"Mornin," Dean replies, his voice just as low, a sleepy hoarseness at its edges. That voice of hers triggers another wave of pleasant and incoherent memories, jumbling one after the other through his mind:
Darcy laughing as they ordered another round of shots at the bar, telling Dean that if he wasn't sure he could keep up with her he might as well call it quits now and save her the trouble of booting him to the curb after last call.
Darcy rolling her eyes at him when he presented her with a giant stuffed purple monkey -- one who was even now watching them with silent, stuffed, simian disdain from atop her bookshelf -- but taking the thing anyway, naming him Filbert with a small, drunken smile on her lips.
Darcy's hand sneaking down the front of his jeans as they'd stood in line for the rickety haunted house ride, and all the dirty things she's whispered from behind an innocent smile while he'd held Filbert in front of him like a shield lest anybody else get a peek at what she was doing down south of the Mason-Dixon and just how much he liked it.
Good memories. It'd been one hell of a good night.
Even if they'd never made it into that haunted house.
Dean leans in, kissing her lightly, easily, wondering if she's going to let him hang out for a bit or kick him right out of bed. He's kind of hoping for the former, though he's normally down with the quick exit. Anybody who'll get frisky with you while in line at a carnival sounds like the kind of girl he wouldn't mind hanging around a little longer.
Humming in approval Darcy’s hand lazily trail up and over his chest, fingers curling to rest on his collarbone.
While his name still evades her memory; she can recall pulling him behind the lax security of a popcorn booth with groping fingers pulling and full lips pressed against her own. Dean pulling her impossibly closer with long calloused fingers, wrapped close around the skin of her hip.
There's a slight flash in between the pleasant, warm memories of Dean's lips and tongue clashing with her own.
The sight of a large man with an expression dangerously similar to Filbert waving them off as they laughingly ran from an angry popcorn vendor. Her bedmates brother if the long suffering sigh and call of 'whatever' were anything to go by, but she'd been far too interested in Dean's wandering fingers and low lidded eyes to confirm or deny her suspicions.
Turning further into him Darcy’s fingers move from the smooth skin of his collar to rest on his cheek and kiss him with just a bit more awareness.
Dean takes that touch as an invitation and, moving slowly just in case he's misinterpreting things here by the sober (if hung-over) light of dawn, lets his hand slide down her shoulder, down the smooth length of her arm, down to rest once more on the curve of her hip. His fingers are bolder now, exploring sober what, from the looks of things, his mouth had explored with a whole lot of zest for life when drunk.
He'd apologize about the hickeys trailing down from her hip, but he kind of doesn't want to. Kind of really likes the way they look against her skin; and there it is -- the memory of those long moments spent with a smile on his lips as his mouth moves lower down her body, each new inch of skin treasured and tended to, Darcy laughing and moaning in turns, her fingers carding through his hair as his mouth found its goal and he got to doing one the his favourite things in the whole damn world.
The thought of it drags a soft sigh from his lips, and he lets his hand slide around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Encouraged by his actions Darcy wraps a leg around his thigh, lips parting and her tongue tracing the seem of his lips in a light lazy manner. Names could be remembered later. His touch and the way he fit tightly against her body, and the pleasurable ways he had driven her back and forth beyond the brink the night before. Remembering more certainly made her wonder how good he'd be in bed sober if he already worshiped her body like a Goddess while under the influence.
Her ankle drags over his leg and placing it firmly next to him she rolls their bodies until he's on top of her. She preferred taking control but the day was young and this gave her far more incentive to drag her fingers down the muscular skin at his back.
It's still sweet, still soft and kind of lazy, everything lit up in her bedroom like some bizarre and awesome parody of a morning -- he'd forgotten about that quality of the early desert light, about hot it made everything it touched almost seem a little holy, a little extra beautiful, like the sun was apologizing for the way it was going to cook your ass by nine. Soft and sweet and lazy, and when she rolls him over on top of her Dean can't help but laugh. And the laugh itself is soft and kind of lazy, bright like the lights coming in her fucking window, and isn't all of this a crazy way to wake up in the morning.
Her hands are moving over his back, and he arches a bit into the touch, his hips moving reflexively against hers as he kisses her, as he takes a moment to appreciate that awesome expanse of skin against his, smooth and soft and curved just right just where he likes it. He kisses her as his body starts to respond, that hello-sailor bit of adrenaline arousal always pumps through his body shaking off a bit more of the sleep-fog that had been lingering. Soft and sweet and kind of lazy, but there's a bit more focus to it now, and he lets his mouth move lower, down to her breast, lets his tongue tease out against her nipple almost testingly.
Fff I'm so sorry-I thought I replied ot this D:taser_warriorJuly 23 2012, 20:33:39 UTC
Darcy's response is a soft noise, toes curling slightly against the muscle of his calve. That warm, lazy feeling slowly leaves her limbs as her nerves begin to respond to arousal.
One hand trails up his back and into his soft hair, nails scratching over the skin of his scalp to encourage him, watching as the light peeking out from her blinds bounces across his skin.
She's never been a particularly artistic person; but she knows it wouldn't be a stretch to that the sight of Dean's body, with scars and a sort of masculine beauty that; had reminded her one too many times of a young Brando the night before- covering her smaller, curvy frame with the light catching them in every which way would be a sculptors dream.
Sometimes it's kind of easy, to forget about how weird his life is, how unsettled and exhausting and uncertain. Sometimes its impossible, in the quiet spaces, when you're waiting, crouched down low in some half-assed shrubbery somewhere waiting for some fucked-up thing to come at you from out of the woods, hoping like hell that it's not going to choose that day to go full on horror flick on you and come at you from behind someone instead of where you'd tracked it to ground -- times like that, it was easy to sit in nervous anticipation and kind of re-examine your life choices, for whatever value of "choice" your life ever really had.
Times like this, though? Times like this were like stolen moments, where all of that could get put down for a little while. Put down for a while happily, maybe even sort of shoved so deep in some mental crawlspace that he could forget about them almost entirely for a bit.
Because who wants to think about how weird or strange or fucked-up the past week was when you've got a girl like Darcy being so gracious as to make those little noises at your tender ministrations? That's right here, immediate and warm and soft, sweet in all the right kind of ways.
The hand in his hair was good, really good, and his mouth moves against her breast, sucking lightly at her nipple as lets a hand go moseying further south, scouting out the lay of the land before he takes his lips and tongue along after it.
With a moan Darcy drags the blunt fingernails of her free hand down his back, gripping the strong muscle of his ass in encouragement. She lets herself be lulled into the sensation, hips moving to press against his fingers, and while the way he worships his breasts is maddening and frustrating all the same, she wants to kiss him before he breaks her in the best ways. She pulls gently at his hair to get his attention.
For a moment he thinks she's just getting a little rough, which he's not exactly opposed to. But then he realizes that it's not just her pulling his hair for kicks, but that she's trying to get him to come back up, to kiss her. And there's nothing wrong with that, nothing at all.
Dean slides back up her body, kissing her long and deep, hips rocking forward, hissing as he rubs up against her. "Damn," he moans against her mouth, a low, sweet laugh given against her lips. "You're awesome."
Her thighs curl around his hips as he kisses her, hips rolling to meet his even as a matching chuckle makes its way past her lips. "So are you." His name is on the tip of her tongue, but the distracting feel of him above her makes it nearly impossible to latch on to the fuzzy thread that is her memory. When air becomes necessary she doesn't let go of him for long, and she soon matches the roll of her tongue against his to the slide of her hips-teasing him.
She's wrapped up tight around him no, arms and legs still sleep-warmed, and she's doing this thing with her tongue that's just naughty. Full-tilt naughty. And he fucking loves it, loves how she keeps that filthy hot kiss locked in on the rhythm of his hips as he slides against her, each increased bit of friction making him legit crazy, until he can't handle it anymore, has to eighty-six the foreplay before his mind just explodes.
Dean gives a noise that's part laugh, part groan, and he rocks his hips forward with a purpose now, pressing against her but not -- quite -- there. It takes every single last bit of his willpower to be the good guy here, to wait, to pause, to double-check that it's cool, instead of just thrusting up into her, burying himself deep inside her like he really, really wants to do right now.
She encourages it with a moan, she realizes sometimes words might be necessary but she presses tightly at his insistence before she remembers the condoms on her bedside table. Grabbing one she tears the foil and rolls it over him, stroking him with a precise and teasing manner as she lines him up to her entrance. Removing her hand she places it on his lower back and looks at him with half lidded eyes and a small playful smile. “Ready any time you are.”
He gives her a wicked grin as her fingers deftly slip the condom on him, and while yeah, he would have gone on to glory without it he had nothing against being a good little girl scout in this situation. Be prepared and all of that.
For one moment, as her hand guides him to where he wants to be, his eyes close, and when that hand leaves him, settles low on his back, he looks down at her, at the sweet, sultry look she's giving him, and he smiles.
Slow, got to go slow; Dean wants to savour this part. He rests a hand against her cheek, thumb stroking once lightly along the line of her cheekbone, and with infinite slowness he sinks into her, a low sound, half moan and half sigh slipping from his lips at the feel of her. One moment still, one moment to linger on the amazing tight heat of her, and then he's moving, hips rocking back only to press forward again, to bury himself inside her. There's no hurry yet, only the urgency of desire instead of the drunken frenzy of the first time last night; they have time, a whole morning of time, and he'd take every last minute of it.
She smiles continues warmly at him, turning her head so she can place a short and sweet kiss the the pad of his thumb before he rocks into her, body pressed tight and hot above her own.
Darcy raises her knees to rest tight against his sides and rolls her hips to match the slow undulating rhythm gasping as the new angle angle makes all the difference. Her teeth scrape across his thumb and almost immediately her bright pink lips wrap around the digit, tongue wet and warm as she soothes it against the red mark she left behind.
It's good, an easy, familiar rhythm between them, slow and sensual and pretty damn perfect. Her knees are tight against his sides and that's good, her mouth is hot and insistent on his thumb and that's better, and her hips rock up against his and he sinks in deep and that's best of all. And maybe, around the edges of that, is the notion that there's time to let things build, to grow just right here this morning, the slow burn instead of a fast one.
His mouth moves to her neck, trailing kisses all along the side of it, from under her ear to her collar bone and back again.
She lets go of his thumb when her neck arches, giving him better access to the pale white skin of her throat, fingers drawing broken circles into the base of his spine as she rolls her hips. A slight laugh escapes her when he hits the ticklish spot just below her ear and the combination of that slow building burn in her belly and the mixture of laughter makes it all so much better.
Darcy laughing as they ordered another round of shots at the bar, telling Dean that if he wasn't sure he could keep up with her he might as well call it quits now and save her the trouble of booting him to the curb after last call.
Darcy rolling her eyes at him when he presented her with a giant stuffed purple monkey -- one who was even now watching them with silent, stuffed, simian disdain from atop her bookshelf -- but taking the thing anyway, naming him Filbert with a small, drunken smile on her lips.
Darcy's hand sneaking down the front of his jeans as they'd stood in line for the rickety haunted house ride, and all the dirty things she's whispered from behind an innocent smile while he'd held Filbert in front of him like a shield lest anybody else get a peek at what she was doing down south of the Mason-Dixon and just how much he liked it.
Good memories. It'd been one hell of a good night.
Even if they'd never made it into that haunted house.
Dean leans in, kissing her lightly, easily, wondering if she's going to let him hang out for a bit or kick him right out of bed. He's kind of hoping for the former, though he's normally down with the quick exit. Anybody who'll get frisky with you while in line at a carnival sounds like the kind of girl he wouldn't mind hanging around a little longer.
Reply
While his name still evades her memory; she can recall pulling him behind the lax security of a popcorn booth with groping fingers pulling and full lips pressed against her own.
Dean pulling her impossibly closer with long calloused fingers, wrapped close around the skin of her hip.
There's a slight flash in between the pleasant, warm memories of Dean's lips and tongue clashing with her own.
The sight of a large man with an expression dangerously similar to Filbert waving them off as they laughingly ran from an angry popcorn vendor.
Her bedmates brother if the long suffering sigh and call of 'whatever' were anything to go by, but she'd been far too interested in Dean's wandering fingers and low lidded eyes to confirm or deny her suspicions.
Turning further into him Darcy’s fingers move from the smooth skin of his collar to rest on his cheek and kiss him with just a bit more awareness.
Reply
He'd apologize about the hickeys trailing down from her hip, but he kind of doesn't want to. Kind of really likes the way they look against her skin; and there it is -- the memory of those long moments spent with a smile on his lips as his mouth moves lower down her body, each new inch of skin treasured and tended to, Darcy laughing and moaning in turns, her fingers carding through his hair as his mouth found its goal and he got to doing one the his favourite things in the whole damn world.
The thought of it drags a soft sigh from his lips, and he lets his hand slide around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Reply
His touch and the way he fit tightly against her body, and the pleasurable ways he had driven her back and forth beyond the brink the night before.
Remembering more certainly made her wonder how good he'd be in bed sober if he already worshiped her body like a Goddess while under the influence.
Her ankle drags over his leg and placing it firmly next to him she rolls their bodies until he's on top of her. She preferred taking control but the day was young and this gave her far more incentive to drag her fingers down the muscular skin at his back.
Reply
It's still sweet, still soft and kind of lazy, everything lit up in her bedroom like some bizarre and awesome parody of a morning -- he'd forgotten about that quality of the early desert light, about hot it made everything it touched almost seem a little holy, a little extra beautiful, like the sun was apologizing for the way it was going to cook your ass by nine. Soft and sweet and lazy, and when she rolls him over on top of her Dean can't help but laugh. And the laugh itself is soft and kind of lazy, bright like the lights coming in her fucking window, and isn't all of this a crazy way to wake up in the morning.
Her hands are moving over his back, and he arches a bit into the touch, his hips moving reflexively against hers as he kisses her, as he takes a moment to appreciate that awesome expanse of skin against his, smooth and soft and curved just right just where he likes it. He kisses her as his body starts to respond, that hello-sailor bit of adrenaline arousal always pumps through his body shaking off a bit more of the sleep-fog that had been lingering. Soft and sweet and kind of lazy, but there's a bit more focus to it now, and he lets his mouth move lower, down to her breast, lets his tongue tease out against her nipple almost testingly.
Reply
One hand trails up his back and into his soft hair, nails scratching over the skin of his scalp to encourage him, watching as the light peeking out from her blinds bounces across his skin.
She's never been a particularly artistic person; but she knows it wouldn't be a stretch to that the sight of Dean's body, with scars and a sort of masculine beauty that; had reminded her one too many times of a young Brando the night before- covering her smaller, curvy frame with the light catching them in every which way would be a sculptors dream.
Reply
Times like this, though? Times like this were like stolen moments, where all of that could get put down for a little while. Put down for a while happily, maybe even sort of shoved so deep in some mental crawlspace that he could forget about them almost entirely for a bit.
Because who wants to think about how weird or strange or fucked-up the past week was when you've got a girl like Darcy being so gracious as to make those little noises at your tender ministrations? That's right here, immediate and warm and soft, sweet in all the right kind of ways.
The hand in his hair was good, really good, and his mouth moves against her breast, sucking lightly at her nipple as lets a hand go moseying further south, scouting out the lay of the land before he takes his lips and tongue along after it.
Reply
Reply
Dean slides back up her body, kissing her long and deep, hips rocking forward, hissing as he rubs up against her. "Damn," he moans against her mouth, a low, sweet laugh given against her lips. "You're awesome."
Reply
"So are you."
His name is on the tip of her tongue, but the distracting feel of him above her makes it nearly impossible to latch on to the fuzzy thread that is her memory.
When air becomes necessary she doesn't let go of him for long, and she soon matches the roll of her tongue against his to the slide of her hips-teasing him.
Reply
Dean gives a noise that's part laugh, part groan, and he rocks his hips forward with a purpose now, pressing against her but not -- quite -- there. It takes every single last bit of his willpower to be the good guy here, to wait, to pause, to double-check that it's cool, instead of just thrusting up into her, burying himself deep inside her like he really, really wants to do right now.
Reply
Grabbing one she tears the foil and rolls it over him, stroking him with a precise and teasing manner as she lines him up to her entrance.
Removing her hand she places it on his lower back and looks at him with half lidded eyes and a small playful smile.
“Ready any time you are.”
Reply
For one moment, as her hand guides him to where he wants to be, his eyes close, and when that hand leaves him, settles low on his back, he looks down at her, at the sweet, sultry look she's giving him, and he smiles.
Slow, got to go slow; Dean wants to savour this part. He rests a hand against her cheek, thumb stroking once lightly along the line of her cheekbone, and with infinite slowness he sinks into her, a low sound, half moan and half sigh slipping from his lips at the feel of her. One moment still, one moment to linger on the amazing tight heat of her, and then he's moving, hips rocking back only to press forward again, to bury himself inside her. There's no hurry yet, only the urgency of desire instead of the drunken frenzy of the first time last night; they have time, a whole morning of time, and he'd take every last minute of it.
Reply
Darcy raises her knees to rest tight against his sides and rolls her hips to match the slow undulating rhythm gasping as the new angle angle makes all the difference.
Her teeth scrape across his thumb and almost immediately her bright pink lips wrap around the digit, tongue wet and warm as she soothes it against the red mark she left behind.
Reply
His mouth moves to her neck, trailing kisses all along the side of it, from under her ear to her collar bone and back again.
Reply
A slight laugh escapes her when he hits the ticklish spot just below her ear and the combination of that slow building burn in her belly and the mixture of laughter makes it all so much better.
Reply
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