FNL Ficlet: growth spurts
growth spurts
You’re angry drops between them.
friday night lights. julie. tim/julie.
general; 227 words, pg13.
for purestvixen.
Julie’s mouth drops against his shoulder, her hands cued to curl as they press against the locker. You’re angry drops between them; her misdirection slips under his jersey, her fingers spreading as he catches her lip between his teeth.
“Not like that,” she breathes.
His laugh thickens against her throat, her elbow cracking against the locker. Her hand moves to the back of his neck, his to her thigh, and this is such a bad idea - Dad’s going to kill and Riggin’ll hold this over her head. But her fingers are coated with sweat, the heat of the room and the ringing of her ears still heat the last few minutes of game.
“Take it easy, sweetheart.”
His mouth peeks against her throat again and Julie’s hips are start to turn as he presses between legs. He lifts her and she hooks them around his waist, her boots squeaking as her legs press together. And it feels good, she thinks, and the slip of a moan falls as she tilts her neck back.
“You got an hour.”
Her eyes are heavy and Mom’s somewhere in her head, peeking as Julie takes the indulgence instead. There’s never a real plan and she’s liking his hand over her t-shirt, the curl of his palm over her breast.
His mouth curls over hers. “We all got places to be.”
You’re angry drops between them.
friday night lights. julie. tim/julie.
general; 227 words, pg13.
for purestvixen.
Julie’s mouth drops against his shoulder, her hands cued to curl as they press against the locker. You’re angry drops between them; her misdirection slips under his jersey, her fingers spreading as he catches her lip between his teeth.
“Not like that,” she breathes.
His laugh thickens against her throat, her elbow cracking against the locker. Her hand moves to the back of his neck, his to her thigh, and this is such a bad idea - Dad’s going to kill and Riggin’ll hold this over her head. But her fingers are coated with sweat, the heat of the room and the ringing of her ears still heat the last few minutes of game.
“Take it easy, sweetheart.”
His mouth peeks against her throat again and Julie’s hips are start to turn as he presses between legs. He lifts her and she hooks them around his waist, her boots squeaking as her legs press together. And it feels good, she thinks, and the slip of a moan falls as she tilts her neck back.
“You got an hour.”
Her eyes are heavy and Mom’s somewhere in her head, peeking as Julie takes the indulgence instead. There’s never a real plan and she’s liking his hand over her t-shirt, the curl of his palm over her breast.
His mouth curls over hers. “We all got places to be.”