Driftwood 5
Title: Driftwood (5/?)
Pairings/Characters: Stephen/Other
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Graphic sex
Summary: Their day pulls to an end
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Authors Note: More smuttiness, but not as smutty as the previous smuttiness.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
We had sex twice more that evening. He ground in behind me when I was grabbing plates, bent me over the counter and slid his fingers up the hem on my shorts with a sexy growl, his lips biting and nipping the exposed skin on my back. Head pressed into the counter, I sighed and shivered on his fingers, rocking back on him as I felt my shorts tugged down and my panties pulled aside. Stephen pressed into me from behind, the sun setting through the kitchen window. I was surprised but driven wild by his roughness, how hard he squeezed my hips, the texture of his voice in my ear as he whispered to me, described what I felt like and looked like. I came quickly, hard, my fingers clenched on the edge of the counter turning white from holding myself up as he fingered me. Stephen reached up and held the open cabinet door, slamming into me with a rough and loud finish.
The last time was on the porch, after we ate a dinner of cold fried chicken and potato chips. The sun was sliding down into the silver tipped waves beyond the candlelit porch. The heat of the afternoon was finally starting to fade a bit, and it was tolerable outside. We found ourselves back where we were the night before, right down to the messy joint laying on the small table. I rolled it while he cleaned up the dishes, and presented it to him with a flourish as he sat back down on the couch. I crawled up next to him, passing the joint back and forth as I made him laugh, blowing crazy smoke rings into each other.
The sex was slow, and drowsy, and warm. I straddled him on the couch, my arms draped around his shoulders as we rocked back and forth with each other, his lips tracing paths on my chest, my neck, my arms, his hands on my hips as he moved me against him. I gave into the sensation of feeling him inside me, my head tilted back and eyes closed, riding small circles on his lap, feeling myself working closer and closer to orgasm. Stephens hips lifted up and pressed into me, filling me completely, his lips catching my nipples and tugging on them. It was a nice relief from the rough, wild sex we had earlier, this gentler version, our strained sighs and groans whispered to each other. The weed didn't hurt much either--when I closed my eyes and listened to his noises and the sound of the waves over his shoulders, I felt like floating, rocking on a boat with him underneath me. I fell forward, and his hands caught up my hair--something he apparently liked to do--catching my lower lip with his, sucking on it and breathing pleasured sighs to me. My orgasms started like a clenched muscle, slowly unwrapping and unfolding in my stomach, rolling open into me. Stephen willed me on, urging me with raspy whispered to come, to make him come. I shuddered deeply, my arms and legs shaking, my head buried in his neck. I was happy to give it to him, crying out his name in a cutoff whisper as he thrust up into me with his own orgasm, one hand pressed on my lower back, the other knotted in my hair.
I collapsed into his lap after that, falling onto his chest as his arms came up around me, murmuring a disappointed noise as I felt him slip out of me. His head fell back on the couch behind him, and we laid there in the darkening evening, sweaty and buzzy feeling. It was overwhelmingly the best sex I had ever had--or might ever have.
"I am thoroughly ruined." I thought. His fingers were absentmindedly stroking the damp skin on my back, and wrapping and unwrapping a strand of hair around his hand.
"Are there any more of you satirical news guys I can do that with?" I asked his chest hair. I heard the laughing rumble deep in his chest.
"There's another one."
"Is he tall, dark, and handsome?"
"No, he's short, grey, and Jewish." He laughed at his own joke, and I chuckled. I didn't know who he was referring to, but I figured it must be a friend of his.
"I doubt he can compare with what just happened."
His hands ran down my spine and back up. "No, I don't think so either."
I sighed happily, my limbs feeling like weight jello on his body, feeling drowsy and relaxed.
"How about a swim?"
I lifted my head and caught his glance. He was smiling at me, warmly, as relaxed as I was.
"Right now?"
"Sure, why not?"
I agreed--we spent an hour floating in the calming ocean, naked. He made no less than 5 cracks about crabs and sea creatures in unwanted locations, and I handled most of them by spitting water on him. We flirted and kissed in the water, but it didn't go further than that--I think we both were tired at that point. When it got too dark for the moonlight to illuminate us safely, we trudged through the dunes back to the house, shivery and cold from the light nighttime breeze.
I gathered us towels and we got dressed on the porch, wiping sand off and heading into the kitchen for something to drink.
"What time does your husband come home?" He asked me, leaning against the counter he had fucked me against earlier in the day with his arms crossed. I looked over from the fridge.
"He'll be home in the morning, " looking back into the fridge for a snack.
"So not a wise idea for me to stay the night."
I had a quirky pain at that comment, but he was right. The idea of waking up next to him in the morning sounded amazing, but I knew I couldn't run the risk of us sleeping too late. Imagine the scene if my husband walked in on that. "No, I don't think it's a good idea." I remarked casually, hiding my disappointment well I think. "At least, not if you want to survive. He's coming back from a hunting trip."
I turned from the fridge and leaned against the counter across from him, placing my feet on either side of his. "Can he help you with your car?"
"Yeah, that shouldn't be an issue at all."
I eyed him, unsure how to proceed from here. I felt the goodbye coming, and I wasn't surprised--he was pretty clear on the "weekend only" part of our agreement. And so was I. I needed to be realistic with this, and recognize that it was a fling... A best-sex-of-my-life fling, but still a fling. I just wasn't sure what the protocol for these kinds of goodbyes are. "See ya later, maybe on the Emmys, and you'll never hear from me again?" How awkward.
For the first time in all of this, I felt a pang of conscious, but not because of my marriage vows. But because I was realizing he would be able to slide back into his life and never think of me beyond the last two days in this cabin. But I would run the gauntlet of stumbling across a video on the internet, a tv commercial, a newspaper article with his face on it. I also realized that for the next 5 days, he'd be staying a mile and a half away from me, where his wife and children would be. What if we ran into each other in town?
I blanched. What if I have to meet his wife, shake a polite hand, wave off the remark on how we met--"Oh, your husband gave me a ride when my car broke down, he was a perfect gentlemen."
Other than those times his fingers left bruises on my thigh, or his kisses left searing spots on my skin, or he finished inside of me with a guttural growl, yeah he was a perfect gentleman.
Even worse, do I pretend I've never met him? He might be an actor, but I'm certainly not.
"What's wrong? I see it on your face." He asked me, quietly.
"Just pondering the consequences." I murmured. He sighed in agreement.
"If we run across each other in town, do we know each other?"
"Sure, I suppose. I gave you a lift."
I smiled lasciviously at him. "You lifted me alright."
He grinned and winked at me. "You know what I mean."
I sighed. I might as well get this done with.
"I need some time to get the house back in order tonight, and some sleep." I said quietly. He stood up from the counter and hugged me, pulling me into his chest and I took the chance to wrap my arms around him, taking a deep breath and smelling him. The hug lasted a moment, and when he stepped back, he aimed a kiss at my forehead.
"That was the most amazing sex of my life." He said earnestly, eyeing me. I flushed in--pride? Arousal. Agreement.
"The same here Stephen." I whispered back.
He headed to the front of the house, grabbing his keys off the white wicker table near the front door of the cottage. I hesitated at the door, a replay of the previous nights' kiss running through my mind, and I felt a familiar tingle in my stomach at the memory.
"Kiss me before you go." I said quietly. He turned towards me, a serious leveled look on his face.
"I'll kiss you, Kathryn." He replied, and he did. His hands on my face, cradling it up towards him, he put his warm lips on me and said what words couldn't--that today meant something to both of us beyond just sex, and he was grateful for it. I might never know what was going on his home that caused him to make these decisions, and he may never know what was going on in mine, but we were there at a moment when we needed each other. It wasn't love, and it wasn't just sex. But it was there, and we recognized it. The kiss was long, slow, pulling on my tongue and lips, his thumb stroking across my cheek. We lingered close to each other afterwards, feeling the mutual heat and pull of our bodies, and he took a step back.
"You have my number. If you ever need anything...if you're ever in New York..." he faded off. I smiled at him, reassuringly. Sure, we can play the polite game, but he and I both knew that wouldn't be happening.
"Thank you." He said it simply, and I knew he meant it. I wasn't aware of everything he was thanking me for, but I knew it counted for something.
The door shut with a click behind him, and I heard the weight of his footsteps on the front steps, the beep of his car unlocking, and the sound of the engine as he started it up. I heard the car turn down the gravel road and away from the cottage, and I felt the teardrops swell and sting. I didn't waste time wiping them--I was tired, and I had to get the house cleaned up.
Pairings/Characters: Stephen/Other
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Graphic sex
Summary: Their day pulls to an end
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Authors Note: More smuttiness, but not as smutty as the previous smuttiness.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
We had sex twice more that evening. He ground in behind me when I was grabbing plates, bent me over the counter and slid his fingers up the hem on my shorts with a sexy growl, his lips biting and nipping the exposed skin on my back. Head pressed into the counter, I sighed and shivered on his fingers, rocking back on him as I felt my shorts tugged down and my panties pulled aside. Stephen pressed into me from behind, the sun setting through the kitchen window. I was surprised but driven wild by his roughness, how hard he squeezed my hips, the texture of his voice in my ear as he whispered to me, described what I felt like and looked like. I came quickly, hard, my fingers clenched on the edge of the counter turning white from holding myself up as he fingered me. Stephen reached up and held the open cabinet door, slamming into me with a rough and loud finish.
The last time was on the porch, after we ate a dinner of cold fried chicken and potato chips. The sun was sliding down into the silver tipped waves beyond the candlelit porch. The heat of the afternoon was finally starting to fade a bit, and it was tolerable outside. We found ourselves back where we were the night before, right down to the messy joint laying on the small table. I rolled it while he cleaned up the dishes, and presented it to him with a flourish as he sat back down on the couch. I crawled up next to him, passing the joint back and forth as I made him laugh, blowing crazy smoke rings into each other.
The sex was slow, and drowsy, and warm. I straddled him on the couch, my arms draped around his shoulders as we rocked back and forth with each other, his lips tracing paths on my chest, my neck, my arms, his hands on my hips as he moved me against him. I gave into the sensation of feeling him inside me, my head tilted back and eyes closed, riding small circles on his lap, feeling myself working closer and closer to orgasm. Stephens hips lifted up and pressed into me, filling me completely, his lips catching my nipples and tugging on them. It was a nice relief from the rough, wild sex we had earlier, this gentler version, our strained sighs and groans whispered to each other. The weed didn't hurt much either--when I closed my eyes and listened to his noises and the sound of the waves over his shoulders, I felt like floating, rocking on a boat with him underneath me. I fell forward, and his hands caught up my hair--something he apparently liked to do--catching my lower lip with his, sucking on it and breathing pleasured sighs to me. My orgasms started like a clenched muscle, slowly unwrapping and unfolding in my stomach, rolling open into me. Stephen willed me on, urging me with raspy whispered to come, to make him come. I shuddered deeply, my arms and legs shaking, my head buried in his neck. I was happy to give it to him, crying out his name in a cutoff whisper as he thrust up into me with his own orgasm, one hand pressed on my lower back, the other knotted in my hair.
I collapsed into his lap after that, falling onto his chest as his arms came up around me, murmuring a disappointed noise as I felt him slip out of me. His head fell back on the couch behind him, and we laid there in the darkening evening, sweaty and buzzy feeling. It was overwhelmingly the best sex I had ever had--or might ever have.
"I am thoroughly ruined." I thought. His fingers were absentmindedly stroking the damp skin on my back, and wrapping and unwrapping a strand of hair around his hand.
"Are there any more of you satirical news guys I can do that with?" I asked his chest hair. I heard the laughing rumble deep in his chest.
"There's another one."
"Is he tall, dark, and handsome?"
"No, he's short, grey, and Jewish." He laughed at his own joke, and I chuckled. I didn't know who he was referring to, but I figured it must be a friend of his.
"I doubt he can compare with what just happened."
His hands ran down my spine and back up. "No, I don't think so either."
I sighed happily, my limbs feeling like weight jello on his body, feeling drowsy and relaxed.
"How about a swim?"
I lifted my head and caught his glance. He was smiling at me, warmly, as relaxed as I was.
"Right now?"
"Sure, why not?"
I agreed--we spent an hour floating in the calming ocean, naked. He made no less than 5 cracks about crabs and sea creatures in unwanted locations, and I handled most of them by spitting water on him. We flirted and kissed in the water, but it didn't go further than that--I think we both were tired at that point. When it got too dark for the moonlight to illuminate us safely, we trudged through the dunes back to the house, shivery and cold from the light nighttime breeze.
I gathered us towels and we got dressed on the porch, wiping sand off and heading into the kitchen for something to drink.
"What time does your husband come home?" He asked me, leaning against the counter he had fucked me against earlier in the day with his arms crossed. I looked over from the fridge.
"He'll be home in the morning, " looking back into the fridge for a snack.
"So not a wise idea for me to stay the night."
I had a quirky pain at that comment, but he was right. The idea of waking up next to him in the morning sounded amazing, but I knew I couldn't run the risk of us sleeping too late. Imagine the scene if my husband walked in on that. "No, I don't think it's a good idea." I remarked casually, hiding my disappointment well I think. "At least, not if you want to survive. He's coming back from a hunting trip."
I turned from the fridge and leaned against the counter across from him, placing my feet on either side of his. "Can he help you with your car?"
"Yeah, that shouldn't be an issue at all."
I eyed him, unsure how to proceed from here. I felt the goodbye coming, and I wasn't surprised--he was pretty clear on the "weekend only" part of our agreement. And so was I. I needed to be realistic with this, and recognize that it was a fling... A best-sex-of-my-life fling, but still a fling. I just wasn't sure what the protocol for these kinds of goodbyes are. "See ya later, maybe on the Emmys, and you'll never hear from me again?" How awkward.
For the first time in all of this, I felt a pang of conscious, but not because of my marriage vows. But because I was realizing he would be able to slide back into his life and never think of me beyond the last two days in this cabin. But I would run the gauntlet of stumbling across a video on the internet, a tv commercial, a newspaper article with his face on it. I also realized that for the next 5 days, he'd be staying a mile and a half away from me, where his wife and children would be. What if we ran into each other in town?
I blanched. What if I have to meet his wife, shake a polite hand, wave off the remark on how we met--"Oh, your husband gave me a ride when my car broke down, he was a perfect gentlemen."
Other than those times his fingers left bruises on my thigh, or his kisses left searing spots on my skin, or he finished inside of me with a guttural growl, yeah he was a perfect gentleman.
Even worse, do I pretend I've never met him? He might be an actor, but I'm certainly not.
"What's wrong? I see it on your face." He asked me, quietly.
"Just pondering the consequences." I murmured. He sighed in agreement.
"If we run across each other in town, do we know each other?"
"Sure, I suppose. I gave you a lift."
I smiled lasciviously at him. "You lifted me alright."
He grinned and winked at me. "You know what I mean."
I sighed. I might as well get this done with.
"I need some time to get the house back in order tonight, and some sleep." I said quietly. He stood up from the counter and hugged me, pulling me into his chest and I took the chance to wrap my arms around him, taking a deep breath and smelling him. The hug lasted a moment, and when he stepped back, he aimed a kiss at my forehead.
"That was the most amazing sex of my life." He said earnestly, eyeing me. I flushed in--pride? Arousal. Agreement.
"The same here Stephen." I whispered back.
He headed to the front of the house, grabbing his keys off the white wicker table near the front door of the cottage. I hesitated at the door, a replay of the previous nights' kiss running through my mind, and I felt a familiar tingle in my stomach at the memory.
"Kiss me before you go." I said quietly. He turned towards me, a serious leveled look on his face.
"I'll kiss you, Kathryn." He replied, and he did. His hands on my face, cradling it up towards him, he put his warm lips on me and said what words couldn't--that today meant something to both of us beyond just sex, and he was grateful for it. I might never know what was going on his home that caused him to make these decisions, and he may never know what was going on in mine, but we were there at a moment when we needed each other. It wasn't love, and it wasn't just sex. But it was there, and we recognized it. The kiss was long, slow, pulling on my tongue and lips, his thumb stroking across my cheek. We lingered close to each other afterwards, feeling the mutual heat and pull of our bodies, and he took a step back.
"You have my number. If you ever need anything...if you're ever in New York..." he faded off. I smiled at him, reassuringly. Sure, we can play the polite game, but he and I both knew that wouldn't be happening.
"Thank you." He said it simply, and I knew he meant it. I wasn't aware of everything he was thanking me for, but I knew it counted for something.
The door shut with a click behind him, and I heard the weight of his footsteps on the front steps, the beep of his car unlocking, and the sound of the engine as he started it up. I heard the car turn down the gravel road and away from the cottage, and I felt the teardrops swell and sting. I didn't waste time wiping them--I was tired, and I had to get the house cleaned up.