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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 5 years ago

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Collision

A/N: Sooooo a month ago, I would NOT have predicted I would be writing the most involved smut I’ve ever written about Obi-Wan Kenobi, despite the many wips I have demanding attention, but alas, here we are. I’d like to thank @beskars for rolling past my dash and whipping me out of any control or prior plans I have with their amazing fics that inspired me. This one is especially inspired by this blurb by @beskars which just absolutely rocked my shit. (Seriously, though, go read everything they write, they’re so talented)

Also, I’m so nervous, as I avoid writing Star Wars for a Reason, alright? But here we go regardless!

Also, if this gif belongs to you, please tell me so I can give you credit. The source wasn’t trackable from where I found this.

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force sensitive! reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Trust kink, Hair pulling, Oversensitivity kink, Hand kink, Voice kink (if that’s a thing? I know it is in the Obi-Wan fandom, at least), soft dom! Obi-Wan, Too many feelings for porn anywayyyyy

Without anything else:

His Force signature is completely unlike any other you’d encountered. Sure, each was unique, but there was something about the unshakable, blooming light that surrounded his very being. It was singular. Inimitable.

Which made these moments all the more difficult. As if your fingers being too small and smooth couldn’t make you feel his absence enough, the lack of his energy filling every corner of the room left a deafening emptiness.

So all you had was the memory of moments between the both of you. You let the thoughts take you, concentrating, trying to make it as real and present as possible as it plays out on the backs of your closed eyelids.

You’re not sure when your pleasure became so completely reliant on a single person, but here you are, chasing an orgasm that promised to be disatisfying from a simple omittance. You chase it all the same.

His eyes, his hands, his smile, just… him.

It’s taken so long, but it’s finally within reach as your fingers focus on your clit, rubbing far too rough in desperation.

Then, his… voice. It takes form in your mind, clear and crisp as if he were standing right in front of you, even if the words are blurred in the fog of sensation.

Straining to hear them, they finally take shape.

It’s just your name, and that alone shouldn’t be your undoing, but it’s how he says it. Full of wonder and familiarity and desire.

Your high hits sharp and sudden and short as your attention turns fully to the rest of the words.

Mother of… stars, Darling. Are you… heavens, you are, aren’t you?

You should’ve known, should have felt him lingering on the edges of your consciousness.

Wait… for him to be able to do that, he has to be…

Clarity slams down over you and you’re instantly up and throwing on the first articles of clothing you see before running out your quarters’ door and down the hall and straight out of your building. The pavement of the street is wet with the recently-passed rain, and it’s almost enough to dampen the sting of the jagged duracrete under your bare feet.

You stop, eyes scanning the passersby for a hint of him, but hoods are still up, heads still down from the rain, and everyone’s moving so quickly.

So you close your eyes.

He’s only taught you a few things. Your time together is so limited, after all, and there are just so many other ways to spend it.

But he’s taught you this. Concentration unwinds your features as you feel outward, searching again. Your range is still shaky even at short distances, but his signature, remember? Singular. Stunning.

Here.

You open your eyes.

Standing near a corner of the neighboring building, looking directly at you, smiling.

His mouth doesn’t open, but you hear the “Well done” all the same, whispered against your thoughts.

Then it’s a run, all out, from both of you to cover the distance between. He stops only slightly short to soften the crash of his body against yours. You don’t, thudding into his open arms, clashing against the piece of armor on his chest, regretting nothing despite the short flash of pain.

As you melt into the warmth of the embrace, into the sturdiness of his figure, the ferocity in which he returns the embrace, something deep within you stirs at the scent of him. It’s muddled with sweat and both the artificial smell of metallic machinery and the contrasting metallic smell of blood, but it’s there. So you take it all in; Obi-Wan Kenobi and the wake of war still fresh on his skin.

But in his eyes. Oh, in his eyes. There's not a war there.

He draws back, a smile with something behind it sliding across his features. “As lovely as this street truly is…”

You laugh and nod, coming out of your single-minded trance. It’s not a lovely street at all.

He raises an arm of his cloak to shield you from the still-cool air lingering from the storm, storing you under his arm as you make your way back to your quarters.

You reach for each other the moment your door closes behind you, and he whispers against your hair, “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

You nod, wetness gathering in the corners of your eyes as it sinks in. He’s here. “I’ve missed you too.” You bring your hand up to his face, scraping your fingers against his beard. “ So much.”

And then he’s leaning down, kissing you ravenously, even as his hands around your waist brush softly against the fabric of your shirt.

It’s tongue and an edge of teeth, enrapturement with an edge of desperation as you meet him, mouths slanting into familiar but long-gone-without taste.

There’s been far too much loss here to hold each other loosely.

Breathless and thumming with the energy of each other, you break apart, and he rests his forehead on yours.

He breaks the contented silence after a moment. “Before anything else, for your sake and mine, I think a shower might be in order.”

You smile up at him. “How about a bath?”

“Hmm…” He strokes his beard in mock pensiveness. “A tempting counteroffer indeed. However, I think I’d prefer to wash away all this,” he waves a hand over his torso, gesturing to the stains across his robes.

“Who says you have to choose? You go on ahead and shower, and I’ll join you for a bath when you’re done.”

*****

You can sense his Force signature loud and clear, but even still, he’s careful to approach gently if your back is turned to him.

The underworld of the city had been unforgiving at times, and it's taken you a long time to not instantly enter an attack stance if someone touches you unexpectedly. If it’s anyone but him, you still flinch.

You remember the instant understanding and compassion in his eyes the first time you’d thrown an arm up in defense of a nonexistent blow.

It’s funny. He has far more capacity to do damage than anyone else you’ve ever encountered, but strength is an entirely different matter when it’s marked by gentleness instead of cruelty.

Obi-Wan had completely shaken your definition of power upside down.

You push your thankfulness to him through the Force, unable to put how deep it runs into words.

The impact is loud across his face even before he responds with an ask for permission. He always does after anything puts you on edge.

You hug him first in answer, not at all minding the way the dampness in his chest hair transfers to you. He has a towel wrapped around his waist, but as you let your eyes admire his torso, your want to have the towel gone grows substantially.

He quirks an eyebrow once he notices your stare, a playful grin changing the energy of the moment.

“Shall we take that bath, then?”

The question is absolutely dripping with intent, and it pools right under your belly button. There will never be a time when his voice alone doesn’t send your control teetering, but when he says things that way?

You reach down to take your shirt off, followed by your shorts, followed by everything else until you’re naked in front of him. When you look back up at him, your breath hitches at the longing saturating his expression. As if in confirmation to that very thought, he pushes the feeling toward you, loud and clear and vibrant and just... You try to help the pathetic little noise that leaves your mouth, you really do.

Once you gather up your pride again, you answer. “That’d be good.”

When the tub is filled with almost-too-hot water, you settle in, trying to gather yourself into one side of a tub only meant for one.

In your effort, you miss the exact moment he loses the towel, but you catch when he notices you… well… noticing him. He’s such an unassuming man, his little moments of cockiness are such a treasure.

Perhaps part of the singularity of him is forged by the duality of many of his qualities.

His attention turns to the bathtub and the instant issue of space, and his brow furrows a little, going into solving mode.

He puts his index finger up, “Here… let’s try this,” he says as he arranges himself in the water at the end opposite of you, spreading his legs. He makes a twirling motion with his finger. “Turn around.”

Once you do, Obi-Wan pulls you back between his legs. As you scoot yourself fully back into him, the small of your back brushes against his cock, and he lets out a low groan in response. You can feel the vibration of it in his chest, and it’s just… so much all at once. Your legs snap together in effort to put the pang of want into check.

He moves his head to the side of yours, mouth against your neck as he murmurs, “I heard you. Earlier. You were playing with yourself, weren’t you?”

One of his hands cups your breast, giving a short pinch to your nipple, and the other slips down to your thigh, pushing gently to open your still death-grip clenched legs.

There are so many sensations all at once, between the heat of the water, his breath against your cheek, and the sinful splay of his hands, it takes a valiant amount of discipline to wrench your legs away from each other.

His hand dips under the water, down your stomach, a single finger tracing across your pubic bone, then he stops short.

You make a sound of indignation, and he tsks.

“I asked you a question, little one.”

“Yes,” you exhale. “That means you had to be listening in on me. I can’t project that far yet.”

“So it seems we both are found guilty in this instance, although my motives were innocent, I assure you. I was checking to see if you were home.”

“You’re aware I own a comlink, yes? And at some point you stayed to listen, long after you confirmed I was home.”

You turn and catch the tail end of pinkness flushing his cheeks. “Indeed, you are correct. I… hope I haven’t crossed a boundary with that. I know we haven’t exactly prediscus…”

You look him square in the eye, addressing his unease before it has space to blossom. “Obi, you’re fine. I appreciate your concern, I don’t mind you listening, or watching or whatever you want.”

He smiles, tentatively. “Watching?”

It’s your turn for your cheeks to warm, despite the still intimate positioning of both his hands.

“If you’re close enough to watch, I’d rather you’d be a participant. My hands are no substitute for yours.”

“I don’t have to be in close range to watch, per se. But we can discuss that later, but for now…” he finally slips his finger down further, slipping between your folds, going straight for your clit. “I don’t dare deprive you.”

Again, your legs contract together, and he pushes them back apart. “Keep them open, please.”

It takes more effort that you’d care to admit to do so as he brushes his finger back and forth between your opening and you clit with not nearly enough pressure. He knows it, too. He’s been in your mind enough to know how to do this with maddening precision, but he can now do it without using your thoughts as a guide.

In short, he’s teasing, and he knows it.

You can normally give a decent protest, waiting him out until he’s teased you long enough for him to see fit, but you’re still swollen and slick from a climax that took far too much friction to achieve.

“Obi-Wan, please.”

He lightens his touch even further, and you move your legs together yet again, hopelessly trying to force the contact you need. He lifts his hand from you completely, and you could scream at the loss. Instead, he places his hands firmly under the backs of your thighs, drawing you up as he shifts down a little, hooking your legs over the sides of his.

Like this, you’re ridiculously exposed, his knees spreading your legs and preventing you from being able to draw them back together. You have to bend your knees to allow it, which sags your body deeper into the bath and against him. The only leverage you have is the cramped contact one calf has against the tile wall, as the other one dangles over the edge of the tub.

You’re at his mercy.

Thank the Maker he’s a compassionate man because when he touches you again, he cups his hand, two fingers pushing into you, making sure your clit is in their path when he drags them out of you.

“Kriffing… oh Maker, your hands…” you choke out, trying without success to lift your hips into the pressure of his fingers.

“Hmm? What of them?”

You shake your head, feeling the ability to verbalize competently start to fade.

He presses his lips right up against your ear, scraping his beard against the tender skin of your neck as he takes your breast into his free hand. “Tell me.”

Distantly, you recognize the tone of his voice as being a little more on edge than usual, a little more unraveled. If you were in any position to do it, you’d exploit it to your benefit.

“They’re… your fingers… they’re a lot...mm.. thicker than mine. And.. fuck!” He picks up his pace and concentrates the circles his thumb is now drawing. He’s making this difficult on purpose, giving you what you need now of all times.

“And what?” His melodic accent seems above it all and unaffected, but the fact he’s grinding his cock ever so slightly against your lower back betrays him.

“They’re comp… competent. You just know what you’re doing with… with them. In everything.”

You think of the way he uses them, how capacity just radiates from his hands, whether it’s wielding his saber, punctuating a statement with a gesture of them, or just gracefully navigating everyday tasks that other hands would stumble over.

“And mine are too s...soft. Yours are…”

You feel his smirk against your neck as he purposefully catches a callus against your clit, and that’s it, sending you tumbling hard, toes searching for anything to lift yourself into it as they curl in.

When you sag back against him under the weight of sensation you expect him to make a witty remark, but as you finally start to catch your breath, you recognize the hitches in his. And the flush of his skin, far to warm for the now lukewarm water: His desire is loud.

You treasure it. Because any emotion he allows himself to feel loudly is a victory.

After you manage with some fumbling to get out of the tub, you sift through your cabinet for some towels.

He thanks you when you hand him one, his etiquette not forsaken despite the fact you just watched him suck the finger that’d just been between your folds into his mouth. Let it never be said Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t a gentleman.

It’s almost regrettable to see him drying off, as sensuous as he looks wet. But all is forgiven once you see the aftermath of him towel-drying his hair. It’s a mess, a righteous mess, strands falling in whatever direction they please, some sweeping across his forehead.

You take his hand in yours, tugging him gently out the bathroom. You haven’t bothered with a towel, naked body dripping water all over your floor as you walk backwards, Obi-Wan’s hand in yours as he lets you lead him to your bed.

His eyes are gentle as he holds your stare, but you know him well enough to see the restlessness in how he carries his weight.

You want to answer the silent plea, give him what he needs and more, bleed your adoration all over him, give into that voice inside you that says to hold nothing back.

Maybe it’s the galaxy itself, whispering on behalf of the man who keeps laying himself down for it.

Even if it isn’t, when the stakes are as high as breaking codes and looking down the barrel of war’s tendency to not return lovers to each other, there’s no room for half measures.

You stop just shy of the bed, pulling his hand up to your mouth. Darting your tongue out to meet his index finger, you make sure to flick it just a little before taking the finger into your mouth down to his second knuckle.

You do your best not to smile when you hear his sharp inhale. Holding eye contact, you draw back your lips up and push them back down his finger once more before removing it from your mouth.

There’s a thin line of saliva between your face and his digit as you do so, and just before it breaks, he gathers it up on the thumb of his other hand. He tucks his fingers under your chin to tilt your jaw up before smearing the liquid back over your bottom lip.

Your knees immediately respond with a pathetic cry to give out. That’s just as well: your plans for him don’t involve you standing up after all.

You fall to your knees before him.

There’s a small puddle of bathwater under you, but it falls to the back of your mind when his cock twitches as your shaky exhale greets it.

“Love, you needn’t… not like that.” He starts moving to tuck his hands under your arms, to take you up to your feet, but you bat his hands away.

You slide the side of your cheek along the length of him, not even looking back up at him. “I want to. Like this.”

He shakes his head, and you stop. “Unless you don’t want to?” you ask, bringing your eyes back up to his.

He closes his eyes, seemingly trying to collect his thoughts. “It’s... degrading. I won’t have that for you.” If the way his voice is absolutely wrecked has anything to say, his objections aren’t in the fact he doesn’t want this.

“And I won’t have you be anything except worshiped the way you ought.”

He’s a sight. Looking up at him from this angle, watching the few droplets he missed with a towel find hiding in the curvatures and edges of his body, how his muscles twitch sporadically at your breath.

Obi-Wan’s body is littered with the remains of battles and the evidence of the capacity to fight them well, and he blushes, blushes at the notion he should be worshipped.

You angle your mouth so it’s right against the tip of him, letting him feel your lips as they move with your words. “Have you any other objections?”

His hips cant slightly forward into your lips as he grits out, “Alright.”

He’s trying to stay in that irritating state of composure he always manages, and you want to break it in half. Crack his control enough that he actually allows the awe you have for him to seep in through the fissures.

So you take him as far as you can right away, letting him hit the back of your throat.

Obi-Wan groans, deep and unchecked as his head rolls back, exposing his neck beautifully to you from where you kneel.

A jolt of desire sends one arm forward to brace yourself against his thigh as the other one shoots between your legs, petting where you’re aching for him, but you jerk it away the moment you make contact. It’s still so exceedingly tender, you can’t bear it if you want your coordination to stay operating.

Then he’s sliding his hand to the side of your head, fingers jerking away just short of your hair.

You hum your distaste for his hesitation around him, and you can tell he’s trying to understand what you’re saying with valiant effort, so you take his hand and press it back against your hair.

“Nmh...Darling, I can’t… I’m going to pull if my hand is there.”

You let him slide off your tongue so you could have it back for your own purposes. “Then pull.”

He sighs, sagging in defeat into the pleasure as you take him in again, no slowing in your pace this time.

You rock your hips at the way his hand just swallows the base of your skull before he gathers up your hair, testing the waters with a small yank.

A moan escapes you before you can stop it, before you realize how much that doesn’t really work well when your mouth is this full. Your hips rock into empty space when he really pulls, not harshly, and honestly not as hard as you would have it, but it’s so fucking right and good.

You imagine he’d protest doing this without being connected to your mind, knowing exactly where your boundaries lie if it weren’t for the fact he himself craves this very sensation. You’ve always been so caught up in how much he loses it when you tug on his tresses that you haven’t bothered to mention how much you love it on yourself too.

It’s a fast escalation into mania, with his fingers scraping against your scalp, continuing to generate little noises from you, the vibrations sending the muscles in his lower abdomen into convulsions as he flexes to keep from thrusting into your mouth.

At last, he pulls your hair rough enough, just shy of the edge of painful, but your elation is cut short in the realization he’s doing it to wrench you off of him.

You try to move back onto him, reluctant to lose the taste of him, but he sees it, anticipates it even, and how wonderful that you’re predictable in how much you crave him this way. He helps you to your feet, and then he’s caught you up by the backs of your thighs, placing you down on the bed, without any pomp and ceremony.

He crawls over you, stopping to spread you open with two thumbs and place an open-mouthed, wet kiss right at the apex of your thighs, dragging his tongue through your folds, and you don’t even have a second to think of trying to muffle your damn near scream. You’re so tender and he’s too deliberate, too knowing, and his beard is hardly the right antidote for your borderline sore flesh.

But through the haze of sensation, there’s a craving, heady and propelling.

You tug on his arm, gesturing for him to come up, and he complies, dragging a knuckle up over your stomach, crawling over you until his face is over yours. You reach up to kiss him, and he meets you, bruising passion and all, as you eagerly taste as much of each other as possible.

You wonder if kissing Obi-Wan will ever not feel like being smited. He’s astonishingly talented with his tongue. Always. Whether it be that whip-sharp intellect, his ability to place just the right words together for the situation, or the more… tangible uses.

It’s already blurring your thinking capabilities down to base function, but when he reaches down, takes his cock in hand, and starts dragging it down your slit and back up again, smearing your slick all over both of you, something sparks, your nerves shouting something, and you’re not sure yet if it’s a cry for more or for mercy.

You break the kiss, muffling your moan into the side of his jaw, fumbling with the words to tell him to stop. To keep going.

He seems to pick up on it. Obi-Wan looks at you, really looks at you in that way only he does, piercing and perceptive. It should be unnerving, and maybe it would be if you didn’t trust him so much. It doesn’t make you feel critiqued. It makes you feel understood somewhere deep in the fabric of your bones.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear before placing his fingers to your temple. “May I?”

It’s such a momentous thing, being in someone else’s mind in this way, that he always asks, no matter how many times you’ve given explicit permission. The look in his eyes sends you reeling, how much want there is in his question.

There was a time that letting someone know you like this, inside and out, would have terrified you. You can tend to hide under so much pretense to protect yourself, and this just breaks through it all.

But he let you in first. Under all his pretense, projecting his mind outward and laying the pureness of his intentions flat and bare.

The enormity of what has transpired between you two has been nothing short of a battle.

Because you both had a tendency to hide, and it’s a fight to forsake the shelter of those things. Him in the monochromatic views of a religion that give purpose to his trauma. You in the simplicity of jadedness to give protection to yours.

But his presence demands something of you. Not him himself, no. Maker bless this unpresumptive man. But there’s something about the sheer authenticity in which he handles himself that you dare not give him anything except your full vulnerability. Because that’s exactly what he’s given you. And anything less is an unacceptable offering to this man deserving of every good thing the galaxy has to offer.

So you lie underneath him naked. Naked and unafraid as you whisper your “yes” in response to his ask.

There’s armor discarded somewhere on your floor, and it’s an appropriate metaphor if you’ve ever seen one.

You think he’s going to tease you more. That’s generally part of why he needs to be in your mind. To be able to ride the line of too much and not enough when you’re unable to articulate the words to do so aloud.

But you catch his eyes right before they close in concentration, and you know he’s not in much better a position that you are.

You still aren’t expecting for him to do what he does.

To reach down and align you both, pushing into your body at the same time he pushes into your mind.

It’s blinding sensation, and he’s so reverent, so gentle in both, but he’s still overwhelming as you try to anchor yourself against the waves. He doesn’t move in either at first, and at first you think it’s because he’s letting you adjust, letting you get used to what feels like a part missing from your very being fitting back into place within the crevasses of your subconscious, letting your body adapt to the wondrous fullness.

But then you open your eyes, watching his face twist in pleasure as the hand not on your forehead grips the blanket with white-knuckles. The stillness isn’t just for your benefit, and you need to hear it. Stars, do you need to hear it.

So you lift your fingers to his temple, asking aloud, “Please?”

And he’s nodding before you’re even done with the word, already recognizing you plan before you can say it.

You haven’t done this during sex before. He’s let you in, as practice, but he had strong parameters within his subconscious as to not overwhelm you as you as a beginner.

You suddenly stop, worried that you’ll hurt him with your clumsiness, but you hear him, loud and clear: No, go on. You won’t hurt me. Your uncertainty doesn’t budge, still hesitating until his voice is in your head again. I need… please, love. I...I want you to.

So you push your subconscious into his, and stars, if it’s not the most beautiful thing you’ve ever experienced. Somewhere, you hear his physical voice gasp at the penetration.

He’s beautiful. For all the dualities of his personality, he should feel maybe shifty or unsafe or at minimum uncoordinated. It doesn’t. It forges without crease into the balanced being before you.

There should be stark juxtaposition, but it’s not. It’s striking balance emanating from a powerful light.

He hears the affirmation, and even as he’s shaking his head, a drop of wetness splashes on your cheek from above.

One world-worn soul knows another when they meet, and the recognition feels like coming home to a comfort to the depth of which you’ve never known.

I love you, you whisper against his mind, meaning it with every fiber of your being.

And I, you. Even here, without it’s verbal manifestation, his voice holds an almost beg.

It carries for a moment, echoing back and forth between you two, louder and louder, before the notion demands your bodies to do something about it. He listens, hips dropping into yours, fitting himself into you fully.

“Yes,” you hiss against him, and you can feel his Force signature sing at the blessing as he finally starts to move. At first, you try to meet your hips up into his, but the thick drag of his cock against your hyper-sensitive flesh prevents a second try.

“Obi, I… I can’t. It’s too much.”

He stills again, and you’re thankful for the break, but in the same breath you want to yell for him to keep moving.

He can feel him get strategic in your thoughts, and he must find what he’s looking for, because he groans against your cheek. “I think you can. Be strong, little one. Hold on for me.”

You won’t be able to hold this for long, no matter how strong you are. In response to that thought, he lets his fingers off your temple, the connection how stable enough without the contact. He pulls out, and you whine your disapproval into empty space.

“Shh shhh shh,” he says aloud, following it up with his inner voice that says, Trust me.

Then he’s pushing your thighs back, hooking your knees up over his shoulders, and pushing back into you.

Both of you let out indecipherable exclamations as your Force signatures shout their pleasures, amplifying one another’s. This isn’t going to last long, and you both know it.

Not with the way you run your fingers through his hair and yank the way you know he likes, not with the way he drags against just the right spot at this angle, not with how much each of his reactions and blisses essentially become your own as you hear them so clearly without any barriers of thought.

You’re so shamefully wet, and you’re certain that’s the only reason the friction isn’t absolutely unbearable as his pubic bone strikes against your clit every time he thrusts into you.

It’s a tease, and your breath is starting to come out more like heaves and gasps for air because of it.

“Obi, I…”

But he hears it before you can say it, thumb pressing with no-joke pressure over your clit, sending your inner muscles into spasms, which in turn pulls a depraved noise from Obi-Wan.

Being in his mind like this gives you a new respect for how he’s able to keep his bearings and control throughout this mind-bending loop of feedback, how well-practiced someone has to be in the Force to do that as well as strong in their own discipline.

It must be pushing even his limits, because he starts to open his mouth, but then shuts it, opting to instead press a loose but insistent warning to you.

Yes, please, Obi. I want you to, want it… You run your nails across his shoulders before finding a grip there to leverage yourself against the movement.

Where?

Your mind must answer the question for him, because the next second he’s pulled out to your entrance, pressing his cock right up against you without pushing in, and spills himself.

The way his jaw scrapes against the side of your face as he tries to hide the noises he makes is one thing, but his Force signature, Maker, his Force signature is another. His ecstasy and feelings toward you are so loud, as all-encompassing of the energy surrounding you two, that you follow him right over the edge.

It’s mind-splitting and soul-mending all in the same overpowering strike. You can’t hold your delve into his thoughts, but he keeps his in yours all through it, imbedding his consciousness in yours, calling your signatures together into one.

As he falls on top of you, both of you trying to catch your breath, you hear it.

How the Force itself seems to harmonize to the unity it’s bearing witness to.

It somehow makes it feel like your climaxes aren’t the edge of something, but rather the foundation for something far bigger than coital pleasure.

“Do you…?”

“Yes, Darling. I hear it too.”

Your hearts bleed irony and rhymes when you collide. It’s a song of divine reversals of the pains life has given you. You cut him on your mind’s sharp edges and sooth him with your soft soul. He bruises your thighs with calloused fingers and challenges everything you’ve known with his tender eyes.

But the crashing doesn’t feel like devastation. There’s wreckage, for certain. It’s the type of colliding that renders sand smoother at the ocean’s smash.

So let it.

May he continue to mark your thighs and stain your soul, and may your crashing continue to leave you both raw and reborn.

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stardancerluv · 3 years ago

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Gotham Surviving the Pandemic 2021

Part 4c

Summary: Storm rolls in and Roman’s past haunts him.

Note: This brings in some canon for Roman Sionis….his parents were awful to him. In one telling…he was bit by a rabid raccoon and that is what made him an angry & cruel man. Also there are some seeds planted to establish that there is no love loss between Roman & Bruce Wayne. I tweak some of this as you will see. And its a bit of a chapter! Enjoy!

Gently Roman held you as you both floated in the large pool, his warmth was comforting in the coldish water.

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder where a scar marred the smooth skin. Over the last few years of being with Roman, he had picked up a few scars. “I remember when you got this one.” You pressed another kiss on it.

“That asshole had ruined my white suit.” From the angle you looked at him, you could see he made a face.

“But you got him.” You smiled. He had really loved that white suit. It had been one of the first suits he wore when the two of you became an item.

“I certainly did.” A dark chuckle came from him.

“This is really nice, Roman. You outdid yourself.” Lifting your head, you looked him over. Water droplets clung here and there to the shadows of growth on his face.

He smiled. “You and I needed a place we could run to.”

“Well, this is certainly it.”

He caught you up in a kiss then, your heart began to beat faster.

You barely heard the low rumble from the sky above, but you did feel the icy rain that slashed across the two of you. You both practically leapt apart. “Let’s go inside.” Roman urged.

******

Roman shivered under his fluffy robe as he poured a fresh glass of champagne for the two of you. He eyed the outside, it had grown considerably darker.

“You don’t think the hurricane makes it up here, do you?” You called.

“It had better not.” He called back. The lights flickered, he stopped pouring. Not now, he thought. Putting the bottle down he turned and looked at the mass of cabinet doors behind him. Where would they have put candles and such?

You came padding in, wrapped in your own fluffy robe.

“More champagne?” You hopped back onto the counter and finished pouring some into the one glass. Still a little bubbly from the glass earlier, you took a sip from the one that had been yours.

He smiled at you lightly distracted. “Of course.”

He spotted a door near the fridge, he figured he’d look there. He opened the door and sighed. He had been right.

The lights flickered, he glanced back at you. Your eyes met. “Roman?”

“We’ll be ok.” He gestured to the fire place. “Baby?”

“Yes.”

“Grab some blankets and pillows. We’ll, “He smiled. “we’ll camp out here.”

“Uhm, ok!”

While you walked away, he looked things over. He grabbed a lantern of some kind, pushing the button. He was happy to see that it worked. Next, he took a lighter and a few candles and went over to the fireplace. He retrieved the champagne and glasses.

He placed the things near the cold, darkened fireplace. Just in case, he mused. Walking back to the bedroom he met you halfway. You smiled around the blankets and pillows, but it dropped as the lights flickered but this time stayed off a little longer before snapping back on.

“Grab a few more. Then we’ll be all set.” He tried to say brightly. As he walked back with what you brought, he saw that the wind had really begun to pick up.

He laid the blankets and pillows down. He gritted his teeth. He did not want to be stuck looking at the storm right now, so he closed the curtains which would block the view to the pool.

“Is this enough?”

He turned and smiled. “Yeah. Fluff them with what we have.” He needed to distract himself. He doesn’t know why, but today the past was threatening to come for a visit.

Once back in the kitchen, he took a large bowl out the cabinet. Scanning the fridge, he took out some tasty foods. Looking in another cabinet, he smiled broadly. They had enough fixings for s'mores.

Bringing over the tasty morsels, he came back to you. “When I got my special artifacts-”

“Those shrunken heads and masks?” You looked up at him as he came to kneel down near you.

“Yeah, a lot of driving around. I stayed in local places. I wasn’t brave enough to camp in the wilds of Africa.” He admitted.

“I don’t blame you.” You looked at what he brought over. “You brought a feast.”

He shrugged. “I’m just going to grab a loaf of that crusty bread.”

“Ooh!” You cooed. “Please do.”

He would not give into his past. He gritted his teeth harder once he grabbed the loaf of bread. Going back to the fridge, he grabbed some cheese. That was when the lights went out. “Fuck.” He muttered.

“Roman?” He heard the pitch your voice took and made his way quickly over to you.

“I’m here, baby.” Placing the food down, he pushed the button and the lantern lit up. As he pulled you close, a loud rumble burst above the two of you. He squeezed his eyes shut as he kissed the top of your head. “It will pass.” He whispered.

You wrapped your arms around him.

As a rumble once again exploded above the two of you, the house shook and the lantern clattered to its side. Roman flinched; the past came back and filled his imagination.

******

He hummed, then hummed harder as the thunder grew louder and the streaks of lightning appeared closer. His humming ceased as he saw a large shadow fall over him.

“Bernard, grab my cowardly weasel of a son for me.”

“What… What did I do?” He had managed to sputter out. He tried to back away from his father. He bumped right into the legs of Bernard, who easily scooped him up.

He began to struggle. But his six year old strength was little compared the monster of a man who was their butler.

“Scared of a fucking storm.” He heard his father mutter. “Take him outside, let him see what he is cowering from. Don’t you dare let him back in until the storm passes.”

“Put me down!” He howled.

“Can’t do that, Master Sionis.” Bernard gave him a look.

Bernard walked him a fair distance out. “It will pass.” He said before walking back towards the house.

Roman stayed standing till there was a crack of thunder that exploded above him. He crouched down and covered his ears once again.

The heavy rain soon soaked through his clothes.

Another loud rumble of thunder exploded above him once again. He could not contain the scream in fear that came from deep within him. The ground shook under him. It made him open his eyes. He scrambled backward when he saw half a tree smoldering in front of him. His shoes slipped and slid as he struggled to stand.

“Don’t let him back in.” He heard his father bellow.

He doesn’t know what compelled him then, but he ran. He ran not towards the house, but away. He ran and ran till his lungs hurt. Coming up against a tree to finally catch his breath, he looked and realized what he had done. It stilled him.

He had run so far and fast, that he managed to get to the Wayne grounds. Thunder rolled in above him as he looked into the window and he saw Bruce. He managed to not shut his eyes at the sound. It wasn’t as loud as it had been.

He spotted a splotchy red face. Tears streaked the cheeks. He was scared of the storm too, Roman realized. But when the thunder came again, he buried his face into his mother’s side.

Roman leaned forward holding onto the tree. His stomach churned at the sight as she reassuringly stroked his hair.

Anger boiled in him then. He ran away. This time as he ran, he went another way. A scream erupted from him as he tumbled and fell, then rolled down a hill.

He swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. A snarl filled his ears. Startled, he looked to his side. It was there. On the hill above him, he saw it. A raccoon looked down at him and snarled again as it stepped closer.

******

“Roman… Roman?” You shook him. The far-off look and the way his lips had curled upset you. “It’s ok, you don’t have to tell me any more.” You said softly. You searched his blue eyes, they were so far away.

He shook and looked at you. He blinked. “Baby?” His eyes came back from far away.

You smiled. “I’m here.”

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