House of Mirrors
Pairing: David/you
Word Count: 1600
Summary: A good friend game me this prompt a long time ago. The title says it all.
“Really?” You shout, hoping he can catch the note of incredulity in the word over the blaring rap music and screams of nearby rollercoaster riders.
David simply nods and gives you another push in the direction of the open doors. “Go on, I’ll catch you up.” His grin and wink promise something else, but you can’t figure out what, and he’s already turning away from you, moving to speak to the surly attendant who looks as though he’s indulged in a little too much of the fried foods and salt water taffy over the years.
Sighing, you walk through the narrow entrance into the dingy mirror maze. Your feet echo hollowly on the metal grates of the flooring, one hand thrust out forward, as though you were feeling your way in the dark. Something moves in your peripheral vision and your head whips around, only to find that it’s you, reflected a thousand times over, looking confused and somewhat annoyed. You sigh and trudge on further into the maze. The second time you hit a dead end there’s a loud slam! far to the left of you, and the rowdy noises of the fair become muted and distant. Another nearby movement has you spinning again, forcing you to come face-to-face with another reflection of yourself, torso comically elongated and head a tiny, distorted speck on narrow shoulders. The yellow fluorescents dim to almost nothing, colored strobe lights replace them, adding to the surrealism of the whole experience. A second set of footsteps begin to echo through the maze, and you begin to backtrack to the direction they seem to be coming from. You call out David’s name, your eyes held wide, searching for his reflection somewhere in the multitudes of yous. The strobes make your movements appear halted and jerky, your stride, no doubt, exaggeratedly large as your body tries to make up for what your brain seems to think is happening. You’re a little bit frightened as David refuses to answer your calls, and the fact that you’re frightened makes you angry, and your tread becomes heavy as you stomp through the maze, filled with a new determination to throttle him the second you finally locate him.
You sense something new in your periphery, but refuse to attempt to locate its source, sure that it’s just another funhouse version of yourself. You hit a wall of glass when his hands wrap around your middle and you scream, the sound bouncing and echoing theatrically off the multitudes of smooth, flat surfaces. His mouth is on your neck as his hips press you forward against the cool wall. Spinning in his arms, you land a well-aimed punch to his shoulder. “What is wrong with you?!”
David winces, but continues pressing forward, his knee settling between your thighs as his mouth grazes along your collarbone. “I thought it would be romantic.” His lips tickle against your skin as he speaks.
“Romantic?! It smells like piss and corndogs, and I was scared for my life not a second ago, in what way was thisromantic?” Your words are meant to convey the level of your disapproval, but gradually lose their heat as his hands slide under your shirt and his knee grinds up between your legs.
His warm breath puffs across your neck as he chuckles. “Maybe romantic was the wrong word, but it’s certainly…different.”
You scoff but don’t dispute this as his fingers slip under the fabric of your bra to knead the mound of flesh and then tweak a nipple. His lips finally find yours, his mouth tasting like cotton candy, all sweetness and delicate softness, in stark contrast to the rest of him, which seems to be filled with a sense of hungry urgency. Your hands mirror that urgency, finding the bulge at the front of his jeans and pressing, toying with the zipper until he’s growling and pawing at your shorts, shoving the fabric roughly over your hips and plunging a hand into your panties. You allow your head to fall back as his fingers work you mercilessly, bringing you the edge and then easing you back, again and again, until you’re whimpering, your words a strange mish-mash of begging, cursing, and pleading. When he removes his hand you’re trembling, a sharp cry that somehow coveys both desperation and relief escapes you before his fingers find your lips and push past them, forcing you to taste your arousal coating his fingers, mixed slightly with the memory of cotton candy on his lips.
The intermittent flash of the strobe lights reveals David’s eyes to be nearly pitch black with desire, glued to your mouth sucking and pulling on his fingers, tongue teasing and rasping over the tips, tracing the whorls of his fingerprints and making sure that every trace of your essence is cleaned from his skin. When you stop to pull back, he groans, brow knitted, and pushes his fingers forward again, his hips bucking against you, seemingly of their own accord. You smile around his hand and reach down to fumble with the button on his jeans, struggling to push the heavy fabric over his narrow hips. David jolts as if just awakened and then moves to help you, swatting your hands out of the way and divulging himself of pants and boxers in one smooth motion. Your shorts and undergarments are next, flung down to the filthy floor, which would make you cringe normally, but with David’s arms lifting you up, positioning himself between your legs, it seems less and less important.
You wrap your legs around his waist just as he slides his length into you, making both of you gasp. He holds himself there, both of you shifting as you struggle to find a comfortable way to make this work. You discover that the small hall you’re in is narrow enough that if you stretch your legs out, the tips of your sneakers can reach the mirrored wall on the other side. You steady yourself and David begins moving, achingly slow at first, nails digging into your bottom as he holds you against him. Your nails find the back of his head, scratching the short hair at his nape, and he moans as his hips pick up the tempo. You venture a look over his shoulder, startled to find yourself reflected back infinitely, your lips swollen, hair tousled, panting wantonly as David moves, thrusts deep and sure, against you. Seeing yourself this way is off-putting so you turn your head to the right, simply to find the same again, only this time from the side, more intriguing this way since you can see the muscles in David’s thighs shifting under his skin as his hips move, watch his length moving in and out of you. It’s like some weird exhibitionism, except it’s you that’s watching, and does that make you narcissistic? You slide your hand down David’s arm, trail it over your stomach and over your chest, pushing your shirt up over your breasts. The thousands of reflections mimic your movements and you’re captivated. David moves faster, thrusts become sharper as he hits that sweet spot inside you that has you throwing your head back and moaning unreservedly.
“No, watch.” David breathes, voice deep and husky.
Your eyes flutter open to stare once again at this flushed and panting porn star that is apparently you, just as one of David’s hands moves between your thighs, finding your swollen nub and circling it with his thumb. The woman in the mirror’s mouth falls open, her eyes half open as she moans and begs the man fucking her to make her come. You watch his hand move faster and it’s as if the millions of reflections amplify the sensation, a tingling warmth that shoots through your limbs and then circles back to center at the spot where your bodies meet and you’re screaming his name, and the woman in the mirror’s limbs are trembling with the force of it, a hand flying up to twist in her hair as she climaxes, the man’s stuttering thrusts indicating that he had reached his own, as well.
As you float back down to yourself, you become mildly embarrassed of the fact that you had been staring at yourself for so long (and gotten off on it). You turn away from your reflection and kiss David, who laughs as though he understands what you’re trying to do. “Now you saw what I get to see.” He gives you one more quick peck on the mouth and lowers you down on knees that tremble ever so slightly. When you’re both decent, you make your way (finally) out of the maze back out into the bright, loud midway, where David asks you to wait a quick minute as he runs back to the attendant. David shakes the man’s hand and says something, the man laughs and looks around David to smile and wave at you, making you flush with embarrassment. As David jogs back to you, you slap him on the arm petulantly. “What did you just tell him?”
David smiles and snatches your hand, tugging you back toward the main area of the fairgrounds. “I was telling him thank you.”
“For what?”
David shrugs. “I paid him to close the maze for me. Best money spent all night.”