Dean's pretty sure that he's still in New Mexico. Beyond that? It's anybody's guess. He doesn't recognize the sheets, he doesn't recognize any of the things on the wall, and he doesn't recognize the books on a shelf in the corner. That? Is not exactly the best batting average a dude could have so far, and so he's a little bit wary about who he's going to find next to him
( ... )
Before Thor the level of entertainment found in this part of Mexico was low, so low that Darcy usually looked forward to grocery shopping as a highlight. But after all that nonsense with the Destroyer Darcy had been a little less critical of small town New Mexico, even when things went relatively peaceful and she had to fight to stay on as Jane’s assistant ( a position that, along with a certain lack of quality males tended to really kill any chance of a roll in the hay
( ... )
"Mornin," Dean replies, his voice just as low, a sleepy hoarseness at its edges. That voice of hers triggers another wave of pleasant and incoherent memories, jumbling one after the other through his mind
( ... )
Humming in approval Darcy’s hand lazily trail up and over his chest, fingers curling to rest on his collarbone.
While his name still evades her memory; she can recall pulling him behind the lax security of a popcorn booth with groping fingers pulling and full lips pressed against her own. Dean pulling her impossibly closer with long calloused fingers, wrapped close around the skin of her hip.
There's a slight flash in between the pleasant, warm memories of Dean's lips and tongue clashing with her own.
The sight of a large man with an expression dangerously similar to Filbert waving them off as they laughingly ran from an angry popcorn vendor. Her bedmates brother if the long suffering sigh and call of 'whatever' were anything to go by, but she'd been far too interested in Dean's wandering fingers and low lidded eyes to confirm or deny her suspicions.
Turning further into him Darcy’s fingers move from the smooth skin of his collar to rest on his cheek and kiss him with just a bit more awareness.
Dean takes that touch as an invitation and, moving slowly just in case he's misinterpreting things here by the sober (if hung-over) light of dawn, lets his hand slide down her shoulder, down the smooth length of her arm, down to rest once more on the curve of her hip. His fingers are bolder now, exploring sober what, from the looks of things, his mouth had explored with a whole lot of zest for life when drunk.
He'd apologize about the hickeys trailing down from her hip, but he kind of doesn't want to. Kind of really likes the way they look against her skin; and there it is -- the memory of those long moments spent with a smile on his lips as his mouth moves lower down her body, each new inch of skin treasured and tended to, Darcy laughing and moaning in turns, her fingers carding through his hair as his mouth found its goal and he got to doing one the his favourite things in the whole damn world.
The thought of it drags a soft sigh from his lips, and he lets his hand slide around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Encouraged by his actions Darcy wraps a leg around his thigh, lips parting and her tongue tracing the seem of his lips in a light lazy manner. Names could be remembered later. His touch and the way he fit tightly against her body, and the pleasurable ways he had driven her back and forth beyond the brink the night before. Remembering more certainly made her wonder how good he'd be in bed sober if he already worshiped her body like a Goddess while under the influence.
Her ankle drags over his leg and placing it firmly next to him she rolls their bodies until he's on top of her. She preferred taking control but the day was young and this gave her far more incentive to drag her fingers down the muscular skin at his back.
Fff I'm so sorry-I thought I replied ot this D:taser_warriorJuly 23 2012, 20:33:39 UTC
Darcy's response is a soft noise, toes curling slightly against the muscle of his calve. That warm, lazy feeling slowly leaves her limbs as her nerves begin to respond to arousal.
One hand trails up his back and into his soft hair, nails scratching over the skin of his scalp to encourage him, watching as the light peeking out from her blinds bounces across his skin.
She's never been a particularly artistic person; but she knows it wouldn't be a stretch to that the sight of Dean's body, with scars and a sort of masculine beauty that; had reminded her one too many times of a young Brando the night before- covering her smaller, curvy frame with the light catching them in every which way would be a sculptors dream.
Sometimes it's kind of easy, to forget about how weird his life is, how unsettled and exhausting and uncertain. Sometimes its impossible, in the quiet spaces, when you're waiting, crouched down low in some half-assed shrubbery somewhere waiting for some fucked-up thing to come at you from out of the woods, hoping like hell that it's not going to choose that day to go full on horror flick on you and come at you from behind someone instead of where you'd tracked it to ground -- times like that, it was easy to sit in nervous anticipation and kind of re-examine your life choices, for whatever value of "choice" your life ever really had
( ... )
With a moan Darcy drags the blunt fingernails of her free hand down his back, gripping the strong muscle of his ass in encouragement. She lets herself be lulled into the sensation, hips moving to press against his fingers, and while the way he worships his breasts is maddening and frustrating all the same, she wants to kiss him before he breaks her in the best ways. She pulls gently at his hair to get his attention.
For a moment he thinks she's just getting a little rough, which he's not exactly opposed to. But then he realizes that it's not just her pulling his hair for kicks, but that she's trying to get him to come back up, to kiss her. And there's nothing wrong with that, nothing at all.
Dean slides back up her body, kissing her long and deep, hips rocking forward, hissing as he rubs up against her. "Damn," he moans against her mouth, a low, sweet laugh given against her lips. "You're awesome."
Her thighs curl around his hips as he kisses her, hips rolling to meet his even as a matching chuckle makes its way past her lips. "So are you." His name is on the tip of her tongue, but the distracting feel of him above her makes it nearly impossible to latch on to the fuzzy thread that is her memory. When air becomes necessary she doesn't let go of him for long, and she soon matches the roll of her tongue against his to the slide of her hips-teasing him.
She's wrapped up tight around him no, arms and legs still sleep-warmed, and she's doing this thing with her tongue that's just naughty. Full-tilt naughty. And he fucking loves it, loves how she keeps that filthy hot kiss locked in on the rhythm of his hips as he slides against her, each increased bit of friction making him legit crazy, until he can't handle it anymore, has to eighty-six the foreplay before his mind just explodes.
Dean gives a noise that's part laugh, part groan, and he rocks his hips forward with a purpose now, pressing against her but not -- quite -- there. It takes every single last bit of his willpower to be the good guy here, to wait, to pause, to double-check that it's cool, instead of just thrusting up into her, burying himself deep inside her like he really, really wants to do right now.
She encourages it with a moan, she realizes sometimes words might be necessary but she presses tightly at his insistence before she remembers the condoms on her bedside table. Grabbing one she tears the foil and rolls it over him, stroking him with a precise and teasing manner as she lines him up to her entrance. Removing her hand she places it on his lower back and looks at him with half lidded eyes and a small playful smile. “Ready any time you are.”
He gives her a wicked grin as her fingers deftly slip the condom on him, and while yeah, he would have gone on to glory without it he had nothing against being a good little girl scout in this situation. Be prepared and all of that
( ... )
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While his name still evades her memory; she can recall pulling him behind the lax security of a popcorn booth with groping fingers pulling and full lips pressed against her own.
Dean pulling her impossibly closer with long calloused fingers, wrapped close around the skin of her hip.
There's a slight flash in between the pleasant, warm memories of Dean's lips and tongue clashing with her own.
The sight of a large man with an expression dangerously similar to Filbert waving them off as they laughingly ran from an angry popcorn vendor.
Her bedmates brother if the long suffering sigh and call of 'whatever' were anything to go by, but she'd been far too interested in Dean's wandering fingers and low lidded eyes to confirm or deny her suspicions.
Turning further into him Darcy’s fingers move from the smooth skin of his collar to rest on his cheek and kiss him with just a bit more awareness.
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He'd apologize about the hickeys trailing down from her hip, but he kind of doesn't want to. Kind of really likes the way they look against her skin; and there it is -- the memory of those long moments spent with a smile on his lips as his mouth moves lower down her body, each new inch of skin treasured and tended to, Darcy laughing and moaning in turns, her fingers carding through his hair as his mouth found its goal and he got to doing one the his favourite things in the whole damn world.
The thought of it drags a soft sigh from his lips, and he lets his hand slide around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
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His touch and the way he fit tightly against her body, and the pleasurable ways he had driven her back and forth beyond the brink the night before.
Remembering more certainly made her wonder how good he'd be in bed sober if he already worshiped her body like a Goddess while under the influence.
Her ankle drags over his leg and placing it firmly next to him she rolls their bodies until he's on top of her. She preferred taking control but the day was young and this gave her far more incentive to drag her fingers down the muscular skin at his back.
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One hand trails up his back and into his soft hair, nails scratching over the skin of his scalp to encourage him, watching as the light peeking out from her blinds bounces across his skin.
She's never been a particularly artistic person; but she knows it wouldn't be a stretch to that the sight of Dean's body, with scars and a sort of masculine beauty that; had reminded her one too many times of a young Brando the night before- covering her smaller, curvy frame with the light catching them in every which way would be a sculptors dream.
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Dean slides back up her body, kissing her long and deep, hips rocking forward, hissing as he rubs up against her. "Damn," he moans against her mouth, a low, sweet laugh given against her lips. "You're awesome."
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"So are you."
His name is on the tip of her tongue, but the distracting feel of him above her makes it nearly impossible to latch on to the fuzzy thread that is her memory.
When air becomes necessary she doesn't let go of him for long, and she soon matches the roll of her tongue against his to the slide of her hips-teasing him.
Reply
Dean gives a noise that's part laugh, part groan, and he rocks his hips forward with a purpose now, pressing against her but not -- quite -- there. It takes every single last bit of his willpower to be the good guy here, to wait, to pause, to double-check that it's cool, instead of just thrusting up into her, burying himself deep inside her like he really, really wants to do right now.
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Grabbing one she tears the foil and rolls it over him, stroking him with a precise and teasing manner as she lines him up to her entrance.
Removing her hand she places it on his lower back and looks at him with half lidded eyes and a small playful smile.
“Ready any time you are.”
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