castigador | ( OPEN ) Frank Castle

The words make her eyes sting. Elektra finds herself grateful they're in the shower. She'd hate to be seen as the sentimental creature she is even by Frank. That is all the reassurance she needs. Elektra lets herself fall over the edge, riding each wave of pleasure until the end.

For a moment she lets herself be limp in his arms. Her fingernails come out of the flesh in his back. Elektra appreciates the connection. For this moment she doesn't feel so alone in the world. She sighs mournfully before cutting her own moment short in true Elektra fashion. She unhooks her legs, trusting him to let her down.

He lets her down softly as expected, but keeps his hands on her waist, feeling a quiver in his legs that threatens to bring him down. But then he's kissing her again, hungry and deep, even as his body goes soft between them.

"Ready to get out?" he asks her, heavy head resting intimately against hers. Frank makes no moves to get out even though they both really need to at this point.

Her eyes flutter shut as they kiss, lashes brushing against his cheekbones. They don't open until the weight of his head settles against hers. She realizes that even she could afford to run the shower forever, the water is cold by now. Their combined heat isn't going to change that. She reluctantly draws away from him to turn it off. Neither seem in a rush to leave, but Elektra knows she better take the lead on it. They might actually stand here for an hour otherwise.

Her hands go to a mess of soaked curls that she rings out. She steps out of the shower feeling sated and tired. She retrieves a towel to dry off with, tossing another Frank's way, before concerning herself with drying off. It isn't until she has a towel wrapped around her middle that Elektra breaks the comfortable silence again. "Could you dry my hair?" She offers him another towel. Elektra may never allow herself the luxury of missing anything, but that doesn't mean those needs don't lurk beneath the surface. She isn't any less starved for touch no matter what lies she tells herself.

He grunts, smoothly catching the towel she throws his way. This goes a lot quicker without hair even if he's not psyched about his new look after Elektra called attention to it. Cursorily, he runs the towel over his body so he doesn't drip too much then ties it around his waist. He's already moving to her side to take the second towel before he's processed what she wants from him.

"Sure." It's soft, looking at the towel in his hands and then at her back, eyes skipping to meet hers in the mirror for a split second before he starts in. Holding the towel in both his huge mitts, he delicately wraps her curls in, section by section, and presses until they're dry. He likes that it takes a while, giving him an excuse to linger close to her.

It works better than she expected. The simple act of helping maintain her hair makes her feel full. She likes that he cares enough to take his time and do it right. Elektra realizes in this moment she wouldn't mind doing this forever. She indulges in the idea that she just might before the next world-changing event takes place, eyes closing for the moment.

"It would be nice to sleep for a year after this." It's both an observation and suggestion. Elektra is tired. Everything outside this place is too loud and chaotic. She could use some rest from it with him.

The idea of sleep, though usually wouldn't entice him, after months of having to remain alert nothing sounds better than rest. When he's finished his task, he leans in and kisses the side of her face, compelled into the sweet gesture seemingly by some outside force.

"Okay," he grunts, as if he's agreeing to her proposal on a literal level. Yes, they can sleep for a year.

She smiles warmly at the gesture and his easy agreement. Elektra is completely charmed by him. It takes her by surprise even now that she lets him in this much. She reaches up to run the tips of her fingers along his jawline fondly before breaking away to head toward her room. She ignores her discarded clothes along the way.

There will be time to take care of their shared space later. Right now she just wants to get ready for bed and hope the roof doesn't fall on them. They do have rotten luck.

His routine is well-measured and has been long before his most recent stint on the inside. Habits that the government's war and then his own instilled in him long ago. Without rushing, it all takes less than five minutes and then he's padding to the kitchen to get them each a bottle of water before joining her in the bedroom. Despite what they've just done, seeing her in comfy PJs is somehow endlessly appealing. Frank reluctantly turns from the view to go into the drawer she set up for him some time ago and retrieve some sweatpants. He lets his wet towel fall to the floor and pulls them on before joining her in the bed, leaning over her to put her water on her table before leaning back into his pillow to take a swig from his. It feels so nice to be free - to get to do whatever he wants to do - that he doesn't even think about Maria or how vehemently he's avoided any type of intimacy with a woman since her death.

It's one of life great ironies that the only time she actually dresses comfortably is off the battlefield. Just like him she can rush through a routine without any effort. Elektra just likes to savor the little luxuries. What she considers a luxury changes with Frank around.

Her mouth goes uncharacteristically dry when he leans over her. It leaves Elektra scrambling to move from her comfy position to down some of the water he's brought greedily. Once the bottle is put aside again, she lays on her side. Her fingers dart out to trace a scar on his arm simply because she can. Elektra pointedly doesn't let herself remember the last time she allowed herself be this carefree with a man. The answer will just spoil the moment.

Edited (icons!!! you need them. i guess.) 2019-08-14 03:20 (UTC)

A little tremor goes through his middle at her touch and he caps his water so he can stow it away and turn towards her. His whole torso is a map of scars, naturally, but he's never felt ashamed to show himself around Elektra. They're the same in so many ways.

"Hey," he says gruffly after a moment of just staring into her eyes. His hand slides under his pillow so he can prop himself up better to meet her gaze. Their fear of intimacy is just another thing we have in common, but he doesn't feel like running away now, far from it.

Some people might find it intimidating to be on other end of his gaze. Elektra is sure the same can be said for her. Men have literally thrown themselves to their deaths rather face Elektra Natchios. Right now she isn't a terrifying force of nature. Her gaze is soft and endlessly fond. Despite that initial impulse to run when she spotted the tattoo, the assassin finds herself increasingly reluctant to leave his side much less turn away from Frank.

A small smile makes it way onto her lips as she reaches out again to trace that roadmap of scars starting from his left shoulder. "Hi." It is only when she catches the edge of the mark Zemo left on him that she bothers to ask, "Do you still paint it on?" It might come off as flippant, but this is her way of inching closer to accepting the change and all the unpleasant things it reminds her of.

He'd all but forgotten about the skull and he looks down to remember its shape, rough fingers tracing the edge of it idly. The thought of flaunting it is almost silly to him somehow and he lets out a dry laugh at her question, not finding it flippant in the least.

"Depends. Think it'll protect me when bullets start flyin'?" There's a twinkle in his eye as he looks back up at her. "I could wear your costume if I wanted to show it off." Something tells him, he couldn't pull off the whole 'glorified bikini on the battlefield' thing as well as she does.

Elektra actually laughs at the idea. It makes for a ridiculous picture. That's levity they could always use so she enjoys it for what it is. "I don't think you could fit your arm into my costume." She points out frankly. Her waistline might actually be the size of one of his arms. (Depending on the artist.)

"If you are interested, I could pull some strings with my fashion designer." She teases. Of course she has a fashion designer. Who else would fill such an insane order?

Her comment pulls his gaze down to her middle before it snaps back up again, eyes full to the brim with admiration and just a touch of hunger.

"And all this time I thought you made it yourself. Someone actually designed that thing?"

"I have many skills, but creating clothes isn't one of them." Elektra points out frankly. She's feeling light and in the interest of honesty, the assassin admits this much: "I tried once and it didn't survive the battle." In a rare show, she's a little embarrassed by it. The #trauma didn't help, but yeah. She really did try to just wrap white silk around her body and was shocked it didn't work out.

"I can draw which suits my designer just fine. They ensure it doesn't fall apart like that suit did." It takes a second for the question to properly filter through. Once it does, Elektra raises a brow. "Do you not like my suits?"

The levity is beyond welcome at the moment, and he laughs, a deep rumbling sound as one giant hand settles over her waist and he lays his ear against the pillow in rest finally.

"You won't hear me complainin'," he admits easily, though he's always wondered why she didn't choose something more practical. That's just Elektra at the end of the day, and he can't find fault in it. It's not like a giant painted skull is any less dumb.

Elektra takes a cue from Frank. She settles her weight into the bed, head resting against it soundly. On that same cue, she yanks most of the blankets towards her. His absence only made her blanket hogging tendencies worse. Her hand stays on his chest as her eyes close, needing that physical reminder of his presence. She smiles at him, big and endlessly fond which as always isn't easy for her. "I'd hope not. It's a good view."

They're together again. It feels amazing to joke and be human with anyone again much less Frank. "You owe me a year of sleep."

"Three months," he counters softly like they're bartering, his other hand snaking out from under his pillow to capture her wrist, studying their matching tattoos in the dim light that his eyes have adjusted to.

Her eyes creep open to see what he's doing. What a sentimental fool. She loves that about him. "Not even a half a year? You wound me." Elektra complains emptily.

"Four?" he counters smartly, catching her gaze with his now that he has her attention. "You'd get bored after a week anyway."

"Three days at most." Elektra corrects wryly. She'd be ready to crawl out of her skin after that. She always needs another fight. It's that self-awareness that prompts her to think maybe they should go for the one right in front of their faces.

A brow shoots up as she asks seriously, "Should we concern ourselves with your enemies? SHIELD is fairly useless. Fury Sr. was just as likely to hire men like that as he was to take them down." She hasn't encountered Jr. at all. She can't help wondering if that was intentional after everything that happened between her and that Nick Fury.

"I was bein' generous," he admits, shrugging his free shoulder as his calloused fingers continue to play against her soft flesh. Her question gets a big sigh. He was hoping to avoid that topic for at least one night. "Jr.'s the one who put me in there to take Zemo down."

It was a really bad plan, obviously.

"We can refortify this place tomorrow." For now, he doubts any of their enemies are smart enough to realize they're together, let alone in an off-the-grid house they built.

"Foolishness runs in the family." She responds absently. Elektra can get caught up in her own head. It's fairly easy when you're a solitary creature with no shortage of enemies. Even her very justified paranoia about who may want to break down the door isn't going to make her oblivious to how pleasant his touch is.

She sighs contently as those callous scratch against her flesh. It makes it harder to focus on the topic at hand which she's sure is by design. At least this time she's fairly certain her paranoia is baseless. No one expects them together. If they only plan for one, their victory is inevitable. She lets the thought lull her into quieting the voices that have kept her alive so far. "What about today?"

He snorts at that - it's not like she's wrong. And he doesn't particularly want to think about Nick Fury right now, even if he's pretty sure SHIELD is wondering where he is.

"Today's almost over," he points out absently, though he has no idea what time it actually is. It could have already passed them by and he'd have no idea.

Elektra isn't all that sure what time it is either. The truth is it really doesn't matter. They can do whatever they want. They earned as much. "There must be something you want to do with the time we have left. You were the one in prison." She wasn't exactly suffering most of the time given her eccentric rich girl lifestyle.

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