Fic: The Air I Breathe (Karl/OFC?)
Title: The Air I Breathe
Rating: R-ish,
Length: Ficlet
Disclaimer: All fiction, all the time.
Summary: For a prompt by sleepygoof8784 over at stxi_sinfest (Getting Away From It All, v.8), title from The Hollies song
“Life is not a movie, Heinz,” she laughs over the salt-cool breeze coming in through the half-open window, fluttering the delicate curtains.
“And I suppose you’re going to enlighten me,” he laughs with her, his hands on her hips, pulling her down to meet his upward thrust.
“It’s this,” she sighs, flinging her arms wide to encompass the room, the moment, the sleepy beachfront outside, and them. With her head thrown back and the curves of her body stretched out above him like a painting, he is content to watch for a while as she rides. She sets an easy pace, drawing it out, drawing him out, drawing him away from - finally - from work and L.A. and the temporary madness of it all. She grinds a little harder, their skins slick and more inseparable with every second, until she collapses into him, smiling all the way.
“Ah, don’t get too comfortable,” he warns, his hands on her ass keeping her tight to him. It’s only the first of many pleasures. It’s been too long, he’s been away too long, but everything is in its place now.
“And why not? I’m never more comfortable than just like this.” Her breath is cool against his neck, and she is warm, she is heat, everywhere else.
He pulls her into a kiss, open-mouthed and hungry, until she is biting at his lower lip and her hips are moving again. He switches their positions across the bed, thrusts into her hard as her legs wrap around his waist.
She gasps and moans - all the little sounds he’s missed, the hitch and catch of her breath - his name across her tongue the way no one else says it, pure and wicked and sure of mutual ownership.
It’s long and slow and sweaty, nothing lazy about it all, the sheer pleasure in the effort of loving her, of being loved in return.
He groans her name in release, unwound and untethered.
Sunset through the window sets flames around her contours, she who is everything he needs. “This vacation was a good idea, love,” he whispers as he pulls the sheets up around them and they find their fit again.
“I know.” She kisses the heart tattoo and they sleep.
Rating: R-ish,
Length: Ficlet
Disclaimer: All fiction, all the time.
Summary: For a prompt by sleepygoof8784 over at stxi_sinfest (Getting Away From It All, v.8), title from The Hollies song
“Life is not a movie, Heinz,” she laughs over the salt-cool breeze coming in through the half-open window, fluttering the delicate curtains.
“And I suppose you’re going to enlighten me,” he laughs with her, his hands on her hips, pulling her down to meet his upward thrust.
“It’s this,” she sighs, flinging her arms wide to encompass the room, the moment, the sleepy beachfront outside, and them. With her head thrown back and the curves of her body stretched out above him like a painting, he is content to watch for a while as she rides. She sets an easy pace, drawing it out, drawing him out, drawing him away from - finally - from work and L.A. and the temporary madness of it all. She grinds a little harder, their skins slick and more inseparable with every second, until she collapses into him, smiling all the way.
“Ah, don’t get too comfortable,” he warns, his hands on her ass keeping her tight to him. It’s only the first of many pleasures. It’s been too long, he’s been away too long, but everything is in its place now.
“And why not? I’m never more comfortable than just like this.” Her breath is cool against his neck, and she is warm, she is heat, everywhere else.
He pulls her into a kiss, open-mouthed and hungry, until she is biting at his lower lip and her hips are moving again. He switches their positions across the bed, thrusts into her hard as her legs wrap around his waist.
She gasps and moans - all the little sounds he’s missed, the hitch and catch of her breath - his name across her tongue the way no one else says it, pure and wicked and sure of mutual ownership.
It’s long and slow and sweaty, nothing lazy about it all, the sheer pleasure in the effort of loving her, of being loved in return.
He groans her name in release, unwound and untethered.
Sunset through the window sets flames around her contours, she who is everything he needs. “This vacation was a good idea, love,” he whispers as he pulls the sheets up around them and they find their fit again.
“I know.” She kisses the heart tattoo and they sleep.