two drabbles
title: process story
pairing: andy/toby
rating: en.sea.xvii
a/n: t'virate
“Oh god, right now, Toby,” she pleads, and her voice is muffled under the sounds from her victory party in the next room. His eyes have adjusted to the room’s covert darkness enough to see her throw her head back, her hair a wildfire behind her. He attacks her neck, pushing aside the turtleneck, biting where he feels her heartbeat, and drives into her, his hand clutching the leg hitched around his hip. He pictures her planning this - as they were getting dressed that morning, as she arrived at the Hyatt - and he loves her mind just a little more.
title: memories
pairing: andy/toby
rating: en.sea.xvii
a/n: the blindfold in commencement.
“Is this the scarf that--” she starts, but is cut off. She turns blindly toward his voice.
“Yes,” he replies simply, and she blushes.
The green of the scarf was bright against her pale skin, and his touch was gentle as he fastened the silk around her wrists. She’d begged, in the direct, quiet way that made him want to give her the world.
She can still feel the slip of the fabric and his fingers pinning her tied wrists to the bed, and he can hear her moans, throatier than ever. The memories ricochet around them; there’s no escape.
pairing: andy/toby
rating: en.sea.xvii
a/n: t'virate
“Oh god, right now, Toby,” she pleads, and her voice is muffled under the sounds from her victory party in the next room. His eyes have adjusted to the room’s covert darkness enough to see her throw her head back, her hair a wildfire behind her. He attacks her neck, pushing aside the turtleneck, biting where he feels her heartbeat, and drives into her, his hand clutching the leg hitched around his hip. He pictures her planning this - as they were getting dressed that morning, as she arrived at the Hyatt - and he loves her mind just a little more.
title: memories
pairing: andy/toby
rating: en.sea.xvii
a/n: the blindfold in commencement.
“Is this the scarf that--” she starts, but is cut off. She turns blindly toward his voice.
“Yes,” he replies simply, and she blushes.
The green of the scarf was bright against her pale skin, and his touch was gentle as he fastened the silk around her wrists. She’d begged, in the direct, quiet way that made him want to give her the world.
She can still feel the slip of the fabric and his fingers pinning her tied wrists to the bed, and he can hear her moans, throatier than ever. The memories ricochet around them; there’s no escape.