"In a Dangerous Time" (Sleepy Hollow PWP)
Title: In a Dangerous Time
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Sleepy Hollow
Pairing: Ichabod/Abbie
Rating: R
Warning: Sex, PWP
Word Count: 377
Summary: Abbie Mills learns some great stuff about the 1780s.
Abbie is in pieces, shaking, covered in sweat. Ichabod holds her, kissing her mouth and neck and breasts; he tastes of her and is still hard.
“That’s.” Abbie clears her throat, hoarse from the way she screamed the place down moments ago. “I didn’t expect... That.” He’s from a time when people wore six layers of clothing to take a bath, for God’s sake, he shouldn’t be so…unleashed.
“Whyever not?” God, his voice is like warm syrup, edged with need as it still is. His silken beard is doing something to her nipples as he mouths her bosom again; his face is still slippery from her. “To disregard all the ways lips meet lips in bed is the province of bumpkins who can only fornicate as they have learnt from observing their pigs in the sty.” His hands and mouth grow rougher, more urgent. “Abbie, my prick begs. Let the poor fellow learn what my mouth has found.”
Her legs are already tight around his waist and her back arches as they lock together. He shouts a dozen blasphemous things; she grunts in passion as he hits the sweet spot more than a few times. It isn’t the nuclear blast that his mouth and tongue delivered, but it’s good - and it’s a sweet spot all its own to feel and hear and see him come apart in her embrace.
He’s as shattered as she was, but still manages to correctly remove the condom; he watches as she shows him how to tie off the end before depositing it in the trash can. “So much thinner than sheep-gut,” he murmurs, “it was as if I wore nothing. What a marvelous time.”
He’s asleep by the time she returns from the bathroom. She leaves the damp washcloth on the sideboard where he can reach it when he awakes, and spreads an old t-shirt over the wet spot before getting back in. Her body is still doing small aftershocks to remind her of his mouth.
You picture 1781 and you think of men in funny hats and women in corsets. But wasn’t Benjamin Franklin an old horndog in that time? And some of those tavern songs couldn’t get airplay now, either.
She’s going to have to do some more reading.
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Sleepy Hollow
Pairing: Ichabod/Abbie
Rating: R
Warning: Sex, PWP
Word Count: 377
Summary: Abbie Mills learns some great stuff about the 1780s.
Abbie is in pieces, shaking, covered in sweat. Ichabod holds her, kissing her mouth and neck and breasts; he tastes of her and is still hard.
“That’s.” Abbie clears her throat, hoarse from the way she screamed the place down moments ago. “I didn’t expect... That.” He’s from a time when people wore six layers of clothing to take a bath, for God’s sake, he shouldn’t be so…unleashed.
“Whyever not?” God, his voice is like warm syrup, edged with need as it still is. His silken beard is doing something to her nipples as he mouths her bosom again; his face is still slippery from her. “To disregard all the ways lips meet lips in bed is the province of bumpkins who can only fornicate as they have learnt from observing their pigs in the sty.” His hands and mouth grow rougher, more urgent. “Abbie, my prick begs. Let the poor fellow learn what my mouth has found.”
Her legs are already tight around his waist and her back arches as they lock together. He shouts a dozen blasphemous things; she grunts in passion as he hits the sweet spot more than a few times. It isn’t the nuclear blast that his mouth and tongue delivered, but it’s good - and it’s a sweet spot all its own to feel and hear and see him come apart in her embrace.
He’s as shattered as she was, but still manages to correctly remove the condom; he watches as she shows him how to tie off the end before depositing it in the trash can. “So much thinner than sheep-gut,” he murmurs, “it was as if I wore nothing. What a marvelous time.”
He’s asleep by the time she returns from the bathroom. She leaves the damp washcloth on the sideboard where he can reach it when he awakes, and spreads an old t-shirt over the wet spot before getting back in. Her body is still doing small aftershocks to remind her of his mouth.
You picture 1781 and you think of men in funny hats and women in corsets. But wasn’t Benjamin Franklin an old horndog in that time? And some of those tavern songs couldn’t get airplay now, either.
She’s going to have to do some more reading.