For the stairs are before him, and he’s on the first step of them, and he’s halfway up… And it’s at that point that he decides that it’ll be too slow to do all that should be done, too slow to get all the way up and kick open the door of the bedroom and negotiate their way over to the bed. But no matter, for she looks beautifully dazed when he sets her down on a step and wonderfully pretty as she blinks confusedly up at him.
“…Tim-?”
He leans down again, before she has to go through another moment of doubt, captures her lips in yet another deep kiss that has her slumping back on her step and hissing air desperately through her nose, so hard that she sounds vaguely like some bull. He chooses not to comment on that, though, chooses not to spoil the moment – only ducks his head, kisses along her jawline, kisses lower.
Her shirt is higher tonight, blue and with a picture of the TARDIS on front, but is still easy to get rid of – to toss over the banister without another thought. He allows her the briefest moment to blink at that, the very briefest moment, and then quickly removes her bra too, ripping it slightly but leaning down to capture her nipple so fast that she can’t even summon the beginnings of a complaint (not that she would anyway, he knows Chris by now).
“Tim,” she gasps, hot and wild as her hands fist in his hair and his mouth switches to her other eagerly presented nipple, “TimTimTim, Tim…”
He’s never heard her so out of control.
He finds himself rather pleased by it, as he ducks his head from her breasts and continues down her body – trailing teeth over her stomach and feeling her helplessly arch beneath him and tasting her sweat as he goes ever lower over always-pale skin.
By the time he reaches her black mini-skirt he finds that he’s lost his shirt somewhere.
By the time he removes that black mini-skirt, sliding it swiftly down her long legs as she helpfully wriggles, he discovers that he doesn’t care - with her spread out and helplessly panting his name on every breath and absolutely naked before him in a way so shameless that he half wonders, bolstered by four beers and that’s probably it, how he ever lived without her.
“I never wear knickers when we’re watching things together,” she provides breathlessly after a few moments of staring, briefly propping herself up on her elbows to look down at him, “I thought, after the first time-“
“Mm,” he says, absently, and leans in again – licking past that familiar thatch of dark curls until he finds heat and wetness and that place where a certain twist of his tongue will have her screeching out his name without a single bit of shame.
He does it.
Hears her screech.
Does it again.
Hears her screech even louder, helpless noises bubbling from her lips as she half sobs his name, “Tim. Tim. TimTimTimTim…”
He smiles, can’t quite help smiling even if it means a sudden halt and a brief pause with her hot skin tempting him and her hand clenched ever so hard in his hair
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timeasmymeasure
UNPROMPTED: Drunk on Sunday, Female!Chris/Tim, NC-17 [2/3]
Date: 2011-10-27 10:20 pm (UTC)“…Tim-?”
He leans down again, before she has to go through another moment of doubt, captures her lips in yet another deep kiss that has her slumping back on her step and hissing air desperately through her nose, so hard that she sounds vaguely like some bull. He chooses not to comment on that, though, chooses not to spoil the moment – only ducks his head, kisses along her jawline, kisses lower.
Her shirt is higher tonight, blue and with a picture of the TARDIS on front, but is still easy to get rid of – to toss over the banister without another thought. He allows her the briefest moment to blink at that, the very briefest moment, and then quickly removes her bra too, ripping it slightly but leaning down to capture her nipple so fast that she can’t even summon the beginnings of a complaint (not that she would anyway, he knows Chris by now).
“Tim,” she gasps, hot and wild as her hands fist in his hair and his mouth switches to her other eagerly presented nipple, “TimTimTim, Tim…”
He’s never heard her so out of control.
He finds himself rather pleased by it, as he ducks his head from her breasts and continues down her body – trailing teeth over her stomach and feeling her helplessly arch beneath him and tasting her sweat as he goes ever lower over always-pale skin.
By the time he reaches her black mini-skirt he finds that he’s lost his shirt somewhere.
By the time he removes that black mini-skirt, sliding it swiftly down her long legs as she helpfully wriggles, he discovers that he doesn’t care - with her spread out and helplessly panting his name on every breath and absolutely naked before him in a way so shameless that he half wonders, bolstered by four beers and that’s probably it, how he ever lived without her.
“I never wear knickers when we’re watching things together,” she provides breathlessly after a few moments of staring, briefly propping herself up on her elbows to look down at him, “I thought, after the first time-“
“Mm,” he says, absently, and leans in again – licking past that familiar thatch of dark curls until he finds heat and wetness and that place where a certain twist of his tongue will have her screeching out his name without a single bit of shame.
He does it.
Hears her screech.
Does it again.
Hears her screech even louder, helpless noises bubbling from her lips as she half sobs his name, “Tim. Tim. TimTimTimTim…”
He smiles, can’t quite help smiling even if it means a sudden halt and a brief pause with her hot skin tempting him and her hand clenched ever so hard in his hair
“…Tim.”