Quiescence
Your hands are not meant for me, though I’ve dreamt of them in places only touched by myself.
Characters: F!Narrator x M!Reader
Content Warning: Consensual Somno, Explicit Sex
Word Count/Genre: 1.4k, flash-fiction, erotica
Inspired/Prompted by: @henrymillertime
📷: Know the source of the photo above? Please let me know so I can photo credit.
I had lost track of the hours. The sound of the wind in the trees and the pounding of the rain against the panes of stained glass had drug me into sleep. Exhausted. Tired. Wet. The majority of my clothes I left to dry near the cast iron wood stove against the cabin wall. The hiking trail impassable until the deluge from the heavens found release.
How I must look to you, standing at the foot of this pine log bed. The first aid kit lying open at the end of the bed where I’d tended the abrasions on my left ankle. It was still puffy, angry, and propped haphazardly atop a rolled quilt. The rest of me lying akimbo, legs parted, the hunter green of my cotton slip bunched up around my thighs. The left strap hanging low on my arm, the material dipping off my breast, caught on the budded tip of my nipple. I writhe as the thunder rolls and vibrates the bed enough to make me sigh, hair fanned out atop the patchwork quilt, drying.
Your hands are not meant for me, though I’ve dreamt of them in places only touched by myself. The heat of your mouth and tongue something that curls with mine and teases, tastes other places, collects moisture and brings pleasure. I envy your lover or lovers. Their bodies not suffering the drought of your touch. I’d drink you like rain. Covet the sounds your pleasure makes when formed from your throat and lips.
Have you thought of me in such ways? Does my laughter linger after I’m gone? Do the passing conversations, brief touches…has any of that registered in the past year? When I brush against you in hopes of leaving traces of my perfume in exchange for ribbons of your cologne, do you know it’s mine?
The weight of your hand on my ankle pulls a shaky breath, the heat of your palm something that outweighs any pain or discomfort as I shift my body to ensure further contact, the hem of my slip hinting that there’s nothing beneath, only flesh. You’re focused or at least trying to be. Such a Boy Scout, but were you prepared for this?
You’re so thorough in your injury assessment. Your heated hands move up my leg as you inch onto the bed and between my knees. My breath seems to quicken, head moving side-to-side atop the blankets. You pause. Your hands past my knee and midway up my thigh. Your grip tightens. I arch in response. What’s on your mind? Your hands are shaking. My legs part, letting the soft folds of my slit play peek-a-boo, glistening, wet.
You make a sound in the back of your throat. Your eyes now focused on how I look, exposed and wanting. Is your mouth dry? Do I smell familiar? I’ve spent a year in your company, leaning in to you to be overheard over our mutual friend group in loud spaces, the scent of me worn behind my ear, my neck, and the inside of my wrist so you’d grow accustomed, familiar.
I know, you’re torn. Such a terrible position to be. I have seen you with others. Though, I don’t know how deep your feelings run for them. People align themselves for a variety of reasons, most of them stemming from loneliness. Are you lonely? I have spent a year of soft yeses for every no or rejection you’d been given.
Soft yeses…a word I whisper as you’re struggling to cover me, over touching me, exploring me. It doesn’t feel right. To touch without being asked. Taboo. Again, the thunder rolls, the rain hammers against the roof and walls demanding entrance. I’m open and demand entrance. The vibration of the bed and heat of your hand on my thigh, squeezing; pulls the softest moan. When your index finger trails along my soft folds I bite my bottom lip and am desperate for your touch. Are you surprised at the wetness on your finger? The quilt beneath me is already damp. “Please…” I murmur, hips grinding against the bed. Will you touch me again?
The sound you make above me makes my toes curl. My legs part wider, spread-eagled and inviting. Your thumb moves along my clit as your eagerness pushes a finger into me, followed by a second and third. I gasp, shuddering as you spread and fill me, eyes opening to find yours. Your fingers curl, thrust. And your mouth. Your sweet and beautiful mouth, now lowers to drink, suck, and lick wildly between my thighs; fucking me with fingers and tongue.
There’s a quiet desperation in the way you touch me and how I’ve craved you for a year. A year of dancing on the fringe of your vision. My hands curl in the quilt above my head as I feel your free hand yank me roughly against your mouth, rising, chin glistening as our eyes meet, “Cum for me.”
Three words given as a command over request. And your mouth was again on me, demanding my surrender as I began shuddering by the pleasurable punishing rhythm of your fingers as they sank into me repeatedly, your pinky teasing my puckered rim, until it too allowed you entrance. Full. Filled. Your freehand was almost painful in its grip on my hip as you shoved me down on your fingers and tongue. Your greed for me leaves me without breath.
When you are satisfied and my body feels exhausted by the assault of your mouth and tongue, you toss your clothes to the floor. My hand finds your cock and strokes, wanting to memorize the feel of your flesh and the way your pre feels on the pad of my thumb and slicks my palm. I love how you harden and throb in my hand.
There’s so much to explore. I want to make maps, burn them, and create them again. Your kiss is rough as you push the taste of me onto my tongue so I know how I taste when you make me cum. My cries are muted as you tug away my hand and enter me. There is no gentle as your hands gather my wrists and pin them overhead. Your mouth something that nips and kisses, biting where neck meets shoulder intent to leave your mark as your body seems intent on driving me into the mattress.
I wrap my legs around your waist and welcome the way your hips slam into mine. My slip still between us in some places. Pinned and fucked. Our breaths as wild, my cunt feels more like a second mouth that tries desperately to keep you rooted inside me. I have lost track of the times I’ve cum. My mind is blanking, I’m light-headed, drunk on you and the way your hands squeeze my tits, tug and twist my nipples. My body a prism of ecstasy that is trapped beneath the weight of yours.
And just as I think you’ve reached the precipice, you pull out, something that makes me claw at your back until I feel you haul me off the bed and turn me on my stomach. Your left hand winds in my hair and pushes my head onto the bed as your right arm snakes under my waist and hauls up my hips as your cock fills me again. I am panting from the sheer force of your thrusts, as my ass cheeks warm from the solid smacks of your hand.
I am shaking. Dripping. You haul me up by my hair against your chest. I don’t think my legs will hold, but you imprison me against you as you grab a tit and whisper against my ear, “Cum.”
Your right hand reaches between my legs to smack and flick my clit as you continue to thrust your cock inside me. My cunt is aching, I can feel each throb and pulse of your hardened flesh as you ram against my cervix. My thighs are sticky, wet. Your repeated command leaving me nearly limp in your grasp. The last one is mingled with quiet praise followed by hot threads of cum, that paint the inside of my quivering pink walls, as our juices mingle and flow along my thighs to darken the quilt beneath us.
My body is covered in your touch, both inside and out. Will you take your leave now? We haven’t spoken. Too tired. Spent. You're holding me. I holding you. Outside the storm continues to shake the bed. I wonder, as I slip lower on your chest, trailing kisses past your navel, feeling you tense. I relish the sound pulled from your lips when my tongue takes it’s first sample of the tip of your cock, wondering now, after this night if it’ll be harder to live knowing your touch than it was living without it. But for now, I’m going to drink you like rain and sate my thirst for you.