The last few years have had Alan taking care of himself, as it were, when he needed a physical release that he could get in some other way, but it had long been a need that had faded over time. Still occasional, yes, but with less stimuli to spur his imagination, he has found his hand a rather lackluster companion.
At first, the urge had been inspired by the imaginings of his mind as they had begun getting closer: What her touch would be like on his chest, what she'd feel like enveloping him in her heat, the sounds she would make in response to everything he wanted to do to her.
But now, oh now he knows all of that intimately. He doesn't need to wonder about her moans, or paint a composite of her body with his thoughts. He needn't imagine when he need only recall. And it had been a recollection of just a few nights ago, her atop his hips with ringlets cascading over her chest, nipples peeking from between sweat-damped curls, a moan breathed into the moonlight between them. A momentary recollection, and he was half hard already.
And now he sits on the edge of the bed, leaned back a bit on one hand while his other strokes along his cock, remembering the way Ruby feels sliding on and off of it, all heat and dripping wet. Through his heartbeat beginning to swell in his ears, he remembers the sound of her breaths, deep and laced with quiet whimpers, and oh god he can't wait until the next time he gets to hear them again.
So lost is he in his thoughts and the growing pace of his strokes that he doesn't register that Ruby has come home until the bedroom door opens, startling him into pulling a pillow over his lap in case it's Leona. But it's Ruby and his racing heart and shocked breathing begins to subside. "Ruby," he says, still not uncovering himself. "I didn't hear you come home."
Regarding // @grcdientshift ;;
𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋, 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 Rue Ouest rather than a right to an apartment filled with warmth and life, rather than the silent, spartan dwelling she'd once called home. There were times when Ruby still felt like a guest who had overstayed her welcome, but Alan and Leona both had made her feel like a part of the family so often that she knew it was only an illogical fear, leftover from still-tender wounds that are far too slow to heal.
She's brought a cake from the market, something small but indulgent and spontaneous, but no-one greets her when she calls out, "I'm back." It isn't until she puts the cake box from the market that she hears heavy breathing echoing from the bedroom, and her anxiety spikes. Alan.
It's foolish to worry like this, she knows, but it's too hard to suppress -- at least until she opens the door to find him, not ill or injured, but preoccupied with personal matters.
A pale flush rises to her cheeks at the unexpected scene. Alan, bare and sweating, sitting on the edge of the bed looking as surprised to see her as she him. It's all too easy to guess what he's hiding beneath the pillow, and a wicked heat roils in her core at the idea of it.
He'd been thinking about her, no doubt. Alan was all but an open book, and she teased him enough to learn every dirty fantasy he entertained. What was it this time, she wondered -- dressed? Nude? The quick fuck in the kitchen last week, or their heated night in bed just a few nights ago? Or perhaps something altogether new?
God, but he was beautiful like this, flushed and vulnerable and shining with sweat. Ruby kicked the door shut and slid her coat off as she approached, letting it fall rather than bothering to hang it up neatly, but she kept her hands to herself as she bent over to whisper, lips against the shell of his ear: "Don't stop on my account, mon tres cher."
Ruby's fingers danced from Alan's knees up to his thighs, before removing the pillow and tossing it aside to reveal him fully. But rather than offering to help, Ruby made a show of walking away as she pulled the comb from her hair, shaking free the curls, and turning around the chair at the vanity. "I don't want to get in the way of anything important." Ruby gestured as she sat, an eager audience of one. "Please, continue."
