the_gene_genie | (no subject)

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alex

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He wastes no time in getting himself upstairs. He's only been dreaming of this kind of scenario for about three years now; he'd be lying if he tried to claim he weren't a bit nervous, but it's the good kind of nerves. He's definitely not going to let them stop him enjoying this.

Fifteen minutes, she said. That gives him time to have a quick wash and brush his teeth, and chuck a few glasses of Scotch down his throat. It crosses his mind that he might have time to give himself some relief before she gets here too, in the interests of making it last; he's in two minds though, and she'll be here any second. So he leaves it, and forces himself to go and sit on the sofa instead, and just wait.

He's never been the best at sitting still. She might think anticipation's the best part, but this is torture.

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He doesn't want her hands off him. As soon as she's finished with her clothes, he takes one and presses it back down to his balls; his right hand works his cock in a strong rhythm, which leaves the other one free to grope her tits. He doesn't hurry, not yet, because she's just given him the perfect view and wants a moment to savour it.

Her right hand follows his at her breast, and she leans into his touch. Her other hand cups and fondles him, fingertips delving into secret places, determined to light him up.

There's still too much space between them, and she grips harder with her knees, her own hips already rocking in time to his motions. She can't help it.

"Like what you see?"

'Don't I always?'

He bends his head to let his mouth play across her breasts, because he can't keep away from them, ever. His hand moves faster, the side of one finger twisting off the sensitive patch under the head on each downstroke, making his eyes fall shut in pleasure. His lips close on a nipple and he groans hard, trying his best to get her closer, somehow.

'...Christ. Nearly done.'

She wraps her arm around his neck, burying her nose in his hair, just holding him close. His lips find their mark and she whimpers, a shiver of pleasure going down her spine. Her left hand moves in counterpoint with his, and she can't resist. She takes over again, easing his hand away, clever fingers firm on the sensitive head.

"Let me," she breathes.

His mouth trails up her chest, breath coming hard and hot on her skin as it moves to her neck, along her jaw, eventually pressing to her lips. He lets her move his hands away and runs them up her back instead, thrusting into her touch as best he can. It's uncoordinated, and more than a bit desperate, but he feels good enough that it doesn't matter.

'More...'

She's just as desperate, trying to stay close, to kiss him and still keep time. Her touch grows more insistent, and she kisses him back, hard and hungry. Both hands work on him, quick and intent, making demands of his body.

"Come for me. Gene."

He's groaning louder, right up to the point where he stops and pulls back, his body arching as he does everything he can to push his hips further towards her hands. He is so hard, and gasping for breath now; he grabs his shirt and pulls it up out of the way as his other fondles her chest, turning to a grip as he starts to stutter into climax.

'Bols-'

There's a final snap forward, a rough noise from his throat, his eyes squeeze shut and that's it; his pleasure painted on his skin, drawn out by her hands.

She strokes him through it, trembling with the intensity of it. That he trusts her enough to share this with her, it still takes her breath away. Her head drops to his shoulder, and she breathes hard, her skin singing with the slick heat pouring over her hand.

"My love..."

With gentle touches, she kisses him wherever she can reach, cheek and throat, and every inch of her body thrums with anticipation.

Edited 2013-11-30 01:34 (UTC)

He stays still until his breathing has evened out again, aware of her kisses but not moving to respond. His only movement is the hand on her chest, the thumb rubbing tiny circles above her nipple.

Eventually, he turns his head a fraction so their lips can meet. It's response enough for now. Or at least for the next minute, until it's her turn.

It's the perfect response. She craves his kiss like she craves the very air she breathes. It's a quiet, simple way to tell him all the things he will not let her say out loud. So she returns his kiss, slow and warm and tender, breathing his breath, letting everything else fall away. She has all she needs in the world, right here in front of her.

Eventually, she has to pull away and it's with a wry grin. He's made a bit of a mess, not that she minds, but it's always, inevitably awkward.

"Hold that thought," she breathes against his lips. Luckily, there are tissues on the end table. She makes quick work of it, without having to even move from his lap.

Edited 2013-11-30 18:33 (UTC)

He doesn't find it awkward, ever - but then, he's used to it. He just lets his head lean back, eyes half-closed in sated peace as he watches her tidy herself up.

Before she's finished, while she's still fumbling for tissues, his long fingers find the button that marks the entrance to her trousers. It was at the side all along, and now the front half is hanging loose, just inviting his hand to slide inside. Inside, where her legs are already spread as she straddles him, where she's already excited, where's he's going to put himself in not very long at all. The thought makes him swallow hard; if he hadn't just come, that might have finished him off.

But he did, and he'll need a few minutes to recover. It doesn't stop him running the pad of his fingertip around the inner edge of her knickers. No direct contact yet. But it's on the horizon.

She shudders out a breath as his hands slides over the silky fabric, feeling the heat of his skin near where she wants him. The tissues are cast aside, forgotten. She closes one hand around his wrist, the other coming to rest flat against his chest, fingers splayed wide.

Her voice is pitched low, but still tight with arousal. "There's stockings in that bag. And frilly underthings. And I don't want you to miss out on frilly underthings."

She's half-afraid if he gets her started, she won't be able to stop.

His hand stills.

'You changed your mind? I can't make you come?'

It's up to her. His urgency has calmed, a little. But he's never not ready to play - then again, he doesn't want to throw her off her stride.

'I don't wanna miss out on them either.'

"Oh, you can. It's just..."

She leans down to him and catches his mouth in a hot, wet kiss.

"I'm about to tear your clothes off and have my wicked way with you, frilly underthings be damned."

He moans, loud and hard, and expertly pushes material out of the way with one finger. He's still kissing her as he presses inside, two fingers pressuring up the inside wall where he knows she likes it best.

'I'm gonna have you.'

He's panting; pulling out, pushing in. Slow, and deep, his thumb rubbing her clit through her knickers.

'But you're gonna get dressed up for it. Just don't put the pants on, or they'll get ruined.'

She keens against his mouth, never breaking the kiss. Her hips shift to accept him and both hands snake around his neck. When she has to breath, her forehead rests against his, closing them off from anything but this.

Strong hips rock in time with his touch, that slick heat pulsing hard around his fingers every time he swipes a thumb over her pearl.

"I want your mouth," she breathes. "Your mouth and your hands. And your cock, right there." She grips him with the last word, holding those penetrating fingers in a velvet vice.

'Oh, I'll eat you out. You'll scream me bloody name.'

His lips nip at hers as his left hand pulls her underwear further to the side, letting his thumb pleasure her directly. God, she's so wet. She's so wet, he just wants to drown in there forever.

'On your back, tarted up to the nines with my tongue inside you. Shit-'

He pulls back to breath, his chest heaving, already more than half hard again. His touch is unrelenting, his free hand now clamped on her arse, keeping her where he wants her.

Her hips roll against his hand, fucking him back as surely as he's fucking her, hard and hungry and just a little bit desperate. Her hands fist in his shirt, keeping him close as he talks, her breath coming ragged and shallow.

"Not gonna let me tie you down? Tease you by kneeling over your face, hmm? Maybe I'll suck your cock at the same -- oh -- time."

That image makes her move quicker, a wash of heat running through her whole body.

His eyes go wide.

'Jesus Christ. If you sit on my face, I'll love you forever.'

His fingers push her along faster, insisting on her orgasm. He'll have it. He'll have it again and again, all night if he can. She can do whatever she sodding well likes to him, as long as she keeps taking what he's got to offer.

She gasps, and lets out a breathless laugh. If she wasn't tangled up in him, he might get a punch for that.

"After all, we've been through, that's the one, little edge, I needed?" The words melt into another harsh moan, and she goes rigid, letting him work his magic on her. Her grip on him tightens, and she holds her breath, vibrating, striving for that peak, striving for him.

"Gene..."

He's told her before. Sort of. But now is not the time to worry about it; he turns his head, pushes his lips to hers hard, licking his way into her mouth.

'Tha's it. Tha's it, stay still, let me...'

He finds that magic spot, presses into it and rubs, while his thumb flicks feather-light swipes across the top of her clit. He looks her in the eye, breathes her breath, pushes for it all the way.

'C'mon, Bols. Let me have it.'

She grips him so tight, holds to him like he is the only thing in the universe, because right here, right now, he is exactly that. His touch draws her voice up from deep within, a series of soft cries, twisted up in bliss.

He looks into her eyes, gives her that connection, and she feels it. It sparks through her like lightning and she shatters, her body jerking and quivering, bucking hard against his hand. She cries out again, louder this time, as it takes her and shakes her like a rag doll, until all she can do is cling to him and let him pull her apart piece by glorious piece. And she never once breaks eye contact, not even at the very end.

He grinning by the time she's done; a breathless, desperate grin of satisfaction and arousal, and Christ, she's perfect. He still strokes inside her, just gently, just easing her through.

And when it looks likes she's calming, he presses his lips to hers again, so gentle the touch is almost not there. Just letting her know that he's there, and that she's beautiful, and he's never going to stop doing that to her, ever.

When the tension breaks, she sags against him, her eyes finally falling closed. She rests her forehead against his and just tries to catch her breath. There's a fine sheen of sweat on her throat in the valley between her breasts. One hand slips down to touch his wrist, and she leans into his kiss, a quiet, breathless little moan on her lips. There are no words for how happy just being here, all tangled up with him, makes her.

When her head finally clears, she grins, a little on the tipsy side. "And I didn't even have to get all tarted up for you."

'Oi,' he says, quietly.

'You said you still would.'

He's not finished unless she is.