Ficlet: Those Quiet Moments
For the numerous birthday girls I have neglected lately, most recently deborahmm, sexymermaid and kaysm95, and for sweptawaybayou because she was aching for porn. Under 500 words.
Those Quiet Moments
There is hardly a sound. Fingers slide lightly over a bare hip, eyes rest on the slope of a neck briefly before returning to their primal target . Even the breath we share is quiet, ghosted out between parted lips. Each blink of an eye brings the world momentarily out of focus before it returns with even more clarity. Dark brown, clear blue; each holding a tiny reflected image of the other. I smile softly for the simple reason that I know it will be answered and with it comes... Yes, there they are, those fine lines crinkling around the eyes, that glitter of laughter I love so much.
"What?"
I shake my head, still smiling. "Nothing."
Laughter vibrates the mattress and I feel blood slowly filling my cock at the sound, twitching when a slim finger runs along it, teasing.
"That doesn't feel like nothing to me."
"That is always something to you. For you."
A frown. I love those just as much. Wrinkles on the bridge of his nose, between the dark eyebrows. Just briefly and then the smile is back with a small shake of his head, a twist of his lips that shows amusement rather than anything else.
"Your grammar is going south, you know. Your grasp of the English language in general."
Funny how easy he can make me laugh. Even his insults make me smile.
"Is that so?"
I roll us over and he lies beneath me, eyes twinkling. Like a cat watching toes curl under a blanket, ready to pounce any minute. His insolence is oddly arousing. I catch those wicked lips in a kiss, swallow whatever retort he had lingering at the tip of his tongue. He closes his eyes briefly before opening them again. I don't even blink. I watch his pupils widen until there is only a rind of blue left, and blood rushes to his cheeks as he starts panting softly into my mouth. When our lips part centuries later his cock has left a trail of stickiness up my belly, rising until it lines up with mine. They rub and slide against each other in an intimate dance, perfect partners whatever might be said of their owners.
His lips are bruised and puffy, his tongue pink when it slips out and runs along the edges. “Your grasp of the English tongue is however excellent.”
Wicked, wicked smile. God, I love him.
“God, I love you.”
It's out before I realise it. Not the first time I say those words but the accidental slip always shocks him, almost as much as me. His smile falters for a second but when it returns it's all the more brilliant.
There is hardly a sound. Just the whisper of his answer when he kisses me.
Those Quiet Moments
There is hardly a sound. Fingers slide lightly over a bare hip, eyes rest on the slope of a neck briefly before returning to their primal target . Even the breath we share is quiet, ghosted out between parted lips. Each blink of an eye brings the world momentarily out of focus before it returns with even more clarity. Dark brown, clear blue; each holding a tiny reflected image of the other. I smile softly for the simple reason that I know it will be answered and with it comes... Yes, there they are, those fine lines crinkling around the eyes, that glitter of laughter I love so much.
"What?"
I shake my head, still smiling. "Nothing."
Laughter vibrates the mattress and I feel blood slowly filling my cock at the sound, twitching when a slim finger runs along it, teasing.
"That doesn't feel like nothing to me."
"That is always something to you. For you."
A frown. I love those just as much. Wrinkles on the bridge of his nose, between the dark eyebrows. Just briefly and then the smile is back with a small shake of his head, a twist of his lips that shows amusement rather than anything else.
"Your grammar is going south, you know. Your grasp of the English language in general."
Funny how easy he can make me laugh. Even his insults make me smile.
"Is that so?"
I roll us over and he lies beneath me, eyes twinkling. Like a cat watching toes curl under a blanket, ready to pounce any minute. His insolence is oddly arousing. I catch those wicked lips in a kiss, swallow whatever retort he had lingering at the tip of his tongue. He closes his eyes briefly before opening them again. I don't even blink. I watch his pupils widen until there is only a rind of blue left, and blood rushes to his cheeks as he starts panting softly into my mouth. When our lips part centuries later his cock has left a trail of stickiness up my belly, rising until it lines up with mine. They rub and slide against each other in an intimate dance, perfect partners whatever might be said of their owners.
His lips are bruised and puffy, his tongue pink when it slips out and runs along the edges. “Your grasp of the English tongue is however excellent.”
Wicked, wicked smile. God, I love him.
“God, I love you.”
It's out before I realise it. Not the first time I say those words but the accidental slip always shocks him, almost as much as me. His smile falters for a second but when it returns it's all the more brilliant.
There is hardly a sound. Just the whisper of his answer when he kisses me.