notyourcaptain | How Many Days?

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richard riddick

How Many Days?

Carolyn wasn't aware of how long she slept. A long time. The sleep was broken up by nightmares, brief moments of consciousness that quickly slipped away as her body forced her into rest. Maybe she was just that tired, maybe she just needed it. Or maybe the nightmares kept her from really resting as she should have been, so she slept longer to compensate.

Once or twice, she woke up to find Riddick at her bedside, one firm hand on her shoulder as though to keep her from levitating off the mattress. She was barely awake long enough to acknowledge him. The nightmares were awful and persistant - pitch black and full of viscous blood. She couldn't see anything, but she could hear everything, smell it, feel it, the tearing flesh, the cooling rock under her hands, the screeching and hissing. Now and then, a hand would come out of the dark and haul her to her feet, pulling her out of the dream.

When she finally came back to herself, rested but disoriented, it was dark outside and she had no sense of time, didn't know if it had been hours or days. The light at the ceiling still filled the apartment with a sickly glow and she turned slowly onto her back, finding herself achy and stiff, as though she'd been rigid and tense the whole time. She cleared her throat and blinked slowly, not even sure if Riddick had kept his word, if he had stayed by his side the whole time.

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"I don't want you to go." She loosens her grip on him long enough that her shirt can slide up and off her arms. His strength is immense and she finds herself breathless as she's lowered to the bed, never dropped. Carolyn gets her own hands under his arms, sliding them up his back so his shirt close loose from his pants and she can trace muscle with fingertips. "Don't go. I don't want you to go."

It's what he needs to hear, twisting his own shirt up and over his head. Riddick splays his hands over her stomach, his fingers drifting over the scar that he can remember so clearly now. Before she can protest that he kisses her, needy and pressured in a way he never allows himself to be. With her, it's different, he knows that now. It always has been, and he's done fighting it, not going to fight it again.

His hand on her stomach is searingly hot, but the ragged lines of the scar are numb. Carolyn shakes slightly, catching his wrist before he kisses her hard and she's distracted by the press of his tongue. She opens up to him, fingers curling against the back of his neck. She's clinging, and she's very aware of it, but her grip won't loosen, and she's still trembling under his hand. She remembers standing in front of him while he sat, remembers that he leaned forward and rested his head against her stomach. It makes her throat ache, eyes burning until she closes them.

There are too many memories, and they're overwhelming, distracting, driving him mad. But the touch of her skin grounds him (it always has he remembers then pushes that thought away) and the press of her fingers tethers him here in the now. This isn't a dream, this isn't prophecy or a nightmare. This is real and more important than all of that. Riddick shifts over her, even now always careful to not hurt her. He wants to touch every bit of her, slipping the hand that she's holding further down between them.

It's confusing, because she gets the sense that his touch has always been gentle, even back on the planet, even when he was throwing and pinning her to the ground. It was never about hurting her. But everything is all mixed up and she can't be sure any of it is true. What feels true is the thump of her heart and the way her stomach pulls tight under his palm. Carolyn is panting against his mouth, blue eyes open wide because she's too wrapped up in this to be afraid to meet his strange gaze.

She lets go of his wrist, giving him permission to touch her where he pleases and her own hand drifts up his arm to his shoulder. He looms over her. Too big for the bed. Too big for the room. Carolyn swallows back a gasp and gives her attention to his belt instead.

He needs her, he needs this, and need is a dangerous thing. He's always been afraid of it and while he usually faces any fear he has head on, this seems to be the exception.

Riddick shifts slightly, roughened fingers skimming the soft skin at her hip, pushing her pants down as he does. It is all mixed up, but he no longer cares what's remembered and what's a dream or if it's all real. Because this is real, her body reacting to his touch, the warmth of her skin and breath beneath him.

"Shit." There is still a very large part of her that is convinced this isn't real. She is not getting naked with Richard Riddick. For a moment, it is almost as though she can hear Johns laughing at her - Carolyn, Carolyn, Carolyn. Such a fucking idiot.

But his hands cradle her and she can't remember ever feeling so safe. Maybe this is because they've both finally lost it. Maybe she's dead. But ultimately it doesn't seem to matter a whole lot. She's kicking out of her pants, leaving her in thin underwear and nothing else. He's pulling her hips up still, to get her pants off, and she's dragging her hands up the backs of his thighs.

It doesn't matter whether they're dead or not, not while they're here. This place is screwed up, but it's a chance to fix things from before. Not that this is how he's meant to fix them, but it's what seems right in the moment.

Never trust your feelings. Don't allow yourself to need.

It's a mantra he knows well, and one he's pushing to the back of his mind. Riddick can't think about that now, not with her beneath him, his knee moving between her thighs and his hand following. He wants her, maybe even needs her. It terrified him before this place, and he fucked things up in Gotham because of it. He knows that now, and he knows he's not going to do that again.

"Do you remember," she asks, gasping, because she's starting to feel crazy with his hand between her legs and her head spinning, "a fair. Winter. You gave me hot chocolate and my ankle was busted." Carolyn forces her eyes open, meeting his as her hips roll up into his hand, against his leg, "You told me...you told me you were letting me in."

Talking about the memories is hard, harder than he wants to say. He moves his hand against her, teasing her, wanting her to forget herself completely if only for a few moments.

"I remember," he admits finally, his lips pressed to her ear as he whispers the words. "I remember you sleeping with your head on my chest. Keeping the nightmares at bay."

Her next gasp is almost a sob and she dug fingers into the rounded muscle of his shoulder. There are more memories, spilling out of her head, sitting on her tongue, but he is successfully driving her to distraction, and the fact that these are memories, and not dreams, is almost frightening. His voice is still gravel deep, but it smoothed out over the words, making her stomach draw up tight.

"Yes," she whispers back, panting against his cheek, "yes." He'd held her hand, clung to her, anchored himself to her in the dark.

"Carolyn," her name escapes him, the first time he's used it in this place. Riddick feels like a line has been crossed with that, an admission that's hard to quantify except to say that it's her and it always has been. That she's been in his head since that damn planet, that he's always seen her for exactly what she is, and terrifyingly she's always seen him.

The rest of his clothes can't come off fast enough, pushing them away even as he shifts. He rolls to his back, pulling her atop of him. He wants to watch her, wants to hold her face between his hands and kiss her. He wants to keep her safe, to keep the dark from haunting her.

There's a sudden realization that she's naked except for the thin cloth of her underwear, and this is happening very quickly. There are these memories flooding her brain, but everything is still so alien. But then Riddick is kissing her - he holds her face between his palms and kisses her, tipping her head so their mouths locked. He's so hot, burning to the touch, and all that bare skin is available to her. Carolyn slipped both hands up his chest, then back down, shifting until she could get fingers wrapped around the base of his cock. Never, in a million years, would she have thought this could happen, but now, with his bulk between her legs, it made more sense than anything else could have.

It's his turn to shudder now, her touch and the weight of her body on his electrifying. This isn't about meeting needs - he's gone for years without caring, and at other times he's found those who make a business out of sex. Or maybe it is about needs, just not the physical ones that he's used to dealing with. These needs go deeper, and he's trying hard to reconcile his memories with reality. When she touches him, he groans, his mouth still on hers, her face still cradled in one hand. The other slips down her side, over her hip. He tugs at her panties, pulling them away as best he can.

She wants to know if the rest of these memories are real, but the sounds he's making are far too distracting. Carolyn whimpers against his kiss, lifting her hips so the cloth slides down out of the way. There's an awkward moment where she has to push away and get the panties off, but Carolyn's need for his hands on her overcomes any hesitation. There's a quiet voice warning her to think about protection, but she isn't about to stop, can't stand the idea of delaying this or jumping them off track. Interruption would just mean feeling crazier by the second. When she has him close, between her legs, his hands big on her cheek and hip, the memories feel like memories, and not delusions.

He would tell her that they're real, but there are times he's unsure himself. With the dreams he'd had before coming to this place he doubts his own sanity sometimes. Furyans and Elementals, Necromongers and their creations. He's seen things he's only ever half-believed in, or more to the point he's spent a lifetime avoiding. But Fry has always pushed him, has always been what's real, even in another place just like this one. Her skin against his shows that, warm and damp with sweat, exactly how he remembers it. Riddick pushes up against her, his grip on her hip heavy. But he lets her take the final step, knowing that she has to be the one in control here, at least for these few minutes.

The weight and heat of the air around them is making her pant, so Carolyn takes a second to catch her breath, sitting up and focusing on his face. She's still stroking him gently, then pushing up onto her knees. There's a newfound steadiness and she blinks slowly, shifting until she can guide him to her, sinking down inch by inch until their hips are flush and he's buried in her. Carolyn swallows hard, shivering once as the waves of memories keep coming. They'd fought hard for this, fought hard to allow each other close. The crazy thing was, Carolyn got the sense that as well as they seemed to know one another because of their time in Gotham, it was that one long night on the planet that was the real source of understanding. She'd always known him that well - all their fighting and fucking that came after, that had been no more revealing than the moment he'd gripped her hand and pulled her stumbling through the canyon.

How can you save her when you can't even be honest with yourself?. Words said to him in that other place, words he'd been fine with forgetting. Riddick knew this changed things, more than just the memories this meant he wasn't the one in control now. Not in the way he always has been.

He pulls her back toward him, his hips moving with hers at an almost painfully slow pace. Fingers curl behind her neck, tangling in the ends of her hair as he kisses her, losing some of the gentleness from before. It's need overwhelming control, a dangerous place to be.

"I need you-" she whispers as he pulled her close, her head turning when the kiss breaks so she's speaking in his ear. Her breath is hot and she's wound one bare leg around his hips, so that when she pulls tight he rocks against her and surely he can feel how wet she is. It makes her heart pound, and for a moment she isn't embarrassed to admit this very newly obvious fact. "Riddick, I need you."

Riddick moves them again, flipping them in one swift movement, never pulling out or away from her. "Carolyn," he says her name again, a low grumble as he takes her hand, pushing it up over her head and holding it. She's beautiful and she feels amazing beneath him and against him. He knows how she feels, but even now, even remembering all that he does those are words he has difficulty with.

She's gasping and she has no idea how they got to where they are. The hand pinning her wrist to the bed is making her heart pound in her chest and she find herself smiling. She's pressed back into the bed, squirming under him, and she's smiling. They aren't even really moving together, but it doesn't seem to matter. Riddick is buried hilt deep and as much as she wants the friction, she doesn't want him to pull away. Instead she keeps her leg around his hips and rolls her own up, grinding against him without letting him pull out.

It's frustrating to move like this, pressing into and rocking with her without ever pulling back or away. Frustrating, but also teasing in a way that makes his blood rush, his pulse pounding in his head. He can see the warmth in her with his goggles off, see the way she's reacting to him and to this. That's another type of rush, his breath faster as he circles his hips like she does, as much as he's desperate to pull out and push back in again. He isn't sure how long that continues, only knowing that he can't stand it any longer, his strength overcoming hers as he pulls back, drives back into her with a cry that's unexpected.

His cry is unexpected, and even though she should know better, his strength is as well. Their hips meet with enough force to drive the breath out of her and Carolyn gasps, back arching - with her hand pinned as it is. That's what sets the pace, though, and she claws at his back with her free hand, sinking into the blankets and the mattress as he fucks her, her own attempts to meet each thrust only half successful. Soon it's hard to keep her leg around his hips because her limbs are going sort of limp, heat and dizziness and the rising swell of orgasm making it very hard to think, much less keep a grip on anything.

He might be fighting for control, but not so much that he can't be sure she breaks before him. This has been about her he tells himself even now. About Fry being safe, being here. Riddick usually doesn't lie to himself this much, but this is one time he seems unable to do anything else. His skin is hot, but so is hers, damp with sweat wherever they touch. He slows, he has to, shuddering with each thrust, unable to contain himself any longer.

The slower pace makes her whimper and Carolyn stretches to grab at the curve of his ass, fingers digging into hard muscle. Before it was too hard, too fast, and now it's too slow, not enough. She's damp with sweat, yes, verging on slick, and she can't get a good grip. Her other hand is still pinned and she wants him to move faster, needs to find release, but it all still feels so far off. No longer quite so swamped with memories, Carolyn can only focus on his bulk, on the weight of him between her thighs. She whispers his name again, forcing her eyes open in an attempt to meet his gaze, even anyone could ever really meet his eyes the way you'd meet anyone else's. They were unreadable, even when he had the goggles off, impenetrable.

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