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Summary
"You talk a load of shite, y'know that? Drives me up the bloody wall."
"Can't stop me though, can you?"
There was no softness, no warmth. Only aggression, raw passion, visceral physicality. Two equally stubborn people, with emotions pushed to the brink. Only another battle, not with fists and weapons now, but something far more carnal. And neither Ishmael nor Heathcliff was going to admit defeat first.
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Bookmark Notes:
NOBODY TELL THEM THERAPY EXISTS!!!! W SMUT!!! this fic lives rent free in my head unfortunately