fic: green is understanding.
title: green is understanding.
author: inflowers
rating: nc-17
summary: And you missed him too, but he deserves more than your words.
authors notes: sequel to green means yes. this is the most porn-y thing i've ever written, so it's a bit rusty. sorry! :)
You tumble into his hotel room, you're tugging his shirt out of his jeans and he's running a hand down your back. His hands feel like ice against your skin when he finally touches you, and you imagine this is what heaven is like.
He whimpers gently as you pull away, and you quickly note the lust written all over his face. It's beautiful and touching and so fucking hot that you can't even look directly at him.
"Reid." He whispers, pulling you closer towards him and unbuttoning your shirt, one agonising button at a time. You can't stand it, so you rip it all off and he laughs as the buttons flick around the room. "Eager, huh?" He asks, chuckling gently.
But you don't answer him, you push towards him and meet him in a kiss. A teeth gnashing, soul destroying kiss because you know now, as you probably knew then, that Luke has changed you. Maybe for the better, maybe Katie was right - but all you can think now is how stupid you must have been to leave him. And you want him to know, so you kiss him so hard your front teeth can feel his and you pour everything you've ever thought, ever known, ever wanted into his mouth.
You can tell he knows.
Shucking your shirt off, you reach towards him and pull his over his head, and run a hand down his bare chest. It's smooth and soft and just like you remembered, but older - and you think you can feel his heart through his skin. That feels different, as though it's been broken and put back together but the pieces don't quite match up the way they used to. Yours breaks at the thought that it was you, and you shrug the idea away before it has a chance to creep in and ruin the heat between you.
He unbuckles your belt and slips it out, unzipping your fly at the same time. Before you realise it, he's pulled your too tight jeans down and you're stepping out of them quickly, maybe embarrassingly too quickly. But if he notices, he doesn't say anything. He takes you in his hand and you don't even realise how hard you've gotten until his hand makes a fist and starts moving, and you're undone.
"Just." You start, but you stop. You have no words, there's nothing you can say. Nothing that will take away the pain you caused him, nothing that will make tonight have any more meaning than it already does. So you don't speak. You throw your head back and moan loudly, hoping that he knows it's all for him. All of it, all for him.
He's leaning his head on your shoulder as he moves his hand up and down, stroking you and chanting at you. "I missed you, I missed you." And you missed him too, but he deserves more than your words.
So you push him towards the bed, undoing his jeans and slowly, painstakingly stripping them off him. You kiss him again, like it's the last time you'll ever do anything and he kisses you back. You wonder why, how you could ever have left. How you could have ever turned your back on perfection, and why nothing has ever come close to unravelling you quite the way he does.
He's pressing lube into your hand and his eyes are begging you, fuck me, fuck me, just fuck me - and you want to, more than you've ever wanted anything. But there's that niggling feeling that you don't deserve him, you don't deserve to have everything because you left. As if he senses it, he grabs your hand and you hold his gaze, and his eyes tell you everything you need to know.
Its okay. I forgive you.
Pressing finger after finger into him, you open him gently and kiss his face as he winces. It's a good pain, he's always told you. But you can't see that now, you can just see the physical manifestation of every horrible thing you've done to him - and you're so fucking sorry it almost makes you cry. So instead of apologising, you pull your fingers out and push into him and he cries out in what you know is pain, pleasure and release.
He's so tight around you, and you know then that it's always been you. The only thing that can complete him, that can fill the spaces in his body both physically and emotionally. It's always been you, and he's wanting you and needing you and you can't do anything but give it all to him.
He's begging you to go harder, faster, deeper - but you want to be gentle with him. You'd never want to hurt him again, and you'd never want him to think you're taking him for granted. Not again, not after last time. So you're gentle and patient until he grabs hold of your arm and pulls you down so you're forehead to forehead. He locks his eyes into yours and pleads with you, just do it. So you do.
You come first, shuddering inside him. You try to blink away the light fluttering in front of your eyes, and focus on him - on all of him. He's close, you can tell. And part of you wants him to crash all over you, but you don't want it to end. Not this soon, not when you've just found him again.
You're stroking him and he's writhing, whispering your name and breathing heavily. You tell him that it's okay, that he can let go and let it all out. And he does. He collapses, spent and unable to hold his own body weight. You fall next to him, a hand reaching out and landing on his chest.
Only then do you realise he's crying, and you can't tell whether it's because he's happy or sad - and you realise it doesn't matter that much. Because you're there, and you're wrapping him up in your arms and rocking him as he weeps with years of release and pent up frustrations.
You don't know what to do or say, so you just stay in his dark hotel room, stuck together with sweat and sex, and you understand.
author: inflowers
rating: nc-17
summary: And you missed him too, but he deserves more than your words.
authors notes: sequel to green means yes. this is the most porn-y thing i've ever written, so it's a bit rusty. sorry! :)
You tumble into his hotel room, you're tugging his shirt out of his jeans and he's running a hand down your back. His hands feel like ice against your skin when he finally touches you, and you imagine this is what heaven is like.
He whimpers gently as you pull away, and you quickly note the lust written all over his face. It's beautiful and touching and so fucking hot that you can't even look directly at him.
"Reid." He whispers, pulling you closer towards him and unbuttoning your shirt, one agonising button at a time. You can't stand it, so you rip it all off and he laughs as the buttons flick around the room. "Eager, huh?" He asks, chuckling gently.
But you don't answer him, you push towards him and meet him in a kiss. A teeth gnashing, soul destroying kiss because you know now, as you probably knew then, that Luke has changed you. Maybe for the better, maybe Katie was right - but all you can think now is how stupid you must have been to leave him. And you want him to know, so you kiss him so hard your front teeth can feel his and you pour everything you've ever thought, ever known, ever wanted into his mouth.
You can tell he knows.
Shucking your shirt off, you reach towards him and pull his over his head, and run a hand down his bare chest. It's smooth and soft and just like you remembered, but older - and you think you can feel his heart through his skin. That feels different, as though it's been broken and put back together but the pieces don't quite match up the way they used to. Yours breaks at the thought that it was you, and you shrug the idea away before it has a chance to creep in and ruin the heat between you.
He unbuckles your belt and slips it out, unzipping your fly at the same time. Before you realise it, he's pulled your too tight jeans down and you're stepping out of them quickly, maybe embarrassingly too quickly. But if he notices, he doesn't say anything. He takes you in his hand and you don't even realise how hard you've gotten until his hand makes a fist and starts moving, and you're undone.
"Just." You start, but you stop. You have no words, there's nothing you can say. Nothing that will take away the pain you caused him, nothing that will make tonight have any more meaning than it already does. So you don't speak. You throw your head back and moan loudly, hoping that he knows it's all for him. All of it, all for him.
He's leaning his head on your shoulder as he moves his hand up and down, stroking you and chanting at you. "I missed you, I missed you." And you missed him too, but he deserves more than your words.
So you push him towards the bed, undoing his jeans and slowly, painstakingly stripping them off him. You kiss him again, like it's the last time you'll ever do anything and he kisses you back. You wonder why, how you could ever have left. How you could have ever turned your back on perfection, and why nothing has ever come close to unravelling you quite the way he does.
He's pressing lube into your hand and his eyes are begging you, fuck me, fuck me, just fuck me - and you want to, more than you've ever wanted anything. But there's that niggling feeling that you don't deserve him, you don't deserve to have everything because you left. As if he senses it, he grabs your hand and you hold his gaze, and his eyes tell you everything you need to know.
Its okay. I forgive you.
Pressing finger after finger into him, you open him gently and kiss his face as he winces. It's a good pain, he's always told you. But you can't see that now, you can just see the physical manifestation of every horrible thing you've done to him - and you're so fucking sorry it almost makes you cry. So instead of apologising, you pull your fingers out and push into him and he cries out in what you know is pain, pleasure and release.
He's so tight around you, and you know then that it's always been you. The only thing that can complete him, that can fill the spaces in his body both physically and emotionally. It's always been you, and he's wanting you and needing you and you can't do anything but give it all to him.
He's begging you to go harder, faster, deeper - but you want to be gentle with him. You'd never want to hurt him again, and you'd never want him to think you're taking him for granted. Not again, not after last time. So you're gentle and patient until he grabs hold of your arm and pulls you down so you're forehead to forehead. He locks his eyes into yours and pleads with you, just do it. So you do.
You come first, shuddering inside him. You try to blink away the light fluttering in front of your eyes, and focus on him - on all of him. He's close, you can tell. And part of you wants him to crash all over you, but you don't want it to end. Not this soon, not when you've just found him again.
You're stroking him and he's writhing, whispering your name and breathing heavily. You tell him that it's okay, that he can let go and let it all out. And he does. He collapses, spent and unable to hold his own body weight. You fall next to him, a hand reaching out and landing on his chest.
Only then do you realise he's crying, and you can't tell whether it's because he's happy or sad - and you realise it doesn't matter that much. Because you're there, and you're wrapping him up in your arms and rocking him as he weeps with years of release and pent up frustrations.
You don't know what to do or say, so you just stay in his dark hotel room, stuck together with sweat and sex, and you understand.