Mostly just practice, but I thought I'd post it since I haven't written that much X/A in the last few months and I kinda like what I did manage to write. It's very stream of consciousness writing so if it doesn't quite make sense, mea culpa. Doesn't really have a setting but if you'd like context, it could have happened after Ties That Bind, s2.

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Title: Weakness
Author: Aresbitch
Summary: PWP. And fighting.
Rating: Amazingly, R for one minor word.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Just writing, nothing much to see.

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You hate him and you rage against him and all the while you imagine what it feels like to have his long fingers slide inside of your body, the rough rub of his beard against the inside of your thigh. 

 

You sneer at him, gloating over your ability to deconstruct and burn his plans into ruins while you wonder what his mouth tastes like, those full lips lifted in a sneer of his own, the way you can see the tip of his shining tongue just inside his teeth.

 

You burn for him even when you’re fighting him. 

 

It’s your secret, your weakness.

 

 The villagers are looking to you to do the impossible, defeat a god. You can. If it were any other god, you could. But your eyes get caught by the play of the breeze through his black curls. The way his gauntlets wrap around his forearms. 

 

You have the sword at his throat and yet you cannot plunge it home. It won’t kill him, you know this. He’s a god, he’d heal. But to break that golden skin, to make his blood pour like a river. You’ve done it thousands of times, taken more lives than you can ever repay and yet you can’t even pretend to hurt a god who cannot be hurt. 

 

You’re a weak fool and he’ll see through you any second and then he’ll laugh. Laugh at the mortal fool who gets so blinded by a handsome countenance. 

 

Only he doesn’t laugh.

 

And he doesn’t kill you.

 

He beats you. Within an inch of your life, and you’ve never felt blows so powerful, not even during the betraying gauntlet made of seasoned warriors and hardened killers. 

 

But he drops the sword he holds against your throat. Even though you can feel the spittle from his raging diatribe against your cheek, feel the hot blast of his breath against your neck, he can’t kill you. 

 

And your heart leaps repeatedly into your throat. Not just because you are so close to dying, although that is not a small part of things, but because you’re this close to him, his arms are around you, tight around you, and he’s got you right up to him so that every time he moves you can feel the twist and push of his hips against your ass. 

 

Have you ever been so close to something so hot? Like a fire he burns. You want to reach out, touch that flame but you know it’ll burn you all up and you can’t let that happen. Not again. 

 

So you take a breath and break away, and when the dust is all settled and the score’s been counted, he’s gone.

 

Only he’s not.

 

In your dreams he crowds your bedroll, pressing his naked body along your spine, turning you so that you are facing the other direction. You don’t have to look, he whispers hotly against your ear. You just have to feel.

 

So you close your eyes, grab fistfuls of the fur, and you pretend it’s just a dream.

 

The first thrust makes you howl. 

 

~end~