(via Jeff Beck, Guitarist With a Chapter in Rock History, Dies at 78 - The New York Times)
Jeff Beck, one of the most skilled, admired and influential guitarists in rock history, died on Tuesday in a hospital near his home at Riverhall, a rural estate in southern England. He was 78.
an: no use of y/n; i usually write gender neutral but with the use of a gendered language like spanish here, i wasn't sure how to navigate that so i just did fem!reader; also im not doing kinktober by day because i have too much on already but im making an effort to post a lil smut when i can / feel like it :) pls enjoy.
You’re cold when you wake. The haze of the Balearic sunrise is seeping through a small gap in the curtains, casting unwelcome light onto your sleepy eyelids. It’s far too early to be awake but something has stirred you. Or, rather, the lack of something.
You stretch your arm out across the bed, your fingers probing at the white cotton sheets and tangled duvet and all around lack of warmth that should be present. Your groans are muffled by the fluffy pillow your face is oh-so-delicately smooshed into as your tactile search ends with disappointment. Unwilling as you are to face the light, you decide to pry your weary eyes open. It takes a moment for the blur to leave your vision but once it does, you find what you’ve been looking for.
Javi is standing at the wardrobe, his bare back facing you. The muscles of his back are evident beneath his tan skin, shifting alluringly as he searches the wardrobe for an appropriate shirt. You watch the subtle movements of his body: the careful way he moves each hanger, as to make the least noise possible; the way his brunette curls tenderly kiss the nape of his neck; the gentle padding of the soles of his shoes as he shifts his weight from one leg to another. He’s wearing an olive pair of tailored suit trousers, the belt he wears perfectly fitted to his waistline, and a pair of brown boat shoes. You know the outfit he’s putting together, and it’s not one for lazing around in bed all day. He’s got important work to do. And you find yourself immediately and unfairly jealous of whoever he’s decided he’ll be spending his day with.
“Good morning.” He says as he turns to face you, his arms making their way into the sleeves of a white shirt. His raspy morning voice is like warm honey to your ears. He hasn’t been up for long.
“Good morning.” You barely form words; your first sleepy sentence of the day.
“You sound exhausted.” He says sympathetically, his brows forming an expression of gentle concern. His hands fall to his sides, his shirt unbuttoned and exposing the tanned skin of his beautiful tummy. “You should be sleeping. It’s only sunrise.”
“I didn’t know you were leaving me today.” You say somewhat petulantly. You sit up in the bed, legs crossed, and sleepily run a hand through your bed-head.
He smirks at your childish words. “Lo siento, cariña. (I’m sorry, darling)” He teases. His demeanour is playful. He knows you want him to stay and he knows you know he can’t. He enjoys this. He enjoys the feeling of being wanted, almost as much as you enjoy wanting him. “But today is important. I have to go quickly.”
Javi sits on the end of the bed, just a small distance from you, and begins to button his shirt. Before he can get his fingers in the right position, you gently place your hand over his to stop him. His smirk somehow grows even more smug, as if this is exactly what he wants. And with that subtle sense of permission granted, you move yourself close to him, shifting your weight onto his thigh to straddle it. Your arms make their way around the small of his torso and your face fits perfectly into the crook of his neck.
“I really must go.” He says again, quietly now; barely a mumble into your hair as he rests his temple against your forehead.
You don’t listen to him. You begin to kiss the skin of his neck tenderly, smirking as his breath hitches in his throat. His hands find their way to your bare waist, slinking under the old shirt he had that has slowly become yours, and his fingers splay across your back, touching and feeling and taking in every skin cell. This is what he wants. You. He wants you. And you’re going to give yourself to him.
”Cariña, it’s important.” He says breathily. Maybe he means it, maybe he doesn’t. You don’t really care.
You kiss along the skin of his neck, like slow steps across golden floor as you move to kiss his jaw, his cheek and finally his lips. He’s breathing heavily already as you press your mouth to his with tender pressure, his own lips parting to accept yours.
“Don’t worry.” You assure him between kisses, the scent of his breath intoxicating. Your hands move from his waist to his belt, masterfully unbuckling it without a look. “You don’t take long.”
His breath hitches once more as your fingers slip past the buttons of his pants, through the fabric of his boxers. You find his cock already hard and grasp it lovingly, rubbing the skin of his shaft up and down. His head falls back with pleasure, exposing the taut skin of his neck that you more than willingly begin to kiss again.
His moans are deep, drawn-out, desperate and your mouth falls open against his skin, that feeling of wanting, of needing, of pining twists in the pit of your stomach. It turns you on to hear him so needy, to hear him need you and only you, and you feel yourself become wet, saturating a spot on his olive trousers. You begin to move yourself, rubbing yourself against the muscle of his thigh, the feeling of fabric against your area sending electricity through your body.
You’ve never done this with Javi. Most often, you’re too busy with his cock or face between your legs to think of thigh riding for him. But it’s good. God, is it good. His suit trousers wrinkle and crease between your legs as you pleasure yourself, soft pants escaping your lips.
Noticing your moans, Javi lifts his head to meet your gaze again. You watch as he studies the situation, his deep brown eyes blurred with pleasure.
“Cariña.” He murmurs, a gorgeous lust behind his eyes, and rocks his thigh in tandem with you.
You groan at the feeling of his thigh hardening as he tenses his muscles, pressing himself into you at just the right pace. He knows your body well, knows the speed you like, knows the noises you make and their meaning. And he’s smirking again.
Not wanting him to get too smug, you quicken the pace of your hand around his cock and watch his head fall back again, lost in pleasure, a guttural sound leaving his lips. Strings of pre-cum drip between your fingers and your smile becomes a grin. It’s always been a competition for you two. Who can pleasure the other most effectively? Who can make the other cum first? You usually win, but with the way you’re soaking his trousers, you’re not so sure this time.
“Buena chica. Eres increible. (Good girl. You’re amazing.)” Javi rambles in Spanish, his moans getting breathier, louder, faster. He’s close. He’s so close.
He bounces his knee and you ride him hard, your free hand grasping his shoulder for stability as your body jerks up and down with his, your other hand still twisting and turning and pulling the skin of his cock. You feel that ball of electricity in your stomach growing and growing as your moans turn into whines, into cries of lust, of wanting, and of pleasure. It’s too much, too much to handle for any longer. The feeling of fabric against your body, the warmth of his sweating frame close to yours, the pressure of his hard thigh between your legs, the feel of his cock in your hand as he comes close to falling apart. The way he looks right now; so desperate and needy. His skin is taught, his muscles tense, his head settled back between his shoulder blades, the droplets of sweat on his beautiful torso.
You can’t help yourself. You grab his face and pull his lips towards yours, crashing into an open mouthed kiss. You give yourself to him completely, a writhing mess under his spell, and he gives himself to you, his hands tensing and pulling you down harder against his bouncing thigh.
The tsunami is about to hit when Javi loses control, a stream of cum releasing from his cock, some landing across the bedroom, some on your shirt and between your fingers, his moans reverberating in your mouth. The ball of electricity in your stomach explodes and you spout a string of nonsensical words as you cum, the only legible word being “Javi”.
Both finished now, you collapse on top of him as his back crashes against the duvet, two heaving and sweating but oh-so-happy messes. He wraps his arms around your back and holds you close to him, smiling giddily through the high. And he’s the prettiest you’ve ever seen him.
Head pressed lovingly against his chest, you smile a little as you remember how this started. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You ask sarcastically.
He laughs a little then, tightening his arms around your back and pressing his lips against the top of your head. “It can wait.”
