The Zombie Apocalypse with MCR (Complete)

Animal Urges

His hands slide onto my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, anchoring me to him. My arms are around his neck, fingers stuck in the tresses of his hair, tangling with the warm, thick silk. His breath is hot in my mouth, his tongue wet as it slips passed my lips, then my teeth, and meets eagerly with mine.

We're bound together so tight it almost hurts. Still, it doesn't feel close enough.

I wrench at the hem of his shirt and try my best to get it off him, but he won't lift his arms to assist me.

Instead his hands are on my cheeks, holding my face steady. His mouth is insistent, his kisses hard, desperate. I think of his worry that he'd frighten me, but I'm kissing him with the same sort of harshness, the same desperation. I hope his fears have melted away, if they haven't, I hope to thaw them soon.

I feel my heart against my ribcage, and it feels like a fist against a piece of weakened wood, battering with too much strength. My bones are not enough to contain this ridiculous organ of mine, which has convinced itself it no longer belongs to me.

"Nevaeh," he groans, words spilling onto my lips. "We don't have to-"

"Shut up," I say, and finally get room between us to strip him of his shirt. "I don't want to hold back," I insist, so close my nose bumps his. His eyes are bright, his lashes black as coal, the flush in his cheeks red as cherries. "I want all of you. I love all of you."

His breathing spikes, and his bare chest swells, and he laughs quietly.

"I still don't think this is real," he murmurs, and his forehead settles against mine. He squeezes his eyes closed, speaks against my cheek. "I'm sure I'm dreaming."

I kiss his jaw, then his cheek, then his mouth. "Your imagination isn't good enough to conjure me," I say against his heated skin, "And if you love me, I'm the one that's dreaming."

He snorts, shakes his head, and his mouth shifts, and I'm kissing him again. Crushing my mouth to his, and my chest to his, and my arms around his shoulders. I want to drown in him.

My hips shift, and I can't help it; I rock against him. Grind down, desperate and searching. He groans, and grunts, and I gasp as he thrusts up against me. The considerable, hard length of him nudges between my spread thighs, and I gasp again.

He wraps one arm around my waist, and I wrap my legs around his hips, and I hold on as he rocks up onto his knees, lifting me.

I assume we're heading for the bed, and I'm okay with that, but he lowers me instead to the floor. Onto all those scattered, carefully arranged pieces of paper, which crinkle and crunch under my spine. He's already pushing at my shirt, hands sliding up my stomach, over my ribs.

"Frank," I say, attempting to pull my mouth free. "Your-" he interrupts, "You idiot, your work-"

His lips smother the words, but he half-listens, doing a broad sweep of his hands under me, shoving the papers aside. They rip and crumple, floating up and away.

"They're all about you, anyway." He mumbles, but I barely catch the words.

I'm too busy grappling at the waistband of his trousers, conveniently black jogging bottoms, so there's no buttons or zips to get in the way.

His hands grab my wrists, "Not yet, you absolute menace, not until-"

He balances on his knees, poised just above me, and strips me of my shirt. My legs are around his hips, but now my torso is bare, and his gaze is so intense.

"Frank-" I flinch, and lift my hands to cover as much as they're able.

"The fuck are you doing?" He catches my wrists, pins them over my head. In doing so, his torso covers mine, and our faces are levelled, and I'm spared his scrutiny.