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sandandwater“Oh, Ro…” his name was little more than a sigh that escaped on a whispered breath.
“…I do believe in you, Believer girl…” And the deafening roar of the audience made it difficult for her to hear the end of the song as she stood backstage, just out of sight, watching. He looked amazing, they all did, the entire band. Kreske, Junie…Sascha…Nil and Dave couldn’t have looked more at home, but it’s Rory, front and center with the microphone in his hand and the audience at his beck and call that held her attention. He finished the song—her song—with passion that drove the fans into a screaming, hand waving, foot stomping frenzy. They wanted more.
She wanted more.
The mid-point act pushed past her then, taking the stage to let Breaker Street have a much-needed breather. Rory walked right toward her. The hunger in his dark eyes unmistakable, the effects of the audience—all their wants and desires, their emotional demands—flowing through his veins and driving him to give in to compulsions not entirely his own had him wordlessly greeting her by pushing Pippa back against a wall, his mouth covering hers in a kiss meant to consume and possess.
Her lips parted eagerly, hungry for the taste of him and she inhaled deeply, lost in the heady scents of his sweaty skin and the leather he wore.
He didn’t ask permission, didn’t take the time to find out what she might want as he lowered his head to suck at the side of her neck, nip sharply at delicate skin. His hands were hot and rough as he ran them down her sides, over her hips, further still to bunch the fabric of her skirt and push it up. His knee slipped between both of hers, pushing her legs apart, one side and then the other, until he was wedged between them and she was pinned between his body and the wall.
She whimpered and tossed her head to the side and back again.
There was a light switch or wall plate; she didn’t know which, digging into her back right between her shoulder blades and it caused her to shift, squirm, press more fully against him. Her reward was the firm pressure of his hand between her thighs, his fingers hooking the crotch of her panties and pulling them to one side, exposing her completely. One-handed fumbling followed as he undid his pants, hitched her leg high on his hip and growled against her ear, “Mine.”
Fingers curled against soft fabric, twisting and pulling.
It was her turn to tug and struggle with his clothing. She worked buttons loose to open the front of his shirt and bare his chest, slipped her fingers under the thin cotton, skimmed his chest and traced the defined lines of abdomen. He didn’t allow her long for her exploration; he was too impatient for that. There wasn’t enough time for it. Lifting her, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist, Rory hissed a ‘yes’ against her shoulder then drove himself into her with animalistic want.
She gasped and arched her back sharply.
As she held onto him, hands on shoulders and ankles crossed behind his back, Pippa moaned. He felt good; she felt…full, whole, loved. Needed. He still needed her, for this if nothing else. Faster, harder, deeper—that light switch was digging into her flesh again. He was murmuring to her, voice gruff but the words—oh, the words were soft and tender. A muirnin rua. I love you. A chroi. My sweet. Phillipa. He came, finished just a quickly as he’d begun, barely taking the time to kiss her again before letting her back down and pulling away to set his clothes to rights.
“Oh, Ro…” she called his name again.
Bit her lip.
Woke up.
Perspiration-soaked and breathing heavily, she ran her hands over her face, down the length of her body. Her legs still trembled and she was all too aware of the slick wetness between her thighs. Lifting her hand to her lips, Pippa found that they weren’t bruised or swollen.
His kisses were no more real than the rest of her dream, vivid though it had been. This time, the cry that tore from her throat was pain-filled and misery-laden. She missed him. More than that, she needed him. Loved him.
Left him.
Pippa Kerr//Last Call//733
ooc: I've fast forwarded a bit for this prompt. It takes place several months from now. It should also be noted that since this is largely a dream, descriptions of what the crowds do to Rory![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fey_fire are based on Pippa's understanding of the phenomenon and are not necessarily accurate. Lyrics to Believer Girl belong to Rory's mun.
“…I do believe in you, Believer girl…” And the deafening roar of the audience made it difficult for her to hear the end of the song as she stood backstage, just out of sight, watching. He looked amazing, they all did, the entire band. Kreske, Junie…Sascha…Nil and Dave couldn’t have looked more at home, but it’s Rory, front and center with the microphone in his hand and the audience at his beck and call that held her attention. He finished the song—her song—with passion that drove the fans into a screaming, hand waving, foot stomping frenzy. They wanted more.
She wanted more.
The mid-point act pushed past her then, taking the stage to let Breaker Street have a much-needed breather. Rory walked right toward her. The hunger in his dark eyes unmistakable, the effects of the audience—all their wants and desires, their emotional demands—flowing through his veins and driving him to give in to compulsions not entirely his own had him wordlessly greeting her by pushing Pippa back against a wall, his mouth covering hers in a kiss meant to consume and possess.
Her lips parted eagerly, hungry for the taste of him and she inhaled deeply, lost in the heady scents of his sweaty skin and the leather he wore.
He didn’t ask permission, didn’t take the time to find out what she might want as he lowered his head to suck at the side of her neck, nip sharply at delicate skin. His hands were hot and rough as he ran them down her sides, over her hips, further still to bunch the fabric of her skirt and push it up. His knee slipped between both of hers, pushing her legs apart, one side and then the other, until he was wedged between them and she was pinned between his body and the wall.
She whimpered and tossed her head to the side and back again.
There was a light switch or wall plate; she didn’t know which, digging into her back right between her shoulder blades and it caused her to shift, squirm, press more fully against him. Her reward was the firm pressure of his hand between her thighs, his fingers hooking the crotch of her panties and pulling them to one side, exposing her completely. One-handed fumbling followed as he undid his pants, hitched her leg high on his hip and growled against her ear, “Mine.”
Fingers curled against soft fabric, twisting and pulling.
It was her turn to tug and struggle with his clothing. She worked buttons loose to open the front of his shirt and bare his chest, slipped her fingers under the thin cotton, skimmed his chest and traced the defined lines of abdomen. He didn’t allow her long for her exploration; he was too impatient for that. There wasn’t enough time for it. Lifting her, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist, Rory hissed a ‘yes’ against her shoulder then drove himself into her with animalistic want.
She gasped and arched her back sharply.
As she held onto him, hands on shoulders and ankles crossed behind his back, Pippa moaned. He felt good; she felt…full, whole, loved. Needed. He still needed her, for this if nothing else. Faster, harder, deeper—that light switch was digging into her flesh again. He was murmuring to her, voice gruff but the words—oh, the words were soft and tender. A muirnin rua. I love you. A chroi. My sweet. Phillipa. He came, finished just a quickly as he’d begun, barely taking the time to kiss her again before letting her back down and pulling away to set his clothes to rights.
“Oh, Ro…” she called his name again.
Bit her lip.
Woke up.
Perspiration-soaked and breathing heavily, she ran her hands over her face, down the length of her body. Her legs still trembled and she was all too aware of the slick wetness between her thighs. Lifting her hand to her lips, Pippa found that they weren’t bruised or swollen.
His kisses were no more real than the rest of her dream, vivid though it had been. This time, the cry that tore from her throat was pain-filled and misery-laden. She missed him. More than that, she needed him. Loved him.
Left him.
Pippa Kerr//Last Call//733
ooc: I've fast forwarded a bit for this prompt. It takes place several months from now. It should also be noted that since this is largely a dream, descriptions of what the crowds do to Rory
fey_fire are based on Pippa's understanding of the phenomenon and are not necessarily accurate. Lyrics to Believer Girl belong to Rory's mun.
