lackadaisicalnereid (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lackadaisicalnereid) wrote2014-07-05 04:00 am
lackadaisicalnereid) wrote2014-07-05 04:00 am
fic: in another place, in another time (we were in love) (the 100; bellamy/raven)
in another place, in another time (we were in love) | the 100 | bellamy/raven | R (?) | 862 words | for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
upupa_epops who wanted: The 100, Bellamy/Raven, he needs her to come, but she never gives him enough time, and he won't ask. He won't. , so everything is, as it is most of the time, her fault entirely. Other than the title, that I stole from Angus Stone. For the porn! ficathon that you should still all definitely go visit. And write me porn.
Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.
Crossed out.
-R. Siken
It's irritating, that's what this is.
He's had sex before. On the Arc and on Earth and if their landing to Earth had taken a bit longer, well he probably would've had sex during the landing as well. Because that's just the kind of guy he is. And it wasn't bad. The sex. For the women, he means. (Sometimes there were even two at once. He’s not bragging, it’s just the truth.) They moaned and they arched their backs and he thinks (or likes to think) they came.
This makes it much more irritating that Raven doesn’t.
...
The first time she comes to his tent, she's willing and she's hot, so he fucks her (or lets her fuck him if you want to put it that way, even if it would obviously be a lie, because Bellamy Blake fucks women, not the other way around, never the other way around) and later she's not willing anymore and she's still hot and damn irritating and she's more irritating than she's hot, which is an accomplishment, he thinks.
It’s been about six and a half seconds since he came (not that he’s counting, except that he obviously is) and she’s still lying in his bed and he's desperate for air. He knows he can make himself ready for round two in a short while, only she's faster than he is, and she's already standing up and putting on her shirt.
(If he loved her, which he doesn't, he would hate her now, just a little, for leaving him before he's had a chance to leave her or before he's had a chance for round two, or both.)
And then she's gone.
He lays there for a few more minutes, staring into nowhere in particular.
He seems more tired than she seemed and she was the one on top.
And it seems she didn't come.
He shrugs it off after a few more moments of consideration, puts on clothes and carries on. She'll be back, this is something he knows, and he'll be ready for her when she does.
...
He turns out to be half right after all.
…
She comes the second time. To his tent. She doesn't come, not really. This has officially become irritating now.
He thinks about saying something then, but obviously he should become a faster learner of the ways of Raven Reyes, because it’s been only what, six and a half seconds since he came (he knows, he’s counting by the embarrassingly short distance between his breaths) and there she is, like clockwork, already jumping out of his bed and putting on her clothes.
So he doesn’t say or ask anything this time either.
(She wouldn’t have answered him anyway. This much he thinks he knows about her.)
…
By the third time, he’s learned to recognize her by the small pause in the sound of footsteps in front of his tent that happens between her approaching it and actually coming in.
He wouldn’t like to say that he’s trying harder this time to make her come, but he’s trying harder this time to make her come. He doesn’t say anything while she’s undressing and when she kisses him he bites her lower lip the way he knows she likes, he meets each movement of her hips with his own, and tries to think of all the dead bodies he’s seen lately, which makes him last longer, but apparently not long enough, because he comes and she doesn’t, yet again.
She’s lowered herself down next to him on his bed now and he knows she’s going to leave soon and he still doesn’t know how to make her come.
Something forms in his mind, an idea maybe, and he smiles (definitely not because of the idea he’s just stumbled on, definitely not because of the thought of her against his tongue with her legs spread wide around him) and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s seen him smile or because she hasn’t, but she’s turned around and pressed his lips onto his and slipped her tongue quickly between his teeth.
She’s dressed again before he’s collected himself and it looks like she’s won again.
(If he loved her, he would hate her a little this time, because she’s won again, and he just keeps losing, and he hates losing.)
…
(If he loved her – well, he doesn't, obviously, so it's not worth the bother to finish that thought.)
…
He decides after a while that it never really mattered – decided to call it all a win instead: she’s still irritatingly hot. And if she doesn’t come, well, her loss, not his. Definitely not his.
(If he loved her, maybe it would sort of be his loss as well.
He doesn’t, so it’s not.)
…
Sometimes, though -- doesn't matter.
...
(Sometimes, during the six and a half seconds that she’ll be lying with him in his bed, still irritatingly hot and somehow achingly familiar, maybe in those moments, he will think of going down on her or maybe he’ll even think of loving her.)
...
(In another place, in another time -- maybe he would have.)
upupa_epops who wanted: The 100, Bellamy/Raven, he needs her to come, but she never gives him enough time, and he won't ask. He won't. , so everything is, as it is most of the time, her fault entirely. Other than the title, that I stole from Angus Stone. For the porn! ficathon that you should still all definitely go visit. And write me porn.Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.
Crossed out.
-R. Siken
It's irritating, that's what this is.
He's had sex before. On the Arc and on Earth and if their landing to Earth had taken a bit longer, well he probably would've had sex during the landing as well. Because that's just the kind of guy he is. And it wasn't bad. The sex. For the women, he means. (Sometimes there were even two at once. He’s not bragging, it’s just the truth.) They moaned and they arched their backs and he thinks (or likes to think) they came.
This makes it much more irritating that Raven doesn’t.
...
The first time she comes to his tent, she's willing and she's hot, so he fucks her (or lets her fuck him if you want to put it that way, even if it would obviously be a lie, because Bellamy Blake fucks women, not the other way around, never the other way around) and later she's not willing anymore and she's still hot and damn irritating and she's more irritating than she's hot, which is an accomplishment, he thinks.
It’s been about six and a half seconds since he came (not that he’s counting, except that he obviously is) and she’s still lying in his bed and he's desperate for air. He knows he can make himself ready for round two in a short while, only she's faster than he is, and she's already standing up and putting on her shirt.
(If he loved her, which he doesn't, he would hate her now, just a little, for leaving him before he's had a chance to leave her or before he's had a chance for round two, or both.)
And then she's gone.
He lays there for a few more minutes, staring into nowhere in particular.
He seems more tired than she seemed and she was the one on top.
And it seems she didn't come.
He shrugs it off after a few more moments of consideration, puts on clothes and carries on. She'll be back, this is something he knows, and he'll be ready for her when she does.
...
He turns out to be half right after all.
…
She comes the second time. To his tent. She doesn't come, not really. This has officially become irritating now.
He thinks about saying something then, but obviously he should become a faster learner of the ways of Raven Reyes, because it’s been only what, six and a half seconds since he came (he knows, he’s counting by the embarrassingly short distance between his breaths) and there she is, like clockwork, already jumping out of his bed and putting on her clothes.
So he doesn’t say or ask anything this time either.
(She wouldn’t have answered him anyway. This much he thinks he knows about her.)
…
By the third time, he’s learned to recognize her by the small pause in the sound of footsteps in front of his tent that happens between her approaching it and actually coming in.
He wouldn’t like to say that he’s trying harder this time to make her come, but he’s trying harder this time to make her come. He doesn’t say anything while she’s undressing and when she kisses him he bites her lower lip the way he knows she likes, he meets each movement of her hips with his own, and tries to think of all the dead bodies he’s seen lately, which makes him last longer, but apparently not long enough, because he comes and she doesn’t, yet again.
She’s lowered herself down next to him on his bed now and he knows she’s going to leave soon and he still doesn’t know how to make her come.
Something forms in his mind, an idea maybe, and he smiles (definitely not because of the idea he’s just stumbled on, definitely not because of the thought of her against his tongue with her legs spread wide around him) and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s seen him smile or because she hasn’t, but she’s turned around and pressed his lips onto his and slipped her tongue quickly between his teeth.
She’s dressed again before he’s collected himself and it looks like she’s won again.
(If he loved her, he would hate her a little this time, because she’s won again, and he just keeps losing, and he hates losing.)
…
(If he loved her – well, he doesn't, obviously, so it's not worth the bother to finish that thought.)
…
He decides after a while that it never really mattered – decided to call it all a win instead: she’s still irritatingly hot. And if she doesn’t come, well, her loss, not his. Definitely not his.
(If he loved her, maybe it would sort of be his loss as well.
He doesn’t, so it’s not.)
…
Sometimes, though -- doesn't matter.
...
(Sometimes, during the six and a half seconds that she’ll be lying with him in his bed, still irritatingly hot and somehow achingly familiar, maybe in those moments, he will think of going down on her or maybe he’ll even think of loving her.)
...
(In another place, in another time -- maybe he would have.)