Fic: Priceless (Ted/Mary)
Title: Priceless (1/1)
Author: roland44 - I take sole responsibility for this sad excuse of a RP smex fic. Please don't flame
da_phoenix13
Summary: What happened after Ted and Mary the Paralegal left MacLaren's on Puzzles night.
Fandom: HIMYMFBRP
Characters/Pairings: Ted/Mary
Word Count: 2,720 (woah!)
Rating/Warnings/Spoilers: NC17 for smexxy smuff/ Don't own anything/ Spoilers for RP haha!
AN: Am a bit sleepy (It's 5am) so please excuse any typos/evidence of brain damage. Sorry for going overboard with the descriptions, just roll with the blow-by-blow (heh) account of things. Sorry if it doesn't have enough smut. This is Ted/Mary and we're censoring the story for Luke and Leia a bit. Maybe.
It takes twenty-three minutes to get from MacLaren’s to Barney Mary’s apartment. And a lot can happen in those twenty-three minutes.
The night is chilly, and she’s wearing nothing but a short orange cocktail dress under her coat and killer heels without stockings. But Ted’s smile is warm, his thigh is pressing comfortably against hers and his arm is slung over the seat back, his fingers sending tingles down her arm whenever they graze against her shoulder.
He’s telling her about the time Barney and he met Heidi Klum, and he can’t help but think how much hotter than those supermodels Mary is when she chuckles uncontrollably at the thought of Barney having the Yips.
It throws her off a little that he’s so genuinely charming, that there’s nothing he’s said in the past few minutes that hasn’t made her laugh, that he’s just on the same wavelength as her about so many things. She had forgotten him, after all those years, and tonight, she muses, can only be inexplicably described as meeting an old friend for the very first time.
A friend who smells so intoxicating and masculine that all she wants to do is bury her face in his neck and breathe in his scent, taste his sun-browned olive skin, press her body against his chest and envelop herself in his warmth and -
He notices her staring at his neck and for a minute he’s tongue-tied again.
“Parrots!” he bursts out unexpectedly. Parrots? What the hell?
“Barney saw parrots when he was high in California…you ever been that high? Funny story, first day of college, Marshall was so high, he thought I was the Dean!”
And then she’s laughing again, leaning against him as her sun-kissed hair bounces lightly against his shoulder. Her hand is resting lightly on his knee again, like earlier at the bar, but this time he simply covers it with his own, gently sweeping his thumb across her wrist as she smiles and tells him about the wild frat parties at Berkeley.
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He’s speaking to her in French as they walk into the building, and she thinks the language sounds even better when he’s whispering it into her ear in low, dulcet tones, his warm breath light and teasing against her cheek. She smiles at the doorman who winks back at her discretely, gazing after the pair, taking note of how Ted’s hand is resting low against the small of her back. She giggles, fumbling a little as she repeats the words that he enunciates slowly for her as they ride the elevator up to the 16th floor. This time there’s no awkward banter, no uneasy reticence or hesitation about whether or not to go ahead, unlock the door and step inside.
His eyes immediately rest on the large bookcase that dominates a whole wall in her elegantly decorated apartment. It’s neatly filled with books and exquisite curios from her travels, and framed photographs and CDs litter the mid-level shelves. She’s mixing their martinis, watching from the open kitchen as he reaches up to pull a book down from the highest shelf. His shirt rides up, exposing his hip bone, and a faint scar between the dimples on his lower back, and she can’t help but let her eyes linger on his skin, wondering what it would feel like under her fingertips.
He’s impressed - Kafka, Homer and Marlowe side-by-side with Asimov, Gaiman and Neruda. He thumbs through her music collection, picking out his favourite Rachel Yamagata record and popping it into the player before going over to help her with the drinks.
They’re settled comfortably on the couch, half-way through their second drink each when he playfully picks out the olive from her glass, smiling and not breaking eye contact as he listens to her talk about the beaches in Greece. She’s pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol and music and leans in towards his hand coyly, gently pulling the olive off the skewer with her teeth.
He loves the way her eyes crinkle as she smiles playfully, slowly chewing the olive and leaning in closer till he can see the flecks of gold in her blue eyes and the light freckles scattered across her cheekbones and nose.
He’s so close now, his arm which not a minute ago was at his side is now draped over her shoulder, his hand lingering against her hip. She crosses one leg over the other, lifting her hip and letting his hand slip under her ass, the low burn in her core intensifying as his fingers meet skin, every sensation a thousand times magnified as his lips tentatively brush her cheekbone.
She smells of patchouli and vanilla and he closes his eyes, breathing her in, suddenly aware of his heart beating crazily in his chest, not really able to really wrap his head around the fact that this is happening so easily. He slides his other arm around her, trailing his fingers lightly along her back as she tilts her face upwards, and he captures her lips in a light, long-drawn kiss.
There’s a yearning in the pit of her belly and she acts on it, circling her arms around his neck and swinging her leg across his lap, her knees sinking into the cushions as she lifts her body over his, the kiss deepening, their lips slowly parting, his hands are all over her body, her back, her neck, her thighs, slipping under her the short skirt of her dress as her fingers drag across his jawbone and she lets her tongue slip into his mouth, moaning deep in the back of her throat, causing him to kiss her deeper, harder, breaking only to tilt his head and kiss the corner of her mouth.
She’s so lost in the give-and-take of it all that she barely notices when he gathers her firmly in his arms and maneuvers her back against the cushions, and he’s suddenly on top of her, his weight pressing down on her, every inch of his body flush against hers and his teeth grazing her neck and she moans and writhes under him, burying her fingers in his ruffled dark hair.
He wishes he could slip her dress off her completely, he’s picturing her in nothing but a skimpy string bikini, lying with him on a beach in Aruba, and realizes he’s had her somewhere in the back of his mind all this time. He pauses, looking up into her lust-filled, heavy-lidded blue eyes (the color of the ocean on a clear morning) and asks huskily, “You really think we should - ?”
“Hell, yes,” she growls, pushing him off her, scrambling to get his shirt unbuttoned, kissing him hard as she pulls it from his shoulders and unzips herself out of her dress.
Ted steps back, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of Mary keeling on the couch in nothing but her black bra and panties, hands on her hips, her lips swollen from his kisses, her cheeks flushed and chest heaving as she catches her breath.
“Wow…”
She grins, cocking an eyebrow cheekily at him, fighting with the clasp of her shoes before she kicks them off. With a few sweeping strides she closes the gap between them. Her eyes are locked on his as she tugs at the bottom of his undershirt, and he raises his arms as she pulls it over his head, flinging it carelessly on the growing pile of clothing on the couch.
At last, her fingers are sliding down his tanned chest, sweeping around to the tiny dimples in his back, over the scar, sliding down to lightly squeeze his ass through his jeans, sending a jolt through him as she simultaneously presses herself against his torso, her lips finding the sensitive patch of skin near his Adam's apple, and it's taking every fibre of resolve in him to keep his legs from giving way under him.
She thinks she can seriously get used to getting off from groping Ted Mosby unexpectedly at class dance. The look on his face is priceless.
Without another word, she begins to step backwards towards the bedroom, hooking her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, gently tugging him along....
Author: roland44 - I take sole responsibility for this sad excuse of a RP smex fic. Please don't flame
da_phoenix13
Summary: What happened after Ted and Mary the Paralegal left MacLaren's on Puzzles night.
Fandom: HIMYMFBRP
Characters/Pairings: Ted/Mary
Word Count: 2,720 (woah!)
Rating/Warnings/Spoilers: NC17 for smexxy smuff/ Don't own anything/ Spoilers for RP haha!
AN: Am a bit sleepy (It's 5am) so please excuse any typos/evidence of brain damage. Sorry for going overboard with the descriptions, just roll with the blow-by-blow (heh) account of things. Sorry if it doesn't have enough smut. This is Ted/Mary and we're censoring the story for Luke and Leia a bit. Maybe.
It takes twenty-three minutes to get from MacLaren’s to Barney Mary’s apartment. And a lot can happen in those twenty-three minutes.
The night is chilly, and she’s wearing nothing but a short orange cocktail dress under her coat and killer heels without stockings. But Ted’s smile is warm, his thigh is pressing comfortably against hers and his arm is slung over the seat back, his fingers sending tingles down her arm whenever they graze against her shoulder.
He’s telling her about the time Barney and he met Heidi Klum, and he can’t help but think how much hotter than those supermodels Mary is when she chuckles uncontrollably at the thought of Barney having the Yips.
It throws her off a little that he’s so genuinely charming, that there’s nothing he’s said in the past few minutes that hasn’t made her laugh, that he’s just on the same wavelength as her about so many things. She had forgotten him, after all those years, and tonight, she muses, can only be inexplicably described as meeting an old friend for the very first time.
A friend who smells so intoxicating and masculine that all she wants to do is bury her face in his neck and breathe in his scent, taste his sun-browned olive skin, press her body against his chest and envelop herself in his warmth and -
He notices her staring at his neck and for a minute he’s tongue-tied again.
“Parrots!” he bursts out unexpectedly. Parrots? What the hell?
“Barney saw parrots when he was high in California…you ever been that high? Funny story, first day of college, Marshall was so high, he thought I was the Dean!”
And then she’s laughing again, leaning against him as her sun-kissed hair bounces lightly against his shoulder. Her hand is resting lightly on his knee again, like earlier at the bar, but this time he simply covers it with his own, gently sweeping his thumb across her wrist as she smiles and tells him about the wild frat parties at Berkeley.
---------------------------------------
He’s speaking to her in French as they walk into the building, and she thinks the language sounds even better when he’s whispering it into her ear in low, dulcet tones, his warm breath light and teasing against her cheek. She smiles at the doorman who winks back at her discretely, gazing after the pair, taking note of how Ted’s hand is resting low against the small of her back. She giggles, fumbling a little as she repeats the words that he enunciates slowly for her as they ride the elevator up to the 16th floor. This time there’s no awkward banter, no uneasy reticence or hesitation about whether or not to go ahead, unlock the door and step inside.
His eyes immediately rest on the large bookcase that dominates a whole wall in her elegantly decorated apartment. It’s neatly filled with books and exquisite curios from her travels, and framed photographs and CDs litter the mid-level shelves. She’s mixing their martinis, watching from the open kitchen as he reaches up to pull a book down from the highest shelf. His shirt rides up, exposing his hip bone, and a faint scar between the dimples on his lower back, and she can’t help but let her eyes linger on his skin, wondering what it would feel like under her fingertips.
He’s impressed - Kafka, Homer and Marlowe side-by-side with Asimov, Gaiman and Neruda. He thumbs through her music collection, picking out his favourite Rachel Yamagata record and popping it into the player before going over to help her with the drinks.
They’re settled comfortably on the couch, half-way through their second drink each when he playfully picks out the olive from her glass, smiling and not breaking eye contact as he listens to her talk about the beaches in Greece. She’s pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol and music and leans in towards his hand coyly, gently pulling the olive off the skewer with her teeth.
He loves the way her eyes crinkle as she smiles playfully, slowly chewing the olive and leaning in closer till he can see the flecks of gold in her blue eyes and the light freckles scattered across her cheekbones and nose.
He’s so close now, his arm which not a minute ago was at his side is now draped over her shoulder, his hand lingering against her hip. She crosses one leg over the other, lifting her hip and letting his hand slip under her ass, the low burn in her core intensifying as his fingers meet skin, every sensation a thousand times magnified as his lips tentatively brush her cheekbone.
She smells of patchouli and vanilla and he closes his eyes, breathing her in, suddenly aware of his heart beating crazily in his chest, not really able to really wrap his head around the fact that this is happening so easily. He slides his other arm around her, trailing his fingers lightly along her back as she tilts her face upwards, and he captures her lips in a light, long-drawn kiss.
There’s a yearning in the pit of her belly and she acts on it, circling her arms around his neck and swinging her leg across his lap, her knees sinking into the cushions as she lifts her body over his, the kiss deepening, their lips slowly parting, his hands are all over her body, her back, her neck, her thighs, slipping under her the short skirt of her dress as her fingers drag across his jawbone and she lets her tongue slip into his mouth, moaning deep in the back of her throat, causing him to kiss her deeper, harder, breaking only to tilt his head and kiss the corner of her mouth.
She’s so lost in the give-and-take of it all that she barely notices when he gathers her firmly in his arms and maneuvers her back against the cushions, and he’s suddenly on top of her, his weight pressing down on her, every inch of his body flush against hers and his teeth grazing her neck and she moans and writhes under him, burying her fingers in his ruffled dark hair.
He wishes he could slip her dress off her completely, he’s picturing her in nothing but a skimpy string bikini, lying with him on a beach in Aruba, and realizes he’s had her somewhere in the back of his mind all this time. He pauses, looking up into her lust-filled, heavy-lidded blue eyes (the color of the ocean on a clear morning) and asks huskily, “You really think we should - ?”
“Hell, yes,” she growls, pushing him off her, scrambling to get his shirt unbuttoned, kissing him hard as she pulls it from his shoulders and unzips herself out of her dress.
Ted steps back, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of Mary keeling on the couch in nothing but her black bra and panties, hands on her hips, her lips swollen from his kisses, her cheeks flushed and chest heaving as she catches her breath.
“Wow…”
She grins, cocking an eyebrow cheekily at him, fighting with the clasp of her shoes before she kicks them off. With a few sweeping strides she closes the gap between them. Her eyes are locked on his as she tugs at the bottom of his undershirt, and he raises his arms as she pulls it over his head, flinging it carelessly on the growing pile of clothing on the couch.
At last, her fingers are sliding down his tanned chest, sweeping around to the tiny dimples in his back, over the scar, sliding down to lightly squeeze his ass through his jeans, sending a jolt through him as she simultaneously presses herself against his torso, her lips finding the sensitive patch of skin near his Adam's apple, and it's taking every fibre of resolve in him to keep his legs from giving way under him.
She thinks she can seriously get used to getting off from groping Ted Mosby unexpectedly at class dance. The look on his face is priceless.
Without another word, she begins to step backwards towards the bedroom, hooking her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, gently tugging him along....