Title: A Little Patience.
Fandom: Ace Attorney.
Spoilers: Nothing specific.
Pairing(s): Adrian Andrews/Franziska von Karma.
Genre: Smut. I can't even pretend it's anything more than that, seriously. It's just... smut, in its basest, smuttiest form. I'm sorry :(
Contains/Rating: Strap-on sex. Against a wall. Yes :3 Some references to safe-words, a little bit of informal D/s, bad language. Very, very NC-17.
Notes: You can tell something is really smutty when you find yourself actually blushing while you're writing it. Oh, man. Umm. Hee. *flailwrigglehide* Oh, gosh :| I'LL SEE YOU ALL IN SIX TO EIGHT MONTHS WHEN THE BLUSH HAS DIED DOWN, MMKAY? *runs away with bag over head*
Summary: "I think not," she says, velvet-smooth and as coldly as she dares. "Didn't I tell you I was going to make you beg?"

"A little patience, if you please."

Adrian's hands flutter as the tip slips against her, undecided fingers spasming to grip bare shoulders tight, before dropping, dropping so quickly to Franziska's lower back that she almost - almost - gets the better of her. Franziska tuts at her lack of restraint, even as she is employing every last drop of her own waning self-control in the action of drawing back, away from Adrian's pleading hips.

"A little patience," she repeats into Adrian's throat, as softly and steadily as she can manage. "You see, I am going to fuck you, Adrian Andrews, but only if you ask me nicely. Can you manage that?" She allows a careful little graze of the toy's length between Adrian's legs to illustrate her point.

Adrian lets out a sound that makes sense to neither of them; half an appeal for mercy, half a mindless wail of desperation. It's more than satisfying, Franziska decides, but not quite what she was asking for, and god help her if she's going to go back on her word now.

"I refuse to believe an intelligent woman such as yourself could fail to form a sentence at a crucial moment like this," Franziska continues, smirking widely when Adrian tips her head back under her mouth, a harsh, frustrated huff of breath ruffling her hair. "We'll try again, shall we? Would you like me to fuck you, Adrian Andrews? Remember, now, I want you to ask me politely." Franziska's teeth meet the smooth, serene peak of Adrian's collarbone, and she times the nip of sharpness with an abrupt shift of her hips, letting the graze of before become the kind of controlled, barely-there friction that makes Adrian bite her lip, hard.

"Please," she blurts out, already rosy cheeks flushing an even deeper scarlet. "Please, Franziska, please - " and with that, she all but grabs Franziska about the neck, bringing their mouths together and kissing her in such an uncharacteristically fierce manner that it catches Franziska entirely off guard. It is a shamefully long moment before she manages to regain the will to detach herself, and in the interim - before her limbs have even had the chance to acknowledge her renewed determination - Adrian's hands have dropped, palming and cupping and pinching in that irresistibly pleasant manner she must be well aware always brings Franziska out in goosebumps (and does she have to be so god-damned talented with those hands of hers? It's really not fair, the way a single thumb pressed just so can clear her mind so completely of all coherent thought...)

"Hmm," Franziska muses, when she has managed to wrestle back her control of the situation, a rectification displayed most effectively in the relocation of Adrian's wrists to above her head, pressed into the wall behind them, "that wasn't quite a sentence, was it? Although I must admit, I do so enjoy it when you beg me like that..."

Adrian surprises Franziska by wriggling against her hold, attempting to free her arms. Franziska's grip loosens, and she raises a questioning eyebrow. She knows Adrian would say the word in an instant if things were getting out of hand, but nevertheless she can't help the little twist of doubt that gnaws her insides, that same uncertainty that lets her fingers relax to the point that would allow Adrian to easily overpower her if she chose to.

She doesn't.

"You know, with all this preamble, I can't help but wonder..." comes Adrian's voice, soft and teasing from under blonde, mussed-up hair; when Adrian blows it out of her face Franziska can see she is smiling slightly, the expression just as taut with arousal as it is tinged with a knowing playfulness, "...whether you're actually planning to follow through on your words, or whether you really are just all talk."

Franziska's eyes narrow momentarily, an instinctual, automatic reaction. It is only the silly, coy quirk of Adrian's lips that keep her from giving into the outrage entirely. "...If I didn't know any better, Adrian Andrews, I would say that you are attempting, quite foolishly, to goad me into giving you what you want. But that couldn't possibly be the case, could it? No one could possibly be foolish enough to attempt such a transparently obvious ploy, could they?"

Adrian laughs, sounding quite breathlessly delighted at being found out. "I'm sure I don't know - ah."

"Fortunately for you," Franziska mutters lowly, enjoying the slick slip of skin her fingers have found between them, "I grow tired of waiting for you to form a coherent sentence. I think, just for that, I'm going to make you beg, whether you like it or not." A tiny pinch, a meticulous scrape of her nails, and Adrian's hips jerk uncontrollably against her, a yelp of surprise dragged pleasingly from swollen, gasping lips. Adrian's smile fades, supplanted rapidly by a far more satisfying look of sweat-sheened desperation.

"Promises, promises," Adrian manages, through gritted teeth, and Franziska cannot help admiring the herculean - if rather adorably futile - effort this final act of false defiance must have taken. It is not quite a punishment, but neither it is a reward (and she's sure Adrian is far past the point of telling the difference, anyway) when she lets her fingers drop, the pressure easing off only briefly, before returning in full force as she slowly - so slowly - guides the first torturous inch back against Adrian, and then in, her own brow furrowing in concentration even as Adrian's hands (and just when did she release those so completely?) are butterflies against her back, all soft, ephemeral flickers and blind grasps for a hold that doesn't even come close to quelling her low, shuddery moan of appreciation.

"Please," she murmurs, expression betraying nothing but the flush black lashes and parted lips of want, any trace of teasing entirely gone.

"Much better," Franziska breathes, triumphant, and then there is no more waiting, hips finally pressed close as Adrian's head falls back, arms rising to encircle Franziska's neck. The first is halting, more unsure than Franziska would like, but the warm, gentle lips at her ear galvanise the second, encouragement and moans and musical little hums of approval combining to lead Adrian's lower body upwards, too, one leg hooking itself around Franziska's calf, toes curled bruisingly against bare skin until escape would be all but impossible, even if she wanted to.

Adrian's eyes flash open, another beautifully shocked gasp issuing from her when Franziska makes a snap decision, slipping her hand under Adrian's other thigh and lifting her bodily. Flustered hands press flat against the wall at her back, scrabbling wildly for something, anything to support herself with, before returning, uncertainly, to Franziska's shoulders.

"What's the matter?" Franziska whispers against Adrian's ear, a sly little smirk tugging irresistibly at her lips as she draws back to watch the other woman's dawning comprehension; her realisation that yes, Franziska is more than capable of supporting her weight (and Adrian doesn't need to know that Franziska's arms are already protesting, does she? Doesn't need to know that she's not really sure if it's the wall or her body doing most of the work, that she is all at once pathetically glad of Adrian's small frame; not when Adrian's face is screwed up and her breath is all hitched, shallow gasps on Franziska's neck; not when neatly-manicured nails are perilously close to drawing blood at her shoulders). "Don't you trust me?"

Adrian opens her mouth, a familiar, sensible retort of some kind identifiable in her eyes, but Franziska doesn't let the words come - a deft upwards buck of her hips, and Adrian's ankles lock tightly at her back, whatever response she had been planning actualising itself only as a long, drawn-out groan.

She realises it will take something more than this to push Adrian over the edge, of course. In fact, she's counting on it. It's only a few thrusts more before she senses Adrian's grip on her relaxing, damp, shaking fingers navigating their way blindly down her bare arm, working their way between their bodies. Franziska laughs, low and strangely sweet, at the look on Adrian's face when a shoulder pressed hard blocks her progress.

"I think not," she says, velvet-smooth and as coldly as she dares. "Didn't I tell you I was going to make you beg?"

She forces her movements to slow; deliberate quick strokes slipping seamlessly down to little more than a rhythmic rocking of her hips against Adrian. She can't stop herself smirking, pleased, when Adrian cries out in disappointment, pushing herself back against Franziska with as much force as her pinned state will allow, because it's still not enough, and Franziska knows it.

"If you would just ask me politely, Adrian..." Franziska continues evenly, tracing a path down from Adrian's cheek to meet her mouth, planting a small, taunting kiss at the corner of her lips. "If you would just swallow that foolish pride of yours, and ask me - nicely - to let you touch yourself... why, I think I could even find it in my heart to let you come. But, on the other hand, if you can't manage such a thing..." It's the most practiced of bluffs, and they both know it, but the mere suggestion that she might just decide to stop never fails to loosen Adrian's tongue.

Fingers clench convulsively against her forearms, the corner of Adrian's bottom lip bitten to a blooming, apple-pink - another gentle little sway of her body, electric friction fading smoothly with every further moment the words don't come, and then Adrian is all but whimpering, "Please, Franziska - please, I need to - "

She's barely moving at all anymore, but Adrian is grinding her body insistently downwards, apparently quite unable to control herself. "You need to what, exactly, Adrian Andrews?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake - " (and Franziska can't help but think how illogically lovely that is, her resolute refusal to allow herself the luxury of cursing, even as her eyes are bright with frustration) " - I need to - ah - please, let me touch myself, please, I just..."

"Very good," Franziska agrees pleasantly, pausing just that second longer to watch Adrian's eyelashes flutter, before shifting her upper body backwards. Adrian's fingers are between them as soon as Franziska removes her shoulder, mouth opening slightly to allow those little, compulsive nibbles of her own lower lip that Franziska so enjoys watching (and she'll pay for it later, no doubt; when Adrian comes back to herself, once again mindful enough to be embarrassed), telling them both that she's very nearly there.

She's lost count of the aches spider-webbing their way through her bones by the time Adrian stiffens, all at once becoming a fragile, sweat-slicked arc of glass and gold in Franziska's arms. She doesn't let up until Adrian's shudders have subsided, a hand releasing from her shoulder to push her gently away.

"Tired?" she asks, more than a trifle smug, when Adrian drops her head into the crook of her neck.

"No," is Adrian's immediate, earnest protest, but when Franziska lets her test her feet against the ground, and promptly has to catch her as her knees buckle, she gives a shaky, apologetic laugh. "All right. Perhaps a little."

"And I was just getting started, too," Franziska drawls, clucking her tongue theatrically. Maintaining a studious grip on Adrian, she takes a tentative step backwards, and finds herself unable to keep from hissing when a lance of (admittedly, well-earned) pain shoots across her lower back.

"It appears I'm not the only one," Adrian says, with a small, tender smile. Palms press themselves flat against Franziska's back, fingertips kneading smooth, clockwise circles into her vehemently-protesting spine. "Maybe time for bed, hmm?"

"Now?" Franziska's eyes search over her shoulder, picking out the dim green glow emanating from their bedside table. "It's only just turned 11 o'clock, Adrian Andrews."

Adrian's smile widens, accompanied by a mischievously-raised eyebrow. "Did I say we would be sleeping?"

--
fin
--