It’s only afternoon, but the bright English sun is giving out as we climb off the ice, wobbly-legged but laughing—me, at your unwilling attempt, and you, at me—and wander off back in the way of my flat.
Somewhere in between your rambling, you slip your hand into mine, as if I’d ever not notice your heartbeat in your fingers in mine. I clasp it gratefully, and in a mulled-wine-induced fright of courage, bring your arm up and around my shoulder. Your eyes widen, then immediately crease with joy, which you clumsily try to obscure with a story about so-and-so someplace back in time.
I don’t share your ability to “play it cool,” so I stop in the middle of the street and pull you down to me, snogging you senseless in the middle of the South Bank, to several huffs from passing strangers. When I finally take my tongue from between your lips to give you some air, you simply hug me to your chest and tuck your chin above my head.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, little one.”
As if to confirm, I lick a stripe up your neck. “OI.” You pull away to chastise, “Not out in the open!”
“What about behind closed doors?” I challenge, one eyebrow up.
“I’ve not even bought you dinner, silly thing,” you shake your head, in what looks a bit like nerves—for you or for me, I can’t be sure.
“You can order in,” I say, taking your arm back around mine. You acquiesce, albeit silently, holding my glowing body to yours as we amble until we’re standing in front of my door. I take a single sharp breath and whip to face you.
“What do you think?” Your hands have been shoved in your pockets; your feet are shifting.
Which are why I don’t expect you to say, “I want to come in.” You take a second to work up to meeting my eyes as I unlock the door, but I hold your gaze steady to remind you, in the gentlest voice I can manage, “You’re allowed to want.
I want.”
You swallow thickly as I turn around and lead you into the spare hallway, largely untouched by my things, which are still crossing the ocean. You glance at the posters on the wall, though not long enough to read any.
I take your hand up once more to tug you silently around the corner to two doors. “Living room or bedroom?” I ask. “Your choice.”
Your thumb runs over my knuckles as you consider, and then wordlessly lead me into my room.
I go to sit down on my bed, the softest thing in the building, and start unlacing my Docs as you linger at the threshold. “Closed, or?” You turn and seem to regret it as I shed my jacket. “My flatmate’s not here for another week,” I say, holding my arms out. You allow me to beckon you next to me and settle a gentle hand on my thigh. “I’m—” you stammer. “I don’t know if. I might not—”
“I just want to cuddle you,” I whisper, laying back and pulling you with me. “I am a safe place,” I add, and you seem to soften just a bit as you let me cover myself entirely with you.
Reflexively, my legs and arms twist like bread wires around your back, at the base of your spine, and something in you must snap, because your arms cease striving to hold your head away from mine. Instead, you dip down, shaggy hair tangling in mine as your lips press into mine, prayerfully at first. I run my hands down your back, savouring the feel of the fabric covering your muscle and sinew and bone as you shift to press deeper into me, your tongue licking first across the place where my lips meet, then sliding between them as I gladly grant you entrance. You exhale a gorgeous sigh, which makes me claw just a bit into your back, and that must be one of your *things*, I note, since you immediately bite down on my bottom lip before sliding back.
“I’m sorry, I—” “Don’t be,” I gasp, constricting my limbs to bring you back down to Earth. It’s not long before your mouth is on my throat, eagerly seeking out the place that will make me cry out. When you find it, you’re ecstatic with the reward of a breathy, higher-pitched-than-should-be-possible moan. “This is not very dignified,” I manage, clinging to you. “Dignity is overrated,” you grunt, and in punctuation, roll your hips into mine.
Even through my leggings and your jeans I can feel you’re more massive than I anticipated (which, if I was being honest, I’ve done a bit), and I can’t stop the exhalation of “dear fuck” from leaving my body.
“That’s my name,” you chuckle, still undulating, and it’s so unfair that you’re suddenly entirely in control as I’m beginning to writhe underneath you with a spinelessness most closely resembling that of a jellyfish.
“No, no,” I choke, summoning all my little muscle in one moment to flip you underneath me, settling my thighs to frame yours. “I think you might be getting the idea that you’re in charge, here,” I gasp, smoothing my hair into something I hope echoes class—though I’m sure to be disappointed, based on your goofy smile.
You press a chaste kiss to my hand as a punctuation for “I could never, kitten,” then run your decidedly unchaste tongue from my palm up my arm to my shoulder, as your fingers go for the hem of my shirt. You check me with a glance, but I immediately nod, “Off, yes, get it off,” and you’re all giggles as you untangle me from the ribbony silk and toss it over your shoulder.
Your breath ghosts my bare heart for a moment before you bring your mouth to the centre of my chest, even as you fumble behind my back with the clasp of my bra. I’m about to help you, eager in kind, when I feel you grin as my chest opens up, and that fabric, too, is lost to the aether.
I expect some kind of commentary, but you barely escape literally licking your lips before diving in on one nipple, and your tongue is so wet and warm that I can’t stop my body from rocking forward, which has the nice added bonus of rutting my still-clothed cunt directly up against your prick, hard and hot through your own clothes. You break away from my skin to hiss a low “yessssssssss” as I dive down to pull your shirt up over your head, and as soon as it’s joined my clothing on the floor, you push me backwards, held back only by my grateful hands on your bare chest as you grind into me with the fervour of the last man on Earth about to Make Do.
I can’t exactly be arsed to mind, seeing as I’m crashing mindlessly back up against you, feeling the delicious warmth at the place where we meet expanding to touch all of me. It strikes me I know nothing about what you’re feeling, so, ever practical, I ask—”How do you feel?”
You shake your hair out of your eyes even as you rut faster, and respond by sealing your lips against mine and thrusting your tongue down my throat. I swallow around it, feeling quite gleeful, as I’m vaguely aware we should probably be wearing less clothing than we are for the speed at which we’re going, but I hear a moan echoing from your throat into mine, so I swallow again, and suddenly I’m knocked back against my headboard as you shake against me as if you’ve been electrocuted. I only realise what’s happened as my arms and legs wrap around you, steadying you through the aftershocks of a violent orgasm.
You catch your breath as your thrusting slowly ebbs, then stops, crushing your face in my neck. When your heart stops running rampant, you gasp, “I told you so.”
My little heart, meanwhile, is beaming. I trace all sorts of love notes on your steaming skin before tipping your chin up to steal a kiss.
I’ve forgotten all about anything but cherishing this moment of all of you when you add, “Well, that won’t do,” and snake out of my grasp and down my legs. I’ve only just pulled the hair out of my eyes to see what you’re up to when your fingers curl into the waist of my pants. “Good?” you ask, waiting for my permission to overstep.
“I’ve never,” I fumble, and you cock your head slightly, but all I can manage is, “Yes, good.” You smooth your palm up and down my thigh in a way you’re trying to make not overtly soothing—but I could always see you for what you were.
“It’s okay if it’s not,” you croon, kissing my knee. “I’m just not used to leaving things unfinished.”
I reach my hand down, and yours automatically rises to intwine with it. “It’s so good. Please. I just will definitely jump.” You grin. “I’ll be sure to hold you down,” you wink, wrestling my last bits of modesty off me with your unoccupied hand, so as not to lose hold of me. It’s darling.
At least, until you—with piercing eye contact—lower your mouth to my sex and take all my folds in with one sucking motion. I try, and fail, not to scream, and you laugh just slightly before withdrawing and licking gentler trails up and around my lips, soothing and maddening in equal part.
I always figured you’d be a tease, but you must be overly concerned with fairness this evening, because it’s only a moment before you attend to my clit, stroking her softly until you find the feather-light touch that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Like that?” you whisper.
“Inside,” I answer, and you don’t make me beg before the scratch of your cheek rests against my thigh and your tongue roots up inside me, squirming and planting against my walls as I reach down for—I couldn’t say what, your hair? My clit? But you’re a step ahead of me, bringing your hand back to the place I need it most, gently as possible, tongue pulsing conversely wildly… it’s almost too much. My legs wrap around your torso, pulling you closer, and I can feel you *moan* into my insides, and your hand squeezes mine, and then it is. Too much.
And I come just like that, your face still buried in me, eager to usher me through it with innhuman commitment. My head falls against the pillows as I close my eyes and surrender to nonexistence.
When I float back into my body, you’re wiping your mouth across your arm, grinning a bit too cheekily for my taste down at me. “Alright then?”
I flop one arm around your neck and bring you down to my level, planting the sloppiest, more carefree snog I have ever bestowed upon you before pulling back just enough to say, “I believe you promised me takeout.”
By the time I’ve showered and pad out to the living room, your clothes are already in the wash, and I think to myself as we both sit bare as the day we were born, on the floor, scarfing pizza:
*Yeah; alright.*
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/jz1aiv/second_things_second_fm_eager_coming_in_clothes