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rose_in_winterCharacters: Celes/Locke
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Explicit sex, temperature play
Wordcount: 1361
Notes: Apparently I managed to never post this before. I know I wrote it a while back. Yay new fic with no effort?
Betas: None
Summary: Locke has some interesting ideas on how to cool off.
The Southern Continent had always been warm, plaguing her with its sticky humidity and the weight of the sun pressing her into the ground. Now, in the tattered remains of the world, Maranda was even hotter than before. Celes had wandered up onto the deck of the Falcon in hopes of finding a cooling breeze, but it seemed all she would find was stifling heat and stillness.
It would, perhaps, not be so bad if they were flying, but they had stopped here to resupply, and she knew that they would not leave before morning. She longed to march forward, and put an end to this once and for all, but her troops must be rested before beginning such a massive assault.
Tomorrow, they would climb Kefka's Tower.
She had never been so restless before a battle. Celes paced the length of the deck, her boot heels clicking in an even rhythm across the wooden planks. She had prepared as much as she was able, had driven herself harder than even Gestahl's army had demanded, and wrenched mastery of every spell from their stock of magicite.
She still felt unprepared, and suspected that it was the cause of her restlessness.
She heard the tread of boots behind her, and spun, drawing her sword in a fluid motion. Locke stood some fifteen paces back, hands upraised. She sheathed the sword again.
"Good thing I decided to make some noise so you'd know I was here," he said.
Celes shook her head. She was unused to people approaching her as he did; her reputation, not to mention her magic, had kept everyone but Leo and Kefka at arm's length in Vector, and the casual closeness of the Returners was a source of perpetual mystery to her.
He said nothing else, and the silence began to grate on her. "What?" she asked, for no one had ever sought her out merely to stand and stare.
"I thought perhaps you might like to come in and cool off," he said, winking at her.
Celes frowned. It was even warmer below decks.
"Trust me," he said, and gave her his best appealing smile.
Celes contented herself with a curt nod, and followed him into the belly of the airship. Here, the clashing of gears and rushing of wind was muted, and she might have walked into any high-class establishment from Figaro to Jidoor. Their progress was slowed by the others, who seemed intent on stopping them for pointless chatter. Locke was always friendly, but managed to disengage himself from each conversation within a minute or two, escorting her deeper into the airship to the individual quarters Setzer had hastily partitioned out of the lower levels. Here, the throb of the engines made whispered conversations impossible, but also covered the myriad small noises of fourteen people tossing and turning in the night. She found the clash and hum of machinery oddly comforting, reminiscent of Vector when she was small and Cid would lull her to sleep with the constant whirring of his machines.
Locke tugged on her wrist to direct her into his chamber, and closed the door behind her. Celes sighed. "If you wanted to fuck me, why not just ask?" she asked.
His jaw dropped for a moment, and then he shook his head as though to clear it. "I thought that a little surprise would be a bit more romantic," he said. He stepped closer, his hands coming up to rest feather-light against her upper arms. "But if you want me to ask more clearly, I can."
She shook her head and leaned forward to kiss him. His mouth was always so warm, something she never quite expected no matter how many times they had done this. She could feel his hands, equally warm on her arms even through her clothing, and the heat radiating off his body. Combined with the warmth of being inside, it was almost enough to make her light-headed.
Something icy-cold slid along her collarbone, and she jumped back in surprise. Locke grinned, and she saw the flash of blue crystal in his hand. Shiva. She knew its name, and form, as well as she knew her own.
"I did say cool off," Locke said, the picture of innocence.
In answer, she reached for the fastenings of his vest.
It was only a few minutes' work to strip both of them of their garments, and she accomplished the task with efficiency. Strangely, Locke did not seem inclined to move directly to her bed. Instead, he stepped close enough that she could feel his warmth, and stroked the smooth crystal along the line of her neck. She shivered, and sighed in quiet pleasure at the icy chill.
"I have a question," Locke murmured, deft fingers trailing the magicite over her skin.
"Hmm?" She looked at him warily, even as she combed her fingertips through his hair in the way that always made him tilt his head back and close his eyes.
"Will you let me take my time?" Icy crystal circled her nipple, making her arch her back to lean closer to him.
"I—" She blinked, refocused her thoughts. "Isn't that what you always do?"
He traced the line of her collarbones again with the magicite, and his mouth followed in its wake, shockingly hot. "Answer the question," he said playfully, caressing her breasts with fingers cold from the magicite.
"Yes," she said, and leaned forward to kiss him.
She felt the peculiar weight of magicite drawing an ice-cold line down her spine, and couldn't quite hold back the little moan that caught in her throat. His body was fascinating to her, lean muscle and narrow hips, built for agility rather than raw strength. She trailed her fingers over his skin, marveling—as she always did—at how warm he was. Her fingertips lingered on old scars, one that curved around his ribs on the right side and one that ran jaggedly down the back of his left shoulder.
The magicite slid over hip, and angled slowly downward. She caught her breath and braced herself, one hand clasping his shoulder and the other wandering downward in slow circles toward his cock.
"You said I could take my time," Locke said, and the magicite halted, a tantalizing point of ice against her skin.
"You are," she retorted, brushing her fingertips along his length.
He hissed in a breath, and caught her wrist in his free hand. "Not as much as I want to," he said, and the magicite slid downward. Her fingers dug into his shoulder when it slid between her legs and pressed against her clit. She had always loved the cold, and now to have such a concentrated source of it on such a sensitive point—
It was perfect.
She almost didn't even want to move, didn't want to lose the feeling of ice spreading its chill. Locke let go of her wrist and she gripped his upper arm, feeling the muscle flex beneath her fingers.
"You look incredible," he said, and shifted the magicite just a little, a slow almost-undetectable motion that sent pleasure spiking through her, made her shift her hips to get him to press harder. His hand moved slowly, rocking against her so that the magicite never lost contact with her skin. She braced her feet a bit wider apart, and leaned into his movements. It was slow, so slow, a patient building tension that seemed to take forever. She held on to him, pulling him closer for a kiss, and reveled in the contrast between his mouth hot against hers and the frozen magicite between her legs.
She pressed her mouth against his shoulder to muffle the sound she made when she came, fingers flexing and digging deep into his flesh. His free arm wrapped around her, holding her braced against him until she stopped shuddering and found her balance again.
"I take it that was worth it?" he said, fingertips skimming along her back.
Celes smiled, planted her feet, and shoved him onto the bed, moving quickly to join him.
He grinned.
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Explicit sex, temperature play
Wordcount: 1361
Notes: Apparently I managed to never post this before. I know I wrote it a while back. Yay new fic with no effort?
Betas: None
Summary: Locke has some interesting ideas on how to cool off.
The Southern Continent had always been warm, plaguing her with its sticky humidity and the weight of the sun pressing her into the ground. Now, in the tattered remains of the world, Maranda was even hotter than before. Celes had wandered up onto the deck of the Falcon in hopes of finding a cooling breeze, but it seemed all she would find was stifling heat and stillness.
It would, perhaps, not be so bad if they were flying, but they had stopped here to resupply, and she knew that they would not leave before morning. She longed to march forward, and put an end to this once and for all, but her troops must be rested before beginning such a massive assault.
Tomorrow, they would climb Kefka's Tower.
She had never been so restless before a battle. Celes paced the length of the deck, her boot heels clicking in an even rhythm across the wooden planks. She had prepared as much as she was able, had driven herself harder than even Gestahl's army had demanded, and wrenched mastery of every spell from their stock of magicite.
She still felt unprepared, and suspected that it was the cause of her restlessness.
She heard the tread of boots behind her, and spun, drawing her sword in a fluid motion. Locke stood some fifteen paces back, hands upraised. She sheathed the sword again.
"Good thing I decided to make some noise so you'd know I was here," he said.
Celes shook her head. She was unused to people approaching her as he did; her reputation, not to mention her magic, had kept everyone but Leo and Kefka at arm's length in Vector, and the casual closeness of the Returners was a source of perpetual mystery to her.
He said nothing else, and the silence began to grate on her. "What?" she asked, for no one had ever sought her out merely to stand and stare.
"I thought perhaps you might like to come in and cool off," he said, winking at her.
Celes frowned. It was even warmer below decks.
"Trust me," he said, and gave her his best appealing smile.
Celes contented herself with a curt nod, and followed him into the belly of the airship. Here, the clashing of gears and rushing of wind was muted, and she might have walked into any high-class establishment from Figaro to Jidoor. Their progress was slowed by the others, who seemed intent on stopping them for pointless chatter. Locke was always friendly, but managed to disengage himself from each conversation within a minute or two, escorting her deeper into the airship to the individual quarters Setzer had hastily partitioned out of the lower levels. Here, the throb of the engines made whispered conversations impossible, but also covered the myriad small noises of fourteen people tossing and turning in the night. She found the clash and hum of machinery oddly comforting, reminiscent of Vector when she was small and Cid would lull her to sleep with the constant whirring of his machines.
Locke tugged on her wrist to direct her into his chamber, and closed the door behind her. Celes sighed. "If you wanted to fuck me, why not just ask?" she asked.
His jaw dropped for a moment, and then he shook his head as though to clear it. "I thought that a little surprise would be a bit more romantic," he said. He stepped closer, his hands coming up to rest feather-light against her upper arms. "But if you want me to ask more clearly, I can."
She shook her head and leaned forward to kiss him. His mouth was always so warm, something she never quite expected no matter how many times they had done this. She could feel his hands, equally warm on her arms even through her clothing, and the heat radiating off his body. Combined with the warmth of being inside, it was almost enough to make her light-headed.
Something icy-cold slid along her collarbone, and she jumped back in surprise. Locke grinned, and she saw the flash of blue crystal in his hand. Shiva. She knew its name, and form, as well as she knew her own.
"I did say cool off," Locke said, the picture of innocence.
In answer, she reached for the fastenings of his vest.
It was only a few minutes' work to strip both of them of their garments, and she accomplished the task with efficiency. Strangely, Locke did not seem inclined to move directly to her bed. Instead, he stepped close enough that she could feel his warmth, and stroked the smooth crystal along the line of her neck. She shivered, and sighed in quiet pleasure at the icy chill.
"I have a question," Locke murmured, deft fingers trailing the magicite over her skin.
"Hmm?" She looked at him warily, even as she combed her fingertips through his hair in the way that always made him tilt his head back and close his eyes.
"Will you let me take my time?" Icy crystal circled her nipple, making her arch her back to lean closer to him.
"I—" She blinked, refocused her thoughts. "Isn't that what you always do?"
He traced the line of her collarbones again with the magicite, and his mouth followed in its wake, shockingly hot. "Answer the question," he said playfully, caressing her breasts with fingers cold from the magicite.
"Yes," she said, and leaned forward to kiss him.
She felt the peculiar weight of magicite drawing an ice-cold line down her spine, and couldn't quite hold back the little moan that caught in her throat. His body was fascinating to her, lean muscle and narrow hips, built for agility rather than raw strength. She trailed her fingers over his skin, marveling—as she always did—at how warm he was. Her fingertips lingered on old scars, one that curved around his ribs on the right side and one that ran jaggedly down the back of his left shoulder.
The magicite slid over hip, and angled slowly downward. She caught her breath and braced herself, one hand clasping his shoulder and the other wandering downward in slow circles toward his cock.
"You said I could take my time," Locke said, and the magicite halted, a tantalizing point of ice against her skin.
"You are," she retorted, brushing her fingertips along his length.
He hissed in a breath, and caught her wrist in his free hand. "Not as much as I want to," he said, and the magicite slid downward. Her fingers dug into his shoulder when it slid between her legs and pressed against her clit. She had always loved the cold, and now to have such a concentrated source of it on such a sensitive point—
It was perfect.
She almost didn't even want to move, didn't want to lose the feeling of ice spreading its chill. Locke let go of her wrist and she gripped his upper arm, feeling the muscle flex beneath her fingers.
"You look incredible," he said, and shifted the magicite just a little, a slow almost-undetectable motion that sent pleasure spiking through her, made her shift her hips to get him to press harder. His hand moved slowly, rocking against her so that the magicite never lost contact with her skin. She braced her feet a bit wider apart, and leaned into his movements. It was slow, so slow, a patient building tension that seemed to take forever. She held on to him, pulling him closer for a kiss, and reveled in the contrast between his mouth hot against hers and the frozen magicite between her legs.
She pressed her mouth against his shoulder to muffle the sound she made when she came, fingers flexing and digging deep into his flesh. His free arm wrapped around her, holding her braced against him until she stopped shuddering and found her balance again.
"I take it that was worth it?" he said, fingertips skimming along her back.
Celes smiled, planted her feet, and shoved him onto the bed, moving quickly to join him.
He grinned.