italy ♔ a promise lives within you now

[romanticidal]

♬ mia per sempre - josh groban

WHO || Rafael, Buffy [Closed]
WHAT || After months apart, Rafael and Buffy celebrate the end of his tour with a private trip to Italy
WHERE || Italy
WHEN || /truck drives by, blaring horn
HOW || Actionspam.

It hasn't been an easy few months, but then again, it hasn't been an easy few years. Following the night of the Grammy's, Rafael's returned to his tour, aspiring to use his concerts as a chance to try and warn people of the dangers inherent in listening to Blade and company's music, even at the risk of looking like a crazy person. It wouldn't be the first time the world thought it, alright. Meanwhile, Buffy's been dealing with the fallout of what the Mind Master did to Finnick, and by extension, Myri, trying to be there for her friend in every way she can.  It would be easier for both of them if they had each other to lean on through it all, but they had to rely instead on numerous phone calls and memories of one night that finally offered them both some hope just when everything had started to seem more impossible than ever.

They also had the promise of this to look forward to: a planned trip to Italy that Rafael insisted be just the two of them, once he was finally free again.  He's arranged to meet her at the Galileo Galilei International Airport in Pisa, and when she gets out, there's some Italian chauffeur guys holding a sign that says "Summers".  

Comments

[romanticidal]

[ it doesn't take any effort at all to draw him up into that kiss, and he surrenders to her embrace with total abandon, hands buried in her hair, skidding across the skin of her back, everywhere they can find purchase, as he groans his approval.

he twists enough to forestall her from just whipping his dick out and hopping on, because at least someone here remembered the condoms, bless, and he reaches down to assist her in pulling off his jeans entirely, kicking them into a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. he stretches one arm out to grab one of those packages, unwraps it with ease while he plants a kiss against her temple. one hand lightly grips her wrist, lowers it gently to the lip of his black boxers and releases her there, encourages her to be the one to remove them, while his forehead rolls to rest against hers. he doesn't say anything to her pleas, doesn't have to, his every action already clearly on board with obliging her. ]

[slay]

[ As he drags her wrist lower, she lifts her gaze to level on his, seeking his final approval before she hooks her fingers in the elastic band and eases them down. That's when her gaze drops—understandably, because if you think she hasn't been deeply invested in Rafael Giovanni's dick for a while now, you haven't been paying attention. Her expression isn't quite holy grail about it, but it's not an entirely inaccurate comparison at this point. Perhaps Stanley Cup is more apt.

Desire has kept her eyes heavy, her lips parted, but as she slides her palm along the length of him, her eyes brighten, all worshipful wonder that's going to help with the need for a separate ego chair. She lifts her chin to kiss him, open-mouthed and lingering, while her other hand moves to take the condom from him. Unlike Rafael, she's no condom wizard (reasons probably being that she's never had cause to, well, touch one), but she does manage to effectively slide it down over his shaft. That's about all the teasing she has left in her are the light touches and exploration as she suits him up because that will save isn't getting any less crit fail.

Lust thick in her throat, she glides her hand over his length a few times, nodding against his forehead and pulling her lips between her teeth to break the kiss. She steadies herself with a deep breath, and wraps one arm around his shoulders, drawing him in with some urgent nudging of her legs around his. ]

[romanticidal]

[ all that touching and caressing and stroking she's doing are just eroding what was left of his own good will save rolls apparently, because by the time she urges him towards her, he's ready to practically beg for it himself, and the shaky exhalation of his breath as he slides inside of her openly broadcasts his sense of pleasured relief. one arm wraps firmly beneath her, the other free to roam as his hips fall into a steadied rhythm of thrusting up in her. at first, his face hovers inches above hers, sparks of lustful light creating an electric heat in the small space between them where their gazes are locked. but as she grows accustomed to the way he fills her, his hips buck with a slowly gaining intensity, and he smothers his moans of ecstasy against her mouth, with another deep, passionate kiss. with a fort save of 27, and that earlier strength check of 17, this is gonna be one fulfilling ride for buffy. congrats on the sex indeed. ]

[slay]

[ Shifting through positions and cycling through paces, they keep at it with inhuman stamina—perhaps because they both are precisely that—without ever losing sight of the fervent intensity of their passion for one another. Their lovemaking wears on the headboard, gives Buffy plenty of opportunities to familiarize herself with condoms, and spans as long as anyone might expect from the Slayer and her half-elf assassin lover.

So many, in other words.

By the time they do run out of steam, sweat-soaked and panting, Buffy's throat is raw and dry from exactly what you'd expect why do I need a dependent clause here. She runs thin fingers through frizzy, knotted sex hair and pulls the sheet up over her chest, sprawling out on the bed beside him and stretching. ]

That was … [ Words fail her and she exhales warmly, tipping her head to look at him, all hazy bliss. Turning onto her side, she raises one hand to start tracing patterns over his chest and collarbone, a dainty smile lighting on her lips—it's far too innocent given the things they just did to one another. She settles on letting that smile speak for itself, allowing it to grow steadily more conspiratorial as it wears on until she's biting her lower lip. ]

[romanticidal]

Si. [ his head rolls to the side to look at her, all the movement he's capable of anymore, beside the light sweep of his fingers against her hip, where his hand remains settled. there's a molten glow to his voice that she's never heard before, a supremely satisfied, contented sound that's somehow sexier than even the murmured strings of italian declarations that spilled from his mouth while they made love. his lips brush against her forehead, caressing the sheen of sweaty skin with utmost tenderness as he finishes: ] That it was.

[slay]

[ The forehead kiss crinkles her nose, and she lifts her hand to briefly ghost her fingertips along his jawline, all languid reverence. She nestles her head against his chest more decisively then, just near the joint of his shoulder, and settles her palm back against his chest. ]

Mmm. I don't wanna move for a week. [ All this afterglow-y basking of hers is a really good effort at staying awake, but it's not working out long term. The steady, rhythmic movements of her hand on his chest eventually do their part in slipping her steadily to sleep, eyelids drooping as she comically struggles against it to the very last because she doesn't want to let this moment go. ]