Fic: Quieted
Title: Quieted
Fandom: V
Pairing: Erica/Hobbes
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 1x08
Word Count: 1500
Warnings: Pegging.
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Erica is good at being charge.
AN: Written for the 'pegging/strap-ons' square on my kink_bingo card.
Hobbes kisses like he thinks Erica will be taken away from him the moment he stops. Or like she'll change her mind about him, about everything. Change her mind and leave without another word. His fingers are pushed up into her hair, shifting and sliding through it like he wants to grab and hold on. Like he wonders what it would be like, what she would do, if he just gripped it tight and tried to keep her.
Which is why what he wants now surprised her so much when he first asked. She's already said yes, she's already agreed. So she doesn't say a word when he lets her go, she just lifts a foot and lets him slide the harness up her legs, leather shifting up her thighs. She lifts her hips and lets him slide it up over the curve of her ass. Let's him tighten his grip and draw her up to her knees.
"You should be half-used to this. With how long you've carried a gun," he says. Considering what he's asked her to do his voice is surprisingly calm. The fingers that slide round her hips and waist are slow but confident.
"I don't wear a thigh holster," she points out. "And this isn't really the same." She lifts her arms so Hobbes can buckle the straps. So he can draw the leather tight, letting it press into the pale skin of her hips and waist.
"Too tight?" he asks.
"No," she says quietly. She's already looking down, looking at her new, strange silhouette. The weight, the shape of it pulling her hips forward, just a little. She's honestly not sure if she should be embarrassed or curious. She's feeling a little of both, a shivery uncertainty that isn't uncomfortable at all.
Hobbes digs in the sheets, finds the tube he tossed down with the rest of the supplies, cap falling free to roll and hit the floor. He wraps his fingers round her, makes the silicone of the dildo she's wearing slippery with a handful of tight slides that leave her swaying. She takes a breath, lays her hands on his shoulders and knows her face is red under her hair, knows it's obvious.
He huffs amusement, thumb trailing her ear and the curve of her jaw. She tips her chin and dares him to comment. He kisses her instead. Then squeezes out more into his hand, reaches back behind himself.
Erica knows that he's opening himself for her. So she can be inside him and she won't pretend the thought doesn't rattle her a little. A strange mixture of excitement, trepidation and uncertainty. Because she knows, she understands, how anal sex works. But she's never participated. And if she ever had thought about it, it wouldn't have been like this, it would have been - she'd never have assumed. That Hobbes wanted her to be in charge, that he wanted her inside him.
She watches the muscle of his arm work, while he pushes fingers inside himself, thighs tensing and relaxing. It's so blatantly, unashamedly sexual that she can't resist shifting forward on the bed, kissing his open mouth, hands sliding up his thighs. One lifting to curl round the heavy, warm weight of his cock.
He digs his free hand into her hair, clutches it tight and holds her against his open mouth.
"Turn around," she manages to get out. Her voice is more breathless than she expects.
The noise he makes sounds nothing like him. But he turns straight away, sinking onto his hands and knees in the sheets.
God, he's perfect. All curves of muscle and tanned skin. Erica's hands slide up his back. He's warm and solid and perfectly still. Waiting. Like he wants it, like he's prepared for it.
The silicone is strange in her hand, heavy and cool, slippery against her fingers. She can't help thinking that it's too big to go where Hobbes wants it to. But he's asked her to, he's asked her for this. So she's going to give him what he wants. She's going to do her best, because she understands about needs.
She can't resist testing where he's lubed himself up, fingers sliding across the slippery edge of his ass, and then pushing, just a little. He's warm inside and he shudders like he's not expecting it. Like she's surprised him.
"Erica." There's impatience and lust there, cracked at the edges into warm desperation.
She moves her hand to his hip and then shifts her weight, knees bringing her forward until she can press the head of the dildo against and then into him. She's ready for him to tell her to stop, to tell her to wait. But instead he groans and drops down to his elbows and just opens for her.
She pushes in, all the way in, feels the pressure, the long slow breath Hobbes looses when she sinks into him. Her own catches in her throat and stays there. Because he takes her weight, takes her in, stretches around her in a way she can't feel but makes every muscle she has clench with sharp and unexpected arousal.
The hair curling at the back of his neck is damp and soft and she buries her fingers in it. Then stays where she is, breathing, waiting for some sort of -
"You can move," he says roughly.
She exhales, hard, palm sliding on his skin. The urge to catch and hold him is too strong to resist. Though she's careful, so careful when she moves. She can feel the slow drag where his body tries to keep her when she pulls back, the long shudder that goes through him when she slides back inside. There's resistance, enough that she's not sure if she's doing this right.
"Hobbes, is this - is this ok?"
"Fuck, yes." His voice is gravel-deep, shaken to pieces and she can't resist a second testing slide. One that makes the muscles in his back twitch and clench. One that makes him moan and tip forward into the pillow like it's too good to hold still for.
She looks down, watches what she's doing, where he's stretched open around her, in a way that's obscene and vulnerable. She can't tell if she's hurting him, can't tell what's too hard or too deep. But the noises that fall out of him are a mixture of soft and hard, half-stifled where he's bent over on his elbows, arms tensing and relaxing every time Erica pushes, every time she leans her weight onto him, into him. She'd been so wrong, so completely wrong when she'd thought this wouldn't do anything for her. She aches inside, a low, simmering burn of pleasure that drags and thumps through her skin. Every time she pushes in and watches his body take her, sway back to meet her. That he's even letting her do this - it leaves her warm and dizzy.
She can feel her hair curling at her temples, and her breath shivers out of her in bursts.
"Harder." Hobbes voice is all controlled tightness and demand that sounds more like a plea. Erica digs her nails into the muscle of his waist feels how strong he is underneath her, muscles all solid curves.
Hobbes isn't braced on two hands any more, one of them is curled round in his lap, moving in quick, jerky movements. She knows she's going to make him come, that's he's going to come with her inside him, and there's something shockingly powerful about that.
"Fuck," she manages and there's a huff of strangled breathy laughter from Hobbes that makes her slide in quick and tight. The ache inside her is greedy now, thighs pressing together on every push. The slow slide of leather and press of her hips into him is so close to enough.
Hobbes pushes back and she feels it all the way through her, that shudder of impatience. Where he wants it - wants her.
Erica folds over, fingers stretching to catch and curl round the muscle of his shoulders. The noise that comes out of him is obscene and her thighs are shaking before she even realises it. She doesn't even try to stop it, that steady, demanding tightening that leaves her gasping, leaves her with that sense of falling. She presses down and in, harder than she means to, breathing through the long slow shudders of her own orgasm.
Hobbes groans like she's broken him, hand stilling, back muscles tight and then trembling and she can almost feel the way he's shivering around the extension of her body. She can definitely feel the low tremors that slide through him, weak, little twitches of over-sensitivity.
God, she doesn't want to pull out. But she does, slow, careful, thighs trembling, feeling loose and empty and wet, so wet.
Hobbes makes a lazy noise and stops holding his weight, ends up in the sheets groaning like she's killed him.
Fandom: V
Pairing: Erica/Hobbes
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 1x08
Word Count: 1500
Warnings: Pegging.
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Erica is good at being charge.
AN: Written for the 'pegging/strap-ons' square on my kink_bingo card.
Hobbes kisses like he thinks Erica will be taken away from him the moment he stops. Or like she'll change her mind about him, about everything. Change her mind and leave without another word. His fingers are pushed up into her hair, shifting and sliding through it like he wants to grab and hold on. Like he wonders what it would be like, what she would do, if he just gripped it tight and tried to keep her.
Which is why what he wants now surprised her so much when he first asked. She's already said yes, she's already agreed. So she doesn't say a word when he lets her go, she just lifts a foot and lets him slide the harness up her legs, leather shifting up her thighs. She lifts her hips and lets him slide it up over the curve of her ass. Let's him tighten his grip and draw her up to her knees.
"You should be half-used to this. With how long you've carried a gun," he says. Considering what he's asked her to do his voice is surprisingly calm. The fingers that slide round her hips and waist are slow but confident.
"I don't wear a thigh holster," she points out. "And this isn't really the same." She lifts her arms so Hobbes can buckle the straps. So he can draw the leather tight, letting it press into the pale skin of her hips and waist.
"Too tight?" he asks.
"No," she says quietly. She's already looking down, looking at her new, strange silhouette. The weight, the shape of it pulling her hips forward, just a little. She's honestly not sure if she should be embarrassed or curious. She's feeling a little of both, a shivery uncertainty that isn't uncomfortable at all.
Hobbes digs in the sheets, finds the tube he tossed down with the rest of the supplies, cap falling free to roll and hit the floor. He wraps his fingers round her, makes the silicone of the dildo she's wearing slippery with a handful of tight slides that leave her swaying. She takes a breath, lays her hands on his shoulders and knows her face is red under her hair, knows it's obvious.
He huffs amusement, thumb trailing her ear and the curve of her jaw. She tips her chin and dares him to comment. He kisses her instead. Then squeezes out more into his hand, reaches back behind himself.
Erica knows that he's opening himself for her. So she can be inside him and she won't pretend the thought doesn't rattle her a little. A strange mixture of excitement, trepidation and uncertainty. Because she knows, she understands, how anal sex works. But she's never participated. And if she ever had thought about it, it wouldn't have been like this, it would have been - she'd never have assumed. That Hobbes wanted her to be in charge, that he wanted her inside him.
She watches the muscle of his arm work, while he pushes fingers inside himself, thighs tensing and relaxing. It's so blatantly, unashamedly sexual that she can't resist shifting forward on the bed, kissing his open mouth, hands sliding up his thighs. One lifting to curl round the heavy, warm weight of his cock.
He digs his free hand into her hair, clutches it tight and holds her against his open mouth.
"Turn around," she manages to get out. Her voice is more breathless than she expects.
The noise he makes sounds nothing like him. But he turns straight away, sinking onto his hands and knees in the sheets.
God, he's perfect. All curves of muscle and tanned skin. Erica's hands slide up his back. He's warm and solid and perfectly still. Waiting. Like he wants it, like he's prepared for it.
The silicone is strange in her hand, heavy and cool, slippery against her fingers. She can't help thinking that it's too big to go where Hobbes wants it to. But he's asked her to, he's asked her for this. So she's going to give him what he wants. She's going to do her best, because she understands about needs.
She can't resist testing where he's lubed himself up, fingers sliding across the slippery edge of his ass, and then pushing, just a little. He's warm inside and he shudders like he's not expecting it. Like she's surprised him.
"Erica." There's impatience and lust there, cracked at the edges into warm desperation.
She moves her hand to his hip and then shifts her weight, knees bringing her forward until she can press the head of the dildo against and then into him. She's ready for him to tell her to stop, to tell her to wait. But instead he groans and drops down to his elbows and just opens for her.
She pushes in, all the way in, feels the pressure, the long slow breath Hobbes looses when she sinks into him. Her own catches in her throat and stays there. Because he takes her weight, takes her in, stretches around her in a way she can't feel but makes every muscle she has clench with sharp and unexpected arousal.
The hair curling at the back of his neck is damp and soft and she buries her fingers in it. Then stays where she is, breathing, waiting for some sort of -
"You can move," he says roughly.
She exhales, hard, palm sliding on his skin. The urge to catch and hold him is too strong to resist. Though she's careful, so careful when she moves. She can feel the slow drag where his body tries to keep her when she pulls back, the long shudder that goes through him when she slides back inside. There's resistance, enough that she's not sure if she's doing this right.
"Hobbes, is this - is this ok?"
"Fuck, yes." His voice is gravel-deep, shaken to pieces and she can't resist a second testing slide. One that makes the muscles in his back twitch and clench. One that makes him moan and tip forward into the pillow like it's too good to hold still for.
She looks down, watches what she's doing, where he's stretched open around her, in a way that's obscene and vulnerable. She can't tell if she's hurting him, can't tell what's too hard or too deep. But the noises that fall out of him are a mixture of soft and hard, half-stifled where he's bent over on his elbows, arms tensing and relaxing every time Erica pushes, every time she leans her weight onto him, into him. She'd been so wrong, so completely wrong when she'd thought this wouldn't do anything for her. She aches inside, a low, simmering burn of pleasure that drags and thumps through her skin. Every time she pushes in and watches his body take her, sway back to meet her. That he's even letting her do this - it leaves her warm and dizzy.
She can feel her hair curling at her temples, and her breath shivers out of her in bursts.
"Harder." Hobbes voice is all controlled tightness and demand that sounds more like a plea. Erica digs her nails into the muscle of his waist feels how strong he is underneath her, muscles all solid curves.
Hobbes isn't braced on two hands any more, one of them is curled round in his lap, moving in quick, jerky movements. She knows she's going to make him come, that's he's going to come with her inside him, and there's something shockingly powerful about that.
"Fuck," she manages and there's a huff of strangled breathy laughter from Hobbes that makes her slide in quick and tight. The ache inside her is greedy now, thighs pressing together on every push. The slow slide of leather and press of her hips into him is so close to enough.
Hobbes pushes back and she feels it all the way through her, that shudder of impatience. Where he wants it - wants her.
Erica folds over, fingers stretching to catch and curl round the muscle of his shoulders. The noise that comes out of him is obscene and her thighs are shaking before she even realises it. She doesn't even try to stop it, that steady, demanding tightening that leaves her gasping, leaves her with that sense of falling. She presses down and in, harder than she means to, breathing through the long slow shudders of her own orgasm.
Hobbes groans like she's broken him, hand stilling, back muscles tight and then trembling and she can almost feel the way he's shivering around the extension of her body. She can definitely feel the low tremors that slide through him, weak, little twitches of over-sensitivity.
God, she doesn't want to pull out. But she does, slow, careful, thighs trembling, feeling loose and empty and wet, so wet.
Hobbes makes a lazy noise and stops holding his weight, ends up in the sheets groaning like she's killed him.