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In the city that never sleeps, the hour is late. Mundies are in one of two states - asleep or inebriated - and the same can be said for the Fables. A few outliers exist, and tonight there are two more, these of the Fable variety.
There is little noise in the business office this evening - the ticking of the clock is constant, but the time is out by a few minutes. But, hidden amongst the shelves of dust and books, a gentle gasp can be heard.
“Bigby”
Sharp teeth meet soft skin, muscles flex as he lifts her against a shelf on the second aisle of the archives. Despite the warmth the wolf emits pressed firmly against her chest, a chill permeates through her blouse from the solid shelf against her back.
Somewhere high amongst the rafters, another fable is inebriated and unconscious, and for a brief moment, Snow regains enough sense to remember his presence, though any semblance of rationality falls aside when she sees the lust in his eyes.
“Snow...”
Predatory and dark, his eyes alone send electric racing down her spine, but his voice is rougher than usual, and it’s unlike anything she has ever felt. His teeth nip along her jaw, towards her collarbones, leaving no marks in his wake. His hands are strong, lifting her effortlessly against a marble column.
For Bigby Wolf, no magic could have allowed him to see the world where he has Snow White in his arms, mewling his name.
The scent of her lust stokes his animalistic nature, and it leaves him aching to claim her as his. Nobody is here to witness this, and nobody knows they’re here. It’s only Snow White, the Big, Bad Wolf, and millennia of history to surround them.
Their stories have a predetermined ending written in the stars. Nobody says they can’t rewrite the ending to their tales.
Perfectly manicured nails tangle through his hair; a sharp tug, and their eyes meet. How they ended here, they’re not sure. Not the Business Office Archives; they know how they came to be here – it’s the only place that’s sheltered from anybody who may wander into the office, even at the hour so late.
But how they came to be entangled is an enigma, an unfamiliar lust and carnal heat racing through their veins.
Quiet panting is the only noise to be heard, hidden amongst the shelves of tales of their lives. They both know they should be more sensible; they shouldn’t take this risk. Their careers – no, their lives – are at stake if this goes badly.
They risk ruining everything that they gave so much to build when they moved from the Homelands. They crossed mountains to get here; they gave up their lives, risking everything for a fresh start and a new life they could destroy in one foolish moment of lust-fuelled haste.
Nevertheless, their eyes meet, and it’s like electric sparks between them. He’s intoxicated by her scent, pure and unblemished, with no cigarette to dim her scent like he usually would.
“Are you sure about this?”
His voice is gruff, deeper than he’s heard in centuries, and Snow’s scent intensifies with the words spoken. She’s soaking through her underwear; she’s never wanted anything more.
“Please, Bigby...”
Her cheeks burn with the whine that escapes her.
“Here?”
Bigby’s gentle concern warms her heart, unexpectedly gentle from the Big Bad Wolf. For all she’s heard the tales of how he hunted her estranged sister, she’s only ever had positive experiences with him.
With a shaky nod, her thumb grazes his cheek. Rough stubble leaves a shiver racing along her spine. The wolf lowers to his knees in front of her, his brown eyes not leaving hers. She’s trapped by his gaze, and she doesn’t want to leave.
His hand lifts her legs, her right one resting on his shoulder, and the left barely reaching the floor. The silence that surrounds them is broken when her black heel clatters to the floor, and Snow can’t stop the mewl that escapes her.
The sight of the wolf’s imposing form, known to hunt and haunt in equal measure, on his knees and reduced to obedient submission, is the most arousing sight she has ever seen.
His hands are gentle, surprisingly so, as he guides the hem of her skirt up to her thighs, revealing her to his wandering eyes. Purple material is held aside by his thumb, and a shiver rocks her.
She’s bare, vulnerable to his greedy eyes, and he is feasting. Bigby’s eyes pierce deep into her soul, brown-turning-gold, overtaken by the black of his pupil.
An unspoken question hangs in the air, heavy with expectations, and awaiting a response.
“I’m sure,” she breathes, lowering her hand to tangle her fingers through his hair. Her head falls back against the shelf, a low throbbing emanating from the base of her skull. Any trace of the ache is swiftly forgotten when the flat of Bigby’s tongue traces over the sensitive bundle of nerves.
A choked moan breaks the silence, Snow’s fingers tighten in his hair, and her eyes squeeze closed.
She’s seeing stars, thrust into the atmosphere by his tight grip on her thighs, held in place against a dusty bookcase.
She’s bound to have bruises left by his grip, and she knows that come the sunrise, she’ll only feel fondness from his touch. Each swipe of his tongue heightens her arousal; her legs tremble, there’s a gentle ache in her thighs that she’s sure will come back to bite her tomorrow. Now, she can do little but grip the shelf behind her head, her other hand tightening in his hair. Their eyes meet over her torso, the buttons of her blouse strained by her ragged breaths and the arch of her back.
His eyes are golden; another sign of the effect she’s having on him. A curse escapes him, and he leaves a line of nips along her thighs, teasing touches that throw her headfirst into her orgasm. His touch is gentle, guiding her over the precipice into blissful delirium.
Chest heaving, her ears are ringing when Bigby stands up, gently lowering her legs to wrap around his hips.
No words are spoken as he combs through his hair until her bun falls aside, messy hair normally pristine. Her hair flows over her shoulders, dancing against his fingertips, and Bigby is certain she couldn’t be more beautiful. She’s panting, head resting against the shelf, her skirt hitched at her waist. Her scent is heavy with lust, and he asks, “You, uh, are you, was that okay?”
Briefly, his mind is cast back to the case, to the remains of Lily, glamoured to appear as Snow; to the hotel room, adorned with petals and perfumes; to the nausea he felt at uncovering Crane’s illicit activities. Even when uncovering the seedy underbelly of the place they call home, Snow never faltered.
Their eyes meet again, and biting her lip, she nods, “I want...”
Her voice wavers, uncertain as she edges the line between lust, impropriety, desire, and more. It’s the first time in millennia that another has brought her such pleasure, but now that she’s had a taste of the wolf’s touch, she’s addicted.
With Charming, she couldn’t talk about her needs. With Bigby, she’s more confident.
His hand rests on her waist, his chest heaving, and his eyes glowing under the dim lighting, “Go on...”
Snow wets her lip, her eyes faltering over his shoulder for only a moment, before she meets his eyes again, “I want you...”
The growl that escapes him is unlike any noise that Snow has ever heard from him, deep and gravelly. His hand grasps her hip tighter, and he meets her eyes, “Are you sure?”
Her eyes soften; she’s stunned by the gentle intonation and the gentler words. With trembling fingers, she caresses his cheek, forcing their eyes to meet. He may be the Big, Bad Wolf, and he may haunt the nightmares of children all over the world, but the man before her, steadying her weight like she weighs nothing, he’s no predator.
No words have ever come easier to Snow White - “I’m sure.”
His eyes soften, and their lips meet.
Any doubts of his intentions are banished with the adoration he’s emanating, the love that’s made only for her. Hand-crafted and adorned with a bow, it’s adoration in the purest form.
Bigby smiles as he meets her eyes, a gentle reassurance as he lowers the zipper on his trousers and tucks his boxers aside. He’s thick, and she knew, by his nature, that he’d be on the larger side. Still, as she traces the thick vein and her mouth dries, she’s stunned by his size.
“Still sure?” Bigby’s voice is laced with concern as their eyes reunite, and for a moment, Snow’s struck by a wave of insecurity - perhaps her own, or perhaps from the wolf holding her high above the ground.
“I am,” she promises, and her fingers tangle through his hair, “are you?”
For a moment, barely a second, the wolf freezes. Just as quickly, he responds with a nod and a charming smile. But that momentary pause gives way to doubt in Snow’s mind, and his name escapes her.
“I am,” he reaffirms, “I’m sure, I am.”
“But?” Snow asks quietly, prompting him to reveal his secret.
“I don’t want to ruin anything,” he whispers, “I don’t want you to come around tomorrow and have regrets. I don’t want to ruin us, and what we could be...”
Bigby’s quiet confession leaves her silent. She hadn’t expected that, though she’s not sure what she had expected him to say. His quiet doubt has shaken a part of her psyche that she hadn’t expected.
What could she say to that? How could she reassure him that she has never been more certain of anything in her life?
Their bond, whatever it may be, can only be strengthened as they come together, and she’d like to think that they are both mature enough to talk about their feelings without embarrassment, fear, or lashing out.
“Maybe I should let you go home,” Bigby murmurs, reaching down to tuck himself back into his boxers.
“No!”
Not hiding her desire, she meets his eyes and captures his gaze, hoping to speak a thousand words without saying a single one.
From the day they reunited, meeting in the business office after centuries apart, she’s wanted him. Fables knew, they judged her, but none could truly understand the character of the wolf like she does, his inherent need to claim, overtaken by his need to protect, and all their desires being derailed by their roles, their careers, their lives.
Nothing blocks their path now - except themselves.
His name escapes her.
Snow caresses his cheek, “I want you.”
“Okay...” Bigby lowers his boxers again, “Tell me if this becomes too much, okay?”
“Okay,” Snow nods, trying not to make her desire so obvious. Their lips meet again, and Bigby’s knuckles brush against her clit, slick and aching. Melting beneath his gentle touch, Snow submits to him, her mouth falling open in a gentle gasp when his tongue sweeps across her lips.
It distracts from the almost painful ache when he lines up and sinks into her tight heat, stretching her with his size. His hands are tight, holding her against the bookshelf as though she weighs nothing, and she’s certain that bruises will blemish her thighs as a fond reminder.
“Shit...” Bigby pants against her neck, with low, rough grunts.
Each slight movement leaves Snow panting into the crook of his shoulder, stifling her moans against her blue cotton blouse.
“You feel so good,” Snow gasps, panting against his neck and her legs trembling around his waist.
“Good,” Bigby sounds breathless, his voice a low gasp, “tell me if it’s too much.”
Each inch that stretches her leaves a delightful sting flowing through her limbs. He’s stroking each erogenous zone she never knew existed – he has one hand combing through her hair; the other is gripping her behind, strong enough to hold her up with one hand. His mouth claims hers, or drifts to her neck. The threat of leaving a bruise leaves her mouth watering, but they both know the risk.
Anybody could catch them here, but one person’s word against another’s means nothing. Love bites are unequivocal proof of what happened in the archives on this late evening, as they worked overtime to catch up on overdue case files.
Hips flush and panting against her neck; Bigby doesn’t move. His hands tangle through her hair, and their lips meet; he steals every breath from her soul. Holding her hips in broad hands, his thumb stroking over the junction of her thigh and hip. Her skirt is in the way; he wants to touch more, he wants to see more, he wants to see her, he wants to feel her.
A low curse escapes Snow as she grips his shoulders, tightening her legs around his hips. Her fingers tangle through his hair, holding him as close as she can, and she pants against his neck, “God, Bigby, please...”
He nods, pressing their lips together, and his grip tightens on her hips until there are bound to be more bruises littering her pale skin, and he begins to move. Slowly, gently, almost uncharacteristically, he handles Snow with addictive fragility as he rolls his hips, building a rhythm in his movements.
Low curses escape Snow, buried against the collar of his white shirt. Her head falls forward, resting on his shoulder. The world around her has compressed to the feeling of his hands on her, his cock dragging over her walls, the noise of his low pants against her neck, only him. He’s never going to forget this evening, no matter what happens between them.
Snow’s moans are music to his ears, stoking his beastly nature. Her fingers tighten against his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer until his world has narrowed to the woman in his arms. Still sensitive from her orgasm, small gasps and quiet moans escape with each movement from the wolf.
“Snow...” he pants, his rhythm faltering and becoming haphazard, hips jerking against her. She’s trembling in his hands; he’s sure that she’s as close as he is.
Her fingers comb through his hair, and their eyes meet. The words die on his tongue when he sees the lust in her eyes, pure and unfettered.
“Come with me, Bigby,” she utters, “I’m close.”
Slamming their lips together, he tightens his hold of her thighs, swallowing all her moans and saving them somewhere deep inside, safe from any unscrupulous figures. While the sheriff is in town, Snow White will be safe, an oath sworn in secrecy to a princess deserving of more than all this wolf can give her.
Her orgasm washes over them both, her scent overloads his senses as her limbs tighten around him, and she cries out. His grunt, stifled against her neck, is the only forewarning before he comes, fingers turning to claws against her thighs. His teeth sharpen on her neck, fangs threatening to draw blood.
Overwhelmed by her scent, he pants against her shoulder, and he quietly curses, gently caressing her thighs. Snow’s fingers comb through his hair, coaxing his head back until their eyes meet again. Despite the sensory overload, he can see the unplaceable emotion in her eyes, something akin to love. That much, he knows, but his wolf-nature makes human emotions something of a challenge.
“Was that, I... are you...”
He’s never stuttered or struggled for words like he is now. He’s the Big Bad Wolf; he can’t be nervous.
He’s not nervous; he just wants, needs, to know that Snow enjoyed that as much as he did.
“That was amazing,” she whispers, her fingertips drifting to caress his cheek. It tests her memory to recall the conversation that led them down this path, but she needn’t overwhelm herself. Neither she nor the wolf wishes to go back from what they’ve done.
“Do you, um,” he gently lowers her to the floor, “Do you want me to take you upstairs?”
His apartment isn’t suitable for a princess of her stature, but he can’t not offer her something in this moment after she gave herself to him so freely.
“I’d like that... maybe you would stay the night,” Snow answers. Smoothing her skirt to use her anxious energy, she tries not to watch as the wolf adjusts himself, making himself appear presentable to any other fables who may come across them, even at the late hour.
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be... than with you...”
Bigby’s hand caresses her arm, drifting lower until he can interlace their fingers, a touch that sends sparks shooting through her veins.