FIC: "Going Three And Out" - 1/1, NC17, ML/DB, RPF, het
Title: Going Three And Out
Pairing: Matt Leinart/Drew Barrymore
Rating: NC17
Summary: What's all the fuss about football players, anyway?
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Notes: The 'twelfth day of Christmas', and thanks to starrwisher for this cracked out pairing. You might be the only person I'd do this for, babe. ;)
"Well, well, I must've been a good girl this year."
Matt turns at the amused voice and looks down into eyes that twinkle with mischief and a smile that is definitely dirty. "Oh?"
"Mmhmm." Drew continues to smile, eyes roaming lazily over his body before flicking back up to his face. "Santa's brought USC's golden boy to my party."
"Actually a friend did," he laughs, returning her frank appraisal with one of his own. "And I'm not USC's any--"
"Honey," she says, with a wink that sends his blood scrambling for his crotch, "you'll always be USC's."
There's no good way to answer that, so he lets it go. His eyes zero in on her chest as she takes a deep breath, and her laugh lets him know she sees. Oh, well, tit for tat, and he likes to give as good as he gets.
"So tell me," she says, eyeing him again over the rim of her glass, "what exactly is all the fuss about football players? Other than being overpaid jocks, that is."
Overpaid jocks? His eyebrows go up, but he doesn't say anything. Yet. Instead, he takes a long swallow from the beer in his hand and glances around. He can see the laughter lurking in her eyes when he finally refocuses on her. "We talking specifics, or just in general?"
"Oh, let's go with specific." She leans against the wall and continues to watch him, not bothering to hide her amusement any longer. "Like you. Trophies and championships aside, what've you got to offer? Besides the ability to throw a ball."
"Well, there's the bachelor in --"
A grin splits her lips, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "Anyone with the right amount of money can get a degree, hot shot."
"Alright, then, there's the multi-mill--"
This time, a shake of her head and a throaty laugh stops him cold. "Money doesn't impress in this city. Especially not when you're getting paid to warm the bench."
Ouch. Two strikes, and Matt's starting to wonder just what it is she's after. So he throws caution to the wind and goes for the ego approach. "Looks."
"Looks?" One sculpted eyebrow lifts, and damned if her smile doesn't turn into a smirk. "Pretty boys are a dime a dozen."
"Smart, wealthy, pretty boys?" He matches her smirk and shifts to lean a shoulder against the wall, towering over her. The new position offers him an unimpeded look right down her cleavage. And it's a nice view.
"Mmhmm." She crosses her arms and smiles up at him. It's obvious that she knows exactly what she's doing, as the move shoves her breasts up until they threaten to fall right out of her shirt. "The question is, with all the...talk about you, what's all the fuss over Matt Leinart really about?"
He thinks he's got her figured out, but there's no way to tell without asking. Which could land him in more trouble than it's worth. So he smiles and leans down to whisper in her ear, taking his time, enjoying the way her hair smells, the way the strands feel against his lips. When he's finished, dark eyes gaze up at him, and there's something lurking in their depths that he doesn't (quite) want to put a name to just yet.
"And that's what all the fuss is about."
"Mmhmm." And yes, he's more than a little smug.
"I think," she murmurs, bold smile curving her lips, "you might just have to prove that."
He's left staring, wide-eyed, as she walks away with a single glance over her shoulder. And since he prides himself on being a smart man, he takes the blatant hint and follows.
If asked, Matt couldn't give details on the events between then and now. All he knows is the bathroom door is closed, but she'd grabbed him too fast for him to lock it. The idea that anyone can walk in on them is more than a little hot. It's almost as hot as the way she feels around him, hot and slick, as he pounds into her.
The marble countertop of the vanity digs into his thighs and her breasts bob with each thrust. He can't resist the temptation and fills his palm with one, dipping his head to swirl his tongue around the taut nipple. She arches against him with a low groan that thrums through him, muscles tightening almost painfully around his cock. But he keeps moving, slamming against her as she urges him on, nails digging into his shoulders, wordless cries tripping over his skin.
His free hand slides under her thigh, pulls it up, opens her wider so he can go deeper as he watches the flush spread across her pale skin. White cotton panties (and fuck all if those hadn't been a hell of a turn-on) dangle from one ankle, caught on the strap of her spike-heeled sandals, and sway with each thrust.
Holding her like that, reciting game stats in his head to keep from coming too soon, he pushes her head to the side and rakes his teeth up her throat. She fights him a little, just enough to turn her head for a blistering kiss that has him moving faster, harder, control almost splintering when she twists her head a little more to take two fingers into her mouth.
Then he's lifting her, turning to press her shoulders against the wall. He pulls his hand free, spit-slicked fingers flashing for a brief second in the light before he curls his hand around her hip and down, searching and.... Yes, there. He watches her face as first one finger, then another pushes past tight muscle, slides deep as his hips continue to move against hers.
Her mouth drops open, and a low, grunting moan escapes, but she grinds down against him, legs tightening around his hips. She starts talking then, voice just above a whisper, panting the words into his ear, telling him how she wants him to fuck her all night, how she wants to suck his cock, how she wants to use him and be used by him. She says she doesn't want to be able to walk tomorrow.
Matt thinks that's the best idea he's heard all night, and he snaps his hips hard against her, orgasm slamming through him as he feels her start to tremble, muscles convulsing around his cock, milking it dry. And he can't wait to get her on her hands and knees.
Pairing: Matt Leinart/Drew Barrymore
Rating: NC17
Summary: What's all the fuss about football players, anyway?
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Notes: The 'twelfth day of Christmas', and thanks to starrwisher for this cracked out pairing. You might be the only person I'd do this for, babe. ;)
"Well, well, I must've been a good girl this year."
Matt turns at the amused voice and looks down into eyes that twinkle with mischief and a smile that is definitely dirty. "Oh?"
"Mmhmm." Drew continues to smile, eyes roaming lazily over his body before flicking back up to his face. "Santa's brought USC's golden boy to my party."
"Actually a friend did," he laughs, returning her frank appraisal with one of his own. "And I'm not USC's any--"
"Honey," she says, with a wink that sends his blood scrambling for his crotch, "you'll always be USC's."
There's no good way to answer that, so he lets it go. His eyes zero in on her chest as she takes a deep breath, and her laugh lets him know she sees. Oh, well, tit for tat, and he likes to give as good as he gets.
"So tell me," she says, eyeing him again over the rim of her glass, "what exactly is all the fuss about football players? Other than being overpaid jocks, that is."
Overpaid jocks? His eyebrows go up, but he doesn't say anything. Yet. Instead, he takes a long swallow from the beer in his hand and glances around. He can see the laughter lurking in her eyes when he finally refocuses on her. "We talking specifics, or just in general?"
"Oh, let's go with specific." She leans against the wall and continues to watch him, not bothering to hide her amusement any longer. "Like you. Trophies and championships aside, what've you got to offer? Besides the ability to throw a ball."
"Well, there's the bachelor in --"
A grin splits her lips, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "Anyone with the right amount of money can get a degree, hot shot."
"Alright, then, there's the multi-mill--"
This time, a shake of her head and a throaty laugh stops him cold. "Money doesn't impress in this city. Especially not when you're getting paid to warm the bench."
Ouch. Two strikes, and Matt's starting to wonder just what it is she's after. So he throws caution to the wind and goes for the ego approach. "Looks."
"Looks?" One sculpted eyebrow lifts, and damned if her smile doesn't turn into a smirk. "Pretty boys are a dime a dozen."
"Smart, wealthy, pretty boys?" He matches her smirk and shifts to lean a shoulder against the wall, towering over her. The new position offers him an unimpeded look right down her cleavage. And it's a nice view.
"Mmhmm." She crosses her arms and smiles up at him. It's obvious that she knows exactly what she's doing, as the move shoves her breasts up until they threaten to fall right out of her shirt. "The question is, with all the...talk about you, what's all the fuss over Matt Leinart really about?"
He thinks he's got her figured out, but there's no way to tell without asking. Which could land him in more trouble than it's worth. So he smiles and leans down to whisper in her ear, taking his time, enjoying the way her hair smells, the way the strands feel against his lips. When he's finished, dark eyes gaze up at him, and there's something lurking in their depths that he doesn't (quite) want to put a name to just yet.
"And that's what all the fuss is about."
"Mmhmm." And yes, he's more than a little smug.
"I think," she murmurs, bold smile curving her lips, "you might just have to prove that."
He's left staring, wide-eyed, as she walks away with a single glance over her shoulder. And since he prides himself on being a smart man, he takes the blatant hint and follows.
If asked, Matt couldn't give details on the events between then and now. All he knows is the bathroom door is closed, but she'd grabbed him too fast for him to lock it. The idea that anyone can walk in on them is more than a little hot. It's almost as hot as the way she feels around him, hot and slick, as he pounds into her.
The marble countertop of the vanity digs into his thighs and her breasts bob with each thrust. He can't resist the temptation and fills his palm with one, dipping his head to swirl his tongue around the taut nipple. She arches against him with a low groan that thrums through him, muscles tightening almost painfully around his cock. But he keeps moving, slamming against her as she urges him on, nails digging into his shoulders, wordless cries tripping over his skin.
His free hand slides under her thigh, pulls it up, opens her wider so he can go deeper as he watches the flush spread across her pale skin. White cotton panties (and fuck all if those hadn't been a hell of a turn-on) dangle from one ankle, caught on the strap of her spike-heeled sandals, and sway with each thrust.
Holding her like that, reciting game stats in his head to keep from coming too soon, he pushes her head to the side and rakes his teeth up her throat. She fights him a little, just enough to turn her head for a blistering kiss that has him moving faster, harder, control almost splintering when she twists her head a little more to take two fingers into her mouth.
Then he's lifting her, turning to press her shoulders against the wall. He pulls his hand free, spit-slicked fingers flashing for a brief second in the light before he curls his hand around her hip and down, searching and.... Yes, there. He watches her face as first one finger, then another pushes past tight muscle, slides deep as his hips continue to move against hers.
Her mouth drops open, and a low, grunting moan escapes, but she grinds down against him, legs tightening around his hips. She starts talking then, voice just above a whisper, panting the words into his ear, telling him how she wants him to fuck her all night, how she wants to suck his cock, how she wants to use him and be used by him. She says she doesn't want to be able to walk tomorrow.
Matt thinks that's the best idea he's heard all night, and he snaps his hips hard against her, orgasm slamming through him as he feels her start to tremble, muscles convulsing around his cock, milking it dry. And he can't wait to get her on her hands and knees.