Fic: Spectacle
Title: Spectacle (2/2)
Rating: M for Smut!
Summary: Peter, Rose, Glasses and the bedroom. Fairly PWP, and quite rightly so.
A/N: Just a bit of fun that ended up taking me forever to write. Ended up rather on the long side for a PWP as well. Many, many thanks to chicklet73 for the constant hand-holding, beta-ing, encouragement and honesty. Wouldn’t be finished without her.
Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the first part, was wonderful to know it was enjoyed. Hope part two is just as well received!!
Part One can be found here
“You gonna take your glasses off now?” she asks in that playful manner she always used to bely the desperation coursing through her.
“Nope,” he answers, obviously distracted by the difficult task of getting rid of his shirt and tie. Now naked, he looks down and she flushes at the way he continues to look at her. Just as she is about to demand he get on with it, he speaks, “Can we try something?”
She’s intrigued to hear just a hint of embarrassment in his voice. They’ve been adventurous in the bedroom since they started dating and he’s always been gentleman enough to ask but usually these things are brought up over dinner and planned. This seems spur of the moment. Silently, she nods.
He wastes no time, throwing her that serious look that says he’ll stop as soon as she tells him (she never has) that she doesn’t like it, and then he’s crawling onto the bed, now a frown on his lips. “I’ve never...” his voice trails off and she’s beginning to wonder at what it is she’s got herself into this time.
Arm reaching up to the top of the bed, she takes the opportunity to look over his lean body, the scatterings of hair and the thrilling, if somewhat unsatisfying, rub of the tip of his erection up her stomach. He feels it because she hears him suck in a breath as he sits back between her legs, pillows in his hands. A few moments of positioning and manipulation and he seems happy with things. She simply feels a bit stupid now with her hips thrust up in the air, the two pillows resting beneath her arse.
And she’s beginning to see where he’s going with this, can understand the changes in angle and friction and likes the theoretical even if she doesn’t really understand why he felt it was such a big ask.
Finger-tips traveling up and down her legs, he slowly gets her to relax completely and then, wrapping a hand around each or her knees, he lifts them up, all the while watching her face intently for any sign of discomfort.
She feels the stretch in her legs as they bend closer and closer to her own body and he leans further and further forward until she can feel him resting against her entrance and her legs are bent over his arms, knees against elbows and her thighs pressed back close to her stomach.
It’s an interesting angle and she can tell from experience that any second he’s going to be buried inside her deeper than usual, that from here she can hardly move and thus he’ll be in charge, rocking into her as hard or as soft as he likes. Not that she minds.
Looking at his face her own scrunches into confusion as she finds him struggling for breath, his jaw locked and his brow dripping with sweat. He looks like he just ran a marathon or perhaps as though she’d been teasing him for hours. But no such event has transpired and for a scary second she thinks he might have gotten suddenly very, very ill. And then she sees him swallow and half a growl presses past his lips and she recognizes the desperation she only ever sees when she manages to take him to the very precipice of pleasure and then keep him there.
Still confused, she tracks his gaze back to her and when she realizes where it is he’s looking she has to fight her own instinctive urge to quickly slam her legs closed. He’s watching her, right there, and she can only imagine the very explicit image.
Imagining it is enough and her hips rock of their own accord against him. he gasps and she has no way of knowing whether it was the feel of her wetly moving beneath him or the sight of it. She holds still, waiting for him because she would love to hear him put this into words and knows him well enough to know he’ll want to.
“I want to watch this,” he mutters, voice as low and gravelly as she’s ever heard it. “I’ve always wanted to watch this but it’s never seemed so important until tonight.”
It’s the glasses then, she realizes.
“I...” he falters, his mind an utter shamble of over-loaded senses and thoughts. “It’s not just the visual, it’s not just the feel.”
It’s both? she wonders, willing him now to get on with it.
“It’s that it’s you,” he reveals and her breathing quickens. “It’s that I’m allowed to do this to you. That you let me. That you let me watch.” He almost sounds like he doesn’t believe it’s happening and it makes it all the more desperate for her. “Can you see?” he asks hoarsely.
It’s now that she realizes her eyes are closed. Opening them she first focuses on his face, still straining against too-soon pleasure and temptation and then she looks down, between her breast but can’t quite see, lifts her head from the mattress and hears herself moan at the sight she finds, the utter seductiveness of his flesh next to hers, the glisten of moisture and the flush of need.
He hears her and grins, takes it, quite rightly, to mean that going further is permitted. With little effort, he positions his hips and slowly moves forward, watching entranced as the first inch of him disappears inside of her. Every angle, every color enhanced by his glasses. Pausing, he glances up to see her neck still straining to hold her head up, her eyes held by the image of him ever so slightly inside her. He looks back down and gives in, soundlessly sliding forward, quickly and effortlessly until he’s as deep as he can be, nothing left to witness but the press of his hips to hers and in perfect time the pair of them groan, hers low and raw, his shaped around the words “Oh, dear god”.
He’s inexplicably close considering he received no foreplay and has hardly moved and he knows that that is to be blamed on what he can see and the probably irreparable damage it’s doing to his brain but he doesn’t quite care. Strokes out and then back into her, slow enough to see clearly, but with enough strength that she shudders beneath him. If he’s right, she can’t be that far off either.
Her head’s fallen back again and he makes a mental note to find a position for next time where she can see what he sees without such difficulty. But now, he needs to make her come because he isn’t going to last long at all. He scrunches his eyes tightly closed and takes another measured stroke, then another and another. Now, without the visual, he can feel how deep he’s moving within her, how well he fits and presses at her and how she’s clenching around him each time he bottoms out. God, he’s close.
Eyes open again, the glasses now giving him a clarity that makes his head spin, he finds her face, her neck and says her name in a way that demands she meet his eyes. Inquisitiveness clouded with pleasure, she watches his face as thrusts again, his hands creeping up the bed and bending her legs back more in the process, forcing himself deeper and deeper with every push “How close..?” he asks between breaths and she knows what he means is “Come with me.”
She’s panting herself and has been on edge too long tonight and could fall with one deft touch but she’d rather play with him a little, punishment for making her wait. “You like watching, don’t you?” she manages to get out between gasps.
In unconscious response, his eyes flick back down just as he slides out and he gets to watch with excruciating perfection the movement. His eyes slip shut and she laughs at him, forcing herself up on her elbows despite the pangs of pain in her legs. Her laughter dies as her eyes find their target and she watches, fully aware of her breathing getting heavier, her moans rising in pitch and volume and the responsive increase in thrust on his part.
Now he really is close. She can see, as well as feel, the loss in rhythm, the shudder in his back as he struggles to hold it together, wanting desperately to take her with him. Her hand snakes down her body, between them, over her and then him, both watching her actions as she allows a second’s distraction to draw her fingertips across his balls as he buries himself in her once again. He yelps as though it’s too much and if she looked she’d see his glasses on the brink of falling off his nose, his eyes shut again and his lip caught between his teeth.
Leaving him be, she lets her fingers dance back to her own skin, a finger either side of him as he pushes inside her and she bucks up now as she watches. So, so close and oh god, she wants him to see all of this. Demands it: “Watch.”
Deftly, her fingers move to her own flesh, now inexplicably hot and wet to the touch, she finds the spot she needs to be touched and as she presses her fingertips into her flesh she cries out, her back arching up and her head thrown back as she feels everything around her shake and heat course through her body until it starts to seep out of her toes and fingers and she shudders again and again. He hasn’t relented, even as she keeps shaking with pleasure, shuddering uncontrollably around him, she feels his whole body lunge at her, his hips rocking hard as he drives inside her and holds there, his desperate growl echoing around the room.
Still shuddering as he holds rigid inside her, she forces her head up, catches a brief glimpse of his eyes on them before she manages to crane her neck far enough to watch his hips still rocking against her, the last inch of him still sliding in and out, his whole body taut as he comes deep inside her.
Finally they still and only the sound of their labored breath fills the room. She hears him swallow and, now quite conscious of the ache in her legs, peers up to see only the mess of hair that sits atop his head. He takes a deep breath and raises his chin from his chest to meet her gaze, curiosity the over-riding emotion. She grins and he visibly relaxes.
His hands trail up her thighs, gripping her and feeling the pulse of her blood still racing, sliding his hands up, under her as he watches her face, watches her eyes glaze over and then refocus.
His hair’s all wet, twisted into tufts and knots and completely haywire, just covering the corner of one eye and sticking completely out on the other side where her hand grasped and pulled as she cried out. His pale cheeks are flushed pink so the brown of his freckles stands out, his lips are shining in the light as his tongue darts over them and he presses his glasses up his nose, straightening them. Perfectly balanced glasses over eyes as deep as forever, that shine. Eyes that watched him sliding in and out of her, coming inside her and her coming around him. Eyes behind glasses, perched on a nose above a mouth that would still taste like her.
She wonders if that’s why he wore the glasses; for this final stunning affect of refinement covering a man driven by something so much more base, of it escaping and being so completely consuming and electric that it makes every corner of her pulse. Or maybe it’s just so that now every time he wears them, when talking to colleagues or poring over a book or case notes, checking out the movie times, all she’ll be able to think about is the feel of his tongue and his lips and that telling cold brush of the frames against the inside of her thigh. The way he stared at where he was buried deep inside her. That’s all she’s going to be able to think about now and there’s nothing she can do about it.
A dim cramp taking hold of one of her thighs, she makes to move them from his still-locked arms but a mumbled ‘wait’ from him yields her compliance. For what reason she cannot begin to contemplate.
He steels himself for something and she draws herself back up on her elbows so that she might ask him why but stops and she sees him watching and then feels him pulling out, slowly, achingly, leaving her body. She looks down and her breath catches at the spectacle as he slips completely free, holding close for just a second, so that she can see for herself the sticky mess of him and her and combined sweat left in their wake. A single strand of very obvious viscous liquid hanging between the tip of him and her own body the last thing she sees as he unhooks her legs and collapses beside her, breaking the spell.
She realizes she’s holding her breath and quickly breathes deep. She turns and snuggles close, ignoring the renewed heat at the bottom of her stomach, quite content to lie next to him.
His lips nestling close to her ear, she hears him mumble. “That was incredible.”
She smiles against his chest, nodding mostly because she likes the scratch of his hair on her cheek. “Very.”
There’s a long, satisfied pause as his hand starts making long, languid arcs across her bare back. “You know what?” he asks in a whisper.
She smiles, basking in the glow that always comes when he insists on talking instead of just falling straight to sleep. “What?”
“I think we should go shopping tomorrow.”
A strange choice for conversation but she’ll go along with it. “Anything in particular?”
He hums into her hair as though considering. “A mirror.”
All done! Reviews are love, so please leave one if you read all the way up until this point. Cheers!
Rating: M for Smut!
Summary: Peter, Rose, Glasses and the bedroom. Fairly PWP, and quite rightly so.
A/N: Just a bit of fun that ended up taking me forever to write. Ended up rather on the long side for a PWP as well. Many, many thanks to chicklet73 for the constant hand-holding, beta-ing, encouragement and honesty. Wouldn’t be finished without her.
Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the first part, was wonderful to know it was enjoyed. Hope part two is just as well received!!
Part One can be found here
“You gonna take your glasses off now?” she asks in that playful manner she always used to bely the desperation coursing through her.
“Nope,” he answers, obviously distracted by the difficult task of getting rid of his shirt and tie. Now naked, he looks down and she flushes at the way he continues to look at her. Just as she is about to demand he get on with it, he speaks, “Can we try something?”
She’s intrigued to hear just a hint of embarrassment in his voice. They’ve been adventurous in the bedroom since they started dating and he’s always been gentleman enough to ask but usually these things are brought up over dinner and planned. This seems spur of the moment. Silently, she nods.
He wastes no time, throwing her that serious look that says he’ll stop as soon as she tells him (she never has) that she doesn’t like it, and then he’s crawling onto the bed, now a frown on his lips. “I’ve never...” his voice trails off and she’s beginning to wonder at what it is she’s got herself into this time.
Arm reaching up to the top of the bed, she takes the opportunity to look over his lean body, the scatterings of hair and the thrilling, if somewhat unsatisfying, rub of the tip of his erection up her stomach. He feels it because she hears him suck in a breath as he sits back between her legs, pillows in his hands. A few moments of positioning and manipulation and he seems happy with things. She simply feels a bit stupid now with her hips thrust up in the air, the two pillows resting beneath her arse.
And she’s beginning to see where he’s going with this, can understand the changes in angle and friction and likes the theoretical even if she doesn’t really understand why he felt it was such a big ask.
Finger-tips traveling up and down her legs, he slowly gets her to relax completely and then, wrapping a hand around each or her knees, he lifts them up, all the while watching her face intently for any sign of discomfort.
She feels the stretch in her legs as they bend closer and closer to her own body and he leans further and further forward until she can feel him resting against her entrance and her legs are bent over his arms, knees against elbows and her thighs pressed back close to her stomach.
It’s an interesting angle and she can tell from experience that any second he’s going to be buried inside her deeper than usual, that from here she can hardly move and thus he’ll be in charge, rocking into her as hard or as soft as he likes. Not that she minds.
Looking at his face her own scrunches into confusion as she finds him struggling for breath, his jaw locked and his brow dripping with sweat. He looks like he just ran a marathon or perhaps as though she’d been teasing him for hours. But no such event has transpired and for a scary second she thinks he might have gotten suddenly very, very ill. And then she sees him swallow and half a growl presses past his lips and she recognizes the desperation she only ever sees when she manages to take him to the very precipice of pleasure and then keep him there.
Still confused, she tracks his gaze back to her and when she realizes where it is he’s looking she has to fight her own instinctive urge to quickly slam her legs closed. He’s watching her, right there, and she can only imagine the very explicit image.
Imagining it is enough and her hips rock of their own accord against him. he gasps and she has no way of knowing whether it was the feel of her wetly moving beneath him or the sight of it. She holds still, waiting for him because she would love to hear him put this into words and knows him well enough to know he’ll want to.
“I want to watch this,” he mutters, voice as low and gravelly as she’s ever heard it. “I’ve always wanted to watch this but it’s never seemed so important until tonight.”
It’s the glasses then, she realizes.
“I...” he falters, his mind an utter shamble of over-loaded senses and thoughts. “It’s not just the visual, it’s not just the feel.”
It’s both? she wonders, willing him now to get on with it.
“It’s that it’s you,” he reveals and her breathing quickens. “It’s that I’m allowed to do this to you. That you let me. That you let me watch.” He almost sounds like he doesn’t believe it’s happening and it makes it all the more desperate for her. “Can you see?” he asks hoarsely.
It’s now that she realizes her eyes are closed. Opening them she first focuses on his face, still straining against too-soon pleasure and temptation and then she looks down, between her breast but can’t quite see, lifts her head from the mattress and hears herself moan at the sight she finds, the utter seductiveness of his flesh next to hers, the glisten of moisture and the flush of need.
He hears her and grins, takes it, quite rightly, to mean that going further is permitted. With little effort, he positions his hips and slowly moves forward, watching entranced as the first inch of him disappears inside of her. Every angle, every color enhanced by his glasses. Pausing, he glances up to see her neck still straining to hold her head up, her eyes held by the image of him ever so slightly inside her. He looks back down and gives in, soundlessly sliding forward, quickly and effortlessly until he’s as deep as he can be, nothing left to witness but the press of his hips to hers and in perfect time the pair of them groan, hers low and raw, his shaped around the words “Oh, dear god”.
He’s inexplicably close considering he received no foreplay and has hardly moved and he knows that that is to be blamed on what he can see and the probably irreparable damage it’s doing to his brain but he doesn’t quite care. Strokes out and then back into her, slow enough to see clearly, but with enough strength that she shudders beneath him. If he’s right, she can’t be that far off either.
Her head’s fallen back again and he makes a mental note to find a position for next time where she can see what he sees without such difficulty. But now, he needs to make her come because he isn’t going to last long at all. He scrunches his eyes tightly closed and takes another measured stroke, then another and another. Now, without the visual, he can feel how deep he’s moving within her, how well he fits and presses at her and how she’s clenching around him each time he bottoms out. God, he’s close.
Eyes open again, the glasses now giving him a clarity that makes his head spin, he finds her face, her neck and says her name in a way that demands she meet his eyes. Inquisitiveness clouded with pleasure, she watches his face as thrusts again, his hands creeping up the bed and bending her legs back more in the process, forcing himself deeper and deeper with every push “How close..?” he asks between breaths and she knows what he means is “Come with me.”
She’s panting herself and has been on edge too long tonight and could fall with one deft touch but she’d rather play with him a little, punishment for making her wait. “You like watching, don’t you?” she manages to get out between gasps.
In unconscious response, his eyes flick back down just as he slides out and he gets to watch with excruciating perfection the movement. His eyes slip shut and she laughs at him, forcing herself up on her elbows despite the pangs of pain in her legs. Her laughter dies as her eyes find their target and she watches, fully aware of her breathing getting heavier, her moans rising in pitch and volume and the responsive increase in thrust on his part.
Now he really is close. She can see, as well as feel, the loss in rhythm, the shudder in his back as he struggles to hold it together, wanting desperately to take her with him. Her hand snakes down her body, between them, over her and then him, both watching her actions as she allows a second’s distraction to draw her fingertips across his balls as he buries himself in her once again. He yelps as though it’s too much and if she looked she’d see his glasses on the brink of falling off his nose, his eyes shut again and his lip caught between his teeth.
Leaving him be, she lets her fingers dance back to her own skin, a finger either side of him as he pushes inside her and she bucks up now as she watches. So, so close and oh god, she wants him to see all of this. Demands it: “Watch.”
Deftly, her fingers move to her own flesh, now inexplicably hot and wet to the touch, she finds the spot she needs to be touched and as she presses her fingertips into her flesh she cries out, her back arching up and her head thrown back as she feels everything around her shake and heat course through her body until it starts to seep out of her toes and fingers and she shudders again and again. He hasn’t relented, even as she keeps shaking with pleasure, shuddering uncontrollably around him, she feels his whole body lunge at her, his hips rocking hard as he drives inside her and holds there, his desperate growl echoing around the room.
Still shuddering as he holds rigid inside her, she forces her head up, catches a brief glimpse of his eyes on them before she manages to crane her neck far enough to watch his hips still rocking against her, the last inch of him still sliding in and out, his whole body taut as he comes deep inside her.
Finally they still and only the sound of their labored breath fills the room. She hears him swallow and, now quite conscious of the ache in her legs, peers up to see only the mess of hair that sits atop his head. He takes a deep breath and raises his chin from his chest to meet her gaze, curiosity the over-riding emotion. She grins and he visibly relaxes.
His hands trail up her thighs, gripping her and feeling the pulse of her blood still racing, sliding his hands up, under her as he watches her face, watches her eyes glaze over and then refocus.
His hair’s all wet, twisted into tufts and knots and completely haywire, just covering the corner of one eye and sticking completely out on the other side where her hand grasped and pulled as she cried out. His pale cheeks are flushed pink so the brown of his freckles stands out, his lips are shining in the light as his tongue darts over them and he presses his glasses up his nose, straightening them. Perfectly balanced glasses over eyes as deep as forever, that shine. Eyes that watched him sliding in and out of her, coming inside her and her coming around him. Eyes behind glasses, perched on a nose above a mouth that would still taste like her.
She wonders if that’s why he wore the glasses; for this final stunning affect of refinement covering a man driven by something so much more base, of it escaping and being so completely consuming and electric that it makes every corner of her pulse. Or maybe it’s just so that now every time he wears them, when talking to colleagues or poring over a book or case notes, checking out the movie times, all she’ll be able to think about is the feel of his tongue and his lips and that telling cold brush of the frames against the inside of her thigh. The way he stared at where he was buried deep inside her. That’s all she’s going to be able to think about now and there’s nothing she can do about it.
A dim cramp taking hold of one of her thighs, she makes to move them from his still-locked arms but a mumbled ‘wait’ from him yields her compliance. For what reason she cannot begin to contemplate.
He steels himself for something and she draws herself back up on her elbows so that she might ask him why but stops and she sees him watching and then feels him pulling out, slowly, achingly, leaving her body. She looks down and her breath catches at the spectacle as he slips completely free, holding close for just a second, so that she can see for herself the sticky mess of him and her and combined sweat left in their wake. A single strand of very obvious viscous liquid hanging between the tip of him and her own body the last thing she sees as he unhooks her legs and collapses beside her, breaking the spell.
She realizes she’s holding her breath and quickly breathes deep. She turns and snuggles close, ignoring the renewed heat at the bottom of her stomach, quite content to lie next to him.
His lips nestling close to her ear, she hears him mumble. “That was incredible.”
She smiles against his chest, nodding mostly because she likes the scratch of his hair on her cheek. “Very.”
There’s a long, satisfied pause as his hand starts making long, languid arcs across her bare back. “You know what?” he asks in a whisper.
She smiles, basking in the glow that always comes when he insists on talking instead of just falling straight to sleep. “What?”
“I think we should go shopping tomorrow.”
A strange choice for conversation but she’ll go along with it. “Anything in particular?”
He hums into her hair as though considering. “A mirror.”
All done! Reviews are love, so please leave one if you read all the way up until this point. Cheers!