“You have a nice chest,” she says admiringly a few, many, minutes later (after trailing her fingers across it (and maybe tweaking both of his nipples because they are brilliant nipples)), “a very nice chest.”
“Why am I doing this?” Tim asks in a faintly desperate tone, only just resisting the urge (she can see the tremble) to cross his arms across that chest and blush and possibly run behind a curtain to cower there for several years like some virgin brought up in a terribly cliché castle that quite deserves a bit of healthy revolution.
“Because I’m wonderful,” she provides absently, deciding that she can get the pitchforks later, and steps forwards to run her tongue contemplatively across that wonderful collarbone – tasting the sweat and feeling the shudder with a joy that can’t quite be contained, “and very good on sofas and against walls.”
“…True.”
“You know it!”
And she knows about that faint quaver in his voice, that desirous shine to his eyes, that wonderful sheen to his skin that speaks of a thousand hidden desires all waiting to bubble out into the keenly waiting world-!
Pfft, hidden.
She doesn’t like hidden things, hidden things are boring, and so drops her mouth quickly instead of taking the second (entirely sensible, she will admit) option of chasing them and kicking their hidden arses. Trails down his chest until she catches a nipple and scrapes her teeth there for long, happy moments.
“Ah!”
…Before switching, and repeating, and smirking joyfully into his sweaty chest as his arms finally fly to her back and hold there like she is his goddess and she is his only goddess!
A fierce goddess only wants to be worshipped, after all…
And so she folds lower still, to reward him for his devotion, and ends up on her knees. Quite comfortable on the cold floor (by her top, but that’s hardly important and she might try and rip it to make some sort of statement) and smirking up at dearest Timmy Boy with the natural brilliance that she’s always possessed, “now your jeans.”
He considers this for a second, a long second, but he’s still trembling and so she can just about forgive him, “And my boxers?”
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timeasmymeasure
UNPROMPTED: Wednesday Evening, Female!Chris/Tim, NC-17 [4/5]
Date: 2011-10-26 12:05 am (UTC)“Why am I doing this?” Tim asks in a faintly desperate tone, only just resisting the urge (she can see the tremble) to cross his arms across that chest and blush and possibly run behind a curtain to cower there for several years like some virgin brought up in a terribly cliché castle that quite deserves a bit of healthy revolution.
“Because I’m wonderful,” she provides absently, deciding that she can get the pitchforks later, and steps forwards to run her tongue contemplatively across that wonderful collarbone – tasting the sweat and feeling the shudder with a joy that can’t quite be contained, “and very good on sofas and against walls.”
“…True.”
“You know it!”
And she knows about that faint quaver in his voice, that desirous shine to his eyes, that wonderful sheen to his skin that speaks of a thousand hidden desires all waiting to bubble out into the keenly waiting world-!
Pfft, hidden.
She doesn’t like hidden things, hidden things are boring, and so drops her mouth quickly instead of taking the second (entirely sensible, she will admit) option of chasing them and kicking their hidden arses. Trails down his chest until she catches a nipple and scrapes her teeth there for long, happy moments.
“Ah!”
…Before switching, and repeating, and smirking joyfully into his sweaty chest as his arms finally fly to her back and hold there like she is his goddess and she is his only goddess!
A fierce goddess only wants to be worshipped, after all…
And so she folds lower still, to reward him for his devotion, and ends up on her knees. Quite comfortable on the cold floor (by her top, but that’s hardly important and she might try and rip it to make some sort of statement) and smirking up at dearest Timmy Boy with the natural brilliance that she’s always possessed, “now your jeans.”
He considers this for a second, a long second, but he’s still trembling and so she can just about forgive him, “And my boxers?”
She smirks.
“…Right.”