Archive: Ask first, please.
Warnings: M/M slash. If this concept disturbs you, read no further.
Fandom: Modern comicsverse. A PWP in the "Sea and Sky" series, during the week of "Ghost of a Chance" (S&S XVII). The previous parts can be found at http://www.geocities.com/kerithwyn/.
Disclaimer: All characters property of DC Comics. What I have done with them is mine.
We're making love slowly, and I'm (oh, God) I'm in him, looking down into those incredible eyes. I don't want to look away, but I want this....
I kiss his mouth, his throat, duck my head to kiss the upper part of his chest. Still moving slowly in him, no reason to rush, I draw my knees up so I'm kneeling and bow toward him. My teeth catch his nipple, a little rough like he likes it, and the moan-and-shudder he gives me back is nearly enough to send me over the edge. I take a second to just breathe, staving off orgasm with a combination of biofeedback and determination.
Going down. I draw my lips slowly across each rib as I go and hear his breath catch. I grin and tongue his navel and then *taste* him, just the tip, and his whole body trembles under me. I glance up to see his head thrown back, mouth open and gasping.
I bend again and take him in, one slow inch at a time. He's not as, ah, verbal as I am, but the sounds he makes are absolutely incredible. Mixed Atlantean and English and occasionally a whisper of another language; I hear a Japanese swear-word and I'd laugh if my mouth wasn't already happy where it is.
I smell sea and sweat and musk, taste the salt of his flesh. My senses are filled with him. His hand twines in my hair, not tugging but stroking gently, and I feel him clench around me, an internal caress. He's close, I'm close, it's fast but the intensity is too much to sustain. He shudders and cries out and the taste of him on my tongue, the feel of his body around me and I'm, I'm--
I'm lying full-length against him again, sprawled out and utterly incapable of moving. We're both sticky and reek to high heaven of sweat and sex and it's wonderful. I'm thinking there isn't anything that could make this moment more perfect until he murmurs, "I love you." And then, sounding both amused and determined: "My turn."
...and I can't help it, I start laughing, because there's no way I'm keeping this...joy bottled up. He understands, and laughs with me. I don't even realize what I'm saying until it's said. "Garth, ves'tacha--"
It's a word from my childhood, when my father would murmur at my mother in Rom to make her blush, and while I don't remember a lot of the language I remember *this* because I asked him. "I tell your mother she is my love, my beloved," he said, before sweeping me up into a three-way hug between them.
Garth looks a question at me, and I tell him. "That's, um. Rom. 'Beloved.'"
His eyes turn that passionate dark amethyst again, and he's kissing me, and whispering, and I can't understand the Atlantean words yet but I know what he's saying anyway.
I love you, too. As long as you want me. I'm yours.