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.
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.
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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."
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"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.
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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.
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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.”
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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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