summary: A surprising film choice leads to something unavoidable.
rex splode x female reader
warnings and tags: +18, mdni, self-indulgent, canon divergence, angst, slow burn (again), post smut tension, emotional chaos, oh no the feelings are here, movie night tension
word count: 2747
a/n: look at me, a writing factory. i just love y'all too much and i can't wait to share after a break. i also can't wait to post some chapters i've had ready for months at this point!
Track 12
The playlist
“I’m in for a ride, aren’t I?” You chuckle, striding towards him.
“You sure are,” he announces proudly, showing you the laptop’s screen with the movie already loaded. You recognize the font and the blue tint immediately. All the stress that was causing your heart to work overtime suddenly fades, comfortable ease coming into its place instead.
You try to hold in a laugh as you look at him with mock-pity. “Twilight? Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen like—hundreds of tiktoks at this point. The memes—the whoa-hoa-hoa-hoa-hoa season shit? I have to finally watch the thing.” He gestures wildly at the screen.
“Wait—” your mouth drops, “—YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE TWILIGHT MOVIE?”
“Uhh, yeah? When exactly was I supposed to watch it? I’ve never even been to a cinema.”
“WHAT. How— Why—”
“Oh my god, stop it. I can tell you another time. Come here and sit your ass on the bed, Ban.”
Your chest tightens — he has called you many things, mostly generic petnames. But this one feels more… intimate.
“Ban? That’s what you’re calling me now?” You ask, still a little baffled by the fact he hasn’t seen one of the most iconic movies of the 2000s.
“What, you don’t like it? Babe is overrated anyway,” he says with a mischievous grin and pats the place next to him on the bed.
“It definitely is.” You sit down, facing him. “But you can’t say the same thing about Twilight.”
Rex rolls his eyes and shifts to face you as well. “Of course you are a vampire girl.”
“Of course you are an uncultured gym bro.”
You lean in, focusing on the freckles peppered across his nose. His eyes instantly drop to your mouth, breath getting a little faster. Blood rushes to your face, putting rosy dust over your cheeks. Before it tips into something that would most definitely lead to you two not watching the film tonight, you gather all your willpower and move away, resting your back on the wall.
He closes his eyes and sighs with disappointment, then grabs the popcorn bowl before scooting closer to you, your shoulders brushing against each other. You click the spacebar and the film starts.
“Want some?” he asks, shaking the bowl in front of you.
“Shut up and focus on the film, Rex.”
“Harsh. Just wanted to share—” He quiets the moment he sees your gaze and leans back on the wall, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
When Bella’s dialogue line ‘but dying in the place of someone I love, seems like a good way to go’ hits the screen, he quickly glances at you. You bite the inside of your cheek and try to ignore the growing heat in your face. You could swear he scoots up even closer to you, making it impossible to ignore his arm resting against yours.
The tender moment breaks when he mumbles with his mouth half-full, chewing loudly. “Well I wouldn’t miss Phoenix if I was her.”
“Could you—”
“You’ve seen it probably a hundred times. Let me enjoy my first watch the way I like.”
You don’t want to admit that he’s right, so you just groan quietly and don’t say anything.
A triumphant grin stretches across his face. “I knew it. You really are a vampire girlie, huh?”
“Should I leave? Seems like I’m stopping you from having fun,” you finally snap back, tone sharper than you meant it to be. He pauses the film and puts the popcorn bowl away.
“What’s wrong, Ban? I thought we were cool now.” His brows are tightly knit together, eyes wide open, a hint of worry glistening in them.
“Nothing, it’s just—we should—” you stop and look away, unable to stand his gaze.
“We should what? Talk to me.” He turns to fully face and rests his hand on yours. Your pulse spikes up and you carefully look back at him.
“It’s nothing, really. It can wait. Let’s watch the film, alright? We can—we can talk later, yeah?”
The silence that comes sits heavy with Rex gazing at you, his jaw working.
“Yeah, okay.” His voice is laced with a glint of sadness. He takes his hand away and you ache for it to return to yours immediately. He forces a smile back on his face. “But I’m gonna narrate the whole thing.”
You manage a weak lip curl and nod before resuming the film. “Pass the popcorn,” you add after the introduction of the hottest dad this world has ever seen, Charlie.
Rex barely keeps in a laugh, his whole body shaking. “What kind of reaction is that?!” He mocks Bella’s hand gesture when she gets the pick-up truck.
“Oh you just wait, honey. You haven’t even seen the most iconic part yet.”
He wipes a single tear away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “This is gonna be great.”
You chuckle and start eating the popcorn. His hand grazes against your and it lingers there for a moment too long before he stuffs his face full. You breathe out slowly, trying to slow down the hammering of your heart. It’s just a movie night, nothing else.
“Why does he sit down like this—” he points his hand at Edward’s fingers weirdly stretched on the cafeteria table. “Wait—” he gasps loudly. “—are those… EGGS?”
“Yeah, a dozen to be exact—” your voice catches when Rex curls his fingers around your thigh.
“The stare. Oh my God, THE STARE.” He’s practically yelling at this point. “Ban, I’m not going to survive this; we’re 10 minutes in and I’m seconds away from dropping dead.”
“And why’s that?” you mutter, his hand on your thigh burning hot.
He dramatically flops limp against you. “Cause of death: cringe overdose.”
“Christ, I think you’re even worse than the movie.”
“Yeah, and you like that.” He winks at you and sits up, bending one knee.
You both burst up laughing when Edward scrunches his face and covers his nose at Bella’s scent.
“I bet she smells like expired milk in a locker,” he cries out after a moment, still catching his breath. “Or, no—like if somebody microwaved a fish in the kitchen.” You’re catching your stomach and when you glance at him mid-laugh, your mouth goes slack; you notice Rex has dimples when he smiles, the faint lines scattered around his face making him even more handsome.
“Or maybe…” His laughter dies into a smirk as he leans in, closing the space until you feel the heat of him against your temple. His voice drops, eyes flicking over your face. “...like trouble. Which, by the way, is exactly what you smell like.”
He doesn’t move away—he lingers, waiting to see what you’ll do. You quickly look back at the screen, heat rushing to your cheeks, but your pulse is thrumming in your ears.
“You’re going to miss my favourite scene,” you manage to say when the diner comes into view. He mutters something under his nose but thankfully doesn’t push and turns his focus back to the film. You bite your lip and smile before nudging him with your knee.
“Now, look at the way she pours ketchup.”
“This is a film of all films.” He snorts and hides his face in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. He settles his hand on your thigh again, a little higher this time. You let him, even though your mind is telling you ‘no, but your heart is telling you ‘yes’. The blue tinted indie-wannabe movie goes on and you both enjoy it in comfortable silence. For a while, at least.
“Well, I know the wettest place in the continental US was here on my bed—” You swat him before he can continue.
“REX, I SWEAR TO GOD—”
He glances at you with the smuggest smirk you’ve ever seen. “What? Tell me I'm lying,” he murmurs right into your ear, voice daring. Blood boils in your veins with his hot breath against your skin—anger, or something else you’d rather ignore raising the temperature of your body.
Before you can stop yourself you turn to face him, your lips almost brushing his. You glance down at them and freeze, your ears ringing. He cups your face, hand gentle on your cheek. The faint smell of his cologne creeps up your nose and it leaves you lightheaded.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
Your eyes meet his and what you see takes your breath away—his eyelids are halfway down, pupils blown wide. Your hand is on the back of his neck in seconds, but you don’t close the distance, you can’t.
You flutter your lashes and wait for him to make a move, but he waits for yours. For a moment the world stops spinning and it’s just the two of you in the entire universe. You lose yourself in the green of his eyes, dark and moody like the forests of Forks.
Screams coming from the laptop speakers snap you back to reality and you clear your throat before moving away. You swear he shakes his head and mutters later under his nose, but your eyes stay glued to the film. The atmosphere sits heavy between you, almost buzzing until you break with a chuff when James comes onto screen.
“You guys would make great friends,” you state.
“Just ‘cause we both walk around shirtless?”
“Yeah, that and being cheesy as hell.”
He rolls his eyes at you but you see the faintest curl of his lip corner. He places the popcorn bowl in your lap and grabs the gummies from the nightstand. The soft texture touches your lips when he tries to feed you a red-green worm. Your lips part and he places the snack for you to bite on.
You smile weakly and turn your attention to the movie, which proves difficult when he takes your hand into his, squeezing it gently. If you weren’t sitting, you’d probably get dizzy and fall. You curse at yourself in your head, feeling stupid for swooning over him like one pale teenage girl leaning against an old, beat up orange truck.
“HOW—?! HOW DID HE STOP A WHOLE VAN WITH ONE HAND?!”
You get startled as Rex raises his voice along with his arms. He looks at you with disbelief painted on his face, but it quickly turns into something more mischievous. “Ohh, you’re done for,” he laughs, noticing the blush spreading on your cheeks. A handful of popcorn mixed with gummy worms land in his mouth when he rests his back against the wall with a satisfied grin.
Your eyes wander to him every few minutes. The dim light in the room softens his sharp profile and jaw lines; you notice his side-shave is slightly overgrown, bun hanging low, barely stopped by the tie from coming undone.
He catches you staring between his stupid remarks about Bella’s search for answers, but doesn’t say anything. At least, not with words. His hand still lingers on yours, the touch sending hot flashes through every nerve ending in your body. Focusing on the movie seems impossible—good thing you already know it by heart.
A deep sigh comes from your right and you turn your head towards him. He’s looking at you already, with that playful smirk that makes your gut twist; the one you hate to love, and love to hate. His hand leaves yours and comes up to his head to let his hair down.
The dark coppery strands fall down below his chin, slightly curved at the ends. Your mouth gapes at the view; it’s a shame he doesn’t wear his hair loose more often, he’s so beautiful it’s unfair. You can’t take your eyes off him, soaking in how his red strands frame his face.
“Better view from down here,” he states as he lays his head down in your lap. You open your mouth to protest, but when he shifts a few times to make himself comfortable, you close it. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers thread through his hair spread out on your thighs like a halo. He hums low in his throat and his palm lands on your knee, the warmth of it spreading on your skin.
The movie goes on and you play with his strands absentmindedly, watching as Edward runs with Bella on his back at 1.5 speed. When he reaches the only spot where the sun shines through a thick cover of the trees and starts shining, Rex groans and shifts to look at you.
“I can’t believe—” he starts, but you shush him. When Edward says ‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella’ you quietly mouth it with him.
“You’re crazy. He looks like a disco ball,” Rex exclaims, sending you an unamused look before turning his head fully towards the screen. You pull his ear gently and he chuckles, then hums low when you start scratching his head.
“You’re like a cat,” you coo, looking down at him with a soft smile.
“More like a tiger,” he replies, and emphasizes his point with a comically terrible roar.
You snort, but then try not to gasp when he starts soothing his hand up and down your leg, your skin prickling at the tender touch.
“I think you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” he mumbles, not turning to meet your eyes.
“Yeah, I am,” you reply quietly, a warm feeling blooming in your chest.
—
The forest scene drags on with Edward jumping between tree branches like a baboon. Rex groans so loud you almost choke laughing. “Did he just—he did. He called her his personal brand of heroin. This man has negative game. Minus rizz. And yet—” his tone changes, low and teasing now—“you’re still glued to it. You’re a sucker for melodrama.”
“And you’re not?” you challenge.
He smirks. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”
Your lips press into a thin line and you try to settle into this new, charged reality you found yourself in. Besides a few daring lines, he’s really trying to respect your boundaries this time, not pushing you into something you wouldn’t be able to stop.
Rex tosses the popcorn on the laptop when the infamous baseball scene rolls. Your whole body is shaking from laughter when he screams at the screen.
“The leg?! Thunderball?! And she’s just standing there like it’s a Thursday?!” His hand dramatically drapes over his eyes. “Ban, I—no. This is art.”
He peeks at you between his fingers and you gaze back. When you take his palm away from his face, he interlaces his fingers with yours. Something twists sharp in your gut and he’s beaming, knowing exactly what he does to you.
—
When the prom scene finally arrives, he’s shouting at the laptop, gesturing wildly with the hand that’s not lying on your knee. “They’re dancing in a gazebo! To a song that sounds like a moulded sandwich!”
“You’re impossible,” you chuckle.
“Yeah, impossible to resist.” He winks at you.
You gasp in mock-offence and swat his arm. He catches your wrist and kisses the inside of it, making your heart skip a beat. “You haven’t fled yet.”
“‘Cause we’re watching an iconic film,” you reply and stick out your tongue playfully.
“Keep telling that to yourself.”
After the final credits cease to crawl up the screen, the room suddenly feels too quiet after two hours of Rex’s running commentary. His head is still heavy in your lap, your fingers still tangled in his hair like you forgot to stop.
“Hey.” His voice is softer now, pulling your eyes down to meet his. “We were supposed to talk after the movie.”
You bite down on your lip and glance away, but he shifts, propping himself up and catches your chin between his thumb and index finger, making you look back at him. “Quiet now? Alright. I’ll start then,” he murmurs. Then, he leans in without hesitation and presses his lips to yours.
The kiss is bold, almost claiming—charged with every stolen glance, every brush of skin. Your fingers find their way back into his hair, pulling him closer. The tension that’s been buzzing between you snaps as his lips possess yours.
He pulls back first, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing heavy. “I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t want you going, either.” He moves just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, hopeful—pleading almost when he whispers, “Stay. And not just tonight. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Track 14
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The top floor balcony of the humble recording studio overlooked a small backroad. It was just high enough to grant a view over the roofs of surrounding buildings, out towards the mountains, across the harbour. But thick cloud cover and the darkness of night collaborated to hide the Rockies from sight this evening. Instead, Raf’s gaze washed impassively over the array of city lights that extended across the harbour and disappeared into the distant North Vancouver neighbourhoods. He took a sip from the bottle of water in his hand and invited the evening chill to sober him up.
Behind him, the din of party revelry outcompeted the exterior ambiance of late-night city traffic. Hi-Note wasn’t usually so lively this close to midnight. Its business hours only ran until 8pm at the latest, and, save for the evenings when he used to jam here with Magritte, Raf usually had the place vacated and locked up within that same hour.
Today was a special occasion. It was the junior technician, Herbie’s, birthday. Since he had little where else to celebrate, Nels had hosted a surprise party for him in the studio. It wasn’t the first birthday Herb had celebrated in Vancouver, but it was the first birthday following a rather heartbreaking split with his once-steady girlfriend. The usually jovial lad had been, understandably, a lot more quietly introspective over the past few months. Once Nels had gained the knowledge that Herb had no big, exciting birthday plans this year, the rest was inevitable.
Raf had driven to work, and wholly planned to drive back home. Towards that end, he enjoyed his drink and smoke early, cut himself off early, and was now finally feeling clear minded enough to collect Margie and call it a night. Intending to do exactly that, Raf turned towards the sliding door of the balcony, downing his last gulp of water. And–discovered that Margie had found him first.
A smug grin and a playful wave preceded her sliding open the door. She stepped out onto the balcony, pulling the door shut behind her. “Ey, nice hiding spot, Ephrem!” She rubbed her hands together, watching her breath hang in the chilly air as she approached him.
Raf relented to leaning back against the balcony railing as Magritte dropped her elbows on it, beside him. “I was just about to go in and get you.”
She sighed and looked out across the harbour. “Past your bedtime?”
“Nah, the party’s winding down anyway. But I kinda wish I found you out here sooner. This view is really nice.” She sighed wistfully. “Glittery.”
He provided a self-depreciating smirk. You could set your watch to Raf’s night time routine and, typically, if he wasn’t in bed between eleven and eleven-thirty, he’d be grumpy if there wasn’t a good reason for it. A birthday, he supposed, was as good a reason as any.
“If you’re not ready to head home yet…” He allowed his easy capitulation to hang unspoken in the space between them.
Raf made no motion to herd her back inside. Instead, he placed his empty water bottle down by his feet and then settled further against the railing. He wasn’t worried about waiting much longer out here. Magritte had a low tolerance for cold, and the chilly March breeze would chase her back inside within a reasonable amount of time. Still, he didn’t want to give her the sense he was in any kind of hurry. Genuinely, he wasn’t.
“Yanno, this is the weirdest place I’ve ever worked at.” Magritte furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “Just a bunch of guys being pals, but also…not weird about it. And stuff gets done. And I–” She turned to look at him, “I help with that. Like, actually!” She turned her back to the landscape, electing to mirror Raf’s posture. “Okay, this sounds stupid but like…I’ve never felt good at a job before. Not just that, I’ve been proactive? I get to do stuff before someone has to ask me to do it? And, I do it properly? Wild. Nels even likes me!” She beamed up at him. “He called me ‘Supergirl’ today after hearing the vocal mixing I did for Cybele Fray.”
“Yeah…” Magritte pressed her palms against her cheeks and smooshed her face in a pensive gesture that wasn’t intended to look as silly as it did. “I’m worried I’ll lose interest and pitter out eventually. But until then, I’ll just enjoy feeling useful. And smart.”
Raf favoured her with a smirk, and wrinkled his brow in substitute for a shewed shrug. “Nels loved you the minute he saw you. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the first job you feel competent at is the first job that has you working with audio and such. You’re doing what you like doing.”
And, Raf thought, employed by someone who actually knows how to manage you.
It’s true that Hi-Note made excellent use of Margie’s savant-like skills, but not all of it had been absolutely enthralling to her. A bored Margie was difficult to keep on task, but somehow Nels had managed to navigate her ‘on again, off again’ pattern of productivity. Largely, Raf noticed that Nels cycled her off monotonous tasks before they had a chance to bore her–no matter their state of completion. And then, he’d put her back on it as soon as she looked ready to smooth her brain on something simple and repetitive again. Raf had taken that observation–and applied it at home. Very quickly, he helped her build a habit of taking just one dish out of the sink, washing it, and putting it away, any time she found herself in the kitchen during a moment of aimless roving. Not always, mind you…but often enough. One thing at a time, and the order of it doesn’t matter.
Raf considered whether or not he ought to affirm to her for the umpteenth time that she was one of the most brilliant people he had ever met. But the window of opportunity closed when she continued talking.
“Life’s been really…easy this year, so far. Like, the easiest it’s ever been. I like it. A lot.” She turned her eyes up to him with an unspoken question that he couldn’t quite read.
“Same.”
“Really?” Her questioning gaze pressed further.
Raf measured her for a moment.
Yet–there she was.
Until she showed up, he had been living alone in a two bedroom, downtown apartment; a feat of luxury by Vancouver standards. He’d have described it as a relatively ‘small’ space; each room was big enough to fit a bed, a dresser, a night stand, and little else. But, two bedrooms were still two bedrooms. Near Yaletown, no less. Truth be told, the income he was making at Hi-Note would not have been enough to afford it, if he had to rely on it alone. But he had been rather uncompromising about having a spare room for guests–until Magritte moved in. Now, that room was hers; guests be damned.
It was a bit strange to think about. Generally, Raf preferred being alone. He found that living with anyone else always came with more stress than it was worth; whether it was with a steady romantic partner, or a family member. He was fairly certain that he’d never lend himself to the horrors of rooming with a friend who barely knew him. The very idea had felt like a violation against the sanctity of his home–the one place he could withdraw and hide into when he needed the peace and quiet to sort himself out. He didn’t trust family nor lovers to respect his space when he most needed it. A roommate as impersonal as a friend would have been much worse, and for absolutely nothing.
He had first invited Magritte to crash at his place on an impulse. Though he feared the precedent it may have set, she didn’t overstay her welcome. In fact, she had barely stayed at all. That hadn’t surprised him nearly as much as his resulting disappointment had. And so, he invited her again. And again. And again. And each time, he confirmed for himself that she was simply…good company. He slept easier on the nights she occupied the guest room. His mood each morning felt buoyed by her presence, even before she emerged to greet him in the kitchen. He just liked talking to her. The baseline of her mood seemed to always be several levels more pleasant than his own, and the way she carried her joviality made it infectious, not grating. Even on the mornings when she had shuffled into the kitchen muttering a preemptive apology for her irritable mood, she had been sweet about it.
Magritte did something to his brain chemicals that medications just couldn’t compete with. But what that was exactly, he had no god damn clue. The only other thing he could think of that would come close to eliciting the same kind of response from him–might have been something like…having a box of fluffy kittens gently dumped on him. Maybe that’s what she was to him; a box of sweet, soft, wobbly kittens–personified. It would certainly explain the cuteness-aggression she often provoked; that overwhelming desire to just scrunch her up into a little ball and tear her apart with his teeth…affectionately.
Oftenly, so did she.
Now she had her own key to the apartment and, over the winter, the guest bedroom had slowly been transformed into her disorderly, war-torn little nest. A true nightmare to behold for all the clutter and chaos; clothing haphazardly strewn across every inch of floor, and a plethora of dirty cups and plates on–and around–the nightstand by her bed.
Strangely, it didn’t bother him. She had warned him of her negligent cleanliness habits well in advance. In fact, she had initially cited it as her reason for not wanting to overstay at his place. In response, he had given her the room to do with as she pleased–on the sole condition that she kept the door closed and ensured her mess never breached containment. If he didn’t like it, he simply didn’t have to look at it. Aside from leaving dishes in the sink (and occasionally on the living room coffee table), Magritte had been pretty good at maintaining her end of the bargain. By and large, her messes stayed confined to her room.
When it came to the matter of Raf coveting his peace and quiet, Magritte had proven to be no trouble at all. That was remarkable, considering how loud she was in almost everything she did. But, most evenings after work, she straight up ignored him. She spent her time holed up in her bedroom, playing music and browsing the internet. Raf had once expressed appreciation for Margie’s unobtrusiveness–and was met with a mixture of disbelief and tremendous relief from her. Apparently, most others hadn’t found the same kind of comfort he did in a roommate that happily kept to themselves. She had grown accustomed to worrying that her ‘shut-in’ behaviour was excessive and inconsiderate, because if someone didn’t come and pull her away from her hobbies, she was liable to get lost in her solitary activities for hours. For Raf’s part, he was just content knowing she was there if he felt in need of company, but rarely did he feel compelled to call upon her for it. He liked her little routine of being present in the mornings, joining him for lunch, winding down with him for an hour after work, and then emerging once more for dinner before they both disappeared to their respective corners of the apartment for the rest of the evening–until bedtime.
While Magritte spent the days in her room, she developed a habit of spending most of her nights in his bed. He accepted the blame for that. Generally preferring to sleep in cooler temperatures, he neglected to consider that his love for a brisk chill wasn’t universally shared. To his quiet horror, he learned one morning that Margie’s feet were often corpse cold. The nail beds on her toes would turn purple from poor circulation, she’d get sensitive little blisters under the skin, and the ache of being chilled through the bone would keep her awake at night. Genuinely, the bones in her feet were colder than the ambient temperature. He wouldn’t have thought it possible if he hadn’t felt the impossible iciness of her skin with his own hands.
She had laughed, telling him that this was just how things always were for her during the winter months. It’s why she so greatly preferred the sweltering heat of summer. And that’s when Raf offered to let her cosy up in his bed. He always felt too warm at night, and she had literal ice blocks for feet. The solution seemed pretty obvious to him.
And so, she had spent most of the winter nights with her feet pressed against his back, tucked behind his knees, or sandwiched between his legs. That same arrangement led Raf to discover that sleep came easy when he had something–or someone–to curl his arms around at night. And just like that, over the course of three short months, Magritte had nearly extinguished his reluctant dependence on sleeping medication.
As far as roommates were concerned, Magritte was…an unusual one. If he had tried to explain any of the peculiar details about their mutual arrangements to literally anyone else, he knew what it all sounded like. He had considered that maybe he was attracted to Margie; head-over heels in love with her. The problem was, he had been in love before. It made him stupid. And it made him unmanageably paranoid. Weird elation tangled with exhausting, antagonising suspicion; the highest highs and lowest lows. Margie didn’t make him stupid nor particularly paranoid. In fact, he had been able to navigate her with a level of clear-minded ease that was somewhat unusual to him. Perhaps it was in the way she spoke plainly and honestly with him. Despite how hard he looked for it, there was never any hidden nuance to the things Magritte said, wanted, or felt.
Paranoia still sunk its hooks into him the same way he had grown to expect it–but a different part of him, a voice of reason that he had been working hard to cultivate, granted him a very small, very rare sense of satisfaction when he turned it to Margie’s defence. So he cared for her, at the very least. But she didn’t burden him with the dizzying gauntlet of infatuation. He wasn’t in love with her.
But she was easy to be with. And, under her influence, life had felt much kinder.
“Yeah, really.”
Raf watched relief wash over Margie’s features, and she let out a little chuckle. “Oh, good. ‘Cus, yanno…usually, if I’m having a good time, it’s ‘cus someone else is running themselves ragged for it. And I don’t want you to–”
“I promised I’d tell you if things ever started feeling off,” Raf cut in. “It’s been weird, but not off-putting. I’ve liked it, so far.”
Her eyes held him with an expression he couldn’t quite identify, something close to tearful. But there was a delighted, grateful reverence in her gaze that wounded him in a peculiar way. He felt compelled to soothe it.
“Hey.” Impassively, he pushed himself off the balcony railing to stand and turn towards her. “Can I try something?”
Her mouth twitched upward in a quizzical smirk. “What?” Raf tilted his head to one side, and leaned in just enough to spur a response from her, “Oh-! Yeah? Yeah!? Ok, yes!”
He kissed her.
If he liked it? If it made him uneasy? If it did anything for him, at all?
It was a soft, gentle, fleeting little gesture; he didn’t hold it for more than a second. It was just a taste, to see–
To see what?
He lingered as he considered it, and just barely had time to register the broad grin on Magritte’s face before he felt her warm hands cup his jaw. She pulled him into another, far more impassioned kiss of her own–and he met her lips with the energy to match.
As her fingers snaked around the back of his neck, he felt his hair raise beneath her touch. He leaned into her more bodily, bracing against the railing with a firm, steadying grasp. He hadn’t intended anything more than a chaste little peck, but he felt Margie’s soft lips part to invite his tongue, and was loath to leave her wanting. Her fingers ran up the back of his head, combing through his hair, and then curled back down to tenderly caress behind his ears.
A thrill of warmth originating from her hands shivered through his body–to his groin. It coaxed a surprised purr out of his throat, and he caught it in his mouth before turning into a snort through his nose. He broke the kiss, pulling away from Magritte’s grasp to drop his forearms onto the cold balcony railing beside her, curling over himself to rest his forehead atop them.
There was a moment of silence as Raf found himself more thankful than ever for the chill evening breeze. And then Margie’s tentative voice met his ear.
“S-sorry. I got…I got a little carried away.”
Raf reluctantly lifted his head to shoot her a self-deprecating smile. “Not just you.”
He watched her brow furrow with concerned bewilderment for a brief moment before the combination of details clicked in her mind.
“Oh-!” Her eyes grew wide with mischievous delight, “I gave you a boner!” The exclamation came as hushed as she could manage, but her triumphant grin spoke volumes.
He shut his eyes in a beleaguered wince. “Don’t sound so pleased.” He opened them again when he felt her lean against his arm.
She tilted her head to catch his gaze, and wore a cheeky smile. “We can go home and do something about it, if you want.”
Hold on, now. “Nnn…”
Well, maybe?
He cast her an incredulous look.
“Or not!” She pulled back with an exaggerated shrug. “I know people get weird about that kinda thing–or–maybe I’m weird about it. I dunno, I’ve never been bothered by, uh…” The sentence dissolved into a weak chuckle, and her cheeks flushed pink under the faint, warm lighting that emanated from within the studio.
Raf had never been one for casual flings. Some manner of romantic attachment had always been prerequisite before the idea of sex could carry any appeal to him at all. But then again, he never had a friend as openly straightforward as Margie before. She was as uncomplicated as they came, and Raf recklessly wondered if that would at all be compromised by taking up the offer she had just presented to him. It felt irresponsible to even consider it, but…
Your stupid fingers in my hair got me feeling some kind of way.
Embarrassing, how easily he had been turned on. But then again, it had been a fair few years since anyone had touched him like that and, woe betide him, a man was still a man after all.
It was wrong about Margie. And if it wasn’t, well.
And then there was the matter of Margie’s confidence. He liked the kiss–he obviously liked the kiss. Her ensuing proposition wasn’t a wholly unwelcome one, either. But, for someone who claimed she wasn't able to read between the lines with people, she was an expert adept at reading far too much into anything that could be perceived as a rejection. She had escalated things, but he had started it–and he didn’t want her to feel shame for reciprocating the way she had. The awful, feral part of his brain that he loathed screamed like a banshee; the usual chorus about ulterior motives and emotional manipulation. It was wrong, of course. It was always wrong.
Except for when it wasn’t.
If I die, I die. Fuck.
“Sure, let's try it on.”
Margie stared up at him with those wide, blue eyes, but her brow was tense with uncertainty. “Really?”
He provided a small shrug. “We already share a bed. This’ll just be another weird thing we do in our growing list of weird things. Maybe we’ll change our mind on the way home. But at the very least, I wouldn’t mind another kiss or few.” To illustrate his point, he leaned in and pressed his lips sweetly against her forehead.
When he pulled away, Margie stood up straight and bounced on her heels, holding her face in her hands. “Okay, okay! Yeah!” She darted towards the door and slid it open. “I’ll go get my coat, and–!”
She stopped short of scurrying inside, and turned to ensnare him in a tight little hug. Raf didn’t have time to close his arms around her in response before she broke away from him again to scamper down the hall. He stared after her for a bewildered moment as she disappeared around the corner, towards the stairs.
By the time he caught up with her again, she was already downstairs saying her farewells to the Hi-Note crew. She wrapped Herb up in an energetic hug that he happily reciprocated.
A large hand clapped Raf on the back before a familiar voice behind him asked, “Everything good?”
He turned to see Nels favouring him with a warm smile.
“Yeah, I was just…” He pointed a loose finger towards the ceiling, “taking a moment.”
Of everyone in the room, Nels was the only person who knew about Raf’s disorders. He was the first glimpse Raf ever had of what a ‘proper’ father was supposed to look like. The man was raising three daughters at home and brought that same air of patient, fatherly responsibility into the office with him each day. Raf, in particular, had been adopted by him as a kind of nephew. Nels was a best friend to his Uncle Bill, and Bill trusted him to help Raf settle into a good circle of friends and acquaintances. Raf had been reluctant to grow familiar with anyone who wasn’t his Uncle, but with a significant amount of encouragement from both his Uncle and his therapist, Raf stuck it out with Hi-Note through the several occasions he had been tempted to quit on a bad vibe, misinterpreted comment, or fearful hunch. So far, it had been working out favourably for him. The pay wasn’t great, but Raf didn’t need the income of a steady job. Rather, his therapist had been right to say that getting out of the house and expanding his ‘library of positive experiences’ was much better for his health than isolating himself at home, rotting under the grimey weight of his paranoid assumptions and suspicions.
“You got a piece of cake, right?” Nels fished for an excuse to keep Raf around.
“Nah, Margie scarfed down enough for both of us.”
Reeling back with a dissatisfied but good humoured growl, Nels insisted, “Oh, you gotta try this one. The icing is–”
“Too sweet,” Raf cut in with a defusing laugh. “I had a bite. It’s good, but a taste was plenty.”
“It’s already midnight,” Margie’s voice interjected, “If Raf had it his way, he’d have been in bed an hour ago. Cake ain’t gonna fix that.”
“Bah!” Nels waved them both off, defeated. “Fine, go. Get out of my building, you kids don’t know how to have fun anymore.”
“Fun? In this economy?” Margie clutched imaginary pearls before her expression of mock dismay dissolved into a grin and she opened her arms for a parting hug.
Nels swooped down to envelop her, and for a moment his broad body fully eclipsed her from Raf’s view. “Drive safe, be good. See you on Monday.” He pulled away from Margie, turning his gaze to make sure the sentiment landed with Raf as well.
Raf provided a lopsided smirk and a gesture that was something between a wave and a salute. A chorus of goodbyes followed him and Margie out the front doors of Hi-Note studio, and Margie waved back over Raf’s shoulder until the doors closed behind them.
“I like them,” she said with a happy sigh.
“Yeah.” Raf led the way to his little, dark blue sedan parked against the street curb and watched her shuffle gleefully towards the passenger side. “They like you, too.”
Hard not to.
He got into the car and turned on the engine.
–
The ride home was tricky for Magritte as she tried hard to temper her expectations. Raf was a skittish person by nature, and she had to be very careful about not overwhelming him or applying too much pressure with her eager enthusiasm. Any time he felt like he had put himself into a corner by overpromising or obligating himself too irrevocably to something, his instinct was to escape it–no matter what ‘it’ was. But there was nothing irrevocable nor obligatory about her offer to sleep with him tonight. Not ‘sleep’ in the literal sense of the word, for once. No, if he let her, she was going to suck his spirit out through his dick and fuck him into the ground. Good god, she had been wanting this for months.
But Raf, being Raf, was liable to change his mind at the very last minute. And if he did, she wasn’t going to take it personally. She wasn’t. Nor would she be upset, nor disappointed, nor in any way disparaging about it. The most she could do was make sure not to push the topic too eagerly on the way home, and to avoid offering up any obstacles that might serve to dissuade him.
…Which made it very difficult for her to bring up one particular topic of concern before they had passed by the last 7/11 and it was too late.
“I guess, um…Should we pick up condoms? I can run in and get them.”
She held her breath as she watched him consider the question for a moment.
Funnily enough, it wasn’t a matter of protecting against diseases. They both had a clean bill of health, and came to know that about each other when she experienced a rare episode of anxiety regarding the last guy she had stayed with. In her weird panic, she greatly overshared a plethora of details to Raf. He had been remarkably cool about it, and walked her through the entire process of getting tested–something he was no recent stranger to.
Rather, she didn’t want to tempt fate on getting knocked-up; not when life was just starting to become enjoyable again. The idea of pregnancy was a lovecraftian horror to her, and the stress of dealing with something like that to any extent just wasn’t worth the gamble. She was on the pill, yes…but even that wasn’t guaranteed protection. And, with how often she forgot to take it, she wasn’t sure it protected her at all.
“I mean…” Raf began, hesitantly.
Magritte spared him the trouble. “Or not, if it’s a pain in the ass.” She shrugged with a disarming little laugh. “It’s a bit out of the–”
Raf cut her off. “No, it’s fine, we absolutely can. It’s just that I’m–” Without taking his eyes off the road he produced a scissor-snipping motion with his fingers.
Margie stared for a bewildered moment before her brain picked it up. “Wait, what? Really? Why?” She had leaned towards him with that last question before realising it was probably a shitty thing to ask.
But, if it bothered Raf, he showed no sign of it. “I don’t want kids, and I had…an unpredictable ex.”
“Oh!” Margie had the good sense not to press him further, and leaned back into her seat. She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Well, lucky me.”
She delighted in the humoured snort she coaxed from him. His easy smile and relaxed posture assured her that he wasn’t grappling with any second thoughts.
That won a sidelong glance from him. “So..?”
“Straight home, garçon!” She chopped one hand into the palm of the other with mock urgency. “The minutes are precious!”
And indeed, though he had kept his hands to himself for much of the ride home, and in the elevator up to his apartment, Magritte found herself pressed between his body and the door to his flat as he warmed her with a voraciously weighty kiss. She received it gratefully. The heat of him, the molten softness of his lips, the scruffy, tickling hairs of his chin–
She hadn’t realised that his free hand–the one not curled amorously around her body–had been busy unlocking the door. She’d have staggered backwards when it opened, had Raf not preemptively braced her with the arm that held her.
He broke the kiss in order to assure that their half-stumble into the apartment didn’t devolve into a full stumble. But still, he kept a steadying arm around her, and she rewarded the preservation of closeness by pressing a string of kisses down his neck and towards his collarbone. Her hands had found their way beneath both his jacket and t-shirt, the flesh of his torso hot against her forearms and fingertips.
She heard the door close shut behind them, and the familiar sound of the keys dropping onto the counter before the hand that had been holding them cupped the side of her head. She felt his lips press against the opposite temple.
She had been able to kick off her shabby, loose-fitting boots without pause, but she reluctantly peeled herself away from Raf in case he wanted to take his sneakers off with a little more care. And, perhaps…to give him some space to think. Taking the opportunity to remove her jacket, she chucked it haphazardly across the couch.
Raf was measuring her with a gaze when she turned back towards him.
“Second thoughts?” Her smirk carried a cheeky confidence that worked hard to cover the self-conscious tone in her voice.
“No.” His bewildered inflection and raised eyebrows explained plenty; he had expected to turn against the idea by now.
“It’s a bit impulsive,” Magritte conceded.
Raf provided a slow nod, “It is…”
“I’d really like it, though.”
“I want you to.” He seemed to chew on that for a moment, as though it had answered something for him.
There was an awkward standoff while neither of them moved, and in that brief moment, Magritte deeply regretted putting the space between them. Finally, Raf approached her and placed a kiss onto her forehead while his hands gently teased the elastic tie out of her nest of auburn curls. She wrapped her palms around the back of his neck as she felt her hair fall loose from the messy bun it had been wrangled into.
“Promise me this won’t fuck anything up.” His voice was low and quiet in her ear. The pleading tone was only amplified by the lingering manner in which his cheek rested against the side of her head. His warm breath against her slightly chilled skin inspired goosebumps.
She pulled back to look him squarely in the eyes. This was far from being her first tryst with a friend, and she knew herself well in this regard. “I promise it won’t! Not for me, but…” She offered an apologetic half-smile. “I can’t promise it won’t change things for you; I don’t control how you react. So, really. Really, really, really–if you’re not sure, then I’d rather…not. I like things the way they are. I like doing things with you. To me, this is just another thing I like doing that I think would be really fun to do with you. Not at the expense of anything else, though.”
He searched her features with a scrutinising stare, and she didn’t shy away from it.
“Nothing changes,” He asserted, “we’re just friends.”
“Good friends,” she offered back with an impudent grin.
He mirrored her expression with a scoff and a lopsided smirk of his own. “The friendsiest friends.”
“But, friends just the same.”
Her conviction was rewarded with another kiss, his lips melting against hers as she felt the tension in his muscles evaporate through a sigh. Her hands glided up his arms, over his shoulders, and around to the back of his neck. As she gently combed her fingernails through his hair, she remembered that delightful little noise she had coaxed out of him on the balcony. What had done it? Was it the kiss? Or…
Her fingers traced the contours of his scalp and, as she curled them towards her palm, they lightly caressed the back of his ears. Her thumbs smoothed over the muscles of his jaw, but before she completed the gesture, he broke away from her.
“Alright, friend.” He curled his upper lip to flash teeth at her in a playful snarl. “Get your lily white ass into the bedroom before the last brain cell navigating my good manners is starved of oxygen.” He turned her toward the hall, and a pat of his hand against her butt provided her with all the motivation she needed to oblige his request.
She whisked herself down the hall into his room, and left the door just slightly ajar for him. She knew he wasn’t going to follow her right away. He had his evening habits to tend to; checking the door, setting the thermostat, turning out the lights, and taking his meds with a tall glass of water. It would have been silly of her to think that the promise of tits and ass would throw him off routine.
Magritte took the opportunity to shed her clothes, throwing off her shirt and wiggling out of her tight tank top–a personal compromise for her disdain for bras. She shimmied out of her denim shorts and leggings both in the same gesture. Her underwear, though, was of a cute, boyish design and she decided she’d give Raf the satisfaction of peeling them off her, if he so wished to.
Wait, just the underwear? Is that weird? She considered putting the tank top back on, and failed to gather the motivation for it. And so, she settled upon a better idea. Grabbing one of his t-shirts out of the second drawer of his dresser, she pulled it on, over her head. Hell yeah, guys love this shit.
No sooner had she put on his shirt than he walked in to see her wearing it. She turned to him with a sheepish grin, tugging the bottom hem over her thighs.
Taking a sip from the glass of water in his hand, Raf clocked the shirt and favoured her with a humoured hum. “Comfy?”
She provided a coy nod, and, before she could do much else, he abandoned his glass on the top of the dresser to close the distance between them. His arms caught her up into more of a ‘scrunch’ than a proper hug, and he came down on her with a frustrated growl, burying his entire face into the side of her neck with the sound of exaggerated chomping. The combination of lightly grazing teeth and his rough chin against her skin elicited a startled yelp from her before sending her into a fit of uncontrolled giggles as she was effortlessly bowled over onto the bed.
“I changed my mind.” He snarled, “I’m gonna eat you, instead. Hungry, horny, it’s all the same.”
“It’s not, though!” Her words were barely intelligible, warbling with laughter.
As she struggled in vain to wedge a hand between the soft flesh of her throat and his coarse goatee, his mock gnashing softened into playful kisses. Regaining her composure and chasing away her giggles by clearing her throat, she snaked her hands beneath his shirt.
“I’m worth more to you undevoured, I promise.”
“Remains to be seen,” Raf muttered into the hollow beneath her ear.
“Well…let's see.”
Her thumbs smoothed over the trail of body hair from belt line to belly button, before her palms passed broadly over the front of his stomach, around his sides, and up his back. Digging her fingers into his shoulder blades, she tilted her chin back and drew in a long breath as his lips travelled down her neck, towards her collar bone.
Distracted by the pleasant textures of his mouth, Magritte’s attention hadn’t followed his travelling hands–until she felt the heel of his palm press broadly against her clit through the fabric of her underwear. Instinctively, her thighs tightened around him, and her hands abandoned their near-completed task of unbuttoning his jeans; grasping the waistline instead. She coiled into his touch as his palm lifted away to drag his fingertips lightly up, towards the top hem of her panties. From there, they slipped easily under the close-hugging fabric to sink into the warm folds between her legs.
Raf’s firm, steadying grasp around her ribcage slid up to appreciate the soft, pliable curves of her breasts hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt. His fingers teased the hardened nipples while she manoeuvred her lower body beneath him. She freed her legs out from under his lap so that her thighs hugged around his hips and, in swift order, she ghosted her hands down to find his belt. As she worked to unbuckle it, his mouth caught hers. His tongue teased her lips apart and she welcomed it with her own.
His kisses had a soft, buttery quality reminiscent of a girl she once loved, and it was a feeling she treasured. His lips, smooth and warm, melted against the tense contours of hers in a sensasion she could only describe as ‘creamy and comforting’.
She felt his fingers tease her apart, and they traced the contours of her sex with gentle confidence, exploring her geography. Though his mouth worked fervently against her lips, throat, and collar bone, his touch between her legs was restrained and methodical. She had expected him to plunge knuckle deep into the first hole he found–as men in her experience were typically inclined to. But his fingers only teased her entrance before gliding back up her moistened crease to find–
“Oh-!” Margie flinched as a shock jolted her body. Not painfully, but in a manner comparable to having an icecube suddenly pressed against her, unexpected.
Raf stilled the moment she had tensed.
“Sensitive.” His observation was murmured into the crook of her neck before he purred more audibly into her ear, “Sorry, love.”
She paused. His fingers had begun to work firm, broad circles around her clit in a way that, at first, didn’t feel like it was doing anything special for her. But quickly, she felt a building pressure begin to heat her core.
Sensitive?
She wasn’t, though. In the past, complaints had been made that she took too long to get off. Her previous fling had joked that only a jackhammer could provide the adequate stimulation she needed. When it came to sex, she knew herself as a veritable puzzle box of distractibility and dulled senses. It meant excellent stamina and fun sensations, but a proper orgasm delivered in a timely manner required her own effort more than the effort of her partner.
“No, no,” she began placatingly, “you didn’t–”
That same heat rose up to prickle her chest and cheeks. Margie pressed her mouth against the top of his shoulder to muffle a reverent, “Motherfucker.”
That was not the appropriate choice of words to praise him with, but that’s what forced its way out of her throat. He had found that sweet spot almost as easily as she might have found it herself, which led her to the realisation that she had been robbed–robbed–by previous lovers. What the everloving fuck.
She couldn’t help but let out a confounded little chuckle into the fabric of his shirt, and he responded with an amused little “Mmh.”
Without even meaning to, she had tensed her grip around him. Her arms held him tight, with handfuls of his shirt balled into her fists. Her legs had constricted around his waist and the leverage they provided allowed for the needy manner in which her hips writhed to meet his firm and steady touch. It was a greedy moment while she abandoned her attempts at reciprocation, intent on appreciating the way Raf kneaded her between his fingers. Her long drawn sighs of pleasure slowly devolved into a breathy panting–which fell into near perfect synchrony with his purposeful, hastening strokes between her thighs.
If she had been paying attention to her breathing, if she had noticed when her voice began releasing a single, ragged note every few breaths, she might have asked for pause. But, she hadn’t been paying attention to anything other than the growing warmth between her legs and the tense swell of pressure gathering in the very pit of her stomach. And it grew, hotter and hotter, with each purposeful, dexterous stroke of his fingers. Oh–she was sensitive, now. Between her thighs, she could feel every small vibration that met her. The way his fingers worked pleased not just her clit, but the rest of her aroused sex as well. Every small movement he pressed into her, she felt across the entire organ. Her thighs closed around his waist as she lifted her hips to find her pleasure against his fingertips. She felt the muscles of her stomach draw tight.
A sharp gasp preceded a short, trembling “Ah-!” that escaped with her breath. All that tension, that gathering pressure, broke like a wave through her body. It had built up so quickly that the orgasm took her by complete surprise, and she writhed against Raf’s fingers as she rode it out; her face buried into the crook of his neck, eyes shut tightly.
She didn’t relax her body nor lift her head as the ripples of pleasure subsided, but she felt Raf’s fingers withdraw from her.
“Hey.” Raf’s voice crooned in her ear, and his hands on her waist pressed her lightly back, coaxing her to release him from the death-grip she held him in.
Reluctantly, she unfurled from him, uncoiling her arms, and dropping her knees to hang off his outer thighs. The rough texture of denim against the back of her calves reminded her that he still had his pants on. She came, and he was still wearing pants.
She hazarded a sheepish glance up towards his face, and was met with a modestly small smile, made very smug by the upward arch of his eyebrows.
“That’s what you get for the balcony boner, you little shit.”
Raf lifted himself off her, but she grabbed the front of his shirt with flustered defiance. “We’re not done!”
“You sure?” His incredulity wasn’t the least bit sincere. “Because it seemed to me like you–”
“No!” She scrambled to sit on her knees atop his bed and jabbed a demanding finger towards his waist. “Take your pants off!”
He hesitated, and for a moment, Margie genuinely worried he’d say ‘nah’. But instead, he leaned in for another kiss and obliged her command. The sound of his belt clattering outcompeted the sultry feeling of his lips for her attention, and her eager gaze turned automatically to assess what she was working with.
She had expected to see an aching erection. Usually, by the time the pants came off, guys had been hard as hell and ready to go. Instead, the man who had just rubbed the easiest orgasm she’d ever experienced out of her appeared lightly fluffed at most. For a brief second, she wondered if her playful brattiness had ruined the mood. And then, she considered…that possibly…she just wasn’t attractive to him.
She returned her attention to their kiss as she chewed on that thought a bit. As far as girls went, she was a bit of a gremlin. A goblin, even. She wouldn’t dare call herself a ‘woman’ nor even a ‘lady’--those words gave her gender expression far too much credit. But even so, she was mostly comfortable with her appearance. Regardless of that, sloppy tomboys weren’t everyone’s preferred cup of tea, and it didn’t have to be. She had slept with people she didn’t personally find attractive before and it had been fine and dandy, all things considered.
You can be ugly and still give killer blowjobs.
She smirked to herself, and, as she combed fingers through Raf’s hair with one hand, she allowed the other to travel down his torso until her palm curled around the soft, warm skin of his shaft. Her fingertips coiled along the underside of it, tracing a firm, straight line towards the base of the glans, and she massaged the head against the ball of her thumb with gentle, coaxing strokes.
His body responded to her touch; the malleable flesh stiffened in her grasp and filled her hand substantially. In return, her caresses grew more broad and firm; the heel of her palm only abandoning the sensitive tip for the brief intervals when her fingers endeavoured to tease and cradle his sack.
She felt Raf’s fingertips trace lightly up her spine, beneath her shirt, in a manner that provoked goosebumps. Once they found the loose curls of her hair, they followed her locks up to the nape of her neck, and brushed passionately over the base of her scalp. He hadn’t pulled his lips away from her, except to nip lightly at her jaw and ear.
A small “Hmm” escaped him, sounding more contemplative than pleased, and it prompted her to pull her gaze back and assess his features. He only mirrored her measuring glance before bestowing a sweet little kiss on her nose.
"We good?" She asked as cooly as she could manage.
"Yeah?" His response warbled on a laugh, and it coaxed a reassured smile out of her. "I'd say so."
“...Gave you another boner."
"Oh." He glanced down and said with a sardonic tone, "Shit, thanks for telling me. I'd have never known."
By the time his gaze returned to her, Margie met it with a stony, straight face.
His amused expression wavered. "...What?"
Holding his gaze, she pressed down on his erection with a forefinger before turning her eyes to watch it as she let it spring upward in a marvellously undignified display of structural tension. The juvenile mistreatment of his manhood left Raf at a temporary loss for words and Magritte stifled her laugh into a snort. Before he could chide her, she shoved both hands beneath his shirt and lifted it, intent on freeing him of the garment completely. With a muffled exclamation, he complied, lifting his arms and finishing the job of pulling it off, over his head.
Taking the opportunity to plant kisses across his chest and down his torso, Margie didn’t glance up to see his expression as her mouth dragged hungrily past his belly button and over the strip of body hair that led her down, towards the prize waiting for her between his legs. She rested her cheek against him, atop the unruly patch of honey coloured pubes that crowned his crotch, and closed her hand around the length of him. She was hopeless at measuring the size of anything with just a gaze, but he filled her grasp with a satisfying heft and was certainly longer than her hand. Favouring him with a well-appraising hum and a few loving strokes, she lifted her head to face her challenge. She peeled back the foreskin with a tender downstroke, before kissing the sensitive pink tip.
The scent of him was far from unpleasant; a heady musk that excited her senses goaded her to take him into her mouth. Slick moisture met her lips when they pressed against his flesh, and, when they parted to draw him in, her tongue was quick to receive him. She held the head of his cock in her mouth as her tongue swirled and lapped hungrily over its smooth contours. He provided texture more than taste; his scent informed the flavour perhaps more than anything else. Inside her mouth, he was velvety, warm, and gratifying to explore. She pulled her lips back over the gentle curves until they came together to kiss the tip again. Her tongue flicked out to lap the head’s underside before the rest of her mouth followed, and she drew him in deeper than before.
She repeated that course, cherishing every bit of him with her tongue before pulling back to kiss the tip, and then drawing him into her mouth deeper with each successive round. Her thumbs had run up his inner thighs until they found the silky skin of his sack. She held and massaged it gently, appreciating the supple texture beneath her fingertips.
Initially, Raf’s fingers had teased and entwined themselves in her nest of curls somewhat languidly. But slowly, his hands grew tense against the back of her head, occasionally clenching into fists around handfuls of her hair. She thought–and hoped–that he’d start pulling, but any time he came close to doing so, he quickly released his grip. She could have lamented that, but she appreciated the same restraint applied to the motions of his hips. As a precaution, Margie placed a steading hand around one side of his waist, but she knew from experience that this was poor defence against an overeager thrust. Under her palm, she could feel his muscles tense and flinch. That, coupled with the slight, uneven rolling of his hips, betrayed his urge to buck against her mouth. For his considerate efforts, she rewarded him by trying to decipher and match the pace that his rigidly subdued movements suggested to her.
“...Christ.” His breaths had been coming up deep and steady and the muttered profanity was barely audible to Magritte, but she caught it with a thrill.
In response, she closed her eyes and pulled him into her throat so that her lips were flush against the hot skin of his lower abdomen. Her throat constricted uncomfortably around the intrusion that had smoothed over her tonsils, and she pulled back before it forced her to gag. Taking a deep, steadying breath through her nose, she allowed herself a precious second before swallowing him again. Her throat was no happier for it, but making a man's dick disappear was her favourite little party trick. Raf’s fingers brushed over her jaw in a gesture that permitted her to release him, but she ignored it in favour of challenging her gag reflex a third time.
“Margie–!” He cupped her face more firmly, and this time, she obeyed what was clearly a request, not a suggestion.
She pulled back, hollowing out her cheeks so that he left her mouth with an audible *pop*, and turned a sheepish smile up to him.
He met her gaze with a mix of awe and incredulity.“Holy shit, warn me next time.”
Providing him with an unrepentant shrug, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Too much?"
“I mean, not if you’re trying to get this done and over with real quick.”
To that, Magritte flashed her teeth in an impish grin. “Finish him!”
Her poor yet unmistakable Mortal Kombat impression caused Raf’s brow to crease quizzically before a bark of laughter escaped him. “No, why are you like this?”
He flattened his palm against her face, and she let out an ineffective chihuahua-like snarl as he irreverently pushed her backwards so that she laid flat on her bed. She landed with a fit of giggles, and she felt his thumbs hook into the waistband of her panties. He slid them down past her knees and Magritte was able to wriggle the garment down, off her ankles. Kneeling between her legs, Raf grabbed her by the waist and playfully dragged her towards him so that her hips met his.
As he descended upon her with a flurry of kisses, she felt his erection lay flat across her stomach–the slick coat of moisture it wore from her mouth cooled on her skin. She couldn’t help but writhe eagerly beneath him; one hand in his hair while the other grasped and clawed needily along his lower back. His hands worked much more purposefully. One arm coiled around her shoulders to brace the both of them as the other snaked down her belly, fingertips finding the warm, damp flesh between her legs. He teased apart her lower lips, pressing a firm thumb just above her clit and massaging it gently. His middle and ring fingers skated easily downward to find her opening; tender and wet with her arousal. He pressed a careful finger into her and, when it sunk in with ease, he inserted another. With gentle strokes and twists, he acquainted himself with her; winning pleased hums and a determined roll of her hips as he felt the boundaries of her interior. His breath came up in heavy sighs as he kissed, bit, and sucked the flesh of her neck. She was aware, too, of how his hips rolled against hers with a neediness that mirrored her own.
His fingers withdrew from her and, for a moment, so too did his lower body. With keen anticipation, Margie wrapped her legs firmly around him for leverage, sinking her heels into the back of his calves as she lifted her hips up to receive him. He didn’t leave her waiting. She felt his cock press against and part her flesh to make space for itself. Swollen with arousal, her body provided pleasant resistance before surrendering to envelop him. He sank into her with gratifying ease; fitting comfortably between her legs. A delighted gasp escaped her when he drew his hips flush to hers, eliciting a ripple of pleasure that radiated out from her inner flesh, down into her toes. Her muscles clenched around him instinctively, and her knees lifted to hold him as closely to her as possible.
At the sound of her breathy little mewl, a chuckle rose from Raf’s throat followed by another one of his contemplative hums. This time, though, an unmistakable satisfaction boiled in the low rumble of his tone.
In Margie’s opinion, this was one of the best parts of sex; the initial feeling of having that aching, hungry gap between her thighs filled the warm, hefty girth of her lover. But there was something uniquely gratifying about hosting Raf in this manner, and the reason wasn’t a mystery to her. Without question, he was the most good looking man to ever find himself between her legs. From the first day she met him in Granville Station, she had been charmed by his lopsided smirk, dorky goatee, and aloof demeanour. His torn jeans and goofy dollar store sunglasses hadn’t been able to outcompete the easy charisma and gentle kindness he carried with him. He had a handsome face, a nice body that he took care of, and a mindful confidence that belied the tumultuous anxieties that plagued him. As she had gotten to know him better, she only adored him more.
‘Adored’. Hah, who am I kidding.
She loved him, no revelation there. He didn’t have to rub an orgasm out of her and stick his dick in for her to realise that. She loved easily, and recklessly, and had known she was pooched after their very first jam session. He had been fun to play with, gave her kind praise and honest feedback, and made her feel like he genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. That and a pretty face was really all it took to win her loyal affections.
But he was a skittish creature, and she loved him enough to find joy in whatever form their relationship took. Otherwise, she’d have overcrowded and overwhelmed him, and he–like all the others before him–would have grown to resent everything he initially claimed to like about her. She likened herself to salt; best enjoyed sparingly, and never on its own. It’s why she had been so reluctant to move in with him, despite wanting to spend every minute of her time with him. Too much salt. She feared becoming unpalatable.
Well, now he’s balls deep in me, purring comfortably in my ear–which means I’ve got no choice but to make him cum so hard, he sees stars.
She had tried to moderate her behaviour and failed. She failed the very moment she accepted the keys to his apartment. She failed when he sweetly offered to let her snuggle him in bed so that he could help warm her feet. There had been mornings when she woke up to the maddening feeling of his stiffness pressed against the small of her back. She had remained very still and very quiet so as to not let him know that she had been awake before him, but good lord every muscle in her body had wanted to squirm against him. Without fail, the very moment he woke up, he’d carefully–very carefully–untangle his limbs from hers and turn away before getting out of bed to start his day. And without fail, she’d spend the consiquent morning too cumbrained to even see straight.
Just like she couldn’t say no to an apartment key and nightly snuggles, she couldn’t say no to a kiss. She couldn’t help but push it to see where it’d go. And now she was here. Remarkably. Unregrettably.
‘I couldn’t help myself,’ said the scorpion, ‘it’s in my nature.’
A bit too late, Margie realised that Raf’s satisfied rumblings in her ear had been forming actual vowels and consonants.
“Hm-?” She returned to the present moment with a flinch she hoped he didn’t notice.
“I like your little noises,” he replied.
“Oh.” Magritte blinked, running fingers through his hair. She used the back of her heel to caress the curve of his butt with irreverent affection. “Well then, giddy up, Mister Ephrem, and I’ll give you a cacophony!”
She felt him grin against her jawline before grazing it with his teeth and providing an affirmative little growl.
His hips withdrew, only to rock forward into her again. His first few strokes were of a careful, measuring pace until he repositioned his knees further apart and closer to her body. Dropping his forehead down onto the mattress, over her shoulder, he grabbed her waist with two firm hands and pulled her up closer to him. He curled his torso to plunge into her more deeply. The angle of his cock struck a pleasing cluster of nerves inside her body, and she inhaled sharply as it retreated over her swollen flesh to slam back in against it in steady rhythm. Each time, his dick slid out of her until she was empty save for the stretch where they met; the lips of her cunt covetously hugging the contours of the cock’s head. And then he’d part her walls again with a forceful, hungry thrust; smoothing the mounds of velvety muscle that constricted around him and resisted his departing strokes.
Every few thrusts forced a note of pleasure out of Magritte’s throat, carried on ragged huffs of breath. At first, her punctuated little cries only had to compete against the sound of Raf’s deep, steady breathing and the faint creaking of his bed. But, as her thighs became sticky and sodden from her arousal, the percussive sound of flesh on flesh began to drown out her little moans. Like the true musician he was, Raf searched for the right fingering to coax the sound he wanted out of her. His thumb pressed against the flesh right above her clit and rubbed it in quick, small circles as he continued to drive his cock into her.
The feeling of being kneaded firmly between his fingers and his dick provoked a strangled cry that bubbled out of her mouth before she even registered it. A sharp, quavering breath preceded another ecstatic wail, and then another. She curled her arms tightly around the back of Raf’s neck and attempted to muffle the chorus of her euphoria against his shoulder.
The mounting tension caused her muscles to clench. The way his dick pushed against the walls of her cunt as it constricted around him only intensified the pressure that welled up inside her.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck.” They were barely words, carrying the same quaking tone as her blissed-out yowls.
In response, Raf reached up to roughly smooth her hair back and cradle her head. He buried his nose into her hair, and pressed clenched teeth against her temple in a gesture that might have initially been intended as a kiss. His thrusts had grown desperate and uneven, but the hand that worked her clit remained fastidious in its efforts, bringing her so, so, so achingly close.
“Good girl.” His voice was a breathy growl against her skull. “Come on, now…”
Her legs had been wrapped around him so tightly that her muscles ached. But it provided the leverage she needed to buck against him with fervent need. He drove into her with short, rapid thrusts, barely withdrawing to slam as deeply into her as their bodies would permit; hitting up against her tightening core–until the dam of pressure burst to release a flood of sensation across every part of her. In the seconds leading up to it, Margie had fallen completely silent, drawing in a long breath that she held in her chest until the crashing wave of her orgasm forced it out of her. She felt the pulses of pleasure throb in her lower abdomen, caressing the man inside of her in a way that she never consciously could.
At some point during her climax, Raf’s hands had both found her waist again, gripping her rapaciously as he chased his own pleasure. His breaths came up in short, uneven bursts, and the undeliberate groans being drawn out of him composed the greatest piece of music she had ever delighted in hearing.
She writhed her hips to meet him at every feverish thrust. Slowing to longer, powerful strokes, he slammed into her once, twice, and with a quiet growl, he buried himself as deeply as their bodies would allow. His strong grip pressed her hard against him, holding her firmly in place as the force of his orgasm punched the breath out of his lungs. As he came inside of her, his hips strained against her body with the feral desire to empty himself deeper.
This, too, was one of the best parts of sex, Margie decided. She’d never gone about it without a condom before, and while the thrill was almost certainly a psychological one, the verdict was in; she very enjoyed the feeling of having her insides painted lovingly white. She liked it a lot. With the covetous squeezing of her thighs and abdominal muscles, she made it known to him.
The two of them remained locked together in a hot, messy, panting heap on the bed for an immeasurable moment before Raf nuzzled his face into the crook of Margie’s neck with a long, bodily sigh. She drew a hand up to affectionately caress his neck and the back of his head.
“W...we good?” Her voice came up raspy, cracking on the second word, and she couldn’t help but exhale a little laugh at herself.
“Mmh,” was the most Raf could conjure for a long while before he muttered semi-intelligible, “Magnifique.” He echoed her laugh with one of his own before bringing his arms forward to prop himself up, off of her.
As she allowed him to decouple from her, she curled her hands under her chin, reluctant to sit up with him…for reasons relating to gravity and fluids.
Sitting on his knees with her legs across his lap, Raf provided a mollifying grin that favoured one side of his face. “I, uh–shit.” He dropped his face into one of his palms with a self-deprecating laugh. “Ejected some of my brain cells there, I think.”
“A shower might help with that,” Margie offered with a broad smile that flashed her teeth. “I’ll take one with you.”
–
It had been as though they spent the evening doing any other typical thing. It could have been a night of board games, for how casually Magritte navigated the aftermath of their activities. Raf had expected some manner of uncomfortable, condolatory discussion that went long into the early hours of morning; how they had liked it, whether or not they’d do it again, what it meant for their relationship, if it meant anything at all. But that conversation never occurred.
Margie had made her enjoyment known while she shared a shower with him, and bestowed easy praise on his ‘excellent fingering’. In turn, he confessed that he could grow quickly addicted to the adorable little trills, yelps, and moans he had been able to coax out of her. Not to mention the other things she could do with her mouth. Dieu, mon fucking dieu.
The rest was clear enough to be obvious without discussion. Sex could just be another thing they did together when the mood struck–if it stuck at all. It hadn’t come with any promises or expectations, not any more than playing music or snuggles in bed had. It was the best Raf could have hoped for.
Magritte seemed wholly uninterested in applying the pressures of romantic commitment onto him. If there was ever anything she wanted, she could never help but to edge it into conversations one way or another–he knew that much about her. Instead, she seemed entirely set on making sure she didn’t bring up anything even approaching the matter. She said she liked things the way they were, and, while his brain could question the truth in that–or in anything she said–he was of much the same opinion. Perhaps they had both come to the same understanding. Something about love, especially romantic love, brought out the worst in people. It had always seemed like a battle of wills; two people trying to deconstruct and reshape one another to fit the impossible moulds that would ensure the longevity of their relationship. How could anyone endure that kind of transformation without poisoning the relationship with resentment? He’d never know. He didn’t have to find out.
Laying in bed at three in the morning, showered, satisfied, and cosy, with Magritte purring tiny snores in his arms, he couldn’t have asked for more. Whatever it was that he and Margie were enjoying together–friends with benefits?–suited him, so far. For all it mattered, she could decide to move across the sea next week, and he’d be unharmed by the decision so long as they remained on friendly terms. And that felt safe.
prompt: First kiss/First time | AO3: link | wc: 853 | rating: M | cw: trans individual and partner discuss younger self with created dead name | tags: FTM Eddie Munson, 7 minutes in heaven, pre series first kiss - post series smut and cuddles, pillow talk
Summary: Reminiscing on first kisses after another first between Steve, Eddie, and their bedsheets
For the smut before this ficlet, check out my submission for today's Steddiemas prompt here
(づ￣ ³￣)づ
“It couldn't have been more awkward.”
“What? No. I thought my seven minutes in heaven with Elsie May Munson was one for the record books.”
“Maybe. The page on firsts and failures,” Eddie scoffed.
Steve rolled his eyes. “You were the one who couldn't relax. The second that bottle spun to you you sat up as stiff as a board.”
“I was still in shock that I'd been invited to Alexis's birthday at all! Lil ‘ol trailer trash me.”
“No one thought of you like that.” Steve huffed and brought Eddie in closer to his chest. It was warm under the covers with him. Safe. “You were just really quiet. A little timid.”
“Hah, yeah. Jeez. Blossomed right out of that.”
MATURE Continues after the cut
“Big time.” Steve blushed and twisted one of Eddie’s curls, a small smile on his lips. “If it makes it better for your ‘origin story,’ I'm pretty sure Alexis's mom invited everyone in the 5th grade. So it doesn’t necessarily prove she thought about your eleven year old reputation.”
“Oh thanks,” Eddie replied, sticking his tongue out.
“Anything for you babe.”
Eddie considered letting it drop, but teasing Steve was one of his favorite pastimes. “Still doesn't explain your fish lips in that closet. 7 minutes of mediocrity at best.”
“Hey! It was my first kiss.”
“Mine too!”
Eddie looked into Steve’s smiling eyes as their fake affronted expressions shifted into laughter at one another.
When the laughter eased, Steve traced Eddie’s collarbone with his finger tip. His voice was soft and low. “Y'know, I always knew. When Elsie moved back with her dad and then two years later her 'cousin,' Eddie, came to live permanently with his uncle.”
“Here I thought I had everyone fooled,” Eddie said, shifting lightly. It didn’t make him too uncomfortable to talk about the little person he’d been, at least not with Steve. “Loud, obnoxious Eddie? Literally everything Elsie wasn't. She was always looking for permission, whereas I ask for forgiveness.”
Steve glanced away. “I liked both.” Eddie raised an eyebrow and poked Steve in the cheek till he continued. Steve sighed, “Elsie always had her head in a book. The covers looked so exciting, but you know me and reading.” Eddie gave a small nod. “And that pretty, curly, dark hair always pushed back from her face.”
“Jesus Christ, I almost forgot the headbands.” Eddie chuckled and shook his head.
Steve’s hand wandered up to Eddie’s chin, his fingers rested along Eddie’s jaw. Steve’s gaze had grown heavy. “Never forgot my first kiss Eddie. Or that little scar right under your chin, or the shade of brown your eyes are. Just like chocolate.”
Eddie squirmed a little under the weight of Steve’s affection. Sometimes it was hard to be under that spotlight, even if it was just the two of them, holed up in Steve’s bedroom. “What took you so long to come after me then?”
Steve’s lips twisted a bit. “I was under the impression you didn't want to be found. Especially by me.”
“Yeah, I guess that's true.” Eddie's hand wandered over Steve's skin, still mostly under the covers, protected from the much chillier air around them. “Glad we cleared that up. Are you um… are you glad my first with a guy was you?”
Steve snorted. “I could say the same damn thing.”
“You know what I mean,” Eddie let his hand wander down and brushed the tip of Steve's cock. He adored the flash of surprise and want it created on Steve’s face.
Steve brought Eddie’s mischievous hand over his heart. “First kiss I'll treasure always. But first fucks?” He shrugged. “That can get a little slut shame-y, I guess?”
“Oh! Here's where that Harrington charm runs out,” Eddie laughed. He quickly turned his smile to a pout, batting his eyelashes. “Not the virginity thing or whatever it's supposed to mean, bases or notches. What I really meant to say was this first for ‘us.’ Like this, are you…” Eddie paused; he didn't feel like asking for reassurance, but it was what he wanted to hear. Luckily, that seemed to click for Steve.
“Eds!” Steve's eyes widened, and he ran a hand through Eddie's hair. “Yes, gorgeous. This was everything I… Eddie I already want you just, all the damn time. This was so good, you're fucking perfect.”
“Yeah?” Eddie smiled shyly. “Perfect? I thought I was the devil.”
“You are a devil.” Steve's face scrunched up with concern. “I thought you liked when I, wait. Are you messing with me?”
“No.” Their legs slotted together. Eddie pressed his cock against Steve's thigh, already wet. “Maybe a little.”
Steve snaked one arm around Eddie’s waist, holding him in place and began to tickle Eddie. He brushed the light stubble on his chin against Eddie's chest as Eddie struggled to get his hands to tickle Steve’s stomach. They eventually stopped for breath, and Steve relaxed into Eddie’s hold this time, nuzzling along Eddie's neck. “What if I said I wanted you to be my last first,” he whispered. It sounded like a secret. As if Eddie didn't feel the exact same way.
Could we maybe get Tufflout for the recovery sex pls?
Sorry this took me so long to get to! Thank you for requesting! I adore Tufflout!
---
Rated: mature
Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse
Pairings: Tuffnut/Snotlout
Word Count: 624
Summary: Snotlout isn't at all used to praise, and reacts badly when Tuffnut gives it to him.
Ao3 Link
"Baby, you did so well."
Snotlout couldn't help it, but he cringed at Tuffnut's praise.
Tuffnut, curled naked against his back, noticed.
"Did I say something wrong?"
"It's, uh..." Snotlout didn't know how to explain. It was so messed up that he was cringing at being praised. He deserved it, didn't he? It had been his first time taking Tuffnut's cock, and he had done well. It had barely hurt! "It's the praise."
Tuffnut leaned on his elbow, rested his head on his fist. Snotlout was feeling brave enough to roll around to face him.
"You don't like praise?"
"I'm... not used to it." That was what Snotlout thought it was. "And any praise I get from my dad is usually when I do something that I didn't want to do."
Tuffnut furrowed his brow. "But I'm not your dad."
Snotlout laughed. "No, thank the gods!" He met Tuffnut's gaze, but then pulled his eyes away, feeling uncomfortable. He began tracing imaginary designs into his boyfriend's chest.
"He's really in your psyche," Tuffnut said. "That's messed up."
Snotlout shrugged. The more he was away from his father, the more he was learning that his treatment of him wasn't right. However, he didn't want to address it right now, not after having wonderful sex with his boyfriend.
Though, that was something that his father would certainly disapprove of: being with a man, and being argr, nonetheless.
"Do you want me to degrade you?" Tuffnut asked.
Snotlout laughed again, the sound much more forced and awkward this time. "Not really. Not when we're not fucking, at least."
"So you want me to degrade you when we're fucking?"
"I guess?" Snotlout felt weird saying it. He figured that it would be something he would like. "But that's not the issue right now."
Tuffnut sighed, taking Snotlout's hand off his chest. Snotlout just looked at their intertwined fingers instead of his eyes.
"Look, Snotlout, I mean what I said," Tuffnut said. "Bottoming isn't easy all the time. You took it like a champ."
Snotlout snorted.
"No, you did." Tuffnut put his other hand beneath Snotlout's chin, and Snotlout let him tip his head upwards. He met his eyes, and Tuffnut was looking uncharacteristically sincere. Then again, he could be serious and sincere and endearing. Snotlout had learned that while dating him. He wasn't all just jokes and feigned idiocy. "I'm sorry that you're having trouble with praise."
Snotlout's tongue felt thick in his mouth. No one had ever addressed it like that before.
"Th-thank you."
"We can work on it, you know," Tuffnut told him. He released his chin, ran his hand down over his arm. Snotlout tingled pleasantly at the touch. "You don't have to feel bad about praise."
Snotlout simply nodded. He wasn't quite sure what to say. Was that something he wanted to work on? Or was he just going to leave his father's damage where it was? It would certainly be easier to just leave it.
"But we don't have to do that now," Tuffnut said, noticing Snotlout's despondence at the idea. "For now... we can just cuddle."
Snotlout smiled as Tuffnut's arm wrapped around him and he was pulled close. He put his arms around Tuffnut's waist, buried his head against his shoulder. Tuffnut may joke about not bathing all that often, but really, he kept as clean as the rest of them. He smelled nice.
"Thanks, Tuff."
"Anything for you, my man."
Snotlout smiled, and snuggled closer to Tuffnut. For now, his father's damage could rest where it was, heavy in his chest. For now, he could pretend that he was okay, that there was nothing wrong and never had been. For now, he was with his boyfriend, and he loved him.
Hello Tumblr! Before I start the fic I just wanted to let you all know what exactly you’re about to read. As you can guess from the title, I’ve written a small oneshot following Burnout’s Y/N and her relationship with Fire Lord Izumi. (If you are unfamilliar with Burnout, it is a Lin Beifong fanfiction I write over on Ao3.)
I’ve had a few people ask wether I plan to do a side fic of Y/N’s fling with Izumi in Zaofu and thought I’m still unsure on the answer, I did write out a little blurb-ercise taking place right after the bar scene. It’s too short to really share on Ao3 (and if I did post it there it’d be under my oneshots book which I don’t feel is where it belongs). So, I’ve decided to start something new and post a Tumblr Exclusive.
It’s only a oneshot (for now anyway -- idk if I’ll make it more or not) but I hope it satiates.
IF YOU DON”T KNOW THE CONTEXT AND CARE: Y/N (you!) is the child of some of Su’s friends. Your parents like to ship you off to Zaofu during summer vacation because dealing with children is a hassle. But you’ve found some fun in it through the form of a speakeasy you run with Kuvira, who you call your sister because of your similar shipped to Zaofu circumstances. It’s underground, in a system of badgermole tunnels. All was fine and Su was none the wiser, until one day her visiting friend, Fire Lord Izumi, showed up unannouced in your little bar. After serving her drink and silently arguing with your sister, you excused yourself to a back office type room. Izumi followed. You vented about your feelings, embarrassed at the realization of who you vented to, and she listened. You confessed to liking women older than you, and she to liking them younger than her. It lead to more (as I’m sure you can imagine) and now? Now this happens...
~~~~~~~~~~
FIC:
What the flameo did I just do?
Coming down from my orgasmic high, I start to glue back the shards of my shattered reality. I’m in a bar, a speakeasy, owned by me and my sister, Kuvira. In a back room, sitting naked on a desk that is definitely covered in a layer of filth that my ass should not be touching. My clothes are on the ground, my tunic missing two buttons from the haste of my lover. My lover -- my first lover -- who is…
Agni. What did I do?!
A head of dark hair rises from between my open legs, a silver river flowing over the top of her head before ducking down into a waterfall topknot. A topknot, skewered by the pin of a golden flame shaped crown.
With a put-together grin, Izumi gently nudges the bridge of her falling glasses back up her nose.
“Is that the first time you’ve cum?” She asks.
“Yes,” I answer, my mind staggering as to how my body can respond with such ease.
I must be insane. I have to be. Am I hallucinating? No, I could never imagine the satisfied look she’s giving me now. But still, I’m crazy.
I just lost my virginity to the leader of a nation -- my mother’s nation. Yet, I’m calm.
My heart beats like the slow, relaxed rhythm of a jazz drum. My breath, like the smooth plucking of bass strings as I get lost once again in the melody of her aura.
“I hope I didn’t disappoint.” She lifts two glistening fingers to her plush pink lips. “You sure didn’t.”
There’s something on those fingers, something she tantalizingly licks off, her control nothing short of immeasurable. What is --
Oh.
Oh no.
She’s…The Fire Lord is…
How is this happening right now?
With practiced ease, she pushes off my thighs, manicured nails digging in just slightly as my skin dips under her weight. Her lips hover over mine, eyes scanning every inch of my face from my lips, to my nose, until they finally hook on my own panicked eyes.
She frowns, brows lifting just slightly in thin arches as she pulls away.
“Are you alright? I’m sorry if you -- I didn’t mean to pressure you into something you were not ready for.”
Fuck, do I want to kiss her. I need to kiss her. I need to hold her, to have her, to let her have me again. Those lips. Those damn talented lips.
She didn’t pressure me at all; I was and still am her willing slave. However fanciful the idea may be.
In one swift motion, I capture her face in my hands, feeling the way her pointed jaw presses into the center of my palms, and leap from the desk’s edge to meet her with an impassioned kiss.
With a sharp inhale, she quickly resolves her shock and regains that sexy composure. Every movement precise, every muscle following a dainty order, she rests soft hands on my back. One, brushing the skin just above my ass and the other, pressing warm between my shoulder blades, pushing me closer to her fire.
I can taste myself on her tongue as it glides into my mouth, exploring what is willingly hers to conquest. Basically begging.
Two questions once again cross my mind as we pull away with silently heaving breath. One, that I manage to keep internal and private. And another, that leaves me in a whisper.
a/n: for @justagirlinafandomworld's #flash fiction challenge 3
a/n 2: part 4 of the Dean Drabbles
Part 1 - Babe Part 2 - Need You Now Part 3 - Taste
Dean collapses on top of you, panting heavily as he continues to spill himself inside of you. He places sweet and gentle kisses over your face, neck and shoulders. You’re in heaven, maybe it was a little inappropriate to go from your ex’s bed straight to Deans, but you needed him.
He pulls his softening cock out of you, and cuddles up next to you - Dean Winchester, a cuddler - you laugh to yourself.
“Wanna come with us when we leave?”
“I’ll follow you wherever you will go,” you turn around to face him, placing a kiss on his lips.
Summary: Dean lived for those little moments of intimacy with you.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Counting: 200 words
Warnings: Fluff, drabble, reader has curly hair, I’m trying to be a bit more neutral with the reader lately, so... Let me know what you think.
You took a long breath before lying on the bed beside Dean, naked and sleepy.
“Still awake?” you asked with a small smile and he chuckled, pulling you into his arms, and you rested your chin on his chest to look at his face. “You okay there?”
“Perfectly fine,” he reached out, caressing your cheek.
Mostly, Dean spoke with his actions.
He was a sucker for moments like that. The intimacy in the silence, in the dark; the way your hair looked, tangled over the pillows of the bed you two shared at the bunker, and your chest raised slowly – naked – by his side… The way you showed yourself so vulnerable was enchanting to him and one of the things that made him feel safe and crave you more and more.
Sometimes he could run his fingers through your hair and you would let him, and he would smile, especially because how protective of your curls you were. He loved the feeling of your hair under his fingertips and the smell that would fill up his nose when he was with you. He loved everything about you.
When he noticed your breathing changing, his lips curled into a soft smile and turned off the light, closing his eyes.
