And, not at all surprisingly… He does. And allows her to get on with this important, this very important, business with but one hand braced against her hip and the other fisting in the sheets of the bed.
She rides him fast, thorough with the added knowledge of certain pointed things. Her hands brace on his chest tighter than they ever have, her nails dig around his nipples and she finds herself growling out pure filth between her teeth – happy, happy filth that probably would shock a drug dealer into religion (not that she much cares, at the moment).
Beneath her, luckily, Tim responds with equal thoroughness. Taking her rough moments like he’s coped with this many times before (…Which he has, really). His hand gets tighter and tighter at her hip, his fingers clench so hard in the sheets that she hears them rip, he starts thrusting so hard that she has to actually hold on to keep her balance – a beautiful bump and grind that sends her eyes falling shut and a whimper bursting from her throat.
They move exactly in time for one moment. One glorious moment that she never would’ve expected even if she was the type to read romance novels without a highlighter and several tubs of glue…
And then he’s coming, his hand clenching at her hip and his head tilted all the way back as he tries to muffle the helpless sound of her name (poor Marcus, so traumatized at such a young age).
It only takes a few more pumps before she’s following after him, slumping down and growling a loving swear word into his chest just as his arms are coming up to ever so tenderly cradle her hair.
…She loves him again.
She thinks that she’ll never stop loving him, truth be told.
But she’s never been the type of girl for soppy confessions, was always more the type to set fire to the valentine’s day cards in the middle of the school field, and so she says something else instead – something far more meaningful than any silly declaration on the subject of her heart and how it urgently needs medical attention or some silly shit like that, “my middle name is Moira.”
There’s a long pause.
His hands, briefly stilled on her back, slowly begin stroking again – pulling back her hair so soft kisses can be laid to her bare (well, they haven’t got up and dressed in the past few seconds) shoulder “…Mine is Derek.”
“Oh.”
“…Oh.”
They pause for another few seconds, he continues to cradle her as she slowly turns her head and starts laying slow nips along the side of his jaw.
“…Christina Moira Black,” he says slowly, ponderingly as he continues to stroke and she slowly (gently, for she rarely wants to hurt him) continues to nip, “that’s quite pretty, actually.”
She smiles, so fondly that she could probably burst and wouldn’t mind a bit.
…And leans in for a slightly stronger nip, because she is herself and if she bursts she might as well take out a few innocent people with her ribs.
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timeasmymeasure
UNPROMPTED: On a Tuesday, Female!Chris/Tim, NC-17 [3/3]
Date: 2011-10-29 12:48 am (UTC)She rides him fast, thorough with the added knowledge of certain pointed things. Her hands brace on his chest tighter than they ever have, her nails dig around his nipples and she finds herself growling out pure filth between her teeth – happy, happy filth that probably would shock a drug dealer into religion (not that she much cares, at the moment).
Beneath her, luckily, Tim responds with equal thoroughness. Taking her rough moments like he’s coped with this many times before (…Which he has, really). His hand gets tighter and tighter at her hip, his fingers clench so hard in the sheets that she hears them rip, he starts thrusting so hard that she has to actually hold on to keep her balance – a beautiful bump and grind that sends her eyes falling shut and a whimper bursting from her throat.
They move exactly in time for one moment. One glorious moment that she never would’ve expected even if she was the type to read romance novels without a highlighter and several tubs of glue…
And then he’s coming, his hand clenching at her hip and his head tilted all the way back as he tries to muffle the helpless sound of her name (poor Marcus, so traumatized at such a young age).
It only takes a few more pumps before she’s following after him, slumping down and growling a loving swear word into his chest just as his arms are coming up to ever so tenderly cradle her hair.
…She loves him again.
She thinks that she’ll never stop loving him, truth be told.
But she’s never been the type of girl for soppy confessions, was always more the type to set fire to the valentine’s day cards in the middle of the school field, and so she says something else instead – something far more meaningful than any silly declaration on the subject of her heart and how it urgently needs medical attention or some silly shit like that, “my middle name is Moira.”
There’s a long pause.
His hands, briefly stilled on her back, slowly begin stroking again – pulling back her hair so soft kisses can be laid to her bare (well, they haven’t got up and dressed in the past few seconds) shoulder “…Mine is Derek.”
“Oh.”
“…Oh.”
They pause for another few seconds, he continues to cradle her as she slowly turns her head and starts laying slow nips along the side of his jaw.
“…Christina Moira Black,” he says slowly, ponderingly as he continues to stroke and she slowly (gently, for she rarely wants to hurt him) continues to nip, “that’s quite pretty, actually.”
She smiles, so fondly that she could probably burst and wouldn’t mind a bit.
…And leans in for a slightly stronger nip, because she is herself and if she bursts she might as well take out a few innocent people with her ribs.