Prompt: You can say you know me, but you have no clue what my dreams could show you. And darkness is fading in, and darkness is real.
Kink: disillusionment, broken trust.
Notes/Warnings: Angst, cursing, sexual activity. Written in present tense, which is turning into my favorite, oddly enough. Written for rounds_of_kink Round 19.
Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage or any of the creations associated with it.
Summary: It's always been hard for them to draw the lines between hurting each other and being in love.
One of these days, Nate is going to slam the door too hard, and it will finally break. However, the sound is enough to send a shiver down her spine and her body stiffens in preparation for battle.
He glowers at her, furious hands clenched at his sides; she knows the thought of physically strangling her has passed through his mind. At times it seems unfortunate that he won’t ever follow through. As he moves towards her, she backs up, stumbling against furniture until she finds the wall and steadies herself against it.
He stops a few feet away. “You were out of line!”
“I did what I needed to. You just resent that I took the control from you.” She’s been prepping for this since she turned to the mark and changed the game. And, it doesn’t take much thought anymore. It’s the same thing, recycled constantly.
He’s in front of her before she can blink, and he growls, “You almost got Eliot killed. And, the con is blown, now. We can’t repair the damage you created.”
“The con was blown before I did anything.” She’s not flinching away from him, because while she might not be exactly right, she’s not wrong, either.
He doesn’t ask her to explain; he senses that she’s not being completely honest, and while she’s afraid that he’ll call her bluff, she halfway hopes that he’ll just leave it alone.
“And that’s a surprise? You know who I am. What I do for a living.”
“You lie for a living. You’re not supposed to with me!”
“I don’t, Nate. I thought you trusted me.” Her eyes flicker up to his, and she sighs. She can’t say that she’s surprised. “Of course, though, you don’t.”
“You’re not telling me the truth right now.”
“Not the exact truth, no, because you don’t want to listen to it.”
“Then what is the truth?”
“That your plan was fast becoming a disaster, and if something didn’t change, Eliot was going to be shot and possibly die. I got us out of there.”
“What about our client? What am I supposed to tell him?”
“What about our team? Do you not care what happens to us as long as you win?”
Her eyes widen as he raises his fist and slams it into the wall inches away from her face. She can feel the vibrations from the force of impact; she’s a little afraid. And very turned on.
“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you,” he finally murmurs, dropping his head.
She laughs, her mouth twisting with bitterness. “Wouldn’t you? No matter what, you see us as less than you.”
“I thought I was a thief just like the rest of you.”
“Thief or honest man, you’re an ass either way.” The fight has drained out of her, so the remark comes out more as a gentle tease than an insult.
He reaches up and cups her jaw in his hand; she leans into the touch, the tenderness threatening to shatter her. Honestly, it’s best if they stay angry because at least they make an attempt to save themselves. It’s the shaky ground of trying to be in love that is much more destructive.
She waits, her chin tilted up just a little. If there’s one thing she’s learned, it’s to wait; he likes the surety of control, and she prefers to have some kind of buy-in from him to know that she’s not alone in at least wanting to make this work in some fashion. He kisses her, his lips hard and bruising, his tongue pushing into her mouth. She opens herself to him with a moan and drags her hand up his spine and into his hair. She tugs too hard on purpose; he growls and moves his lips to her neck, his teeth pressing into her skin. She doesn’t stop him. He never leaves marks.
They always move too fast when they get this far, and tonight isn’t going to be an exception. He shoves her dress up over her hips, and his fingers press into her shallowly through her underwear. She bucks her hips, wanting more, but he retreats and pulls her zipper down. Well, he actually tugs it too hard, and it breaks, but she’s never been one to get caught up on little details when it’s his hands on her skin and his mouth kissing her again and again. Her body is flushed and throbbing, and she presses her body against him, searching for his belt buckle. She can feel his hardness pressing into her thigh.
He shoves her dress down her body until it falls to the floor, and he unhooks her bra with a practiced move, taking a nipple into his mouth. He sucks on it, running his tongue over the tip and tugging at it with his teeth until she arches her back and cries out.
“Fuck,” she gets through clenched teeth.
She finally manages to get rid of his belt, and she opens his pants, shoving her hand inside his boxers. She wraps her fingers around him; she strokes him slowly, looking up at him through hooded eyes as he braces himself against the wall and breathes. Then, he withdraws, and when she moves to follow him, he pushes her against the wall. He drops to his knees and slides her underwear down her legs, lifting one over his shoulder. He presses a finger to her clit and holds it there. She starts to rub against it in an effort to find a release for the heavy pressure settled low in her abdomen, but he takes his finger away.
And replaces it with his mouth.
“Nate,” she moans, her hands scrabbling along the wall to find something to grasp as the shocks ripple through her body.
Her hips rock into his lips as his tongue delves into her and sweeps lazily over her clit. She hates this power he has over her, hates giving in, because this is all about control. He loves making her come until she melts into him; it’s just another way of playing her, and it’s the only one she can’t fight against it. Or doesn’t want to fight. She still hasn’t figured out the differences.
He sucks at her clit and shoves two fingers deep inside her, curling them forward as she whimpers and struggles to stay upright against the wall. She’s so close, but he’s slowing down his pace to keep her hovering on the edge. She knows what he’s waiting for, and damn it, she wants this too badly to not give it to him.
Then, she’s coming so hard and fast that she nearly buckles to the ground; he’s used to this, though, and he stands up, letting her leg fall back to the floor, his fingers still inside her. He brushes his lips against hers, and she can taste herself on his mouth. She moans and lets her head fall forward into his chest as the aftershocks brush against the edges of her nerves, and he withdraws his hand. He licks it clean, and she watches him, lips parted and breathing hard.
Her fingers trace along his jaw and down his chest. Her movements are slow, languid, now, like a lull in a storm. She unbuttons his shirt and helps him shrug it off. He pushes his own pants down with his boxers, and he lifts her up and holds her against the wall. She wraps her legs around his waist and moves her hips experimentally. His shaft slides along her folds, and his fingers press harder into her back until she’s sure there will be bruises tomorrow. All the better. A little pain keeps them from slipping up and forgetting themselves; it’s too easy when part of this is about forgetting and part is about hate and another part is about love.
She reaches between them and guides him to her entrance. He pushes inside her, and she groans, flexing her legs tighter and tilting her head down to kiss him. He indulges her, letting her nip at his bottom lip and slide her tongue along his; then, he withdraws and thrusts back into her, his mouth breaking away from hers and landing again on her breast. She slips her fingers into his hair and tugs, forcing him to look up at her. His blue eyes are dark and unfocused as he thrusts into her. She rests her forehead against his so that with every rock of his hips, his lips brush against hers.
She can feel the rising yearning again, and she drags one of his hands in between them because he always makes her ask for it. And, she takes what she wants anyway. Fuck his control issues. He is moving with less finesse, and he presses his face into her neck, using his free hand to hold her closer to his body. His fingers flicker along her clit, and she comes again with a gasp. Stars dance along the edges of her vision even as he presses harder and shudders with his orgasm. She feels him pulse inside her, and she lets her body fall a little more into him.
She hates these moments when she forgets where she is and who she is with, and she lets herself fall a little too far. They’re both cruel and proud and unrelenting, and they’re both a lot more than just broken. Not that any of those reasons will ever stop them. It’s like constantly watching Titanic and hoping every time that the boat misses the iceberg; some things don’t change, can’t ever change.
So she doesn’t say anything and lets him hold her against him. She wants this too much. She wants him, wants this life. She wants, she wants.... And, she’s pretty sure that he wants some of the same things. But, it’s never enough. It won’t be, or maybe they just refuse to let it. Either way, in this moment, she can let herself believe that they’ll make it to the other side; one of these days, she’ll figure out how to stop hoping. Maybe it will hurt less.