Title: Smoke, Salt and Strawberries
Summary: The hunt is so ingrained into him that she can taste it.
He always tastes different when he comes back from a hunt, she learnt that early on. What he had done is embedded deeply into his skin and she has to fight to find him underneath it.
When she kisses him the coppery tang of blood lingers in traces. It could be his, it may be hers. Sometimes it’s both. She kisses him until it’s gone and all that’s left is the softness of his tongue and perhaps the sweet taste of southern whiskey if it’s been a particularly bad night and he needed something to settle him.
When she throws off his shirt and her mouth trails down his chest, she ignores the scars and bruises, darting past them, refusing to acknowledge their existence in that moment. His collarbone tastes of smoke and charcoal, a grim reminder of burning bones. The line down his centre to his stomach tastes of salt and perspiration. It’s been a tough night.
When she reaches the skin of his hips she is relieved. The indent just above the bone is soft, unmarred and clean and finally she can taste him beneath the deeds he’s had to carry out that evening.
When she finally releases him from the tight confines of his jeans her tongue runs over him, eliciting a deep groan of devotion from his full lips. The taste of him is heady and she fully remembers the man behind the hunter for the first time.
When she pulls away, knowing from experience when to do, so he drags her up to kiss him and she is sure that he can taste himself in her mouth. From his moan against her lips she assumes that it turns him on.
When he returns the favour, mouth travelling down her body, across her breasts and onwards until his tongue is deep inside her, she realises that she isn’t the only one who likes to taste. He encourages her to wrap her fingers into his short hair until she’s shaking and he’s pulling her onto his lap, kissing her deeply, returning the favour of shared taste. He was right, it was quite the turn on.
When he holds her hips firmly he sets the pace as he pushes deeply up into her, taking total control whilst she tastes all of him she can reach. Mouth, jaw, ear, shoulders, neck. Sweeps of her tongue and movements of her lips all punctuated with soft gasps as she wraps her legs around his waist and surrenders, hypnotised by the words he whispers into her ear. He tastes like heat and power and something else indefinably masculine which is all him.
Early the next morning as he unexpectedly joins her in the shower and offers to wash her back, he tastes of the traces of shampoo and shower foam that slide down his chest. She knows that taste is a lie, that its hint of domesticity isn’t them but she indulges in it all the same. As she kisses his smiling lips she prays that, for both their sakes, someday she’ll never have to taste the hunt on him again and that all their kisses will be strawberry lip balm, lavender shampoo and spicy aftershave with just the occasional sweet bourbon thrown in.