(no subject)
You slip your hand up under his shirt and across his skin, surprised at how warm he feels. Wilson doesn't seem to mind, so you start to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. You look up to catch his expression, but his head is tilted to watch your hands.
You work from his neck down, exposing a sliver of skin that triangles more the further down you go, until you run out of buttons and you are pulling the shirt off his shoulders and rubbing your good thigh against his groin and swallowing his moans.
Wanting to feel his skin against yours, you tug your own shirt off. Wilson watches you with a look of cautious hunger. You splay your hands against his chest, staring at the stark color contrast. Wilson really needs to get out in the sun more, you think.
You rub him again through his pants, this time with your hand, and you see his white-knuckled grip on the couch. His hips twitch toward you and he closes his eyes, teeth biting his lip. You pull him close and kiss him, sucking on the spot where his teeth have left little grooves in the skin, soothing the spot with your tongue.
Your hand seems to be acting on sort of instinct as it undoes Wilson's pants and plunges inside. The heat is incredible as you wrap your long fingers around him. You can feel the pulse, hear Wilson's ragged breathing in your ear where he rests his head against your shoulder. You use your other hand to lower his pants enough so you can free his cock and stroke it from base to tip.
Wilson shudders, then whispers something that sounds like your name. You cut him off by stroking him again, and again. Harder, faster. You try to kiss him, but he is too far out of it to respond.
With a strangled sob, Wilson comes across your shirt, then collapses. You can feel his chest rise and fall as he tries to get his breath back.
"Is this where you run away and we act awkward around each other for the rest of our lives?" you ask.
Wilson gives a breathy chuckle against your neck, then slowly pulls back. He tugs his pants back up, not bothering to do them up again, and you move your legs so he can sit.
"You aren't going to, right?" You really do want conformation on this one.
Wilson scoots up next to you and brushes his lips against yours. You feel a hand at your crotch, hesitant, yet determined. "What do you think?"
The End
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