the_vigilante | every step we took that synchronized (rp for openyourworld)

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every step we took that synchronized (rp for openyourworld)

He shouldn't have told her to leave. He doesn't know why he told her to leave.

No, that's a lie. He knows why he told her to leave. He told her to leave because all he could see, the second the cat was out of the bag, was Lena in the backseat, waving one of her stuffed toys to the beat of the song she was making up about Pawnee, then Maurice, fucking Maurice, and the gun, and something in him had snapped all over again. The famous Aiden Pearce temper. He'd shoved her away, told her to get out, and she had, and he regrets every second of it. He's seen things in the last two hours that would allow her a world of forgiveness (she tried to trade herself for Nicky, she never took the money, he thinks he's in love with her), if he hadn't already forgiven her, not ten minutes out of the door.

He shouldn't have told her to leave and his shitty knee jerk reaction is going to get her killed.

The Club's coming, now, according to Ray and the Kawasaki he's racing against them on can't go fast enough. He practically throws himself off of it, as the cemetery gates come into view, and it continues on without him, running into a low stone wall, where it falls over. He swerves around it as he heads up the path, pulling a pistol out of its holster, and as he crests the hill, he sees two things immediately. One, he's not entirely too late, as Clara is still standing, alive, her head bowed over Lena's headstone. (She's the one who's been leaving the flowers, fuck.) And two, there's half a dozen armed Club guys weaving through the grave markers from the other side of the cemetery, headed straight for her, so that first one might not be the case for long.

Swearing under his breath, he picks up the pace, and yells, "Clara, down, now!"

He hopes she has enough sense to get down before she looks back at him. One of them needs to do the smart thing, for once.

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"No," he tells her immediately, shaking his head. He doesn't blame her, not anymore. If anything, he needs to apologize to her, for letting his temper get the better of him, for almost getting her killed.

Yeah, he needs to apologize to her, but what rises up from the sting in his chest, this time, isn't words, it's action. Wheeling his chair up next to hers, the arms of them scraping together, he reaches between them, putting a hand to the side of her face, and then leans to kiss her. He'll retreat, if and when it seems the advance is unwanted, but he doesn't think it will be, and a kiss, he thinks, will explain everything he dumbly still can't find the words for.

Aiden's movement is quick enough that Clara starts to lean back. She doesn't see the kiss coming, and she sucks in a startled breath through her nose - but in the next instant, she's kissing him back, leaning toward him and chasing his mouth, trying to make their positioning less awkward.

It's absolutely wanted, and it has been for a long while.

He sighs through his nose, some of the tension he forever carries in his shoulder leeching out as he leans into the kiss. After a moment, however, and as much as he doesn't want to, he starts to pull away, to push back, to stand. He wants to keep going with this, this declaration of how much she means to him, but -- well, the whole weird chair thing isn't really working for him. Once they're both standing, he'll try again.

Clara pulls back when he does, a little puzzled. She catches up quickly, though, getting to her own feet and immediately moving closer to him, sliding her hands around his waist under his coat and going up onto her toes to resume the kiss.

He leans to meet her, one of his hands finding her waist in turn, and exhales another sigh of a breath. After another handful of heartbeats, he pushes her back gently, chasing her mouth with his as he goes, trying to guide her back towards the stairs. This -- is going to get awkward, them trying to make out and get up to where they've been sleeping, he'll realize that in a second, but he wants this. He wants her.

Clara takes a few steps backwards before she realizes his goal, and then she huffs a laugh into his mouth and pulls away, catching his hand. "Come on," she tells him quietly, turning to head for the stairs, pulling him behind her.

This way, neither of them will break their necks.

"Yeah," he breathes on a laugh, letting her lead him up the stairs and into the alcove that he's been using as his bedroom. He pulls her back to him, once they've cleared the door, sweeping her into another kiss as they dance backwards towards his bed.

Clara meets him halfway, kissing him back and resting her hands on his chest, this time. She slides her hands up his chest, pushing his coat back off his shoulders, trying to get him to slide it down his arms, to get rid of it.

He pushes his chest into her hands, briefly, before rocking away, pulling his shoulders back and down so that the coat slips from them, as hoped. He's quick to return, once it's gone, his own fingers seeking the hem of her shirt, in just as much of a hurry to get her undressed, a sense of urgency, of need building in his chest.

Clara raises her arms, catching her necklaces on the way to pull them off first, to drop them before she lets him pull her shirt off, leaning away from it a little as he pulls it up her arm and over the bandage.

She reaches for the hem of his sweater, next, and under it to his undershirt, aiming to get them both off him.

Muttering a word of thanks against her mouth, darting in to steal another kiss before he has to retreat again, to actually strip her out of her shirt. Something softer follows, an apology, as he remembers himself, her, the gunshot wound, and he takes the time it takes her to get him out of his still-damp clothing to try and get a handle on his fervor. He manages, to a certain degree, if the fact that when he pulls her back into his arms to reach for her bra, it's measures slower and gentler, is any indication.

"I'm alright," she assures him, lips brushing against his as he goes for her bra. She turns her attention back to his skin, running her hands over his chest again - this time, she slows down, fingertips tracing over the roadmap of scars as she follows them down over his chest, his stomach, his navel, to the dusting of hair that leads to his fly, which she undoes when she reaches it.

"I don't wanna hurt you," he reminds her, softly, a soft hum of a moan following, catching in the back of his throat as her fingers ghost over a scar near his waistline.

He's wanted this from the moment he leaned to kiss her, though sex wasn't the plan, per se, but it's obvious now, if the tenor of his mouth on hers wasn't, erection obvious as she reaches the fly of his jeans. He pushes his hips into her hand, eager on another small noise, and works her bra out from between them, made easier by the fact that its strapless, cut low like her shirt. He slips a hand in in its absence, returning the favor, rough, warm fingers tracing over her breast.

"You won't," she assures him again just as softly.

Clara undoes his fly and slides her hand into his jeans, under his underwear. Her breath hitches, too, as she catches her breath as his hands touch her. A shiver runs through her as she arches into him just as surely. "Fuck," she swears softly.

"Fuck," he echoes, thought evaporating as his hips buck into her hand. A moment of pause follows, as he tries to regain his sense of -- anything really, and then, on a shaky breath out, he pulls away marginally, if only so he can try and guide them down towards the bed. This will be a lot less awkward, in the end, if they do this right, regardless of how much he wants to just shove her up against the wall, right now.

Clara takes her hand back and moves with him toward the bed, though she doesn't quite back off, either. "Off," she says simply with a gesture toward his pants as she sits down on the bed, pulling one foot up to tug at the laces of her boots, not quite untying it before she yanks it off and tosses it to the side before repeating the action with her other foot.

The sooner they're both naked, the sooner they get back to it, she figures.

Aiden lets out a breath as she finally pulls away, the sound relieved and frustrated both, despite the fact that he knows that, sooner rather than later, she'll be back, her hands will be back, and reaches for the fly of his jeans. Pushing them down off his hips, along with his underwear, he steps out of both, eyeing her hungrily as she works at the remains of her own clothes, and for a moment, he thinks about 'helping.' It would be easy, he thinks to kneel down between her legs, peel her out of her own jeans, and bury his face in her pussy, find out what she tastes like, make her come before he's ever really even touched her, then do it again, properly.

He smirks at the thought, all but committing to it, takes half a step towards her, to position himself between her legs, and then -- then he stops as something occurs to him. When he swears this time, it's less relief and all frustration. Mostly because, "I don't have a condom on me."

He's almost certain he's clean, sex not really a thought he's had since the accident, before, but he doubts she wants to risk getting pregnant. He sure doesn't want to be someone's father, for all that he thinks he'd probably make a shitty one, and never mind the fact that he's practically raised Jacks and Lena just as surely as Nicky. Fuck. Or not.

Clara gets rid of her other boot, her socks, looking up at Aiden as he moves toward her. She frowns a little as he stops, not sure what that's about - and then smiles. "I'm on the pill, but there's some in my bag."

She gets back to her feet, going up on her toes again to put her mouth close to his - though it's not for a kiss, this time, as she whispers, "Be right back."

It only takes her a moment to retrieve one of them, tearing it open as she returns to his room.

She may not be intent on kissing him, the closeness a tease, but he still chases her mouth as she starts to pull away. He does, however, let her go, the condom important, pill or no, if they're ever going to get anywhere, and as she disappears, he takes her place on the bed, and lets his hand wander idly down his stomach, towards his cock. Wrapping his fingers around himself, he strokes himself deliberately slowly as he waits for her return, however brief her absence is.

He stops with a heavy breath out, when she comes back, but he doesn't take his hand away. Instead, he just arches his eyebrows, asks, "You know how to put one of those on?" He figures she does; he's trying to goad her into doing it for him, to demonstrate, because he'd much rather she be touching him than him touching himself.

"I've tried it on a banana or two," she returns lightly as she opens the condom and drops the package by the bed. She crawls back onto the bed, straddling his thighs. "You want a demonstration?" she asks lowly, smirking as she reaches out to trail her fingers lightly over his cock.

He takes his hand away from his dick as she settles over top of him, fingers skating instead over her hips and back, stopping at her ass as he cups at it. A shaky hum of a breath follows, as her fingers replace his, and he arches slowly into them, cock twitching at the contact. An equally almost breathless exhale follows as he sinks back into the bed, and on it, he tells her, "Practice makes perfect."

She shifts into his hands a little as he touches her, still smirking as she reaches out. If she wasn't all too aware that Ray will be back at any time and if she hadn't been dreaming about this for a while, now, she might draw this out, torment him a little before actually putting the condom on.

They don't have time for that right now, though. Still, she slides her thumb over the tip of his dick before wrapping her hand around it properly, sliding her hand slowly along his shaft. "Just have to hold it steady..." she teases, attention apparently entirely on his cock.

Aiden's fingers tighten against her ass, then relax, his hips rocking into her hand again, breath catching. If he knew what she wasn't-quite-planning, he'd be glad that they were on a timeline, that she couldn't torture him, now. He doesn't think he'd have the endurance for that. It's been awhile since he's gotten laid; he wants her now; his cock practically hurts for how hard he is.

Maybe next time, indeed, but right now, he lets his fingers relax, then slides one hand away from her ass, back up over her hip and down, slipping between her legs, seeking wetness to slick his fingers on. Drawing a handful of slow circles over her clit will have to be enough, fair play until he's inside her properly.

Clara hums a little as she rolls the condom on, not pulling away from his hand. When he moves, though, her breath catches, and she rocks into his hand in turn, sliding her own hand down over his cock.

Aiden hums, a little breathless himself, but doesn't relent, at least not immediately, continuing to trace patterns over her clit, watching her face through lidded eyes. It's with some reluctance that he finally pulls away, finally stills his hips, grinding into her hand, and his hands return to her hips, nudging her.

"C'mmon," he breathes. The condom's on; come ride the Vigilante, Clara.

every step we took that synchronized (rp for openyourworld)

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