Okay, so she isn’t much for the domestic sort of thing.
To her it’s creepy, stifling. Put on an apron and bake cookies and be generally nice and fluffy and bunny-like and ugh. She’d much rather be living in an apartment (ignoring the house that she owned, that was just so she could piss off the neighbours), or a hotel, or even a cardboard box!
…But this is Tim.
And Tim is sweet, and kind, and nice, and bumbled so much when he started talking about this huge and terribly meaningful step that she just had to put him out of his misery (in the nice way, the very nice way when you factor in the blow-jobs), and… Well, she’s pretty sure that he’d never force her into anything.
And he’s also very easy to convince when it comes to sex in removal vans, which is always a plus.
“Can’t you be a bit quieter?” He mutters desperately in her ear, taking the brief opportunity to glance back over his shoulder and almost fall into her dresser (actually into, that thing has big drawers), “what if they come back?”
“Then you have a very nice arse,” she smiles brightly, squeezing it to prove her point.
“Chris…”
“And I have very nice breasts,” she tilts her head back slightly, hisses breath out between her teeth as he hits an almost perfect spot inside her, “I really don’t see what your problem is.”
…He only grumbles.
And she’ll happily call it victory.
They’re pressed awkwardly back against the wardrobe that her grandmother gave her several years ago (it had fifty three pears in it when she first received it, she never really got around to asking). Both entirely naked, for if you’re going to be publicly indecent you might as well do it properly, and panting an awful lot about it. Her legs are snugly wrapped around his waist, her back against wood. His arms are braced either side of her, his hips moving with a rolling speed that is quite brilliant.
“One would think,” she still finds the time to comment absently, on a gasp as he muffles a groan into her collarbone, “that you wanted this to be over quickly.”
“…Yep.”
“Really?”
“Very much so.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
She considers this for a second, pulls him closer with a clench of her thighs and doesn’t even pretend not to see the expression of pure lust that flickers across his face, “you’re never going to admit that you actually get off on stuff like this, then?”
UNPROMPTED: Monday Moving, Female!Chris/Tim, NC-17 [1/2]
To her it’s creepy, stifling. Put on an apron and bake cookies and be generally nice and fluffy and bunny-like and ugh. She’d much rather be living in an apartment (ignoring the house that she owned, that was just so she could piss off the neighbours), or a hotel, or even a cardboard box!
…But this is Tim.
And Tim is sweet, and kind, and nice, and bumbled so much when he started talking about this huge and terribly meaningful step that she just had to put him out of his misery (in the nice way, the very nice way when you factor in the blow-jobs), and… Well, she’s pretty sure that he’d never force her into anything.
And he’s also very easy to convince when it comes to sex in removal vans, which is always a plus.
“Can’t you be a bit quieter?” He mutters desperately in her ear, taking the brief opportunity to glance back over his shoulder and almost fall into her dresser (actually into, that thing has big drawers), “what if they come back?”
“Then you have a very nice arse,” she smiles brightly, squeezing it to prove her point.
“Chris…”
“And I have very nice breasts,” she tilts her head back slightly, hisses breath out between her teeth as he hits an almost perfect spot inside her, “I really don’t see what your problem is.”
…He only grumbles.
And she’ll happily call it victory.
They’re pressed awkwardly back against the wardrobe that her grandmother gave her several years ago (it had fifty three pears in it when she first received it, she never really got around to asking). Both entirely naked, for if you’re going to be publicly indecent you might as well do it properly, and panting an awful lot about it. Her legs are snugly wrapped around his waist, her back against wood. His arms are braced either side of her, his hips moving with a rolling speed that is quite brilliant.
“One would think,” she still finds the time to comment absently, on a gasp as he muffles a groan into her collarbone, “that you wanted this to be over quickly.”
“…Yep.”
“Really?”
“Very much so.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
She considers this for a second, pulls him closer with a clench of her thighs and doesn’t even pretend not to see the expression of pure lust that flickers across his face, “you’re never going to admit that you actually get off on stuff like this, then?”
“…Nope.”
“Not ever?”
“Not ever.”