Love Among the Chandeliers {Angela} {R}

[✿ngela wingrose]

His name became a muffled mess against his neck when their love-making intensified. Her feet slipped around his waist until they locked together about the ankles at his lower back and held on tightly. Her entire body moved, rolled, and bucked, and her fingers tangled in his hair and gripped his shoulder while she tried to keep quiet, breathing heavily in his ear.

When Kennedy finished, she wasn't too far behind. Strength collapsing in that one heated moment, Angela pressed against him, fingers absently stroking his hair while his name echoed throughout the antechamber. Her hair swung over his back, clinging to the sweat, and her chin was hooked on the dip between his neck and shoulder. She pressed a shaky kiss to the love-bite on his throat, then slowly pulled back to look him in the eye. Her damp locks dragged.

Wordlessly, the hand that was running through his hair came and cupped the side of his face, trembling. Her blue eyes squeezed shut and she arched one more time, wiggling a bit around his torso before she opened her eyes again, a small noise escaping her quivering lips. She didn't want him to move, not yet. She didn't want this completion to end. She didn't want to feel empty and alone.

Fingers jerking to touch his lips, and then falling away to make way for her own, Angela's kiss was sweet. The shivering was genuine; not because she was cold, but because Kennedy had driven her past any point of stability she possessed. She kissed him again. And again. Then she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

If this was heaven, she wouldn't mind dying.

[ken]

The world spun on a focal point which was Angela. Kennedy's mind simply refused to process that anything existed beyond her, and the two of them, so intertwined and link. He found that he could not move, could not yet sever the physical connection between their bodies. Each sweet kiss from her was met by his own lips, softly yet strongly pressing to hers. Hand tumbled through Angela's damp locks, roaming over her body as if looking for something to stabilize with, to support. In the end, Kennedy looped his arms around Angela's waist, crushing her trembling form to him just as she laid her head onto his shoulder.

A short tremor, an aftershock, shook Kennedy, and he had to close his eyes and fight back the convulsion. Even now, Kennedy struggled to be the foundation, the rock upon which Angela could support herself. Deep, even breathes, attempts to try and calm himself, and even the he took in more of her.

Only one set of words could be spoken in that moment, to even begin to put those feelings, those sensations into tangible thoughts, "I love you, Angela."

Kennedy accompanied his words by holding her closer. Their desires had been fulfilled, the lust slaked, but still Kennedy held to Angela. It was not the fulfillment, that sensual moment, that Kennedy had clung to, but her.

Eventually, he knew, he had to slowly bring them down. Literally as well as figuratively, as they still hovered in space, hung like two stars above the Antechamber floor.

"I'm glad I listened to you," he said, smiling. A light tease, a whole truth, and a verbal ladder to allow them to return their feet to solid ground.

[✿ngela wingrose]

Angela murmured an agreeable sound into his shoulder when he confessed his love. It was a hot breath, steamy and lingering. His small shifts made her press her lips to his skin to keep from making more noises, but it still wound up muffled and audible.

"Me too," she muttered sweetly into his neck. She was exhausted. If she pulled away she'd probably drop all the way to the floor. He'd have to be the responsible one and drive. Angela was intoxicated.

She could strike 'kitchen' off her Craziest Place You've Done It list the next time she answered a magazine quiz and replace it with this experience.

"Let's go again," she joked, giggling. Now she was ready to detach herself from him. The symbolism didn't go over her head though - she still felt that twinge of remorse when she untangled herself from Kennedy's solid frame. With her remaining energy (which wasn't a lot), she pushed off him and hovered next to the chandelier, holding on to the arms for support as she extracted her clothes from it. Pulling the purple shirt on over a hurriedly fastened bra, then looking around for her misplaced underwear (which was on the Antechamber floor). Not finding it immediately, she picked up a pair of jeans that was definitely not hers, and flung it over to Kennedy before she found her own. Slipping into them, wiggling a little uncomfortably as she zipped up the fly, Angela redressed.

Where were her shoes?

Sitting on the chandelier and holding onto the chain for stability, the pretty blonde smiled over at Kennedy, resting her head on the thick chain attaching the lighting fixture to the ceiling. Gold hair frazzled by their recent activities, and lips a little swollen from their desperate kissing, Angela had a faint glow about her. Not innocence, because she could never radiate that again. But she had a sweet gentleness about her, a gentleness that went beyond the fact that she was tired and unable to do much else but sit and look pretty. It was a gentleness only Angela could control, the same way she could expell it through her tender kisses.

[ken]

As Angela pulled away from him, it felt like his energy went with her. As though Angela had been his power source, so that as long as he plugged into her he could last. Mentally he knew the separation was wholly necessary and he even facilitated it by drifting slightly away. Somehow he managed to keep afloat.

Kennedy started looking for his clothing, figuring that to be the sensible next step. His eyes fell on the chandelier, noting a pair of boxers which most likely belonged to him. Seeing them hanging in space reminded him of just where he and Angela were, and what they had been doing there. What was next? Sex underwater?

Images of Angela's hair floating about in water while she looked like a mermaid wavered in Kennedy's mind. He'd been so wrapped up in this fantasy that he hadn't noticed the jeans flying at him. He fumbled with them, nearly dropping them. As he bent, he noticed a small patch of familiar wine on the floor, and reddened slightly. If those were what he thought they were...

He looked up to Angela, who had fully dressed and now hung on a chandelier. Though it was an exhausted image, Kennedy couldn't help but picture his girlfriend as an angel, come to save him from his darker self.

Kennedy shook his head, dislodging the image. He had things to do. Boxers to shove on, jeans to fasten. A shirt to find. Underwear to restore to its rightful owner because the last thing Kennedy wanted was for some creeper to find his girlfriend's panties and think unclean thoughts about her. Angela didn't deserve that. And the only one allowed to have sexual fantasies about her was her dedicated boyfriend.

Said boyfriend finished tugging his pants on and slowly lowered himself to the floor. once there, he quickly scooped up the bit of burgundy cloth, then floated up the the chandelier.

"You think anyone's going to believe we made love in the Antechamber? Well, above the antechamber," he played with the underwear for a few more seconds before extending them toward Angela.