For Ages
Title: For Ages
Pairing: Lydia/other
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: None
Summary: Lydia shares the evening with someone new.
Disclaimer: I own the table they have sex on but not the people having the sex.
They call it a one night stand for a reason. Only…she hadn’t quite discovered it herself. This one was different. From the moment he walked up to her, he’d been attentive and engaging. He’d also been checking her out like she was the only woman in the place.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, pulling at it with feigned idleness, watching to see how he’d react. His eyes were glued to the act, his own mouth nearly mimicking it in his concentration.
She stopped and sent him a tilted smile. He smiled back, looking embarrassed at himself. A gentleman.
They drank a while longer, mostly for show, both hoping not to look too terribly eager. At the halfway mark of his third glass, he quit -- either at the end of his resolve or his sobriety. He was more than six-feet tall and was broad-shouldered and athletic. She doubted it was the latter.
She quit her glass at the top of number two, knowing her training and herself well enough. She’s five-foot-three and would be drunk in no time if she kept it up. She may have liked him, may have wanted to spend the night with him, but she didn’t quite trust him.
They walked out of the atmospheric bar together and she told him not to bother with a cab. She lived only a few blocks away. Not exactly wise in heels, she realized later, but she was content to walk with him anyway.
As they strolled, eyes alert of the area around them and of each other, they drifted closer together and their arms linked. By the time they reached her building, her fingers were entwined intimately in his. As the skin of her palm sweated next to his, her breath quickened and she didn’t bite her lip intentionally as he didn’t meant to groan at the sight.
They smiled appropriately at the doorman, making their way briskly to the elevator where she nearly forgot which floor was hers. He smiled at her, eyes both glittering and uncertain, and she found the number and pushed the button. They were alone in the cable car, with only the elephant trapped there with them.
The doors opened and oxygen rushed in to resuscitate them and save them from their own pathetic lack of restraint. She was clutching his hand insanely now. She thanked God her apartment was right across the hall and found the key faster than she expected to open the door. His presence behind her would’ve made it nearly impossible.
Without further adieu, they were inside. Only now, they weren’t in so much of a rush. In fact, they were at a loss for what to do next. She was beautiful and sexual and he could feel the waves of need emanating from her body. He wanted to indulge her every compulsion, every urge. He was himself handsome and sexual and she could taste the bitter adrenaline that powered the gleam in his gaze. There was a sense of primal hunt to their encounter tonight.
He had found her, pursued her, and she had played her role beautifully, as expected. He ached for the fruits of his labor. She backed away from him, towards the bedroom and the bed; towards breakfast in the morning, undressing with his eyes always on her and feeling no shame. When they came to her room, the door left open, all she had left was an unfastened bra, panties and the lovely stilettos that only made him want her more.
He kissed her like he’d been dying to all night, his lips bruising hers without the intent to brand and traveling from her small full mouth to her cheeks and neck, where her perfume pooled and bloomed in his mouth to her chest, the home of breasts that had nurtured children and fantasies. He’d met them all before; he grew up with them. Her breasts were pert and overflowed in his hands; she exhaled like she’d just discovered breath. And her bra was gone without her noticing or his caring.
His long fingers traipsed down her soft stomach, his mouth following close behind to keep her at bay. He raced and beat himself to her panties which found themselves around her ankles before long and discarded not long after that
He touched her then, in a way he hadn’t touched a woman in too long and in a manner she hadn’t experienced for ages. Still standing, her form shuddered at his fingers’ intrusion but she welcomed it, urging him with her hips and her mouth to his mouth. She wanted it as surely as she wanted to see him again.
He delivered satisfying strokes that left her in fluttering shards on the Persian rug. He gathered her pieces to him and carried her to bed. He wasted no time, shedding his own clothes and climbing in behind her. Radiant herself, she welcomed him a second time, this time his body into hers.
Their joining was gradual at first, allowing her to adjust for his size which awed her a little. In little time though, their thrusts became frantic, harder, greedier. He tamped down his own release to feel her contract sharply and tantalizingly around him and to feel the muscles in her chest tighten as she arched up beneath him, her nails scratching heatedly at his skin.
He came next, shaking with the magnitude of what she’d given him, burying himself deeper and deeper inside of her until there was nowhere left to go and she whimpered in either satisfaction or pain. She clutched him with her hands, her hips, and legs, moaning always incoherently. She couldn’t remember his name.
They fell asleep that way, wrapped like mating cobras about each other, bodies never apart. She woke in bliss the next morning, his mouth already working on her throat -- delicate red-purple oblongs peppered the pale skin. She smiled and he kissed her, invading her more carefully this time, being more gentle. He explored further, brushing hard palms on gentle paths down her body; tourist spots called the valley between her breasts and the peak between her thighs learned him by name. He reminded her of it at some point.
She developed a permanent indention in her lip from both their tender biting. The welts on his back only stung when the sheets clung to them. He didn’t care when she was under him and gasping or on top of him and riding him with her entrancing eyes trained only on him. He could live with the pain if it meant this.
She missed Saturday morning with him. She missed calls from the children and her ex-husband. The hospital, even. Not important ones but she missed them. His offer of a shower seemed more important; his pushing himself inside of her a digit at a time seemed to take precedence. Either way, it felt so good that she had no regrets.
Saturday afternoon went with lunch in the kitchen, mostly raw as he proceeded to distract her from any preparation with a kiss or just the right brush of his hips. She would never say why eating on the kitchen table was a bad idea; she would always have good memories of it. Especially, of straddling his lap at 3 pm and shouting his name up three floors. He shared an apple slice with her, instead of a kiss. She laughed; he kissed her then.
Saturday night came and they finally managed to redress themselves; her in something new and him in what he had worn the night before. This seemed like it was ending. She walked him to her door, not sure what was supposed to happen next. He turned back to her, brushing her cheeks and lower lip.
He told her that he wanted to see her again and she just avoided a sigh of relief -- but it was a near thing . She agreed, giving him her number, which he didn’t have and her full name which she hadn’t told him. He kissed her once more, greed and longing apparent. She wanted to take him to bed again, but couldn’t -- dinner with the children tonight. He handed her a business card, cell number noted carefully on the back and slipped into the hall with many a backwards glance at her.
She stood at the door long after he had descended the stairs, fingertips on her lips. They were still sensitive and she was still reeling. She closed the door behind and leaned against it, a tiny smile lighting her face.
There was something to be said for one night stands. They could turn into two, three, and four nights if you were lucky. Lydia held the card between her fingers and sauntered to the mini-bar for a drink. She felt a lucky streak coming on.
Pairing: Lydia/other
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: None
Summary: Lydia shares the evening with someone new.
Disclaimer: I own the table they have sex on but not the people having the sex.
They call it a one night stand for a reason. Only…she hadn’t quite discovered it herself. This one was different. From the moment he walked up to her, he’d been attentive and engaging. He’d also been checking her out like she was the only woman in the place.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, pulling at it with feigned idleness, watching to see how he’d react. His eyes were glued to the act, his own mouth nearly mimicking it in his concentration.
She stopped and sent him a tilted smile. He smiled back, looking embarrassed at himself. A gentleman.
They drank a while longer, mostly for show, both hoping not to look too terribly eager. At the halfway mark of his third glass, he quit -- either at the end of his resolve or his sobriety. He was more than six-feet tall and was broad-shouldered and athletic. She doubted it was the latter.
She quit her glass at the top of number two, knowing her training and herself well enough. She’s five-foot-three and would be drunk in no time if she kept it up. She may have liked him, may have wanted to spend the night with him, but she didn’t quite trust him.
They walked out of the atmospheric bar together and she told him not to bother with a cab. She lived only a few blocks away. Not exactly wise in heels, she realized later, but she was content to walk with him anyway.
As they strolled, eyes alert of the area around them and of each other, they drifted closer together and their arms linked. By the time they reached her building, her fingers were entwined intimately in his. As the skin of her palm sweated next to his, her breath quickened and she didn’t bite her lip intentionally as he didn’t meant to groan at the sight.
They smiled appropriately at the doorman, making their way briskly to the elevator where she nearly forgot which floor was hers. He smiled at her, eyes both glittering and uncertain, and she found the number and pushed the button. They were alone in the cable car, with only the elephant trapped there with them.
The doors opened and oxygen rushed in to resuscitate them and save them from their own pathetic lack of restraint. She was clutching his hand insanely now. She thanked God her apartment was right across the hall and found the key faster than she expected to open the door. His presence behind her would’ve made it nearly impossible.
Without further adieu, they were inside. Only now, they weren’t in so much of a rush. In fact, they were at a loss for what to do next. She was beautiful and sexual and he could feel the waves of need emanating from her body. He wanted to indulge her every compulsion, every urge. He was himself handsome and sexual and she could taste the bitter adrenaline that powered the gleam in his gaze. There was a sense of primal hunt to their encounter tonight.
He had found her, pursued her, and she had played her role beautifully, as expected. He ached for the fruits of his labor. She backed away from him, towards the bedroom and the bed; towards breakfast in the morning, undressing with his eyes always on her and feeling no shame. When they came to her room, the door left open, all she had left was an unfastened bra, panties and the lovely stilettos that only made him want her more.
He kissed her like he’d been dying to all night, his lips bruising hers without the intent to brand and traveling from her small full mouth to her cheeks and neck, where her perfume pooled and bloomed in his mouth to her chest, the home of breasts that had nurtured children and fantasies. He’d met them all before; he grew up with them. Her breasts were pert and overflowed in his hands; she exhaled like she’d just discovered breath. And her bra was gone without her noticing or his caring.
His long fingers traipsed down her soft stomach, his mouth following close behind to keep her at bay. He raced and beat himself to her panties which found themselves around her ankles before long and discarded not long after that
He touched her then, in a way he hadn’t touched a woman in too long and in a manner she hadn’t experienced for ages. Still standing, her form shuddered at his fingers’ intrusion but she welcomed it, urging him with her hips and her mouth to his mouth. She wanted it as surely as she wanted to see him again.
He delivered satisfying strokes that left her in fluttering shards on the Persian rug. He gathered her pieces to him and carried her to bed. He wasted no time, shedding his own clothes and climbing in behind her. Radiant herself, she welcomed him a second time, this time his body into hers.
Their joining was gradual at first, allowing her to adjust for his size which awed her a little. In little time though, their thrusts became frantic, harder, greedier. He tamped down his own release to feel her contract sharply and tantalizingly around him and to feel the muscles in her chest tighten as she arched up beneath him, her nails scratching heatedly at his skin.
He came next, shaking with the magnitude of what she’d given him, burying himself deeper and deeper inside of her until there was nowhere left to go and she whimpered in either satisfaction or pain. She clutched him with her hands, her hips, and legs, moaning always incoherently. She couldn’t remember his name.
They fell asleep that way, wrapped like mating cobras about each other, bodies never apart. She woke in bliss the next morning, his mouth already working on her throat -- delicate red-purple oblongs peppered the pale skin. She smiled and he kissed her, invading her more carefully this time, being more gentle. He explored further, brushing hard palms on gentle paths down her body; tourist spots called the valley between her breasts and the peak between her thighs learned him by name. He reminded her of it at some point.
She developed a permanent indention in her lip from both their tender biting. The welts on his back only stung when the sheets clung to them. He didn’t care when she was under him and gasping or on top of him and riding him with her entrancing eyes trained only on him. He could live with the pain if it meant this.
She missed Saturday morning with him. She missed calls from the children and her ex-husband. The hospital, even. Not important ones but she missed them. His offer of a shower seemed more important; his pushing himself inside of her a digit at a time seemed to take precedence. Either way, it felt so good that she had no regrets.
Saturday afternoon went with lunch in the kitchen, mostly raw as he proceeded to distract her from any preparation with a kiss or just the right brush of his hips. She would never say why eating on the kitchen table was a bad idea; she would always have good memories of it. Especially, of straddling his lap at 3 pm and shouting his name up three floors. He shared an apple slice with her, instead of a kiss. She laughed; he kissed her then.
Saturday night came and they finally managed to redress themselves; her in something new and him in what he had worn the night before. This seemed like it was ending. She walked him to her door, not sure what was supposed to happen next. He turned back to her, brushing her cheeks and lower lip.
He told her that he wanted to see her again and she just avoided a sigh of relief -- but it was a near thing . She agreed, giving him her number, which he didn’t have and her full name which she hadn’t told him. He kissed her once more, greed and longing apparent. She wanted to take him to bed again, but couldn’t -- dinner with the children tonight. He handed her a business card, cell number noted carefully on the back and slipped into the hall with many a backwards glance at her.
She stood at the door long after he had descended the stairs, fingertips on her lips. They were still sensitive and she was still reeling. She closed the door behind and leaned against it, a tiny smile lighting her face.
There was something to be said for one night stands. They could turn into two, three, and four nights if you were lucky. Lydia held the card between her fingers and sauntered to the mini-bar for a drink. She felt a lucky streak coming on.