Title: Ticket to Ride
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abigail Whistler/Hannibal King
Word Count: 2,500
Author's Notes: Written for Porn Battle XV, for the prompt 'pegging'.
Summary: She's not used to him being this quiet, not during sex, or any other time come to that. It throws her, leaving her off balance, still torn between wanting this and worrying that he doesn't.
Read it on AO3
She watches King's face as she pushes into him, taking in the way that his brows crinkle, his lips part. Another inch and he winces, but his fingers curl against his stomach and the moment passes. She rests her hand on his thigh, her fingers also curling against his skin. They're shaking. She takes a deep breath and steadies them. Steadies him.
Another inch and he gasps, no wince this time, just his hips shifting on the bed almost imperceptibly, his muscles tightening for a moment under her touch. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, that same crease between his eyebrows, but it doesn't seem to be discomfort, not this time.
"Okay?" she asks, her voice coming out steadier than she feels. It's low pitched, though, softer than her normal tone and so is the answering hum he makes.
She's not used to him being this quiet, not during sex, or any other time come to that. It throws her, leaving her off balance, still torn between wanting this and worrying that he doesn't.
He'd do anything for her; she doesn't need to hear the words to know that, like she didn't need the words behind his pauses, his looks - half-wry and half-intrigued at her suggestion that they try this - to know that this isn't the first time that he's ridden in this kind of rodeo. But she doesn't want to think about Danica now, not with King stretched out on the bed in front of her, all lean, fluid lines and golden skin. But the sight of him - the knowledge that he's hers now, in every way that counts - doesn't stop her hand from moving up his thigh, across his stomach to his tattoo, as though by obscuring Danica's mark, inked into his skin, she'll obscure his memories of Danica herself.
King shifts his hips impatiently and she slides in deeper still, catching her by surprise. She's left bracing herself against the flat planes of King's stomach, feeling the muscles twitch beneath her fingertips.
"Okay?" she asks again, even though she's no longer sure which one of them she's asking.
King hums again and she can feel it, the rumble rolling through him, and it isn't hard to imagine his body tightening and relaxing around the firm silicon of the dildo, buried in his body. Her dildo, the fake cock she's using to fuck him with, and the thought leaves her heated and flushed, chills running through her. It's a hell of a bigger turn on than she thought it would be when she suggested this, and there's no longer any fooling herself that this is all for his benefit.
She slides her fingers to his dick, which is soft and vulnerable against his belly. He lost his hard-on when she first pushed into his body and she's still not sure if that was because it hurt him - her touch or his memories, one or the other. But it's firming up again now, and she makes a loose fist, sliding her hand up and down his length, feeling him harden against her palm.
"You can move, you know?" he says. The words startle her, so lost was she in her silent appreciation of his dick - and it is beautiful, which is a weird thing to think about such an odd part of his anatomy. She hadn't realised that he was watching her. "If you want."
She wants. She wants it badly, letting go of his dick and catching hold of his thighs again - both of them, with both hands. She braces herself against him as she pulls slowly out and then sinks back into his body.
He sighs, his eyes drifting shut and his fingers curling against his belly again. She keeps moving - slowly, carefully - until his hand finally moves to his dick, squeezing and pulling.
He's always rougher with himself than she is; sometimes she wonders if part of him still misses Danica, her viciousness, her uncertain temper. Wonders if that casual disregard that Danica had for him meets some need in King that Abby never could. She cares too much for him to hurt him like that, even if it's what he wants. But she can at least pick up the pace, slam home a little faster, a little harder.
His lips part again, a ragged sigh leaving him as his eyes squeeze tightly shut. His dick is hard in his fist, his fingers flying along its length, and she watches as his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, his whole face now creased with concentration.
She can't resist it - the angle's all wrong, and it's awkward as hell, but she leans in and steals a kiss, swallowing the gasp he lets out when the move pushes her dick more deeply into him.
"Okay?" she asks again when she pulls back, and it's a whisper, a sigh.
The sound he lets out this time is more considering, thoughtful when King is usually all about the feeling, the gut instinct. Heart overruling head. "Can we try one of the others?" he asks, finally opening his eyes again and peering at her down the length of his body.
She swallows down the momentary guilt, trusting him to tell her if something's not right. Only, she thinks that he might have done just that.
"Smaller?" she asks as she eases carefully out of his body. He gives her a look. Oh. Start small he'd said. And then we'll see how it goes. "Pick one then."
She busies herself with wiping off the one she'd been using and detaching it from the harness while he muses over his choices, not surprised when the one he picks out is longer, thicker than their first attempt. It's bright blue and glittery, too, and she's definitely not surprised by that. King has an odd sense of humour sometimes, and sometimes even she thinks it's funny.
She fastens it to the harness, lubing it up carefully while King settles back onto the bed. He shifts until he's comfortable, with his knees raised and his arms relaxed, and then his fist wraps around his dick again, stroking himself - not as roughly this time - and keeping himself hard for her.
This dildo isn't as stiff, and her fingers - and his ass - are slippery with lube. It's harder to push it into his body, to breach his opening, and it slips and slides away from her fingers until she's ready to curse, or laugh, or both.
King tilts his hips, spreading his legs wider as he grins up at her, his expression open and relaxed the way he seldom is. His eyes are warm, trusting, and she pauses for a moment, just taking it in.
When she tries again, she finally hits the right angle, the right amount of pressure, and slides home.
King lets out another sound, caught on the cusp of pleasure and pain, but he angles his hips again, encouraging her to move.
She does, still slowly but not as carefully, not as shallowly, watching his face closely as she fucks him. She takes in every micro-expression that flits across his face - each sigh, each frown, each time he bites at his lip - and adjusts her thrusts accordingly, reading him the way she does in the field.
They've always worked well together, complementing each other perfectly.
She slides her hands over his body, loving the warmth of him under her fingertips, the way that he subtly arches into her touch. When she slides them under his ass he responds the way she knew he would, lifting his hips at her gentle urging and letting her seat herself more deeply into him.
"Oh." The sound is shaky, King's fingers tightening around his dick.
"Oh yeah." His voice is thick and husky, and his eyes are unfocused as he goes back to staring at the ceiling. "Really good." The hand on his dick starts moving again, faster this time, squeezing and stroking. "Just there."
She aims for the same spot, the same angle, and his brow furrows again, but she doesn't think it's pain, not this time. Just pleasure - it's the way he looks when she sucks his dick, when she ties him to the bed and rides him until he comes. When she leads and he follows and falls.
She moves her hands from his ass to the back of his thighs, sliding her fingers slowly over sweat-slick skin, and he responds beautifully, pulling his knees up to his chest at the slightest pressure. The angle's better now; she can push in more deeply - deep enough, hard enough that he loses track of what he's doing, his fingers stuttering in his slow stroking of his dick.
He groans, low and heartfelt, fingers flexing as he bites at his lip again.
"There?" she asks, teasing him. Teasing herself - she's so turned on that the top of her thighs is slick with evidence of her own arousal, and each push into his body pushes the harness back against her, just enough pressure to make it interesting, not enough to come.
King doesn't answer her, at least not verbally, but his hips shift again, restless and needy - like the look on his face, the grip he has around his dick.
She pulls back and slams home, and his back arches, the sounds he's making now lost, greedy. Soft and thready, barely there when usually King is the most present person she knows. He can't keep the rhythm of his strokes up any longer and lets go, trusts her to get him there. He tangles his fingers in the bed sheets instead, bracing himself against her hips shoving against his ass.
His dick is red and beautiful, rock hard against his stomach, and she wraps the fingers of one hand around it, stroking it in time with her thrusts into his body.
He's losing it, his body tense as he drowns in sensation, and there's an answering thrum of arousal in her belly, in the clenching of her pussy between her thighs.
She tightens her fingers, speeding up the slick movements along the length of his dick, and his eyes fly open again, the look in them lost. "Jesus," he gasps, staring at her but not really seeing her. She rolls her hips and his back arches again, one hand reaching up behind him to wrap around the bars of the iron bedframe, holding on or holding back. "Oh Jesus, Abby. I'm gonna come."
She could slow down, tease him by drawing it out, leaving him teetering on that edge and waiting until he's no longer that close, but there's something in his face, in the tension in his body, in the slickness between her thighs that drives her on. He's not the only one made needy by this - she has a greed all of her own, a desperate desire to take him apart.
Mine, she thinks as his hips judder, his fingers spasm. All mine.
His dick pulses in her hand and he comes with a groan, spattering white over her fingers and his belly, his come covering Danica's mark and hiding it from view.
She squeezes his dick gently as he shudders through the aftershocks, waiting until the muscles of his stomach finally unclench and his body relaxes before she finally pulls slowly out of him. Her fingers are still slick with lube and his come as she wrestles with the fastenings of her harness, finally managing to undo it and letting it fall with a soft thumb onto the mattress.
She's so turned on she can barely see straight.
"Come here," he says, grabbing hold of her hand, his fingers tightening around hers. His smile is soft and satiated, blurred around the edges with satisfaction, and his eyes are warm, everything he normally keeps carefully hidden for once in full view.
She really has taken him apart, and put him back together again a little less broken than before. And now it's her turn.
He guides her until she's straddling his face, her hands wrapped around the bars of the headboard as his mouth and tongue work on her, the rasping of his beard and moustache against her sensitive skin driving her slowly but surely out of her mind. She's so turned on, so close to coming just from making him come, that each flick of his tongue, each swirl and suck, drives her higher and higher, the pleasure surging through him as she grinds down against him, wetting his face with her come.
It doesn't take long for him to take her apart, to drive her over the edge, her scream of pleasure muffled against her arm. She's left shivering and open, the pressure of his lips against her clit almost unbearable. It takes her a moment, but finally she manages to push herself up and off him, her thighs trembling and her muscles burning with effort.
She slumps down on the bed next to him with a sigh, not resisting when he wraps an arm around her, tugging her closer until she's nestled up against his side. She'll feel it tomorrow - the burn in her muscles, the ache in her hips. Feel it and remember. Maybe he will, too. Maybe he'll feel the ache in his ass, the slight lingering soreness, only this time it won't be Danica or Asher he thinks of. This time he'll think of her.
The thought is a satisfying one, and she scratches her blunt nails through the trails of drying come still coating his belly, pressing her fingers over his tattoo and once again hiding it from view as she smiles against his skin.
King lets out a low chuckle, sounding almost as satisfied as she feels. "Well, that was fun," he says, and the sound rumbles through her, echoing oddly in her ear as she rests her head on his chest. She can hear his heartbeat, feel it slowing down as his breathing evens out. Her hand strokes over his stomach, up towards his chest, tracing the line of dark hair and tangling her fingers in it.
He's smiling at her when she lifts her head to look down at him, and she can't resist him, leaning in to kiss his wet, slick mouth, shiny with her. She can taste herself on his lips, the scent of her clinging to his skin, and it sends a shiver through her, one that starts at her shoulders and ends in the happy curling of her toes.
Hers. All hers.
"Hmm," she murmurs against his mouth, matching his smile with one of her own. "So, we'll definitely be doing it again?"
His laughter - and the press of his mouth against hers as she swallows that joy down - is the only answer she needs.