Times This

AN: Individual hundred-word drabbles of Trish, Dante, and S-E-X. These are the first five. Most are set post-DMC4 in regards to the clothes they're constantly getting out of, and all are in the same continuity. Credit to the LJ community centiporn for the concept and themes. These were ridiculously fun to write.

01. Blossom

The high of using Lucifer is at once thrilling and brutal, a furnace burning beneath his skin and red-hot in his eyes, and he pours most of the fury into her, whispering verses that toe the line between poetic and pornographic in her ear that make her tighten reflexively around his cock with each growled word.

"You're a regular Romeo," she says afterward, a laugh in her voice, sliding her fingers through his hair. It isn't until she pulls away that he feels the prick of a thorn on his scalp, reaches up, and finds the rose she left behind.

02. Sweat

Hot, humid days are the sworn enemy of head-to-toe leather, which Dante learns every time he practically has to peel himself out of his clothes.

He bitches about it, but Trish thinks it's a good look on him: Hair plastered to his neck and forehead in damp tangles, fair skin slick and glistening over tight muscle as he rolls his broad shoulders, looking like he's just finished an intense round of fucking and is ready for the next one.

He looks just like that and even better once she's through with him, panting and exhausted and lazily satisfied beneath her.

03. Gaze

It starts off simple enough, and for a minute Dante thinks he can take it, even when she tugs down the zipper to reveal her breasts, pulls and teases her pink nipples taut, tongue trailing across her bottom lip, watching him watch her.

But it's too much when she slips her hand inside her pants. He can see the movement against the leather between her legs, in and out, hips rolling as she finger-fucks herself, breasts jostling slightly, lips wet and red from her own teeth...

Fuck. She's going to get it when he gets out of these goddamn chains.

04. Tongue

"You talk too damned much," Trish mutters in one of her better moods, tempted to shove her gun down his throat just to shut him up.

Dante is unfazed, his smile wicked. "Well, hell, babe, there's other ways you can keep my tongue busy."

True enough, and she discovers one of them with him between her thighs, his long fingers knuckle-deep inside her while the aforementioned tongue does incredible things to her clit, making her moan and writhe and pant, hand twining tightly his pale hair.

At least all that exercise he gets running his mouth is good for something.

05. Sweet

Sometimes, because Dante's like that and so is she (in fact, she's worse) it's fast, violent, merciless. Clothes torn, teeth breaking skin, claws in her thighs as he fucks her through the wall or the floor, muffling her screams with his mouth, mingling the blood on their tongues.

And sometimes, it's slow, caressing, intense, hips grinding an easy rhythm, his fingers attentive on her nipples and rolling slickly across her clit, bringing her to breathless climax once, twice, three times, while he talks dirty against her throat.

There's something to be said for sweetness. But Trish'll never tell him that.