8 - upwards to infinity
Welcome to our eighth prompt post.
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
“Your place is in my bed, not with Lord Mandelson,” she says with jubilant severity. His hands stop. She glances over her shoulder and George looks scared. “You can speak freely with me.” Christine encourages but George does not take the opportunity.
“My bath is cold,” she huffs. “Towels, boy.”
George dries her shoulders, then each arm in turn: careful motions, full of unexpected timidity. The deep flush that rises on his cheeks as he kneels to dry her legs amuses her. She spoils herself by playing with his hair. She is surprised when he responds by rubbing his head against her hand, like a pet. He catches himself, starts and begins to pull away, but she whispers, “Stay.”
“He would hunt you and punish you for taking what is his. I would not want you to face his wrath on my account.”
She is touched by his concern. For a long minute they are frozen together, her hand against his flushed cheek.
“Never mind the towels,” she tells him. “On the bed. On your back.”
When he’s spread out on his back, she coats her hand with cool, slick lube. He is pleasingly erect, and she runs her oiled palms over him with proprietary efficiency, her eyes fastened intently on his face. At the first touch his mouth falls open and he gives a loud gasp, eyes wide and full of wonder.
“Like this?” she purrs, continuing to stroke up and down, the lube warming against his skin.
“Yes”
He is eager and it suits her that he has arrived in her bed greedy for touch. She plays with him, and can no longer ignore an ache of desire that wells up from her own depth in response to George’s thrusts and moans. Within minutes, he is hers.
Afterwards, Christine strokes his face and brings his head to lay in her lap, and runs her fingers through his hair. She wants to whisper sweet things to George, promises of tenderness and protection, descriptions of how beautiful he is. But she remains quiet and pets him softly.
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I love the whole concept of this fic!
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