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Spit and Polish

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The first time Erik saw her in them, he looked at her like his brain had just shut down entirely, circuits completely overloaded. "What are you trying to do, Raven?" he asked; it looked like he was trying to be accusatory, but it ended up coming out plaintive.

She looked at him in confusion. "Am I doing something?"

He licked his lips. "Those shoes have metal heels."

She looked down at them, studying them. She already knew that metal did it for him, the way he'd tug at her using anything handy, the chain harness he had her wear sometimes, useful for him to toss her around with, useful for her to torment him, slipping it on under her clothes before they'd go out somewhere public, somewhere he couldn't do anything about it. Still, he'd never reacted quite like this before, quite so overwhelmed.

She gave him a considering look. "Is it the metal, or is it because the metal's in the shoes?" She'd seen him blush maybe once, ever, but he was certainly doing it then. "Because we could probably do that. I don't think I'd mind."

He just stared at her for a long moment. "You astound me sometimes."

She walked over, leaning up to kiss him. "If it's only sometimes, I'm not doing it right."

So she turned over the shoes to him, and he did things to them that only a metal manipulator with a shoe fetish would even think of doing. And now here she is, walking into the bedroom to meet him, completely unsure whether this is going to work or not. She hopes it does; if it doesn't, that's a perfectly good pair of shoes ruined, not to mention all the time Erik spent on them- then again, she gets the distinct sense that he'd have done it anyway given half a chance.

She doesn't know exactly how high the stilettos are, maybe five or six inches. She actually can walk in them, even though they're heavy and uncomfortable as hell; it took her a while to learn the trick, but if she adjusts the musculature of her legs, it's almost like walking normally.

It says something very bad about the shoes.

They're actually even taller than they started out. When Erik was working on them, he added more on the bottom, extra height. They click when she walks, much louder than before, so loud it's almost like tap shoes.

Erik is kneeling by the bed, naked and ready, and she sits down in front of him. Her dress rides up her thighs as she puts her foot to his chest. "Lace them up."

There are tabs of metal on either side of each of them, and he stretches them out, pulling at them until they're long and thin; he winds them around her legs like Roman sandals, the straps cool against her skin. It really does look striking, the metal polished nearly to a mirror finish. Erik's breathing so heavily that she can feel it under the sole, his chest moving with it; when she looks at him, he's just staring, pupils blown. "Kiss it," she orders, not taking her foot away. He looks down at it, and she realizes she hasn't told him he can touch it; she's on the point of clarifying when he just skips over that, using his power to bring it up, just far enough that he has to lean down to get his mouth on it.

He presses a soft kiss to the very end of the toe, moving down one side, and Raven can't decide what she thinks about it. It's not exactly hot, per se; she's kind of indifferent about it, the sight of him lavishing attention on her heels. She mostly just wonders if this is what it looks like when he kisses her- the shoe part, not so much, but the expression, the single-minded focus, the want.

On the other hand, he's already into it, his cock hard, his breath coming fast, a hungry look on his face. That's the hot part, watching him get revved up, losing himself to pleasure. She takes her foot away- she meets with resistance from his power at first, like he doesn't want to give it back, maybe forgotten he's holding it. But he lets her go, and she replaces it with her other foot, holding it out until he catches it, holding it in midair. "Tell me what you want."

It's cruel, when they both know he's no good at talking, had trouble discussing this even when clear-headed; it's just that neither of them get off on nice. Erik swallows, frowning at her. "Let me use my tongue."

"Lick them," she says, deliberately saying what he was avoiding, something that somehow sounds so much dirtier, more salacious. Either way, he does it, dragging his tongue across the pristine surface. This is better, she has to admit, more attractive than just kissing it; maybe it's just the sight of his tongue itself, all the sense memories that go along with it, having it on her skin rather than just on her shoes.

It's becoming very clear that he'll do this just as long as he's allowed. He wants to explore every last centimeter of the shoes, track every single curve, every edge, and she wants to give him as long as he needs to do it. This isn't a small thing; this is something he planned for, something that took negotiation, a lot of talking that neither of them really wanted to do.

But as he trails his tongue along the thin metal of the straps, tracing them, Raven is, honestly, starting to get a little bored and a little incensed. She kind of wants to leave them alone together, Erik and his shoes, because she seems kind of superfluous to this process, a mannequin, just somewhere for the shoes to go.

Then he keeps sliding up, past the ends of the straps and onto her bare skin; he doesn't stop, licking and sucking, biting at the insides of her thighs, all the way up to where her legs join the rest of her. "Tell me I can," he says, looking up at her, his voice low and thick.

She's a little amazed, has to flip her thoughts upside down, but this isn't exactly the time to sit around thinking. "Come on," she says; he doesn't waste a single second, tugging her dress further up her thighs so he can push her legs open. Her panties are just an illusion, and she gets rid of them as fast as she can, needing his mouth on her as quickly as possible.

He doesn't disappoint; he buries his face in her cunt, moaning against her, and she has to grab him by the back of the head to hang on. He enjoys doing this for her, doesn't act like it's a chore or anything, but it's never been anything like this. It's like he can't even control himself, so overwhelmed by how much he needs her that he can't think about anything else. His fingers are digging into her thighs, pulling her closer, keeping her from getting away- as if she would want to, as if she would give this up.

He knows exactly what to do to her, what marks to hit, and he's using them to their fullest extent, bringing her to the edge faster than she even thought she could go. He presses his tongue to just the right spot, licking along the side of her clit, and she goes off, clutching at the back of his head, not letting him get away from an instant.

That's not something she has to worry about, because he doesn't move, even when she takes her hand away, still working his tongue. The only concession he even makes is to slow down for a moment, let her catch her breath, but then he's right back at it. It takes longer this time, but that just means it's better, harder; she shouts when she comes, something incoherent, something where the message is far secondary to the volume.

All that, and Erik still doesn't let up. "Stop," she says weakly, grabbing him by his hair and pulling his head away. "God, stop, you're going to kill me."

He sits back, and if she thought he was desperate before, she just wasn't even prepared. His cock is so hard that it's leaking into his stomach, drawn tight against him; he keeps biting at his lip, obviously trying to hold on. The metal of the shoes is actually vibrating, like he wants this so badly that he's losing his grip entirely.

"Do you want it?" she says, and he can't even speak, just nods. "Then do it."

It's barely out of her mouth before he's got his hand on his cock. He groans, working himself fast and hard, but he's obviously holding back, his face twisted up. Raven doesn't know if he's doing it for himself or waiting for her permission, but at this point it mostly just looks like he needs to come so badly that it's painful.

"Come for me," she says, stroking his hair, and he moans loudly; he forces himself to look down, to pay attention, to watch as his come spurts out over the shining metal of the shoes. This is the important thing, the big finish, the part he got inarticulate when trying to ask for. It's fascinating, the look on his face, the shame of it torn to pieces by the bone-deep satisfaction.

When it's finally over, he sits back, looking utterly wrecked, but there's one more thing to do. "Suck it clean," she says, holding out a foot, and he shuts his eyes, opening up wide to get as much of the pointed toe into his mouth as possible. He cleans every single drop, including what landed on her skin, including some things that didn't actually get dirty- the instep, she's decided, that's his favorite part. She lowers her foot, replacing it with the other, and he repeats the same process, until everything is flawless again.

He rests his head on her knee for a moment, out of breath; she gives him a minute before she tugs him up onto the bed. He looks her over, then tugs at her dress. "Get rid of this." She rolls her eyes at his casual bossiness, but she does it, leaning back and looking up at him.

"I take it the shoes are a hit," she says.

"Mmm," he replies, turning, bracing himself above her. He leans down and kisses her, but when he pulls away, he gives her a searching look. "It's not the shoes."

She makes a noise of frustration. "Then what the fuck was all that for?"

"The shoes are beautiful," he clarifies. "Those shoes, in particular, are art objects that were made to be worshiped."

"Humble as ever."

"But the shoes go on the feet, and the feet are attached to these legs, and the legs meet right here," he says, and Raven gasps when he slips a sneaky hand between her thighs, stroking her. "And this is connected quite directly to the brain." He kisses her again. "Without the woman in the shoes, the shoes are objects. Sex toys."

She really doesn't know how to respond to that, the enormity of what that statement implies. "You're not supposed to be more eloquent after sex."

"You bring it out in me," he tells her.

"How soon can you go again?" she asks, deflecting.

He raises an eyebrow at her, smirking. "Let's find out." He looks down. "Do you want me to take them off you?"

"Your choice," she says. "I'll wear them as long as you want. I can say this because you'll stop wanting the first time I kick you in the shin."

"I can stop a bullet from point blank range," he tells her, amused. "I can stop a wayward high heel."

"You say that now," she says, pulling him down on top of her, "but I intend for you to be way too distracted."