going to burn it. All of it. An entire planet full of treacherous, murderous mongrels, and they're going to burn them all.]

[Jack's mind is unsurprisingly blank, save for the single task of finishing the job he started. That's what made this whole endeavor such a relief. Fucking off gave him a chance to not think for a bit, to just focus on the grind of their hips, the roll of sweat, the rush of blood, and the flow of adrenaline.

Its a rare moment Jack isn't thinking about someone holding a knife to his throat, or thinking about lighting another fuse.

His shirt pulls at the back of his neck whenever she tugs it, so he simply leaves his head bowed rather than fight against the chaffing fabric. He's content to continue his task of pushing her as far as she'll let him, sinking his teeth into the fabric of the collar around her neck and past it to the scarred skin it hides.]

[Well that does it. Drags her back from the rapture of her own fantasies into the present where his teeth clip at rough, sensitive skin. And it reminds her of how skittish he was with his mask off, how much effort it takes to ignore how fragile she feels in the wake of old memories.

But she does. Aside from the slightest flinch for it-- a sincere flinch as opposed to the rough and rowdy bucks Nisha usually employs-- he's left that easy access to her throat, one leg wrapping around his lower back as a brace. Against everything.

And in the interim she'll do her best to focus on sensation over thought.]

[Jack smells blood. Whether its because Nisha has shown herself as suddenly vulnerable or because he knows what is associated with those injuries is hard to say, but its rarely a good look on him -- depending on your point of view.

He's since lost much of his conscious, true, but he knows when he's focusing on a weak point and he gets off to it. Nisha's cooperation is rewarded with him moving on, lifting his lips just a bit higher to the vein he knows is sitting there, pulsing angrily with adrenaline. He drags his teeth across it, pulls his lips back beneath the mask to pull skin into his mouth. Its short, maybe a bit bittersweet because of his fight against gravity and the damn desk.

But he's fighting for it -- fighting for her. His rhythm doesn't suffer for the effort, arching his back into the leg holding him close to try and get a better angle.]

[And she lends herself to it in turn. Something predatory and wild, leaning into his palm without even the slightest hint of bared teeth. Trust or acceptance or--

Just slow, quiet breaths cut short by the roll of his hips. Lets the desk dig into bone so the slim, muscled curves of her body can accommodate the angle he's working - so that she can feel it right down to the shudder in his shoulders from strain. Nails biting down into his skin as he returns the favor with his teeth.

God, the things she never thought she'd live for.]

[When compared to most Pandorans, Jack is not a physically strong man. That isn't to say he can't hold his own, but he's no Wilhelm or Brick or -- well, he's not a bandit and he never was. The muscles he's developed have been out of pure necessity, and they're enough most days.

But at the end of the day, if he and Nisha were to arm wrestle fair and square, she would win. He depends on her cooperating to be where they are now, and though he might not say it out loud, he takes every inch she gives him.

In this sense, he is lucky -- lucky to have Nisha, attractive and bloodthirsty, and all his. In spite of being the hero of the story, he hasn't had a lot of good things happen to him. His story isn't the typical easy hero's victory. Not yet. Then again, he doubts it will ever be easy.

But he's starting to struggle, even with Nisha's help, so he pulls them to the edge and down to the floor. He's sweating and it makes his mask stand out against angry red skin that just doesn't quite match. The new angle doesn't help his stamina -- it weakens his knees, but spurns him faster now that he has the correct leverage.]

[Clawed fingers slide up along his spine, dragging up his shirt where her hands settle near the back of his neck: arms around his own, cheekbone set against his to keep him grounded through spent effort. It's his sweat peppered across her skin-- the heat of his breath that has her feeling hot-- as is the usual case in all things it'd be easier for them both if he'd just let let her do the heavy lifting.

But she's not complaining. She's not even close to it - though she is close when it comes to everything else.

And she steels herself with every breath against the livewire crackle of her own nerves because it's part of the routine. Because she's never given in without a fight and never bothered to make it seem like anything but.

Besides, it's fun to make Jack get off first.]

[Easy doesn't necessarily mean better. In fact, it rarely ever means better.

Jack is constantly at odds with giving control over. Too often, he'd been screwed over when he wasn't perfectly aware of what was going on around him. Not to mention the fact that everyone just loved to piss him off, Nisha included.

But the difference was that Nisha always made up for it.

It'll always be a fight, no matter how much either one is enjoying themselves or how tired they are. The heated breath turns heavy, the shaking in his shoulders is steeled against with pure tension in the rest of his muscles. Its a wrestling match he can't win, because it comes down to stamina Nisha has and he does not.

So after a good fight against odds he can't quite overcome, he presses in as far as he's able and balls his fists against the floor, elbows raw from dragging their bodies together. He gets off first (a heavy gasp that he fights to hold down, half-moons forming in his palms), but its his pride that keeps him braced over her with shoulders full of tension rather than collapsed over her in exhaustion.

Sweat rolls over the seams in his mask, down the front and off his nose. His artificial green eye stutters just a bit from the strain.]

[There's the sharp snap of teeth as her grip cinches around him where his own strength starts to slip - as she lets out a laugh that's cut almost immediately short by a strangled gasp - her own focus too far gone to keep from going well under the current along with him. And she's not quiet-- sees no reason to be when it's her space as much as his own (still wouldn't even if that wasn't the case)-- arching up against him where friction drives involuntary response, sharp angles and even sharper breaths and violent shudders for as long as Jack can manage to keep himself in motion.

Fucking hell.]

[Its not long -- he's tired, he's managed to do an excellent job of using every ounce of energy he had fucking her, but he still refuses to let himself lean. His arms shake when he pushes himself onto hands instead of elbows and slides himself out wordlessly. His hand goes to the top of the desk and nearly slips on the still-drying blood when he presses his weight on it.

But he's up in short order after clearing his throat. He offers her a hand once he has his balance.

And a genuine grin, a tired and almost serene sort of expression still soaked in sweat to compliment it.]

[She could refuse on the grounds that he looks like he might fall over; her arm still throbs from the angry red gashes that run along its lower half as the rush of blood and sensation starts to ease back off post orgasm. But if he takes himself out he'll have more to show for it than hurt pride, which means she absolutely reaches up to take hold of his offered palm.

And what she's not acknowledging is how rare the expression he's wearing is. How that look of unshakable comfort isn't one he's actively worn since Elpis. Since well before the retaking of Helios.

It's...nice-- a bit weird, besides-- too foreign to be anything but in just the smallest amount. But still nice.]

OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

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