Unspoken Ch. 01

A/N: Another adapted story from a different platform, centered around subspace as a coping mechanism in difficult moments. Planned three part story. This is the established kink dynamic of a Jekyll and Hyde-ish service top and a not-at-all-conflicted sub. Very self-indulgent on my part. Expect pain kink, descriptions of subspace, and consensual non-consent. Being consensual, I posted it under BDSM. There will, however, be descriptions of past trauma.

***

Helen sat on the wooden table in the dining room of their home with her feet crossed at the ankles. It was one of those days. A mixture of too much coffee and the sound of pens held by trembling hands. Scratch, scratch, scratch. When she tripped on the front steps in her morning rush, falling on her palms felt like hitting the world. And it hit back. A spider's web weaved of every existing shade of grey.

Music was playing on the radio. Blues. The notes like a string of grey yarn, unfurled, entwined with blue smoke. The tap of her cigarette against the crystal ashtray. The sound of her sips, much too loud. And when she placed the mug back on the table, it was a lid being closed over the murmurs of her heart. The roses in the vase were grey as well, though they hadn't looked it yesterday. She eyed the front door. The whole world was a nocked arrow, lying in wait.

At length, James came in. The rush of affection and warmth felt almost indecent in her veins. A discreet, but strong melody in her blood. Thud. Thud. Thud. You love him. She did, more than words could express. But today was one of those days. His warm smile slid off his face when their eyes met. She could drown in every shade of that green. It always changed when it caught the light. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and his glasses, slightly lopsided. James straightened them and took off his jacket.

An unspoken understanding vibrated between them. Reality crackled in the intertwined fibers of their passion. It nipped at her skin as James approached the table, it turned to little jolts of electricity when he settled himself in front of her, placing his palms on either side of her. His hot breath on her skin when his lips met her collarbone made her breathe out a sensual moan, laden with silent questions. His tongue darted out to taste her, savor her. He placed searing, open-mouthed kisses on her neck, and she reacted, tilting her head, inviting him, welcoming him. Humming his contentment, he found her nipple and twisted it gently before claiming her lips.

James's kisses were an unending roll of parchment filled with annotations on how her body and mind worked. Sheet music. Soft, warm, and gentle, or rushed, deep, and passionate. Lazy and languid in the mornings, or a dramatic ending to the song of their climax, in their heated corner of the world, where nobody could reach them.

This time, he spoke to her with his kiss. With the way he parted her lips with his, and the firm, but cautious movements of his tongue, with the depth of his touch when he placed his hand on her neck and stroked her skin with his thumb. Her skin, vibrating, ever louder. Soon, it would be feverish with want. A cold wind picked up outside the windows, howling, as the lights flickered. And in every drop of his touches, the question was there.

Are you all right?

And in every endless second between two moments, every muffled moan, every movement of his tongue that Helen matched, in the way she clung to him like she wanted them to morph, be one, and disappear, James found his answer.

No. I need you. Take me. Claim me. Make me forget.

They separated, panting, and he caressed her cheeks and her lips, his dark hair sticking out, like it sometimes did, and the wind made their windows vibrate, or maybe it was some sort of magic or their want. Maybe it was everything at once.

Taking a step back, James started unbuttoning his shirt, and Helen was unable to pry her eyes away as he revealed every new inch of skin. It was nothing she hadn't seen before a thousand times in all their years together. His toned body, his lean muscles that sometimes made her feel inadequate. On days like today. Her gaze trailed lower and lower, brushing against his V-line, and her hitched breath made a smile tug at the corners of his lips when he flung his shirt to the floor. Complimenting him would be superfluous. Some things were better left unspoken.

Almost inaudible, Helen's sigh increased the pressure of the passion swirling between them, already an entity on its own. She reached for him through the air now heady with hidden meanings and simmering truths, and he took her hand, the kaleidoscopic sunrise to her overcast sky. His kiss didn't hold questions this time, but answers. Deep and hard and urgent, bruising, desperate, as his hands got lost in her hair. She tried to match the smoldering fire of his touch, the possessive hint of it welling up like a river. And like two hummingbirds trapped in the same cage, their heartbeats tried to find a common rhythm.

I'm here, his kiss said. I'm here for you.

Unwilling to wait any longer, James lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, unwilling, in turn, to break their kiss. If only they could stay like this, so the grey web would never tighten around her again. He spun them around and walked towards the sofa, prying his lips away from hers only when he set her down. He traced her bottom lip with his thumb, dipping it into her mouth, and she sucked on it lightly as she lifted her eyes to his. Darkened with arousal, his pupils blown wide as he took her in. Undressing her with his eyes. Reverently. As though she were the key that would unlock every last one of the world's mysteries.

The world slowed down when he kneeled and parted her legs, without breaking eye contact, as though she'd disappear if he did. With splayed fingers, he ran his hands slowly up her legs, up her thighs, unhurriedly tracing her body as though he were mapping it, leaving a hot trail of pure desire behind on her skin. He lifted her skirt and his eyes widened at the sight of her bare cunt, almost making the tightening web disintegrate. Almost. Like he always did, he stopped to inhale her scent. He'd once told her he was trying to memorize it. Pour it into a vial that he could carry around with him in case the skies were heavy with lead and cold winds were blowing. Like today.

When his lips made contact with her sensitive flesh, their passion flared. A loud moan pierced the silence around them. Helen spread her legs wider, welcoming, inviting. Her desire, emboldened, burning underneath her skin, bent to his will, receiving him, wrapping pliantly around him. He smiled against her as he kissed and licked and sucked, placing his hands on her thighs, holding her open for him, for the welcome invasion of his tongue in her cunt as well as his presence in the very depths of her being. She bucked her hips against his mouth, panting, chasing the pleasure of it, every trickling drop of ecstasy that he was willing to give her, anything that could quieten the tumultuous ebb and flow of her consciousness. A river after a storm that had stopped years and years ago. But the waters, from its depths, kept stirring.

Attuned as they were to each other, she could feel her moans egging him on as he kept going, doing unspeakable things to her, robbing her of her senses and her reason. He took his right hand away from her thigh to tease her entrance with two fingers and she whimpered, wanting it, wanting him. His other hand pinned her to the sofa, or maybe it was the sheer ecstasy and desire. It wasn't enough. She needed more. She needed everything at once. His fingers entered her. Her hands got lost in his hair and she raked his scalp with her fingernails. Outside, the howling of the wind grew louder, as though to say it wouldn't be outmatched by their passion.

More, she thought, and the thought remained unspoken.

As though he'd heard her, James plunged his fingers harder inside her warm, wet cunt as he sucked on her clit. Blinding her, robbing her of her senses. Coaxing her first climax out of her, the one steadily building up. Demanding what was his. An offering. To him, to the moment, to their lives, such as they were, on days when she stumbled and grabbed on to him to survive.

Give it to me. It belongs to me. You belong to me.

Words from a recent past, trickling into the present. Into her mind. Into her pounding heart. She thrashed in his grasp, but he held her down with his strong grip. Her moans became uncontrollable as she clamped down on his fingers, chasing, grasping for more. Always more. A few more moments was all it took to hurl her over the edge. An explosion. Of pleasure and unbridled ecstasy, deep and sensual. Rippling across her mind, making her body sing and vibrate in his grasp. He still wasn't letting her go. He would never let her go. It lasted a blissful eternity as he fucked her through it with his fingers and teased her with his tongue, squeezing her, every cell in her body, igniting.

But like everything else, her time eventually ran out. Like the world and time itself, everything had to end, including stolen moments of euphoria on days made of blue smoke and coffee and grey strings of yarn and blues. It was still playing, Helen noticed, as she came down slowly from her high. Yet, she wasn't ready to let go. James's kind eyes when he raised his head, his smile and lips glistening with her juices, she saw it all through the same grey web. And she needed to break it. She caressed his cheek with her index finger, feeling his light stubble, forcing a smile, her muscles twitching with the vague pain of disuse.

"More, James," she said, her foreign-sounding words piercing the silence for the first time that day. "I need more. I need to feel. " So I won't have to feel all the wrong things, she added to herself, silently.

When he nodded and kissed her thigh, she could see the understanding swirling in his eyes. After so long, many things could be left unspoken. He stood up and her gaze trailed down again, resting on his belt, and she bit her lip, her pulse picking up once more, the pounding of her heart in her ears dimming the sound of the music. Thud. Thud. Thud. And she saw it. To anyone else, it might have been imperceptible. The hardening of his features, the slight change in his stance, the cold glint in his eyes, the dark promises hidden in his smile.

Helen squeezed her legs together in silent expectation when the sound of James unbuckling his belt reached inside of her thoroughly trained mind, unearthing the desire to be free, to relinquish all control and hide away in that precious part of herself, like a secret room hidden behind a bookcase, and hand him the key. Turning her mind off. Blinking away the shimmering grey web clouding her vision. The swishing sound of the belt rubbing against his trousers when he pulled it out pushed her deeper, even deeper inside her own mind, making her lightheaded. He wrapped the belt around his fist and she stopped breathing.

"Strip and turn around," he said.