The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Chapter Thirty One (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch, Uberbeta and Honorable Moo… Who’s your kitty???? ;) InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena get extra musekibble for archivng/hosting. :) ProPhile… happier now? ;) Morgan: *poke * Readers/Reviewers: Wheeeeeeeeeee… The armadillos are sneaking up so don’t look now. But *glomps * for reading/reviewing!



Amara stared at herself in the ornate silver mirror hung over the antique dressing table. She looked, she decided, tired. And ashen. The ride to Boston had been relatively uneventful save for two pit stops to retrieve lost shoes and a purse, but other than that, it had been a blur of suburbia and rural stretches, broken by a fast food restaurant here and there and one call from Kitty on Logan’s cell phone, which resulted in him being in a far worse mood than before the call. She sighed and shook herself out of her mild reverie and began putting her weekend’s worth of clothes away in the dresser Emma had provided for her. Their hostess had been strangely absent, Firestar letting them in and showing them to the rooms that had been set up for their stay. Emma had paid little min kee keeping the males and females separate, giving them all rooms not only on the same hall but some even had interconnecting doors, as was the case of Rogue and Todd. Rogue had looked as if she had seen a ghost and Todd had seemed something between ebullient and horrified when he found out. Amara smiled faintly to herself as she shoved the last of her underwear into the narrow drawer. Rogue needs to lighten up, she thought, surprising herself. _Todd isn’t so bad… not that I’m going to let on that I think that… _
“Whoa, this room is fucking HUGE!” Lance exclaimed, sauntering in without knocking. “Is that a balcony?”
She raised an eyebrow and shut the drawer, turning to face him as he made a beeline for the French doors leading to the small balcony. “No. It’s a Corvette.”
He snorted, leaning over the railing and looking down onto the lawn below. “Were you this sarcastic on Nova Roma, too?” He was admittedly fascinated by the Frost manor. He had never been anywhere so opulent, not even the Institute. While the Professor’s home was grand and old itself, it bore the air of a school for obvious reasons. Emma’s mansion seemed to be caught in a temporal slip sometime during the early part of the century… He could tell the house was far older, but it did not seem to have aged past 1910. He looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Whaddaya think? One day, I’ll have a place like this.”
She shrugged faintly and wandered over to stand next to him, looking down over the maze of boxwoods below. “I had a place like this. It isn’t worth it.”
He blinked, suddenly overtaken by her morose mood. “Uh…”
“Not just like this,” she corrected in a murmur, “but close.” She turned and leaned her back against the railing, tilting her face towards the early afternoon sun. “It still wasn’t worth it.”
Lance frowned. Amara had been less consistent in her moods lately than usual; he was used to her sudden, passionate swings from pleasant to angry to depressed in a heart beat, but, he reflected, usually they had reason. “You feeling okay?” he asked softly, reaching out to push her hair behind her ear. “You seem really… I dunno. Different.”
“I’m just fine,” she replied in a monotone. “Perfectly normal.” She caught his hand against the side of her face and pressed a kiss against his palm. “As normal as I can be.” She kissed him again, this time his wrist, her tongue darting out against the pulse steadily increasing there.
He licked his lips, thinking furiously, as she turned her face upwards for a kiss. “Well… Emma’s not around ao ono one knows where she is…”
“We have time,” she murmured.
Lance was not exactly surprised by the intensity of her kiss but rather by her desperation. He let her pull him towards the bedroom but they ended up falling to the balcony floor, tripping over each other’s feet.1 Lance grunted as he landed flat on his back, Amara on top of him, turning as they fell. “Ow,” he uttered as they broke for air. “That fucking hurt!”
She hissed an invective in Latin, tugging at his shirt as she worked at her own zipper and fastening to her jeans. “Shut up,” she muttered. “Don’t want to talk.”
“Okay…” He was rewarded for his slip with a sharp pinch, making him gasp and arch against her. Amara was quick, almost detached from what they were doing, jerking his pants down roughly, making him hiss in pai the the rough fabric caught against his arousal then dragged down his skin. The marbled balcony was cold and startlingeatheath as as Amara stood, making short work of her own clothes before kneeling over him, naked from the waist down. “Amara,” he said, breaking the silence again. “Slow down.”
“No,” she responded instantly. “Tacit!” She leaned forward and kissed him again as she straddled him, her switch to Latin automatic and unconscious. She needed this, she thought, she needed to feel whole, to feel normal and right and good and without blemish on her soul, whatever that might be.
Lance bit down on his to as as she took him within her, partially from surprise and partially to keep from crying out. She was already wet, her inner flesh silken and hot around him as she tightened her muscles, making him grip her hard, hard enough to leave finger marks on her hips. She waited the shortest moment before moving, rising and lowering herself, rocking her hips as she closed her eyes and threw her head back. His eyes fluttered closed as she moaned softly, her hands reaching for her breasts through the fabric of her t-shirt, pinching her nipples and making them turgid peaks beneath the cotton fabric. His eyes flew open when he felt her reach for his hand on her left hip and guide it between them, asking wordlessly for him to touch her. He found the bud of her sex and began tentative, feather-light strokes until she frowned, her command clear. He nodded silently, his breath ragged as he increased the intensity of his touch, rubbing her harder. She moaned a bit louder then, her face flushed and throat working to hold back a cry. She arched her back suddenly, grinding against him as her release washed over her. Her flesh grew almost too hot to touch and he had a moment of panic as he thought she might lose control of her powers, but it subsided quickly, fading to a normal, albeit tantalizing heat. His own release was not far behind, torn from him as her wanton appearance and shivering body drew him over the edf cof control. She stayed still as he filled her with the spill of his seed, then she leaned forward and lay against his chest, her breathing nearly normal as he panted to regain some semblance of control over his functions. A deep, distant rumbling broke the silence, followed by a more insistent, present one, making the balcony shake and the windows rattle. She leaned up to look at him and he shook his head. “ I’m not even touching the ground!” he protested.
Amara sat up, moving off of him, and frowned. The rumbling grew persistent, louder and stronger, making it hard to stand. “Lance…”
“Fuck,” he gritted. “We can’t have a break, can we?”
1 Seriously, the height difference alone wouldn’t allow for them to walk and kiss at the same time unless they were REALLY slow or just lucky. And while I’m here, lol, am I the only one who gets ZZ Top’s “Under Pressure” stuck in my head when Lance and Amara are having a sex scene?