Tuesday night

[keira_nightly]

[That night.]Keira's belly hurts from laughing, her throat hoarse and her mouth set in a permanent grin when she clambers out of Paul's car onto the drive of her building. Nic is usually fairly adept at convincing him to drive them to and from places if neither of them feel like being particularly responsible, and that's most of the time

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[billboyd]

Oh, he thinks, because nothing else will come, nothing else is possible, and her mouth is so bloody hot, her fingers inside him (oh, inside him, God, oh,) moving and doing something he'd be curious about if he had control of his mind (or anything else right now). But he doesn't have control, not even a little bit, maybe for the first time since he'd been a lad, and furthermore, he finds he doesn't mind.

The mindless twisting pleasure of it makes it okay, that it's Keira means that he doesn't need control, because she'll take care of him when he's like this, and the weirdness of the thought (if it can be called a thought at all, it's more like a hectic, blurring confusion of bright, breathlessly fast impressions that light up his brain like lightning flashes, giving unsteady but fearfully intense glimpses and revelations) is enough to make him actually make a sound that he can't pretend isn't a cry, and cannot blame on the pleasure of her mouth or her fingers, at least not entirely

[billboyd]

"Bill?" she says, low and careful, and slowly pulls her hand back, freeing her fingers from his arse, and he winces a little. It's more at the thought of it, the idea of being in a situation in which he would actually think something like that, than from any pain. There is a low, simmering lust in her voice. Melted caramel he thinks. Or hot fudge. The topping for your ice cream.If, of course, by ice cream you meant utterly surreal and impossibly intense orgasm

[keira_nightly]

She bites back a laugh, because he should know by now what she wants, but the rumble of good humour stays in her belly and mingles with the white-hot burn of needing to come, because she knows that's not what he means, or maybe it is but she's beginning to think he knows the answer.

He's flushed and damp and the tight muscles of his thighs jerk under her hand when she climbs over him, walks on all fours until she only just has to drop her head to kiss him. She doesn't though, not yet, settles with her knees on each side of him, the inside of her thighs pressed against the outside of his, both their skin slick and overheated. He's cooling off by miniscule increments but her own fever is just escalading, and her cunt clenches in near painful surprise when he finally moves his hand to her thigh.

"You," she manage out. "Touch me, bring me off. I need to come, Bill." The last words are licked into his ear, panted against his neck, one hand fisting his hair loosely, the other back between her legs or she'll just scream.

[billboyd]

His hand slides up her thigh at once; he isn't interested in denying her just to prove that he could if he wanted to (and there's the uneasy understanding that maybe he couldn't, just maybe really couldn't) or teasing her just to watch her squirm, though another time that may well be an interesting experiment

[keira_nightly]

It really is like dying a little, like the breath she's panting against his neck might very well her last one; but they keep coming, short and hoarse, until she holds her breath and stops moving in the small insignificants ways she was moving with his hand, and lets herself come hard and fast, without teasing herself into prolonging it because she's been building up to long enough that putting it off any more would just plain hurt.

He stills his fingers for a moment when he feels her clench and stiffen against him, and she feels him with surprisingly clarity hold his breath too, but she reaches shakily for him, to messily press his fingers on her until he starts again, hard shudders slamming into her when he does.

The first sense to come back to her is smell, the him scent of fresh sweat and skin in the crook of his neck. She feels a hand slide up her back and lets herself crumble onto him, pounding muscles going gratefully slack

[billboyd]

It's funny how sex and laughter can feel almost the same, sometimes. Not physically or anything, but... it's an affirmation, isn't it? An affirmation of life. He listens to her giggling against his chest and chuckles softly in response, her hair tickling at his lips, and when he uncurls his fingers to slide them away from her, she squirms madly for a moment, giggling even harder, as though he's ticling her. He snorts softly before she shifts upward a bit so he can retrieve his hand, and then drops heavily back onto him, making him 'oof