Post by max on Feb 23, 2010 15:23:42 GMT 10
Some velvet morning IV
R
268
Joren
1/E
Final instalment. Had to tone down the sexuality heaps. Which is just as well because I feel so silly writing really really bawdy smut.
_________________________________
She shifts and settles, fully clothed upon the bare bed, her body pressed up against his, breasts and hips and legs curled up against him, and she kisses his neck, light as a feather as her left hand reaches his groin, taking him in her hand.
At some point when the heat in her own body is reaching its pitch and he has abandoned his indifferent act, she finds her breeches pulled down around her knees, her shirt pulled up around her armpits, half-clothed as he makes love to her his hands dancing their own patterns over her skin, tracing her scars with his mouth, while her body arcs and her eyes sparkle with colours that don’t seem to exist except when this is happening, and their breath is coming in laboured gasps, and when she reaches her release and the sheets she is holding onto scrunch up between her fingers and he follows, the golden charm around her neck sparkling as it works its own magic, she finds herself smiling, deliriously happy, wanting to laugh aloud, so grateful to him for coming over so childish an hour earlier.
The war is over, and he is in her bed, and everything in the universe seems to be balanced, at least for this moment.
But when she tries to kiss him, he turns away again, nevermind the heaving of his chest, his breath not yet caught, and he manages to say,
You’re still going, though, aren’t you, and she can only laugh as she straddles him, leans down to steal a kiss.
Yes. But I’ll be coming right back.
R
268
Joren
1/E
Final instalment. Had to tone down the sexuality heaps. Which is just as well because I feel so silly writing really really bawdy smut.
_________________________________
She shifts and settles, fully clothed upon the bare bed, her body pressed up against his, breasts and hips and legs curled up against him, and she kisses his neck, light as a feather as her left hand reaches his groin, taking him in her hand.
At some point when the heat in her own body is reaching its pitch and he has abandoned his indifferent act, she finds her breeches pulled down around her knees, her shirt pulled up around her armpits, half-clothed as he makes love to her his hands dancing their own patterns over her skin, tracing her scars with his mouth, while her body arcs and her eyes sparkle with colours that don’t seem to exist except when this is happening, and their breath is coming in laboured gasps, and when she reaches her release and the sheets she is holding onto scrunch up between her fingers and he follows, the golden charm around her neck sparkling as it works its own magic, she finds herself smiling, deliriously happy, wanting to laugh aloud, so grateful to him for coming over so childish an hour earlier.
The war is over, and he is in her bed, and everything in the universe seems to be balanced, at least for this moment.
But when she tries to kiss him, he turns away again, nevermind the heaving of his chest, his breath not yet caught, and he manages to say,
You’re still going, though, aren’t you, and she can only laugh as she straddles him, leans down to steal a kiss.
Yes. But I’ll be coming right back.