They chase each other through the air, she on anti-gravity boots even more awesome than jetpacks, he with mechanical wings as graceful as a peregrine. The few Chicagoans who look up suddenly recall vague flashes of alien ships flying through the air, the Willis Tower on fire, but shake their heads to clear them of the ludicrous memory, maybe muttering about side effects of a stressful week, but more likely thinking of their next Dunkin' Donuts coffee. Jupiter couldn't care less. She grabs Caine's hands in a reversal of their first meeting, skating backwards between the towers of downtown, whooping as updrafts tumble them through the air. He laughs and retracts his wings, letting her steer them as she pleases.
It's only natural that they end up back at the Willis tower. Phasing into Caine's hideout feels like stepping into another reality, where time flows as slow as honey, and as sweet as a kiss. From behind her, Caine tucks his head in the base of her neck to take a long, shuddering inhale, his hands roaming hungrily over her hips, her thighs, her stomach, like he's trying to memorize her scent, her body. She hooks an arm around his neck, tugging at the short hairs at the base of his skull so that he lifts his head, leaning back so that she can kiss him on tiptoes, trusting him to support her weight. It's like leaning against a brick wall during lazy summer evenings, sultry jazz singing in her veins. He kisses back eagerly and sloppily, practically licking her teeth in his enthusiasm, sighing when she sucks on his tongue, shivering when she pets his hair, his jawline, his hands twitching at the hem of her tank top, like he wants to touch her skin but doesn't think he has permission--like he thinks she'd say no.
She smiles into the kiss and guides his hands under the thin cotton of her top. His sighs turn into breathy moans, his rough fingers tracing the lines of her hipbones, dipping into her navel, sliding into her pants to skim along the top of her pubic triangle, every touch like electricity crackling across her skin. When they break apart, she's not sure which of them is breathing harder.
And then he sinks to his knees in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Your Majesty," he breathes, voice thick and gravelly with need, his hands hovering near her ankle, asking for permission to touch in the same breath as he offers himself up as tribute, for her to touch, to take, and, with a single word, to destroy. She wants to be his safe harbor in stormy waters, to hide him in her pocket until his sloe-eyed sadness melts away, to give him everything he needs but can't ask for. But all her words sink like sand, so she gives permission and acknowledgement in the only way she can--she places her booted foot in his lap.
He makes an aborted sound like all the air's been punched out of him, and with trembling hands, lifts her foot to his lips, pressing soft, chaste kisses up the top of the boot before sliding a finger down the instep of her foot, kisses that she can't feel but make her toes curl in pleasure all the same. The boot opens for him like a blooming flower, like her heart, and she gasps, trembling above him, watching Caine set aside the boot, kissing her ankle before placing her foot carefully back on the ground. He repeats the process for the other foot and then sits back on his heels, eyes calm, waiting for her permission to continue. Gathering up all her courage, she sashays across the room without a backwards glance, sinking as gracefully as she can onto his cot, before beckoning him with a single finger.
"Come," she commands.
It's funny how she's never really thought of Caine as a wolf before. Sure, she knows how he tracked her across the planet, and she's well aware of his preternatural speed and reflexes, but there's no mistaking the wolf now, as he crawls with lupine grace across the floor towards her, his eyes bright with predatory hunger. She shivers both with instinctual fear passed down through the ages and at the raw power she controls just under her fingers, nails digging into his powerful shoulders, as she drags him up for a kiss.
She drags his sleeveless shirt over his shoulders, and he helps her untangle it from his wings. He makes as if to tug the shirt off entirely, but she's not done with him yet. She drags the shirt down to his wrists and twists it, bonding the shirt loosely around his wrists and hands before tying it in a knot. He shifts on his knees helplessly, panting already.
She raises an eyebrow at him in challenge, before slowly pulling off her tank top, twisting sinuously as she goes. She unhooks her bra, but holds the cups to her chest, teasing him by pressing the cups together to deepen her cleavage, dipping them just low enough to see the dusty areola, again and again until he's groaning with need, before she lets the scraps of fabric flutter to the ground. The thirst in his eyes sends licks of fire up her spine, the sight of the wolf she has tamed and collared. She imagines him on his knees as he is now, but with a collar snug against his Adam's apple, clipped to a leash wrapped around her hand, with no ambiguity as to who he belongs to. The thought pebbles her skin as she shimmies out of her tight, black jeans, flinging them aside. She hooks fingers under her panties, but Caine moans and shuffles forward, burying his face between her thighs. He takes several deep lungfuls of air, and hot damp heat gust right where she needs it. She takes her pleasure with her hands holding his head in place, his tongue tasting her sopping panties, his nose grinding against her clit.
Finally, she can't wait any longer, shoving her panties down to her ankles before kicking them off. Caine shuffles forward eagerly, and she lets him patiently lick aside her folds, his bound hands laying chastely in his lap. He zeroes in on her clit, sucking gently, and her legs clamp down almost involuntarily around his ears, shaking. She wonders at the contrast between his sloppy kissing and his precise pussy-eating, but then he lightly scrapes his teeth under the root of her clit and all thought flies out of her mind. He doesn't let up until she pulls him off by the hair, shaking, practically sobbing with need, mashing her mouth against his in a kiss that makes him jump with surprise. She licks the taste of herself out of his mouth, off his chin and nose, until it's his turn to tremble.
She looks at him then, eyes glassy, hair a spiky mess, mouth ruined and wet, skin blotchy red from his pointed ears to his scarred chest. She's never seen anything more beautiful. She kisses him lightly on his forehead, then each eyelid as she unravels the makeshift handcuffs. His eyes are still closed as she inspects his hands and wrists for abrasion or loss of circulation, kissing each fingertip as she goes.
He's almost doll-like as she divests him of his jeans, standing and sitting at her command, worshipful eyes trained on her the whole time. Until she tries to go for the condom in her discarded jeans, thrown across the room in her haste, and he wraps his arms around her waist, making a mournful sound against her hip.
"Hey, it's okay," she says to him in what she hopes is a soothing voice, petting his shoulder, "I'm just going for a condom. Unless you have one?"
He blinks at her for a second more before his eyes clear.
"Oh, um," he says, scratching the back of his head before diving into his pants and coming up with a little aerosol can.
She watches with not a little curiosity as he sprays it liberally over his shiny red cock. It bobs a little when he sprays over the head, but he makes no sound, and in less than a minute, it dries from a shiny film to something more matte. She runs a finger over the surface, jerking away at Caine's surprised hiss, discovering that the surface is pebbled, not smooth.
"Elastic super-molecular film, with three types of spermicide and an all-spectrum anti-microbial," says Caine, before grinning boyishly, "Also ribbed for her pleasure."
"I don't know about you, but those right there are definitely not ribs," Jupiter quips, holding out a hand for the spray-on condom. He obliges, and Jupiter sprays a little on her fingers. There's no feeling of cold, just wetness, tingling a little as it dries. She waits until it has the same pebbled texture as the finished condom, before rubbing her fingers together lightly, and gasps. There's no loss of sensation--it's exactly like skin against skin, except for an added friction that sends shivers up her arm.
"Are you sure it's not ribbed for his pleasure, too?" she deadpans.
He ducks his head shyly. "Anything that pleases Her Majesty pleases me."
It's so cheesy, but he looks so earnest that she has to kiss him, letting him chase her mouth as she leans back, until they're both on the narrow cot, she rubbing encouragement with her toe into his calf, he crouched above her like a great predator.
"Well then," she says, breathlessly, "I'm sure there's something that would please me very much."
He sinks slowly into her, no further invitation needed, panting wetly into her collarbone, driving them both half-insane. They both groan. He shifts, forearms braced on either side of her head, wings fanned out for balance.
And the world implodes into singular, white-hot pleasure as he moves.
She never knew how much his wings were a natural extension of Caine until he had them back. His slightly hunched posture had seemed the natural response of a proud man brought low, a fearsome wolf clipped of his fangs and claws. But with new wings and his old title, Caine's spine have straightened, his wings acting as counterbalance, heavy penance lifted from his shoulders. They are just as expressive as his hands and face, and Jupiter feels like she has a whole new language to learn with this man before she can consider herself fluent in his loud gestures and silent words, in every twitch of his mechanical feathers.
They are beating now, his wings, twitching at first, but deepening to shallow beats counter to his deep thrusts as Caine falls apart, his moans no longer muffled behind pinched lips, his eyes wild and dark. Wings that are driving him harder and deeper than anyone has ever gone before, that would have driven Jupiter halfway across the room if not for Caine's hands holding her in place, digging delicious bruises into her hip. She will enjoy looking at them tomorrow, and pressing her own smaller fingertips into the inky, round marks to feel the aching pleasure, but not now. Not now, when all she wants is for it to never end.
"You don't come until I say," she pants at Caine, before throwing her head back to scream as he shivers and readjusts his aim, driving his cock in a new delicious angle. It glances against her G-spot, and she throws her legs around his waist so that his every thrust slides true.
Forever later and still all too soon, the pleasure humming under her skin draws up like a ship just before hyper jump, caught on the edge of time and space, crystallized in a pocket of super-heated space, kinetic energy vibrating the Universe until the void itself glows red hot--and then explodes forward, shooting past the boundaries between planets and stars and galaxies, bridging the gap between time and space, crossing the Universe, the void, the infinitely vast distance between two souls, two hearts. Two lovers.
Caine is still rocking her through her orgasm, his moans now sounding more like sobs, his eyes squeezed shut beneath knit brows, his wings twisting in agony. She kisses him on the forehead and whispers, "You're such a good boy. Come, come for me now."
Caine gives a full body shudder, jackrabbiting into her a few more times before he does so, screaming into the side of her neck before going limp. She cards her fingers through his damp hair as he twitches and grinds into her, pressing kisses into his temple.
He shifts after a few minutes, and she's conflicted--relieved that the heavy weight constricting her breathing is gone, disappointed that his furnace-hot heat is too. The problem is solved a second later when he simply rolls them on their side, cock pulling at her entrance but not slipping out. She winces, and then squirms as instead of deflating, his dick seemed to be growing instead.
"Stop moving," he gasps, shuddering, and she realizes that he's still coming, "Wait, does--does it hurt?"
"No, but--what is it?" she asks, freezing, "Is it the condom? Did it break?"
Caine flushes and mumbles something nearly inaudible.
"Did you just say knot?" says Jupiter, delighted, grinding down on the growing pressure just inside her vagina, "Huh, wow. That's kind of awesome."
Caine just keens and shudders, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. She takes pity on him and stops moving, scratching lightly at the base of his skull until his eyes focus.
"Sorry," she tells him.
"Anything that pleases Your Majesty--"
"You please me," she says, smiling at the bewilderment in Caine's eyes, "Just the way you are."
They lay in comfortable silence, Caine nuzzling at her hair, Jupiter tracing the lines of his shoulders, too distracted by the growing knot to draw any meaningful patterns on his skin. A sudden thought occurs to her, and she pokes him in the chest.
"So, since we're probably going to be here for a while, what's your sign, anyway?"