Mistakes Made
Rating: R
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Dale and Stacey Yorkes
Warnings: Sex
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: Dale's made one hell of a mistake.
She was soft lines and delicate curves. Warm lips and gentle hands. Pale skin and green eyes to die for and absolutely the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He was very glad he’d decided to come to class for a change.
So, normally, he went for the Amazon babes; tall, lithe blondes with little substance in their skulls. So today he was unable to take his eyes off of a short, round redhead, who existed as the exact opposite of his ideal. So what.
He intended to approach her after class, but she hurried off with some musclebound guy from up the hall before he could enven get out of his seat. He sighed. Wasn’t used to working for it.
He caught her before he left for lunch. Snagged her arm and spun her around, losing his charming smile in those big, green eyes.
"Hello."
"Um."
She tugged her arm a little and he realized he was still holding it.
"Oh! Sorry," he said, sheepishly. "You have lovely eyes."
She took a timid step back. "Thank you."
"Name’s Dale Yorkes."
"I know."
He hadn’t expected that. "Sorry?"
She lowered her eyes and frowned. "We’ve a project together. It’s almost done."
Well. Wasn’t that nice and embarassing? He bit his lip.
"Oh. I didn’t know."
"Don’t worry about it. It’s almost done. I just need a couple of days."
Dale was dumbfounded. How had there been a project he didn’t know about? Someone always told him.
She started to walk away.
"Wait!"
"Yes?" she stopped, looked over her shoulder. Didn’t turn around.
"Um. Maybe you could come over and we could work on it? Tonight? I’ll pick you up."
"Thanks, but I’m almost finished. Don’t worry about it."
She started off again. He rushed forward and intercepted her, finding his charm again and turning it on.
"I insist. I’ll take you to dinner, if that will help persuade you." He smiled pleasantly.
"Don’t worry," she began.
"No, no. I insist. And you pick the place. Anywhere you want. I’ll see you at… Is five all right?"
"But-"
"Excellent! I’ll pick you up. Are you in the dorms?"
"Yes, but-"
"Meet me at the main entrance."
"But-"
He was gone, pleased with himself.
She didn’t dress up, but she didn’t dress down, either. He took in the sight of her with the box containing what he assumed was their project. Before she could protest, he seized it from her.
"Be careful! That’s fragile," she snapped when he set it in the back seat. And, "I can open my own door, thank you," when he opened the passenger door for her.
The restaurant she picked was horrendously expensive and southern European. He didn’t complain, and he paid more attention to her than anything else.
Stacey, as it turned out her name was, happened to be a very industrious worker.
She tinkered away, connecting and disconnecting, wiring this, moving that. She was fascinating to watch.
"Yorkes, would you hand me that jeweller’s set?"
He slid the tiny screwdrives across the table. "You can call me ‘Dale,’ you know."
She gave him a long, slow, ball-shrivelling stare. "Thank you, Yorkes."
And maybe it was that, or maybe it was the soft pout of her lips or the concentration in her eyes or the curve of her fingers, but it didn’t matter. He leaned across the table and kissed her, catching her up before she could protest.
"Let me make love to you."
"What?"
He shook his head. Kissed her again. She struggled this time, but eventually gave in.
He stepped around the table. Pulled her to her feet.
"Wh-what?"
"Trust me."
"Not as far as I could throw you."
The acid in her voice was dulled a little. He pulled her into his bedroom and locked the door. When his mouth found hers again, she actually kissed him back.
But when he reached under her shirt, she shoved him off, largely managing to send herself flying back onto the bed.
"Yorkes. Stop it."
He straddled her hips, pressed her down intot he mattress. Kissed her again. And again. And again. That was all it took to get her to relax. She curved her body up to meet his, holding him to her with insistent hands.
His erection throbbed in his pants.
"Stacey. Please," he breathed.
She didn’t protest this time when he reached under her shirt. Didn’t struggle when he unbuttoned it and left it open on her. Let him kiss a line down her body, and pop her bra strap, and pull her pants off.
She mumbled soemthing when he tried to slide her panties off. He didn’t quite hear it and she didn’t repeat it and he buried his tongue in her.
She gasped. Moaned. Cried out when he did something just right. And when he came up for air, she lay limp across the sheets.
He didn’t bother with his own shirt, just unzipped his pants and stroked himself a couple of times.
She tensed when she realized what he was about to do, protested, but he was inside her in one long thrust. She screamed. He felt her body give in to him and thought that he might have made a very big mistake.
She gasped and groaned and writhed a bit, then relazed. Let herself go. Brought herself down. And he…thrust into her. Moaning and sighing and grinding teeth.
And they kissed. Moved together.
Fell into each other.
He was thorough. Made sure she enjoyed it. Held himself back until she came. There were tears in her eyes and she couldn’t seem to move very well and when he pulled his cock back, he saw blood and knew. Just knew.
"Y-you," he stuttered.
She sobbed.
"I-I’m… Sta-Stacey."
He pulled her to his chest. Held her against him until she slept. Kissed her, later, until she woke. And knew without having to know that he was hers. Completely. Forever.
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Dale and Stacey Yorkes
Warnings: Sex
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: Dale's made one hell of a mistake.
She was soft lines and delicate curves. Warm lips and gentle hands. Pale skin and green eyes to die for and absolutely the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He was very glad he’d decided to come to class for a change.
So, normally, he went for the Amazon babes; tall, lithe blondes with little substance in their skulls. So today he was unable to take his eyes off of a short, round redhead, who existed as the exact opposite of his ideal. So what.
He intended to approach her after class, but she hurried off with some musclebound guy from up the hall before he could enven get out of his seat. He sighed. Wasn’t used to working for it.
He caught her before he left for lunch. Snagged her arm and spun her around, losing his charming smile in those big, green eyes.
"Hello."
"Um."
She tugged her arm a little and he realized he was still holding it.
"Oh! Sorry," he said, sheepishly. "You have lovely eyes."
She took a timid step back. "Thank you."
"Name’s Dale Yorkes."
"I know."
He hadn’t expected that. "Sorry?"
She lowered her eyes and frowned. "We’ve a project together. It’s almost done."
Well. Wasn’t that nice and embarassing? He bit his lip.
"Oh. I didn’t know."
"Don’t worry about it. It’s almost done. I just need a couple of days."
Dale was dumbfounded. How had there been a project he didn’t know about? Someone always told him.
She started to walk away.
"Wait!"
"Yes?" she stopped, looked over her shoulder. Didn’t turn around.
"Um. Maybe you could come over and we could work on it? Tonight? I’ll pick you up."
"Thanks, but I’m almost finished. Don’t worry about it."
She started off again. He rushed forward and intercepted her, finding his charm again and turning it on.
"I insist. I’ll take you to dinner, if that will help persuade you." He smiled pleasantly.
"Don’t worry," she began.
"No, no. I insist. And you pick the place. Anywhere you want. I’ll see you at… Is five all right?"
"But-"
"Excellent! I’ll pick you up. Are you in the dorms?"
"Yes, but-"
"Meet me at the main entrance."
"But-"
He was gone, pleased with himself.
She didn’t dress up, but she didn’t dress down, either. He took in the sight of her with the box containing what he assumed was their project. Before she could protest, he seized it from her.
"Be careful! That’s fragile," she snapped when he set it in the back seat. And, "I can open my own door, thank you," when he opened the passenger door for her.
The restaurant she picked was horrendously expensive and southern European. He didn’t complain, and he paid more attention to her than anything else.
Stacey, as it turned out her name was, happened to be a very industrious worker.
She tinkered away, connecting and disconnecting, wiring this, moving that. She was fascinating to watch.
"Yorkes, would you hand me that jeweller’s set?"
He slid the tiny screwdrives across the table. "You can call me ‘Dale,’ you know."
She gave him a long, slow, ball-shrivelling stare. "Thank you, Yorkes."
And maybe it was that, or maybe it was the soft pout of her lips or the concentration in her eyes or the curve of her fingers, but it didn’t matter. He leaned across the table and kissed her, catching her up before she could protest.
"Let me make love to you."
"What?"
He shook his head. Kissed her again. She struggled this time, but eventually gave in.
He stepped around the table. Pulled her to her feet.
"Wh-what?"
"Trust me."
"Not as far as I could throw you."
The acid in her voice was dulled a little. He pulled her into his bedroom and locked the door. When his mouth found hers again, she actually kissed him back.
But when he reached under her shirt, she shoved him off, largely managing to send herself flying back onto the bed.
"Yorkes. Stop it."
He straddled her hips, pressed her down intot he mattress. Kissed her again. And again. And again. That was all it took to get her to relax. She curved her body up to meet his, holding him to her with insistent hands.
His erection throbbed in his pants.
"Stacey. Please," he breathed.
She didn’t protest this time when he reached under her shirt. Didn’t struggle when he unbuttoned it and left it open on her. Let him kiss a line down her body, and pop her bra strap, and pull her pants off.
She mumbled soemthing when he tried to slide her panties off. He didn’t quite hear it and she didn’t repeat it and he buried his tongue in her.
She gasped. Moaned. Cried out when he did something just right. And when he came up for air, she lay limp across the sheets.
He didn’t bother with his own shirt, just unzipped his pants and stroked himself a couple of times.
She tensed when she realized what he was about to do, protested, but he was inside her in one long thrust. She screamed. He felt her body give in to him and thought that he might have made a very big mistake.
She gasped and groaned and writhed a bit, then relazed. Let herself go. Brought herself down. And he…thrust into her. Moaning and sighing and grinding teeth.
And they kissed. Moved together.
Fell into each other.
He was thorough. Made sure she enjoyed it. Held himself back until she came. There were tears in her eyes and she couldn’t seem to move very well and when he pulled his cock back, he saw blood and knew. Just knew.
"Y-you," he stuttered.
She sobbed.
"I-I’m… Sta-Stacey."
He pulled her to his chest. Held her against him until she slept. Kissed her, later, until she woke. And knew without having to know that he was hers. Completely. Forever.