Fandom: Original Fic
Word Count: 1200
Summary: PWP het on a bed.
Notes: I wrote this for somebody who's going to remain nameless. See? I can write het.
He runs a hand along the sweet velvety dip down her spine, watching the muscles clench and flutter. She breathes out, forehead pressed to the crossed arms she’s braced against the wall. He lingers a moment, drinking in the sight of her kneeling against his headboard like a debauched penitent praying for forgiveness. There are purpling bruises just above the flare of her ass that perfectly fit the first four fingers of his left hand. They were made earlier hauling her onto his dick while she gurgled and curved her spine back into a perfect acrobatic arch, one leg wrapped high up on his waist so that he felt her curled toes slide over his ass and the back of his thigh.
He fists the base of his erection with a tight hand. Just thinking about it is almost too much.
“Quit fucking around,” she says, muffled into her own skin, and widens her knees further apart on the mattress. He slides between her cheeks, crown of his dick skidding over her clit. She shudders, pushing her ass hard back against his pelvis. She’s slippery wet and he strokes back and forth, teasing, knowing that he’s done something she likes when the muscles in her buttocks tighten. Her impatience is a game, how long can he provoke her until she refuses to put up with it. She starts to tell him to hurry up just as he’s fitting himself at her opening.
“No more of this—” she breaks off, words caught in her throat. He pushes all the way in and pauses. From this angle he can’t see what she looks like stretched taut around his dick, but he can imagine.
She tightens convulsively around him and he slides a hand down over her belly, imagining as he thrusts inside that he’ll be able to feel her so full of him. The headboard rocks hard against the wall, everybody will know exactly what they’re doing. They probably did already. They’ve been at it for hours, waiting for this raw hungry thing inside both of them to finally say no more.
She’s so small in the circle of his arms. The delicate wings of her shoulder blades dig into his chest. She pants and mutters ‘harder,’ grinding her hips back brutally so that he wonders if he’ll hit her cervix on his next thrust. God it’s scary how much he needs this.
Her burnished curls are held up on a messy knot at the nape of her neck. He hates it up. He presses a kiss to the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and untangles it with his fingers. It coils easily around his fist and he tugs gently, pulling her head back. He bends his head to meet her gasping mouth. It’s a messy kiss, she’s not even concentrating on it. He pushes his tongue past her lips, tracing over one sharp canine and the soft flesh at the inside of her lip. She pulls back, angling her head so that she can nip at the corner of his jaw, head collapsing back onto his shoulder as he scrapes over her g-spot. Her hands never leave the headboard.
“How much longer can you go for?” she asks, voice a whisper. A flush extends down over her cheeks to the rounded swell of her breasts.
He doesn’t answer, just brings the hand laid over her fluttering stomach muscles up to his mouth, sucking on the first two fingers of his hand. He waits until the salt of his skin has given way to the taste of his mouth and his fingers are spit-shiny. He reaches back down and carefully pushes them into her tight wet heat, bracketing his dick. Her fingers clench on the headboard, knuckles going white, and he’s treated to a full body tremor. He wonders retroactively if it’s too much, breaths coming out in shallow puffs over her shoulder. The crown of his dick catches on his knuckles inside her and he swallows hard.
“It’s okay, it’s good…” she slurs, almost like she read his mind. She thrusts down, grinding her clit against his palm. Her thigh muscles tremble and only the arm belted around her waist keeps her form sagging back down to the bed. He fucks her like this, the both of them nearly drunk on it. It’s easy to hit her G-spot, she gives a small almost imperceptible jerk every time.
He pulls his fingers free with a wet pop, and trails the pads of his middle and index finger up her body, leaving traces of her own wet over her stomach. He brings the hand up to her mouth and she dutifully sucks his fingers into her mouth, tongue running between them. His eyes dip closed and the sensation, and just as he’s there, not quite paying attention, she bites down on the tip of one finger hard enough to hurt. He’s about to ask her what the hell is going on, but her inner muscles clamp down around him at the same time.
“Oh fuck!” he says, slamming a hand up against the wall. He comes a few shallow thrusts later, forehead pressed to the back of her neck, teeth sunk into his own lip. She lets out an amused huff that turns into a delicate groan as he pulls free of her body. She slumps back down to the mattress until she’s sitting on her heels, but her fingers are still obediently curled around the headboard.
He rolls her over, stretching her out over the mattress. His come runs milky and translucent down the inside of her thigh and he ducks his head to lap it up, following a line of his own devising to the top of the red swollen flesh of her vulva. She moans and curses, thighs shutting around his shoulders. He glances up her body to find her watching him, eyes narrowed into an unreadable expression. When he pushes his tongue against her clit, her mouth opens on a soundless moan, but she doesn’t break his gaze. He brings spread-fingered palms up under his ass so that he can lift her hips just the way he wants them. She tastes like him down here.
She comes quietly, hands fisted in the sheets. The fractional shift of her pelvis up against his mouth is the only sign of how much she wanted it. For a moment all she does is breathe, eyes shut to his gaze upon her.
“C’mere,” she says, opening lazy arms to draw him close. He’s already hard again, and his erection slots right into the groove between her legs, causing her to hiss from overstimulation. He shifts obligingly on his side so that his arm is draped over her middle. She’s tired. She’ll probably fall asleep soon. He goes to pull up the sheets but she protests weakly, warding it off with an arm.
“You’re like a furnace,” she tells him, eyes drooping closed. Her skin burns against him almost like she has a fever. He doesn’t mind.
He look at her, the freckles across the bridge of her nose and the abraded red of her mouth, and thinks somebody made her just for him in the sentimental confines of his brain that no one else is privy to.