Ignore this if I accidentally sent this in twice!
This shall take place after Simpbur is forced to shower :D (hope you don't mind, it's not exactly spicy, but yeah). This is my first (and probably last) makeout scene that I've written, also it's very unedited... Enjoy!
“Is this—” Simpbur stammers, gulping as he forces out—“is this the moment we kiss?”
With a roll of your eyes and a shimmer of amusement, you breathe in, woody aftershave, sweet cologne, the bitterness of coffee, a familiar scent of shampoo. You dip down, his nervous, rambling mouth but a centimetre away. Simpbur's head drew up, his wondrous hazelnut eyes locked onto you, and only you — as if you were the only rose in a garden of weeds. His light in the storm. Your arm trails his chest, lovingly caressing every inch of him, like a vine winding a pergola stuffed to the brim with orange climbing roses, they tangle in his hair. He whines ever so softly, grip on you tightening.
You lean in, tilting your head, planting a kiss on his lips. The impact, the weight of the collision—your lips against his; your tongue against his; your body against his; your everything against his—was enough to steal the air from his lungs. Your eagerness rises as the taste of coffee floods your system. Circles, he’s rubbing circles across your thighs, fingers painstakingly delicate and never venturing far. You crush into him, legs coiling tighter around his waist. His lips glide over yours, slowly, almost agonizingly light nipping; you shiver, instantly reciprocating with eagerness.
Simpbur breaks the kiss first. As he did, youa audibly whined, desperately keeping him close. Chests rising up and down in rapid succession; breaths both fast and short. His face is bright and stunned, lips swollen an addicting shade of pink.
You melt in his arms, your hands loosen from his locks while his hands shoot off, electrified—something you had never witnessed before. They crawl up, edging your shirt up and up and — he stops, “This okay?” he asks, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip, as his gaze scatters across your body.
“Y—yeah,” is your breathy answer.
“You're…” his hand darts to his hair, brushing it out of his way, as he meets your eyes. Feral and frenzied, they dig for any sign of disobedience, of deceit, of disgust; he finds nothing. His hands plant on your hips as he gawks, “You're beautiful—just look at you, and you're mine. All mine.”
madam simpoot- HOLY SHIT. SO GOOD. LIKE. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. NOW I WANT TO WRITE MAKEOUT SCENES TOO. FUCK WORK HHHNNG. THIS WAS GOOD. TOO GOOD. THIS ON MY MIND OH MY FUCKING GOD.
