How to Train Your Channeler

[Oriena]

Impact rattled the lockers when her back hit them, the metal shivering in complaint. The sound cut clean through the quiet. Sasha’s bite made her hiss, pleasure sparking hot and immediate. She liked that. Liked that he’d gone there without asking. Liked even more that he’d done it knowing exactly who usually drew blood first.

She kissed him back harder, biting in return this time, answering his choice with one of her own. The heat between them flared, reckless and alive, and she let it. “Cells are down the left corridor. Showers are closer.” She murmured the directions hot against his mouth, fingers sliding into his hair to tug and hold. “Bar’s up a level. Locked, but I can get us in.”

Ori didn’t fight for control. She didn’t twist out of his grip or turn the moment into a lesson. Instead she let him pin her, giving ground deliberately just to see what he’d do with it. But her smirk was wicked and her touch was fire, sliding under his shirt, finding skin with no pretence of patience now. Her nails dragged, teasing and marking, chasing warmth and pulse and muscle like she couldn’t get enough fast enough. Mapping him like she was deciding how much damage he’d survive.

She didn't care where they went, just that he moved. And she was more than willing to make waiting hurt.

[Sasha]

Sasha didn't think that losing his clothes in the halls would be a good idea but his fingers made their way to their clothes and the moment she said the showers where closer Sasha moved in that direction, though it was only the soft drops of water that informed him there might be where they were.

He walked backwards hoping Oriena would tell him if he was going the wrong way. He didn't break their passion for long as he muttered "Showers it is."

Oriena confused him but he was not confused about this. Sex was easy.

[Oriena]

They shed clothes on the way, leaving a deliberate trail of abandon. Ori didn’t slow for modesty; she pressed into him, rough and teasing, guiding him backwards like a predator savouring the chase. She kept him off balance, never letting him feel safe in her control, while heat and friction coiled through every inch of contact. By the time they reached the showers, they were half-stripped, breath ragged, hearts racing – and she was still pressing him back, eyes dark with mischief and challenge.

Ori slammed the button on the showers with the flat of her hand.

Water screamed from the pipes, ice at first, stabbing shoulders, spine, ribs, thighs. A sharp, involuntary gasp tore from her throat, but her gaze up at Sasha was sinful – and fully knowing. The shock only made skin more sensitive, and she pressed herself harder against him, hips grinding, hands roaming, nails dragging over slick flesh, teasing the tender spots the water had made electric. Every nerve in her body screamed, every inch of skin alive and burning.

She guided him, but never gently, whispering heat into his ear, letting the water bite and sting where she wanted it while her hands roamed unchecked. Her fingers tangled in his hair, dug into his shoulders, sliding across chest and stomach, rubbing and pinching over places the icy water had left painfully alive. Every shiver, hiss and gasp she answered with deliberate heat – pressing lips, tongue, teeth, and body with intent, until the contrast between fire and frost was almost cruel in its intensity. Every stolen breath and twitch of muscle drew a smirk from her, made her pulse pound louder. She was storm and fire, orchestrating sensation and punishment in equal measure, letting him collapse into the tormented pleasure she commanded.

Ori felt fiercely alive, and she made sure he knew it.

The cold lingered long enough to make them both gasp, shiver, and tremble. But slowly, almost teasingly, the temperature finally began to shift. Warmth slid over taut nerves, loosening muscles while leaving every inch hypersensitive to her hands, her mouth, her heat. The contrast between shock and relief was exquisite, and Ori let it linger, revelling in the sensation. Her body throbbed, and each hitch of Sasha's breath, every inch of slick, shivering flesh as he adjusted sent her blood running hotter. She could feel the tension building not just in him, but in herself, that delicious spike of wanting something raw, real, unmediated by hesitation or courtesy. She didn’t relent or soften. She pressed him into the shower wall, arms sliding along his torso, fingers teasing, marking a claim. And in the heat she drew his mouth back down to hers.

[Sasha]

The sex was hat and icy and painful and filled with passion Sasha wasn't sure he'd ever had with other women. It was glorious and torturous and Oriena was amazing. He forgot about the past pain and torment. It was nothing but a passing memory. It was all about the woman in front of him now -- pressing him into the wall, the cold tile against his skin and the warm water running down his body.

He was at her mercy and he went where she said, pressed when he thought she might like it, but it wasn't truly in his nature to push too far, too often. He didn't want her to be angry at him. He didn't want it to end or stop. She'd saved him, and this wasn't payment or even an offering. He wondered what it all was.

And when he finally gave up trying to hold back he groaned loudly biting back words in Russian. "Holy mother of..."