Polaroïd

Tristan

So... erm. Very adult theme here. You are warned.

The bullet whizzed past her head. Duncan started, horrified that his reflexes had pulled the trigger in his stead – had she been a little slower, her blood would be pooling at his feet right now – Her hand grab his wrist in a keyhole to retrieve the gun. Her touch was too gentle to trigger the alarm, her brown gaze too open for him to struggle back. The gun fell to the ground with his blessing; acceptance. Duncan was tired, his survival instinct crumbling down beneath her fingers. She didn't pick the weapon, her warm hand still enclosing his forearm. A sharp tug sent him off balance and he tumbled forward. Shadow reached for his neck with a snake move. There. Death at her hand, was it so bad ?

Her lips suddenly crashed on his own, desperate, hungry. Not in a million years did he try to resist; it felt so right that he wondered how he had lived without the feeling of her tongue swiping at his lips. She released his arm to circle his frame – trusting – one of her hand sliding across his shoulder to pull him further down. Duncan grunted slightly; she'd done a merry work of bruising him all over. But then, so had he. And despite her cracked ribs, she didn't protest when he pulled her up against the trunk that had so nicely bumped his head a moment before. His whole frame pushed against her, warmth against warmth, his sheer size dwarfing hers. At once, she lifted a leg to circle his back in an attempt to pull him closer.

Duncan moaned into the kiss, nowhere ready to surrender. Fire trailed in his veins; longing and need bottled up for too many years to keep count. And he tasted her like a parched man, need echoing in the confines of his chest. Something so different than lust... She was, right now, the air he barely breathed and he wondered what would be left when... she killed him ? His tongue begged for entrance; she greeted him with enthusiasm, opening her mouth to invite him in. She tasted heavenly, feminine and sweet, something whores and one-night stands could never really compare to. Would she give him a good time before... ?

For he knew who she was. Shadow. As skilled as the Black Kaiser to dispatch, very subtle, never brutal, mostly unseen. They said people died in her arms almost willingly, begging her to release them from this brutal life. Duncan understood why now; he was ready so surrender. Ready to die.

Her body was a piece of paradise. Fit, yet soft, moulding around him as her hands left trails of fire upon the bare skin of his chest. Duncan ached to undress her, to remove the thin waistcoat of Kevlar that kept him from her essence. His hands fumbled to unzip it while his mouth devored hers, tongues swirling. She whimpered with satisfaction when the garment fell from her open arms, nails and fingertips returning to his sweaty form. One of his hands circled her waist to pull her flush, the other exploring under the form fitting t-shirt she wore. A moan responded to his wandering – as if his touch alone could undo her - while his hand roamed her soft skin. She was so warm, so inviting that he felt his trousers getting tighter by the second.

— "Please...", she rasped.

And her low-pitched purr was like music to his ears. He knew, in that instant, that she wasn't toying with him. He'd paid too many women to moan for him. Breaking the kiss, she watched his face intently, reverently, and Duncan couldn't quite believe what he saw in her eyes. Awe... and tears. His heavy breath made the fiery strands dance about her face, and for just a second, he could swear he was seeing the same woman with a crackling fire behind her, a medieval shift tumbled about her waist. The vision was gone the moment she broke eye contact and Duncan shuddered. What sorcery was this ?

A sharp intake of breath later, his pants and briefs were pooling around his legs. He was at her mercy... Entirely exposed. Her own leather trousers, discarded, left her naked save for her t-shirt. Duncan yanked the offending piece of cotton off her frame as he kissed his way from neck to jaw. Her bra fell into the leaves barely a second later. Her bare flesh called to him like a siren calling the sailor at sea, neither of them knowing if they would emerge unscathed from their depths. Still, resisting would be useless. Duncan hoisted her up against the tree, her legs circling his waist instantly, her soft body yielding to his in a silent plea.

Entering her was akin to finding home again. Not this poor substitute of a refuge. No. THE home, the one place were solace existed and peace flooded one's soul. Duncan gasped in her neck, his body tingling with joy at her touch, bruises forgotten. She took him easily, so tight yet so welcoming at the same time, voicing her pleasure in a startling gasp. He didn't get time to ask if he had hurt her; she was already calling him further in, meeting his desperate thrusts with her own, her hips dancing around his frame with sensuality. Duncan pushed into her, hands travelling to support her, another at her nape as he grunted his pleasure. She claimed his lips once more, encouraging him to keep his pace. Then she abandoned his mouth to muffle her cries against his shoulder, dancing against his coiled body.

For sure, Duncan knew how to please a woman. But no one had ever reacted to him so strongly. And while his own pleasure soared, he couldn't remember a time he had felt so good, so accepted, so cherished, so strong. For her hands were everywhere, begging him, loving him. This wasn't a good fuck, no. She was making love with more passion than the fires of hell. Kissing him, tasting him, caressing, coaxing until he could take no more and reached a mind-blowing state of bliss. And all thoughts of doom fled his mind, past and future set aside in favor of the searing present, her body smoldering against him.

Duncan didn't last long the first time, really. Nor the second either as he just carried her off to his bed to take her anew, a mere slave from an ancient need to bond. Her body was so pliable in his hands, responding like the wind, setting his own desire ablaze. The third time was taken at a slower pace as she took control, and he swore he had never seen anything so remotely inspiring than her body twitching and shuddering in pleasure within the safe circle of his arms. Then he started to feel a little sated. Barely a little, as if he had to make up for a lifetime of loneliness. The fourth time would have to wait for a much-needed conversation.

While his mind started functioning again, she idly traced the contours of his face with awe. An expression he had never seen, even less directed at him. From up close, she was even lovelier.

— "You are very handsome", she eventually said. "But you would be even more with a beard. Or without. Moustache isn't for you"

And the look in her eyes was so distant that he wondered if she, too, remember this woman that resembled her so much.

— "Who are you ?", he asked.

— "Shadow", she whispered against his chest.

Duncan nodded gruffly.

— "I know. Who were you, in those ancients days ?"

The young woman regarded him quizzically, cheeks still rosy from their earlier exertions, hair unbound like a halo of fire. So beautiful... Her eyes softened as she took in his features, and if remembering long lost times.

— "I have no idea. But the only memory I have is your name. Tristan..."

Duncan took a sharp intake of breath. So this is how she knew his name. Perhaps it was time to revert to his past self after all. But she wasn't finished.

— "And I loved you."

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