Do This, Do That, Do Everything (30 Rock, Jack/Liz)
Title: Do This, Do That, Do Everything
For: The Alphabet Meme
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Prompt: S is for Spanking. (For vanveenthe1st.)
Word Count: 2,672
Rating: NC-17
Notes: I have never written anything like this before; hopefully, it came out okay. Consider the prompt word a warning; if it offends you, skip this fic. Also, I can't believe the first fic from a drabble meme has turned out to be over two thousand words. You were supposed to write short fic, self! Get it together.
Summary: Everything about their relationship could be classified as weird.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue!
*
The weird thing is, Liz doesn't consider herself a masochist.
(Wait, does this count as masochism? Does S&M have to be more than spanking? She doesn't know a lot about sexual terms.)
Actually, everything about their relationship could be classified as weird. The way it began--
(She said sex just wasn't for her, and Jack assured her that if she had managed to pick a decent partner in the ten years she'd been sexually active -- fifteen, she reminded him, fifteen years -- she'd enjoy intimacy as much as anyone else. Then she said something about how he didn't *know* that and never could, since at this point in her life, she'd given up on even trying to enjoy sex.
"I'm certain I could give you an orgasm without you exerting yourself."
Something about the way he said it made her... excited. Not crazy excited, like when Drew would make out with her. That, at least, he wasn't terrible at. So. Not 'kissing Drew' excited, but. She was not horrified the way she should have been. "But you don't *want* to do that. So."
"Interesting, how you didn't say *you* don't want me to do that."
Yeah. That was interesting. Damn it. But wait. "You're saying you *want* to give me an orgasm?"
"I'm saying I'm willing to help you."
She shook her head. "I can't see you naked. I don't want to know what you look like naked."
His hand pressed against her thigh. "We can both keep our clothes on. Sex doesn't have to be particularly intimate--"
"I don't need to see your penis, either."
"I don't need to use it."
His hand moved higher. Soon he was pushing her panties to the side. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine he was Harrison Ford, circa 1980. Part of her wanted to blame the fact that Jack did give her an orgasm on the power of her imagination, but she'd tried picturing Harrison Ford in the past and hadn't ever felt a marked improvement in her enjoyment of sex.)
--the way it continued--
(Two days later, he offered to go down on her, claiming this also didn't have to be intimate, as he was certain her vulva wasn't any different from a hundred others he'd seen.
"They can't all look alike."
"I'm not saying they do."
"You've seen more than a hundred? How many *have* you seen? You know what, don't answer."
Then she was reclining on his couch and spreading her legs. She only kept her eyes shut most of the time, and when she didn't... the sight of his head between her thighs was hot. The sight of Jack doing stuff to her turned her on. Every time she had this revelation -- and she kept having it, like she wanted to deny it but *couldn't* -- she closed her eyes. But she was looking at him right before she came, watched his lips close over her clit as she cried out. After she came down from her climax, her breathing slowing but her body still warm and excited, he pulled her onto the floor, pulled her on top of him as he lay back, and guided her hand to the bulge in his pants.
"Oh," she muttered. "So."
She knew she could refuse, since her giving an orgasm to him wasn't part of the deal, but she didn't pull her hand away because she wanted to keep going.
She was having a surprising week.
She didn't know what he wanted, exactly, but she went with the easiest thing -- since she was terrible at oral sex and awkward at hand jobs -- and followed unzipping his pants and exposing his cock by guiding it to her entrance. Whether it was what he was really hoping for, he didn't protest, letting out a groan as she sank down onto the length of him. She rested her hands by his head when he was buried inside her, rocking her hips as he started to thrust up into her. The position was kind of uncomfortable, but she came again before he did.
They didn't kiss during or afterwards. They didn't kiss until the moments following the third time they had sex.
The third time they had sex was also the first time they did it with all their clothes off.)
--the way this particular element of their sex life began--
(She was bent over his desk -- he'd meticulously rearranged his possessions so she could have space -- and was behind her, hands on her hips as he fucked her. She was whimpering as he thrusted into her, moaning as she came for the second time. He started to move faster, harder, driving into her until she had another orgasm, which felt less intense on the heels of her last one but still made her shudder. He came soon after, kept himself buried inside her while his fingers dug into her hips. His hands stayed where they were even as he slipped out of her, then they drifted to cup her backside. She didn't move, more out of exhaustion than anything else. He slapped her ass -- probably without thinking about it, though when it comes to Jack, it's impossible to know what's an impromptu act and what's part of a greater plan -- before collapsing onto a nearby chair.
It took both of them a moment to register that, when he had slapped her, she moaned instead of gasped or grumbled in irritation.
"Lemon--"
"No," she said, standing up straight and pulling her skirt down. "I know what you're going to ask and, no, I don't like... spanking. That's..." She turned around to find him smirking at her. "I'm a feminist, Jack."
"Women of that sort still have kinks. Some of them exceptionally degrading."
"Okay. I didn't need to hear that."
He studied her for a moment. "You do enjoy being dominated. Told what to do."
She bristled at the suggestion. "Because it makes sex easier. Stand there, take off that, put your hand here, touch me like this. It doesn't mean I'm into being dominated." He didn't reply. "I'm not into being dominated."
His expression was unreadable. "If you say so."
"I do. I say things. True things."
It was a week later, after a series of disasters on the sixth floor -- and after she'd assumed they'd both agreed to forget the possibility his slap had any sort of... effect on her -- that he called her up to his office.
"Okay," she said, "I know what you're going to say. But I think the real blame goes to society--"
He rose from his chair. "Be quiet and don't move."
She was at the back of the couch. "What's going on now?"
"I've tried to teach you how to be a boss, how to manage the group of defectives you call a staff--"
"You've taught me stuff--"
"Be quiet."
The way he said it was part sexy, part stern, and she stood up straight in response.
"But," he continued, "my attempts never seem to have had a lasting effect."
She was going to say 'And?' but he'd already told her to stay quiet twice, so she waited for elaboration, which she didn't get in words. He moved to stand behind her, hands on her stomach as his lips brushed her neck but didn't kiss her there. He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, then pulled them down until they were around her knees. She tensed but didn't protest; though she was kind of weirded out by the combination of 'boss Jack' and 'sex Jack,' it didn't upset her as much as it could have. Because he wasn't really looking to punish her. It was a pretense to test a theory. A theory she didn't *agree* with, but she decided to go along with his experiment.
Okay. Maybe she liked being dominated during sex for reasons beyond laziness. Maybe she'd like this.
He pulled her panties down after that, then pressed his hand to her back to urge her to move forward. Her hands were on the couch cushion, and she found herself rocking up on her tiptoes.
He held her hips. "Don't move."
He stepped to the side before he hit her on the ass, the contact making a noise that made the impact sound worse than it felt. She moaned in response, and she thought, Well, this doesn't prove anything. Then she thought, We should have agreed on a safe word. That's a thing, right? Okay, if I want him to stop, I'll just say stop. He's not going to keep going if I tell him to stop. The second one made her moan, and so did the third. The fourth time, she was biting her lip, feeling embarrassed that she was getting turned on by this. The fifth, she didn't bother to try to stifle her cry because, well, this was already embarrassing. And weird.
And she always felt weird and embarrassed about sex anyway.
Another smack, and she arched toward him, this time on instinct, because she was so aroused, so ready, and wanted him to do something else. Wanted him inside her. His hands were on her hips again, pushing her against the couch before he cupped her ass. One hand stayed there while the other slid between her legs. She parted her thighs as much as the bunched jeans would allow. Which wasn't much, really, but enough for him to slide two fingers over the folds of her sex. She whimpered as he touched her, teased her, exposed more of her and made her thighs slicker. His finger finally brushed over her swollen clit, then settled right next to it, sliding back and forth. As she was getting close to coming, he shifted his attention to her outer lip. She groaned in disappointment, and he began touching her where she needed it again, touched her there until her muscles were just starting to tense.
"Please," she muttered. "Please keep going."
"Say you won't lose control again. Say you'll run your show the way it *should* be run. Say you'll be the boss instead of looking to me to bail you out of your disasters."
She let out a couple of ragged breaths. "I won't lose control. I'll be the boss." Another exhalation. "I won't let them forget I'm in control. I will always be in control."
His finger returned to its place next to her clit, while another slid to the other side. Her hips rocked while he fucked her with his fingers, and he didn't make an attempt to stop her movements. He slapped her ass as she felt herself begin to shudder, and she cried out as she kept grinding against him, trying to draw out the climax that was spreading throughout her body. Her legs almost gave out, but he pressed his weight against her, keeping her steady. She could feel that he was hard, waited for him to drop his pants and ease inside her as her orgasm started to fade. But, instead, he pulled up her panties, then her jeans.
"Get back to work."
She stood up on still shaky legs, felt dazed as she watched him walk back to his desk. "You don't want me to--"
He didn't look at her. "Get back to work."
She nodded her head. "Okay," she muttered. "Okay."
She had her hand on the doorknob before she realized she should, you know, button her pants. Also, zip them.
Later that day, she was what she'd call in control of her staff.
Later that week, she dropped by Jack's office before she went home. He was on his couch, flipping through some sort of paperwork. She hesitated. "Jack."
"Lemon."
"You might not know this, but I've been terrible today. Just. A terrible boss."
She was lying.
She assumed he knew she was, and she considered this hypothesis proven by the way he smirked at her as he raised his eyebrows.
"Have you?"
"Yeah," she said. "I just have no control over them. At all."
He threw his papers down on the table, smile disappearing. "Pull up your skirt and get on my lap.")
--and how it continued.
(Usually at random, but sometimes after she'd 'misbehaved.' Though often, when she'd hint that she was *wanting* it, he wouldn't go there. Maybe it's a control thing. Maybe she doesn't sound sexy when she says, "I've been a bad lady, Jack." Or maybe the word 'lady' isn't hot, but she's not going to call herself a bad girl. Mostly because it makes her think of the Bad Girls Club marathon she watched.
Okay.
Marathons.)
It's all weird.
So maybe the fact that she's currently standing in Jack's apartment, listening to him say, "Take off your clothes and face the wall," moments after she walked through the front door, that his words... *excite* her, that she's unbuttoning her blouse without any hesitation... Maybe none of this is weird, because them having sex, sex that's sometimes kind of kinky, has become this normal thing that neither of them even tries to discuss.
She really doesn't consider herself a masochist, though. So that part might still be weird, especially considering that, after she does face the wall, after she leans forward and rests her forearms on it, she bites her lip to stay silent at the thought of him standing behind her. At the thought of his hands on her, of him not being gentle.
(And: this is an 'at random' event. She thinks she enjoys those more.)
She exhales sharply when he is behind her. He doesn't touch her as he dips his head down to kiss across her shoulder. His teeth scrape against her skin right before the first slap to her bottom. It's not hard enough for her--
(That's a weird, thought, isn't it? Even if weird is normal for them, she can't believe she thinks like this now.)
--but the second one is. She gasps, then again. She rests her forehead on the wall as he continues, the minor pain sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. She's so wet, and she's not embarrassed by that fact. She's not even embarrassed by the way the next slap makes her moan as loudly as she does when she's about to come.
Jack stops, caressing her backside with one hand while the other cups her breast. She stays still as his hands travel over her body, neglecting the inside of her thighs and her sex, and keeps moaning in a way that seems to please him, as he's groaning in return.
"Turn around."
Jack presses her back to the wall as he covers her mouth with his own. He slips his hand between their bodies, unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out. She wraps a leg around his waist as the tip of his cock presses against her entrance. Hand on her thigh, Jack draws her other leg up as he fills her. He's motionless for a moment as she squirms between him and the wall, her arms wrapping around him and the heels of her feet pressing against the backs of his thighs.
He kisses her before he starts to move.
She's not used to this, having sex with a man who's wearing all his clothes while she's completely naked and it's... good, actually, the sensation of his pants, his shirt, rubbing against her skin while he fucks her. But it might seem better than it actually is because she's so aroused, because he's thrusting into her just the way she needs right now. Just the way she needs in order to come, which she does while his mouth is on her neck, sucking her skin. He doesn't stop moving as she comes, and she can hear him groan and curse as she tightens around him. He pulls out soon after, pulls out before he comes. Setting her down, he lets his hands linger on her ass as he kisses near her ear. He whispers, "I want to take you to bed now."
"I wouldn't say no to that."
He squeezes the flesh that's in his hands. "I know."
END
For: The Alphabet Meme
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Prompt: S is for Spanking. (For vanveenthe1st.)
Word Count: 2,672
Rating: NC-17
Notes: I have never written anything like this before; hopefully, it came out okay. Consider the prompt word a warning; if it offends you, skip this fic. Also, I can't believe the first fic from a drabble meme has turned out to be over two thousand words. You were supposed to write short fic, self! Get it together.
Summary: Everything about their relationship could be classified as weird.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue!
*
The weird thing is, Liz doesn't consider herself a masochist.
(Wait, does this count as masochism? Does S&M have to be more than spanking? She doesn't know a lot about sexual terms.)
Actually, everything about their relationship could be classified as weird. The way it began--
(She said sex just wasn't for her, and Jack assured her that if she had managed to pick a decent partner in the ten years she'd been sexually active -- fifteen, she reminded him, fifteen years -- she'd enjoy intimacy as much as anyone else. Then she said something about how he didn't *know* that and never could, since at this point in her life, she'd given up on even trying to enjoy sex.
"I'm certain I could give you an orgasm without you exerting yourself."
Something about the way he said it made her... excited. Not crazy excited, like when Drew would make out with her. That, at least, he wasn't terrible at. So. Not 'kissing Drew' excited, but. She was not horrified the way she should have been. "But you don't *want* to do that. So."
"Interesting, how you didn't say *you* don't want me to do that."
Yeah. That was interesting. Damn it. But wait. "You're saying you *want* to give me an orgasm?"
"I'm saying I'm willing to help you."
She shook her head. "I can't see you naked. I don't want to know what you look like naked."
His hand pressed against her thigh. "We can both keep our clothes on. Sex doesn't have to be particularly intimate--"
"I don't need to see your penis, either."
"I don't need to use it."
His hand moved higher. Soon he was pushing her panties to the side. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine he was Harrison Ford, circa 1980. Part of her wanted to blame the fact that Jack did give her an orgasm on the power of her imagination, but she'd tried picturing Harrison Ford in the past and hadn't ever felt a marked improvement in her enjoyment of sex.)
--the way it continued--
(Two days later, he offered to go down on her, claiming this also didn't have to be intimate, as he was certain her vulva wasn't any different from a hundred others he'd seen.
"They can't all look alike."
"I'm not saying they do."
"You've seen more than a hundred? How many *have* you seen? You know what, don't answer."
Then she was reclining on his couch and spreading her legs. She only kept her eyes shut most of the time, and when she didn't... the sight of his head between her thighs was hot. The sight of Jack doing stuff to her turned her on. Every time she had this revelation -- and she kept having it, like she wanted to deny it but *couldn't* -- she closed her eyes. But she was looking at him right before she came, watched his lips close over her clit as she cried out. After she came down from her climax, her breathing slowing but her body still warm and excited, he pulled her onto the floor, pulled her on top of him as he lay back, and guided her hand to the bulge in his pants.
"Oh," she muttered. "So."
She knew she could refuse, since her giving an orgasm to him wasn't part of the deal, but she didn't pull her hand away because she wanted to keep going.
She was having a surprising week.
She didn't know what he wanted, exactly, but she went with the easiest thing -- since she was terrible at oral sex and awkward at hand jobs -- and followed unzipping his pants and exposing his cock by guiding it to her entrance. Whether it was what he was really hoping for, he didn't protest, letting out a groan as she sank down onto the length of him. She rested her hands by his head when he was buried inside her, rocking her hips as he started to thrust up into her. The position was kind of uncomfortable, but she came again before he did.
They didn't kiss during or afterwards. They didn't kiss until the moments following the third time they had sex.
The third time they had sex was also the first time they did it with all their clothes off.)
--the way this particular element of their sex life began--
(She was bent over his desk -- he'd meticulously rearranged his possessions so she could have space -- and was behind her, hands on her hips as he fucked her. She was whimpering as he thrusted into her, moaning as she came for the second time. He started to move faster, harder, driving into her until she had another orgasm, which felt less intense on the heels of her last one but still made her shudder. He came soon after, kept himself buried inside her while his fingers dug into her hips. His hands stayed where they were even as he slipped out of her, then they drifted to cup her backside. She didn't move, more out of exhaustion than anything else. He slapped her ass -- probably without thinking about it, though when it comes to Jack, it's impossible to know what's an impromptu act and what's part of a greater plan -- before collapsing onto a nearby chair.
It took both of them a moment to register that, when he had slapped her, she moaned instead of gasped or grumbled in irritation.
"Lemon--"
"No," she said, standing up straight and pulling her skirt down. "I know what you're going to ask and, no, I don't like... spanking. That's..." She turned around to find him smirking at her. "I'm a feminist, Jack."
"Women of that sort still have kinks. Some of them exceptionally degrading."
"Okay. I didn't need to hear that."
He studied her for a moment. "You do enjoy being dominated. Told what to do."
She bristled at the suggestion. "Because it makes sex easier. Stand there, take off that, put your hand here, touch me like this. It doesn't mean I'm into being dominated." He didn't reply. "I'm not into being dominated."
His expression was unreadable. "If you say so."
"I do. I say things. True things."
It was a week later, after a series of disasters on the sixth floor -- and after she'd assumed they'd both agreed to forget the possibility his slap had any sort of... effect on her -- that he called her up to his office.
"Okay," she said, "I know what you're going to say. But I think the real blame goes to society--"
He rose from his chair. "Be quiet and don't move."
She was at the back of the couch. "What's going on now?"
"I've tried to teach you how to be a boss, how to manage the group of defectives you call a staff--"
"You've taught me stuff--"
"Be quiet."
The way he said it was part sexy, part stern, and she stood up straight in response.
"But," he continued, "my attempts never seem to have had a lasting effect."
She was going to say 'And?' but he'd already told her to stay quiet twice, so she waited for elaboration, which she didn't get in words. He moved to stand behind her, hands on her stomach as his lips brushed her neck but didn't kiss her there. He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, then pulled them down until they were around her knees. She tensed but didn't protest; though she was kind of weirded out by the combination of 'boss Jack' and 'sex Jack,' it didn't upset her as much as it could have. Because he wasn't really looking to punish her. It was a pretense to test a theory. A theory she didn't *agree* with, but she decided to go along with his experiment.
Okay. Maybe she liked being dominated during sex for reasons beyond laziness. Maybe she'd like this.
He pulled her panties down after that, then pressed his hand to her back to urge her to move forward. Her hands were on the couch cushion, and she found herself rocking up on her tiptoes.
He held her hips. "Don't move."
He stepped to the side before he hit her on the ass, the contact making a noise that made the impact sound worse than it felt. She moaned in response, and she thought, Well, this doesn't prove anything. Then she thought, We should have agreed on a safe word. That's a thing, right? Okay, if I want him to stop, I'll just say stop. He's not going to keep going if I tell him to stop. The second one made her moan, and so did the third. The fourth time, she was biting her lip, feeling embarrassed that she was getting turned on by this. The fifth, she didn't bother to try to stifle her cry because, well, this was already embarrassing. And weird.
And she always felt weird and embarrassed about sex anyway.
Another smack, and she arched toward him, this time on instinct, because she was so aroused, so ready, and wanted him to do something else. Wanted him inside her. His hands were on her hips again, pushing her against the couch before he cupped her ass. One hand stayed there while the other slid between her legs. She parted her thighs as much as the bunched jeans would allow. Which wasn't much, really, but enough for him to slide two fingers over the folds of her sex. She whimpered as he touched her, teased her, exposed more of her and made her thighs slicker. His finger finally brushed over her swollen clit, then settled right next to it, sliding back and forth. As she was getting close to coming, he shifted his attention to her outer lip. She groaned in disappointment, and he began touching her where she needed it again, touched her there until her muscles were just starting to tense.
"Please," she muttered. "Please keep going."
"Say you won't lose control again. Say you'll run your show the way it *should* be run. Say you'll be the boss instead of looking to me to bail you out of your disasters."
She let out a couple of ragged breaths. "I won't lose control. I'll be the boss." Another exhalation. "I won't let them forget I'm in control. I will always be in control."
His finger returned to its place next to her clit, while another slid to the other side. Her hips rocked while he fucked her with his fingers, and he didn't make an attempt to stop her movements. He slapped her ass as she felt herself begin to shudder, and she cried out as she kept grinding against him, trying to draw out the climax that was spreading throughout her body. Her legs almost gave out, but he pressed his weight against her, keeping her steady. She could feel that he was hard, waited for him to drop his pants and ease inside her as her orgasm started to fade. But, instead, he pulled up her panties, then her jeans.
"Get back to work."
She stood up on still shaky legs, felt dazed as she watched him walk back to his desk. "You don't want me to--"
He didn't look at her. "Get back to work."
She nodded her head. "Okay," she muttered. "Okay."
She had her hand on the doorknob before she realized she should, you know, button her pants. Also, zip them.
Later that day, she was what she'd call in control of her staff.
Later that week, she dropped by Jack's office before she went home. He was on his couch, flipping through some sort of paperwork. She hesitated. "Jack."
"Lemon."
"You might not know this, but I've been terrible today. Just. A terrible boss."
She was lying.
She assumed he knew she was, and she considered this hypothesis proven by the way he smirked at her as he raised his eyebrows.
"Have you?"
"Yeah," she said. "I just have no control over them. At all."
He threw his papers down on the table, smile disappearing. "Pull up your skirt and get on my lap.")
--and how it continued.
(Usually at random, but sometimes after she'd 'misbehaved.' Though often, when she'd hint that she was *wanting* it, he wouldn't go there. Maybe it's a control thing. Maybe she doesn't sound sexy when she says, "I've been a bad lady, Jack." Or maybe the word 'lady' isn't hot, but she's not going to call herself a bad girl. Mostly because it makes her think of the Bad Girls Club marathon she watched.
Okay.
Marathons.)
It's all weird.
So maybe the fact that she's currently standing in Jack's apartment, listening to him say, "Take off your clothes and face the wall," moments after she walked through the front door, that his words... *excite* her, that she's unbuttoning her blouse without any hesitation... Maybe none of this is weird, because them having sex, sex that's sometimes kind of kinky, has become this normal thing that neither of them even tries to discuss.
She really doesn't consider herself a masochist, though. So that part might still be weird, especially considering that, after she does face the wall, after she leans forward and rests her forearms on it, she bites her lip to stay silent at the thought of him standing behind her. At the thought of his hands on her, of him not being gentle.
(And: this is an 'at random' event. She thinks she enjoys those more.)
She exhales sharply when he is behind her. He doesn't touch her as he dips his head down to kiss across her shoulder. His teeth scrape against her skin right before the first slap to her bottom. It's not hard enough for her--
(That's a weird, thought, isn't it? Even if weird is normal for them, she can't believe she thinks like this now.)
--but the second one is. She gasps, then again. She rests her forehead on the wall as he continues, the minor pain sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. She's so wet, and she's not embarrassed by that fact. She's not even embarrassed by the way the next slap makes her moan as loudly as she does when she's about to come.
Jack stops, caressing her backside with one hand while the other cups her breast. She stays still as his hands travel over her body, neglecting the inside of her thighs and her sex, and keeps moaning in a way that seems to please him, as he's groaning in return.
"Turn around."
Jack presses her back to the wall as he covers her mouth with his own. He slips his hand between their bodies, unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out. She wraps a leg around his waist as the tip of his cock presses against her entrance. Hand on her thigh, Jack draws her other leg up as he fills her. He's motionless for a moment as she squirms between him and the wall, her arms wrapping around him and the heels of her feet pressing against the backs of his thighs.
He kisses her before he starts to move.
She's not used to this, having sex with a man who's wearing all his clothes while she's completely naked and it's... good, actually, the sensation of his pants, his shirt, rubbing against her skin while he fucks her. But it might seem better than it actually is because she's so aroused, because he's thrusting into her just the way she needs right now. Just the way she needs in order to come, which she does while his mouth is on her neck, sucking her skin. He doesn't stop moving as she comes, and she can hear him groan and curse as she tightens around him. He pulls out soon after, pulls out before he comes. Setting her down, he lets his hands linger on her ass as he kisses near her ear. He whispers, "I want to take you to bed now."
"I wouldn't say no to that."
He squeezes the flesh that's in his hands. "I know."
END