The outsider's lap is a comfortable place to be; he's nervous, fidgeting under her touch, but he's here in the mines of his own volition.
The man trapped beneath Val's hips doesn't yet understand. He's fixated on impressing, on doing everything right, on where his hands belong and where he's meant to look. He's distracted by everything but what he's meant to focus on; the heat that rises in his core when she rolls her hips into his, steady pressure teasing at what's to come next. She grinds against him again, warm and welcoming, anticipation eating her alive.
He's distracted, and she can't have that. Hands go to his cheeks, soft pink in his embarrassment, and ghost upwards to the frame of his glasses. She takes them from his face before he can protest, places them nearby in the dirt before her mouth is on his.
He tastes like heaven, soft and delicate. There's an innocence, yet an eagerness, to him that burns bright, though shrouded by the fog of his anxiety. She catches glimpses of it in breathlessly moments where he forgets to be afraid. She's hungry for more, for the way his hips buck to meet hers before he can stifle himself, for the desperate little gasps that fight so hard to escape his lips.
Her tongue pushes past his lips as her fingers find the knot of his tie, effortlessly unraveling him. She withdraws the fabric from his neck and holds it tight in her fists, trailing kisses down jawline and throat.
Words are murmured into the crook of his neck, punctuated with moans as she continues to grind herself against his body. He's so tense, so uncertain. She can feel it in every hushed apology and hesitation; he's so convinced that he'll misstep, that he'll make a mistake and this will all end. "Settle down, my love… You deserve this. There's nothing you can do or say to change that. You're perfect…"
She brings the fabric strip to his eyes, and presses another kiss to his mouth as she ties it gently behind his head. Blindfolded, there's nothing he can focus on but sensation.
