Work Text:
As soon as they are far enough away from the house, Wednesday lets go of his hand and rounds on him. Her expression is intense and Xavier is momentarily arrested before he remembers that she gets like this before serious conversations, ones where she has to literally bare her soul to him. He drops his defensive hackles as much as possible. Earlier, she’d been so traumatized by whatever she’d seen that she couldn’t even look at him and declared that she didn’t know if this – them – was worth it before storming off.
“I spoke rashly,” she says first. He snorts. “My words were very hurtful,” she continues. He has been mulling over them, turning them over and over in his mind like a coin while he listened to Morticia’s story. He knew they were worth it. He would never walk away from her. Even though the story had been something to pass the time, nothing penetrating or parallel, he agrees. Wednesday had chosen him. She would keep choosing them over and over.
“You didn’t mean it,” he says, allowing himself to believe it.
“I love you.”
That kills him.
“I know.”
“The first vision I had of you being hurt broke me in a way I have not been able to recover from. You are part of me now. Any threat to you is a threat to me. To our life. Our future.” He pulls her into an embrace and they stand there for a long moment, her fingers tightly gripping at his jacket. “Do you forgive me?” she says, quietly.
“Always,” he kisses the part in her hair.
“Come,” she takes his hand and leads him to the cold marble sanctum of the mausoleum. The first time he’d visited, she’d brought him here almost immediately and told him about the times she’d fallen asleep there, trying to summon the dead like her father could. There is a nest of cushions and thick silk and merino throws in the middle of the room, between the tombs of two long past ancestors. Black candles glow faintly, tucked into corners, dripping their wax over ledges. “I had Lurch set this up.”
“Romantic,” he praises.
She glances up at him, her gaze smoldering. “That was the intention.” She leans up on tiptoe to kiss him. It’s summer, but on the Addams estate, the air is in perpetual gloom. Here, the cold is sharp, pleasantly so. Wednesday is only wearing a dress, one of his favorites. The fabric feels like water and a perfect line of silver buttons runs from between her breasts down to her knees. Her soul mark peeks out from under the neckline. She never wears this out in public, only here at home or when they go on late night walks together. When he lifts her onto one of the tombs, she hooks a leg around him; her shoe falls almost soundlessly onto the blankets.
Wednesday’s eyelashes are delicate, spidery on her pale skin. She hovers there for a moment when he pulls back to take a breath. When she opens her eyes, they are liquid. She dips her hand under his shirt, skimming the edge of his soulmark.
“I want you.”
His breath catches. She isn’t shy about vocalizing when she wants to be intimate, but she’s never… they’ve never.
“Did you take some of your mom’s remedy?” he asks, trying and failing to dampen his excitement. The mist that he wraps her up in is suddenly thicker. She breathes in.
“I took a full dose the night before you arrived,” she confesses, pulling at his jacket. It gets discarded on the tomb and she kicks off her other shoe while he peels his shirt off. His fingers fumble on the first few buttons of her dress. As long as they’ve been together, they’ve never been naked together. Once, she’d taken his shirt off herself, and he’s had his hands under her skirt between her thighs, but they are always rushed, always a move away. She hops down from her perch when he opens down to her waist, taking a shuddering breath when he notices that she isn’t wearing a bra.
Her psychic energy spikes into him like he’s trapped in an iron maiden and he can’t help the smile that breaks out. He leans down to kiss her, whispering in her ear as she makes quick work of his pants, flicking the button open and ripping the zipper down neatly. “How long do we have?”
“Hours,” she purrs, cupping him in her palm. “Father took Pugsley fishing and I believe my mother had some intuition about… this.” She looks up at him, giving him a last chance to change his mind. Instead, he folds his hand over hers.
“Touch me like you did the first time,” he says.
She drags him down to the ground and straddles his thigh, snapping the waistband of his underwear once, sharply before pulling them down enough to wrap her hand around him the way she had on her sixteenth birthday. He kisses her deeply and rocks into her palm until he cums, gasping her name out. She leans back, positioning herself on one of the larger cushions, crossing one leg over the other as she strips her underwear down her legs, still wearing her thing, opaque black thigh high stockings. When he can breathe again, he strips his shoes, pants and socks off, letting her pull him over her. They kiss for a long time. He feels himself getting aroused again from the feel of her soulmark, pulsing under his palm as he squeezes her breasts.
Wednesday doesn’t smile often, but her lips curve just slightly when he breathes her name, softly plucking at the perfect patch of hair between her legs, the wetness of her dizzying. He’s fingered her a few times, but it’s always been at the edge of her impatience, rough and blind under the bunched-up fabric of her skirt. Her toes curl when he opens her up more, exposing her fully. Xavier can’t help but find it adorable. She grabs at his hair, sensing what he’s thinking, yanking hard to goad him into stroking her the way she likes. “More,” she moans. Xavier feels weak. She opens so easily to him, shifts her hips as he starts to thrust his fingers into her. It’s fascinating to see her skin flush while her orgasm builds.
“I want…” he presses his face into her neck. “Weds…. I want to taste you.”
She groans and it melts into a sound so beautiful he wants to die. He could be bleeding; the pain of her soul jabbing into him is exquisite. Wednesday whimpers and pushes him onto his back, dragging herself over him by his hair, almost convulsing in pleasure the moment his mouth brushes up against her pussy. He laps at her, unable to hold back moans muffled by her wetness. She trembles over him, jerking her hips. “Xavier,” she gasps out. His vision is blurred, but he thinks he can make out something along the inside of her thigh, a slightly darker patch of skin like a birthmark. A rose. He nuzzles his nose against it and grips the back of her knee, drawing her back down.
She can only stand it for a few minutes before her hand goes slack in his hair. Laying side by side panting on the ground, he can feel their soul melding together, flowing in a sort of dance. Wednesday reaches for him and kisses him, mumbling details of her latest vision, swearing, as she has every other time, that she will not let it happen, that she will avenge him if the worst happens.
“I will rip your heart out and keep it,” she promises.
They make their way back to each other. Xavier is hard and heavy against her, more than before. “How do… do you want to do this?” he says.
“I’m on top,” she growls.
He chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, okay. Do your worst.” He leans up to nip at her lip, rubbing circles over her clit. She gasps. “You’re so hot,” he marvels. He’s gotten used to the base temperature of her hands and her moods; the warmth radiating off her is unreal.
She blinks. “Your own circle of hell,” she whispers lovingly.
He chuckles again, feeling himself twitch between her thighs, starting to leak. He loves when she flirts, when she’s poetic.
At first, it doesn’t feel like anything, but then she puts her hand on his mark and starts to move. Everything falls away. Their souls come together. Wednesday slumps against him and lets herself be held for a long time while it subsides. When he finally pulls out he has to fight not to mourn the immediate loss of contact. Wednesday strokes his cheek and huffs out a scoff. “I’m not done with you yet,” she warns.
“Oh,” he breathes, sitting up. All around them, the candles flicker and spark.