i'll watch you sleep

BY : Little_Darling
Category: -Movies Misc > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 226
Disclaimer: i do not own the boy or brahms heelshire nor do i make any money off the use of their image

Eleanor has never been in a situation like this before. The few encounters she'd had were not worth remembering and most of the time she wished they had never happened at all. But none of them would have prepared her for this, nothing could prepare anyone for this. He had to be able to hear her heart, faster than she's ever felt it, rumbling in her ears. Rain picks up, thunder rumbles, it all masks the sounds around. Sight, sound, what she's left with she doesn't quit know what to do with. Breath, she has to remember to breath, but not too fast, but not too slow. There's a pressure through the fog, could he see her through the dark? How? But it seems more than possible, she's sure it's true.

Are you scared of me, Eleanor?” it's right beside her ear, everything in her wants to drop but she's incapable of moving. At least for now, “Don't be scared.”

“Of course not,” each word one breath away from a stutter, “Never,” she can feel her muscles begin to ease as the heat of him begins to roll off him, “I just think if you want to act like a grown up,” he's pressed against her, a ragged breath, his, hers, both, “You should talk like a grown up,” trying a charade of firmness that she hopes he believes because she doesn't.

He's stock still, this time her breath does stop. The words were wrong, she tries not to think what happens next. Where the beautiful nightgown she was wearing came from. There's a soft pressure against her stomach, quickly it's a grip. One huge hand grips her tight around the middle, pulling her back against him, back of her head pressed to the dip between his ribs as they lead downwards. A doll to him. Everything feels switched around, she can't breath right. A beautifully excruciating heat is dripping from her head to a place just below her stomach. It was heady and Eleanor was having a hard time focusing on anything but the sudden onslaught of sensations.

“I don't like when he talks to you,” it's in such contrast to all the tones she'd heard before, a deep rumbling tone that is closer to animal, “I don't like when he looks at you,” she shudders as the rumble in his chest with each works seems to shake her entire body, “You're for me,” another large handle sits across her chest, the curve between thumb and forefinger pressed firmly to the base of her neck.

It's rough, creating a friction across her skin. The sensations of healed but ever deformed skin. Fire dances in front of her eyes, maybe it's lightning, nothing quite makes sense in the fog. Only that he's strong and for some reason thinks she's beautiful, he wants her desperately it seems.

“Mummy and daddy said so.”

There's no thought of what those words mean, the implication. Just that rumble, his grip tightening. The smell of dust and old things surround her, reminding her of the few high points of childhood. When she could escape into vintage stores, hiding among the stacked furniture and broken down pinball machines. But there's something distinctly masculine about it. She pictures him there, tucked away like so many other broken things. It's a feeling she knows very well.

“You chose me?” but she's not sure if she managed to actually say it or if it was lost in the breath he'd stolen from her when his thumb began to stroke that lacey valley between her breasts, “For what?”

“To take care of me, of course,” something hard lays across the top of her face, that mask, that boy he isn't any longer, “To love me,” the hand around her neck rises till he's holding the whole column in his hand. Just the barest of squeeze and he could all the way round, “Do you love me, Eleanor?”

There's mischief there, she has to follow the rules, “I don't know you well enough yet, Brahms,” and he does squeeze, just the barest bit, “I want to,” it's nothing but the truth, gasped out in case she soon forgets how to speak, “What do you want, Brahms?”

It's not hard to tell what he wants, the cool porcelain running over hair, pulling her as close to him as possible, surely if he could have absorbed her into him he would have, “I like touching you,” there it is again, feeling the fingers around her neck flex and disappear, “Can I?” more beast than man.

For a moment she wonders what he means when he already has such a firm hold on her but there are a thousand more ways to touch her. She tried once and it was barely a sound, “Yes,” the second a whisper but he heard it.

He's gone entirely, in an instant. It's so much colder than she remembers it being. Conflicting with the heat that had begun to spread sent goosebumps across her skin. Fingertips race the edges of the pegnoir around the shoulders before pushing it off, she reaches forward, finding the open edges of a cashmere cardigan against them before pushing it off. The feel of cotton and harsh polyester drag across nail. A hiss, echoing in his little porcelain prison, they'd have time for that later. She finds that rough fabric again, following it up and over. She had planned to find the collar of his undershirt and was greeted instead with a thicket of soft hair. Everything about him is so masculine, it comes with a feeling of protection. Of feeling beautiful. Another hiss, this one joined by a hand gripping the back of her neck, spreading across the back of her shoulders, her other hand traces along the rough planes of his now exposed arm, over a strong shoulder, by the time she reaches his neck the skin is smooth. A path of softness before she's met with what would be more described as a bramble of facial hair. Finally to the smooth edge of the mask, warmed by him. He grabs her wrist, tight, tight enough to bruise.

“I can't see you,” trying not waver, trying to forget that he can see her but she can't see him, “I like touching you, Brahms,” it seemed easier for them both to parrot the words back.

The house seems to shake in the wind, the house must be freezing but the only thing stopping her from believe the room was ablaze was the darkness. All she wants to kiss someone who wants to kiss her back, he could put the mask on forever after that. It was such a small thing, paltry when weighed against the others in the room. He pushes her hand to her side, letting go only once it was pin straight against her side, the grip on her neck twitches. Then that silence she was so quickly growing the hate. Where nothing moved and nothing breathed, the moment where it almost seemed like she might wake up from some dream into a world where dolls are just that and men don't live in walls. His hand is on hers again, raising it slowly and placing it where it once was. She waits till he's finished caressing her arm with his hand, slowly towards her shoulder, finger that window of lace above her sternum once more. He can feel her stuttered breathing, fingers stretching towards his cheek, he flinches when she finally touches his cheek. Smooth as his neck had been, over the bridge of his nose, down. He gasps when they flutter across his lips, all her bravery gone when faced with the fact she would have to ask him. There's no way she'll reach on her own.

“I bet you're quite handsome,” Eleanor says instead, brushing a shaggy bit of fringe off of his face, “You don't have to ever show me, I can imagine,” it's farthest she can reach, even then she's stretching and straining.

Good-” he stops, inhaling and exhaling slowly, “May I please have another good night kiss?”

She nods, trying to find her footing in this whole situation no matter how many times it's proved to be fruitless, “If you'd like,” this would be the same.

Eleanor can remember the 4 times she's ever been kissed, none of them were like this. It started soft, slow, his lips are bitten, the roughness of scabbing from the deeper ones, but soft all the same. Fingers flexing against the growing heat of his chest, not quite sure what to do with the other hand. Tracing her spine with his palm, he wrapped an arm around her entirely and lifted her into his arms. Bringing the evening to the first of many crescendos, arms wrapping around his neck out of an instinctive need to brace herself against something. It wouldn't bring her feet back to the ground. She presses forward and he pulls back, just enough to allow him to catch his breath in the moment. Panting breaths that roll hot across her skin, it sends that powerful thing taking refuge in her body through every nerve ending she had. Pressing her lips to his wasn't a choice, even if she had tried to stop herself it would never have happened, she needed him. She needed Brahms to need her. It was unequivocally selfish of her, there was no other way for it to be described. But hadn't he been the same? His parent's parading around one woman after another until he had chosen her- selfishly.

None of this seemed truly greedy though, even if every part of it was. Her mouth, his hands, she's having trouble figuring out where he ends and she starts. Everything is soft and warm, held so tightly in his arms. For the first time truly knowing what it was like to be safe. And with that feeling came a beast of her own that till now she had never known of, never heard a whisper or felt a twinge, perhaps because when it was finally felt, it was all-consuming. Her logical mind, what little breath of it was left, told her to pull away and think about this all. The choices being made, the ones already past, could only lead somewhere dangerous. Obsessive. It reminds her of the gown she currently wears and where it must have come from.

“Come back,” it's quiet, “Come back. Come back,” over and over, coming from that beast inside him.

Her entire body shudders, head rolling back. There is something intoxicating about being a possession. Maybe it was the dark or the snuffing out of logical and all it's relatives, but she could lose herself in these sensations forever. All that's left in the gloom is a monstrous love that is some how newfound and profoundly ancient. His mouth finds it's home in the crook of her neck, biting at the skin there as if she might disappear into a cloud of ash. It grounds her back in the moment, his teeth, the tickle of his beard, his grip on her almost bone crushing. It doesn't matter, it's not as if she can breath easily to begin with.

“I'm here,” pressing her nose into the crown of his head, “I'm yours,” it tumbles out, two words gasped in the only place either had been given a chance by the other, “You chose me remember?” he disappears from her once again.

And then she just feels like she's flying, skirt billowing around her legs for a moment before bouncing on a feather bed softer than any she'd ever felt before. It just feels like a cloud in the moment adding to the stuporous ambiance of it all. His hands grip her ankles, yanking her into place before tracing up the skin. Bunching the heated fabric along his arms as he lifted it higher and higher, climbing over her. Tossing it into the abyss once he'd pulled it over her head. It seems as if his hands are everywhere at once. Pinching her nipples, caressing her thighs, she's drowning in sensations. None of them have names, she's trying to chase them but she doesn't know what they are. All she knows is she doesn't want him to stop and she wants more. Whatever more is.

“I like your skin,” a quiet voice in a thunderous room, “I like how it tastes,” her gasping drowns out the rest when his tongue dips along the scrawny curve of her ribs, “Feels good,” in a moment she discovered what more had meant.

Eleanor had never thought anyone man would touch her there, let alone taste her. His tongue swiped along the cleft between her lips, her body threatened to shoot straight up, a long, strong arm pressed over the expanse of her naked torso would stop any further threat of that. He clenches a thigh tightly in his hand, spreading as far is it would go before seeming to devour her. The beast inside her is free, running rampant, it's setting fire to every nerve. It's stealing her breath, her skin doesn't seem to fit, every part of her tenses at the ministrations until she's sure her muscles are preparing to snap. All of it seeming to culminate in one final blow that seemed intent on destroying her.

It's being electrocuted, lit on fire, and drowning in the most beautiful ways all at the same moment. It's her heart exploding, ribs shattering, and all she can do is scream. Trying to release whatever is inside her and finding it simple seems to lead to another shriek, and another. She doesn't want him to stop, there's still that word more, she needs something. His lips and bearded chin are sticky as they drag back up her skin, somehow he's gotten her wrists in a strong hand, pressed tightly in the bed. Not enough to hurt but she won't be going anywhere unless he lets her. Hypothetically she knows what comes next but everything's blurring together. Trying to catch her breath, knees bunching his shirt around his ribs, trying in some vain to touch him.

He's saying her name over and over, hovering above her and the hand caressing her disappears. Each time is harder than the last and this time she whimpers. A small sounds that makes her feel needy, desperate.

“Don't cry, Eleanor,” he cooed, a glee in his voice she can't quite name, “I'll make it better,” she doesn't have a chance to ask what he means.

He steals the breath from her with another possessive kiss, teeth clanking, her taste lingering the cracks of his lips. It's sudden, she's unprepared for the sensation. Her eyes start to roll, a moan coming from the same deep place that monster had once been caged, a sensation of fullness that she could never imagine. The noises he makes are inhuman, teeth pulling at her upper lip, pressing into the apple of her cheeks. Every move seems deliberate, how many times had he imagined this moment between them? It's intoxicating feeling beautiful, the center of his little world. That sensation fills her up again but this time she knows what's coming. Riding the wave of sensations, the speed of his clothed hips increasing every second it seemed until her drove her off that cliff. She thrashed in his grip, keening and howling. None of this feels like her, none of it seems real. Her mind barely has a second to adjust until his flipped her over, pressing her hard into the mattress and yanking her hips high into the air. The cushion vibrates with the scream that comes out of her mouth when he enters her with what seems to be his entire weight.

She can feel him everywhere, almost too much, as if there isn't quite enough room for what he's forced into her. There's no mercy for her anymore, he's lost in his own reverie of sensations, she rides the wave of his pleasure. Body limp, every part of her overwhelmed, as if the sensations would go on forever. His hips stutter against her, he seems to fall completely on her, almost smothered beneath him. She didn't know he could force himself deeper into her but he's a found away. He seems to quiver inside her, shocking her body with another sensation of falling, and stilling.

Brahms rises slowly, she takes in a deep breath, pulling himself from inside her warmth, the whine of wanting seeming a reaction in the moment. She can't move, can't think, can barely breath. It doesn't seem real and far too real. The blankets shift, he grabs her, laying her against the bare sheet and pulling them over her. She yawns, curling into the mass of blankets and cushions with her aching body. It saddens her knowing that she won't know the next time she'll see him. The next time they would share a moment like this. There's shuffling in the dark, her eyes are heavy, she's falling into slumberland. She can't imagine any place better than now. The bed dips, the blankets shift, she feels the flat hardness of the mask between two boney shoulder blade. But he'll stay. He'll stay with her.

Perhaps the only monster lurking beneath the silver waters in the mirrors of Heelshire Mansion, had been the beast inside herself.

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