Forty-Love (Jack/Liz, tennis)
Title: Forty-Love
For: ham_napkin
Prompt: Jack/Liz, tennis
and
Challenge: lover100
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Genre: het
Table: C
Prompt: #78, Hot
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1000
Summary: Tennis can be exhausting. For many reasons.
Feedback/comments always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Don't sue.
“Match point, sucker!” Liz shouts, her voice twisting into a maniacal laugh.
Jack takes a deep breath, wipes his sweaty forehead on his shirt sleeve. He bounces the ball once, twice. Takes another deep breath, bounces the ball several more times.
“Would you serve already? Come on, dork!”
He peers across the net at his formidable opponent, a surprisingly superior opponent.
Every remaining ounce of energy goes into his serve, but it’s hardly enough. Liz easily returns the ball, a perfectly placed backhand right into the corner, as far out of his reach as possible.
This is what he feared. Not losing to her, but having to endure her raucous celebration.
She runs around the court like she just won the US Open; cackling, taunting, throwing her racket towards the heavens. That cute little ponytail bops up and down with her gyrations, accompanied by the biggest smile he’s ever seen on her face.
“Okay, okay, okay, Lemon. Good game.” He crosses to the court bench, very much in need of a rest.
Liz bounces along side him stride for stride, plops down next to him on the bench, still hooting and hollering. She grabs his hand off his knee, slaps it to hers for a high-five.
He smiles affectionately at her unending elation. A few more shouts of joy and she mercifully stops.
“Okay, I’m done. I swear.”
As he leans in for a quick kiss; “Well played, Lemon. I never thought you’d be that good.”
“I know you didn’t,” she giggles. “That’s why I’m so freakin’ happy I beat your ass.”
****
She continues smiling from ear to ear on the ride home, hums joyfully to herself while looking out the window. Finally, he’s had enough and grabs her, pulls her into his lap.
“Stop gloating, Lemon. It’s unbecoming for a woman your age.”
She slaps his chest, harder than she probably meant to. “My age? Look who’s talking, old man!”
He clutches her abusive hand, draws her closer, forcing his lips right next to hers, hovering menacingly above. “Now you admit your opponent is old? That speaks highly of your coveted victory,” he mocks.
“Shut up,” she snaps in the split second before their mouths crash together.
She’s quickly repositioned so she’s straddling his lap. Her tight workout pants slide effortlessly against his mesh shorts, and she kisses him hungrily, almost angrily.
“I beat you fair and square. Admit it, I’m a good tennis player,” she mutters into his mouth, between his warm, parted lips.
"It was only one game, Lemon. You're no Chris Evert." His tongue traces her lower, pouting lip as he holds her gaze. The exercise-induced adrenaline rush still courses through his veins, and now mixes with strains of even more heart-pounding sexual arousal. Her hand, high on his thigh, moves between his legs, rubs over the moist fabric and his erection hardening beneath it.
He grunts her name, plants his hands on her ass and kisses her like his life depended on it. Mostly to end her cocky assertions, but also because he wants her so bad he can taste it. She keeps one hand on his crotch, the other slides through his slick, sweaty locks as their lips do battle. Back and forth, back and forth, like the tennis ball on the court, their tongues move in and out of each others’ mouths. His hands slip into her pants, under her panties so he can caress the savory flesh skin on skin.
She makes no qualms about stopping, and he certainly has no intention of doing so. At the next stop light, he hits the intercom, asks the drive to take the long way home through the Park. It's then she speaks up, her insecurities getting the best of her.
“Jack, I’m - I’m all sweaty and stinky. Let me take a shower first.”
He sucks on her neck, inhaling deeply. “You don’t stink, Lemon. Do I stink?”
She muffles a laugh, pushes her hand under his shirt, sliding it through his thick, damp chest hair. “Just a little. But it’s kind of sexy, actually.”
He chuckles quietly next to her ear, pulls her shirt up and off, rolls her sports bra up to expose her flushed chest. She moans as he mouths her breasts, sucks on her nipples, the ache building and building separately inside each of them. Touching, kissing, licking each other freely, everywhere, the ache gets stronger and stronger. Until he can’t hold back any longer.
Only half undressed himself, he's unable to wait a second longer. He yanks off her pants and underwear and throws them to the floor, grabs her around the hips and puts her right on top of his hard, throbbing cock. Slick and wet with sweat and arousal, she completely engulfs his erection, taking every inch of him inside her immediately. She cries out lustfully, and it’s all the more motivation for him to hold her as tight as he can and thrust. He pushes his hips up off the leather seat, thrusting with an immense, new found vitality. No longer exhausted or disappointed, his only concern is trying to make the intense passion last.
Liz grinds against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, his large hands kneading her full ass. She’s trying to be quiet, trying to muffle her moans against his neck so the driver doesn’t hear them, even though every driver he’s ever had knows full well what “take the long way home” means. It doesn’t matter, he can still her hear, can still feel the vibrations against his skin. He thrusts faster and faster, Liz moans louder and louder until she’s gasping with a shrill into his chest.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” he groans with her, her muscles clenching around him with such intensity it triggers his own climax. She slightly shakes in his arms, her body still moving both inside and out. Wave after wave of contractions travel up and down his gushing cock.
Finally motionless except for their gasping lungs, they’re entangled together in a sweaty mess, fighting to breathe.
The first audible words out of her mouth half-surprise, half-excite him. “Hey Jack, you wanna play tennis again tomorrow?”
“Anytime, Billie Jean.”
END
For: ham_napkin
Prompt: Jack/Liz, tennis
and
Challenge: lover100
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Genre: het
Table: C
Prompt: #78, Hot
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1000
Summary: Tennis can be exhausting. For many reasons.
Feedback/comments always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Don't sue.
“Match point, sucker!” Liz shouts, her voice twisting into a maniacal laugh.
Jack takes a deep breath, wipes his sweaty forehead on his shirt sleeve. He bounces the ball once, twice. Takes another deep breath, bounces the ball several more times.
“Would you serve already? Come on, dork!”
He peers across the net at his formidable opponent, a surprisingly superior opponent.
Every remaining ounce of energy goes into his serve, but it’s hardly enough. Liz easily returns the ball, a perfectly placed backhand right into the corner, as far out of his reach as possible.
This is what he feared. Not losing to her, but having to endure her raucous celebration.
She runs around the court like she just won the US Open; cackling, taunting, throwing her racket towards the heavens. That cute little ponytail bops up and down with her gyrations, accompanied by the biggest smile he’s ever seen on her face.
“Okay, okay, okay, Lemon. Good game.” He crosses to the court bench, very much in need of a rest.
Liz bounces along side him stride for stride, plops down next to him on the bench, still hooting and hollering. She grabs his hand off his knee, slaps it to hers for a high-five.
He smiles affectionately at her unending elation. A few more shouts of joy and she mercifully stops.
“Okay, I’m done. I swear.”
As he leans in for a quick kiss; “Well played, Lemon. I never thought you’d be that good.”
“I know you didn’t,” she giggles. “That’s why I’m so freakin’ happy I beat your ass.”
****
She continues smiling from ear to ear on the ride home, hums joyfully to herself while looking out the window. Finally, he’s had enough and grabs her, pulls her into his lap.
“Stop gloating, Lemon. It’s unbecoming for a woman your age.”
She slaps his chest, harder than she probably meant to. “My age? Look who’s talking, old man!”
He clutches her abusive hand, draws her closer, forcing his lips right next to hers, hovering menacingly above. “Now you admit your opponent is old? That speaks highly of your coveted victory,” he mocks.
“Shut up,” she snaps in the split second before their mouths crash together.
She’s quickly repositioned so she’s straddling his lap. Her tight workout pants slide effortlessly against his mesh shorts, and she kisses him hungrily, almost angrily.
“I beat you fair and square. Admit it, I’m a good tennis player,” she mutters into his mouth, between his warm, parted lips.
"It was only one game, Lemon. You're no Chris Evert." His tongue traces her lower, pouting lip as he holds her gaze. The exercise-induced adrenaline rush still courses through his veins, and now mixes with strains of even more heart-pounding sexual arousal. Her hand, high on his thigh, moves between his legs, rubs over the moist fabric and his erection hardening beneath it.
He grunts her name, plants his hands on her ass and kisses her like his life depended on it. Mostly to end her cocky assertions, but also because he wants her so bad he can taste it. She keeps one hand on his crotch, the other slides through his slick, sweaty locks as their lips do battle. Back and forth, back and forth, like the tennis ball on the court, their tongues move in and out of each others’ mouths. His hands slip into her pants, under her panties so he can caress the savory flesh skin on skin.
She makes no qualms about stopping, and he certainly has no intention of doing so. At the next stop light, he hits the intercom, asks the drive to take the long way home through the Park. It's then she speaks up, her insecurities getting the best of her.
“Jack, I’m - I’m all sweaty and stinky. Let me take a shower first.”
He sucks on her neck, inhaling deeply. “You don’t stink, Lemon. Do I stink?”
She muffles a laugh, pushes her hand under his shirt, sliding it through his thick, damp chest hair. “Just a little. But it’s kind of sexy, actually.”
He chuckles quietly next to her ear, pulls her shirt up and off, rolls her sports bra up to expose her flushed chest. She moans as he mouths her breasts, sucks on her nipples, the ache building and building separately inside each of them. Touching, kissing, licking each other freely, everywhere, the ache gets stronger and stronger. Until he can’t hold back any longer.
Only half undressed himself, he's unable to wait a second longer. He yanks off her pants and underwear and throws them to the floor, grabs her around the hips and puts her right on top of his hard, throbbing cock. Slick and wet with sweat and arousal, she completely engulfs his erection, taking every inch of him inside her immediately. She cries out lustfully, and it’s all the more motivation for him to hold her as tight as he can and thrust. He pushes his hips up off the leather seat, thrusting with an immense, new found vitality. No longer exhausted or disappointed, his only concern is trying to make the intense passion last.
Liz grinds against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, his large hands kneading her full ass. She’s trying to be quiet, trying to muffle her moans against his neck so the driver doesn’t hear them, even though every driver he’s ever had knows full well what “take the long way home” means. It doesn’t matter, he can still her hear, can still feel the vibrations against his skin. He thrusts faster and faster, Liz moans louder and louder until she’s gasping with a shrill into his chest.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” he groans with her, her muscles clenching around him with such intensity it triggers his own climax. She slightly shakes in his arms, her body still moving both inside and out. Wave after wave of contractions travel up and down his gushing cock.
Finally motionless except for their gasping lungs, they’re entangled together in a sweaty mess, fighting to breathe.
The first audible words out of her mouth half-surprise, half-excite him. “Hey Jack, you wanna play tennis again tomorrow?”
“Anytime, Billie Jean.”
END