its a bath (i'm not actually having a bath)
Fandom: Nothing Much to Do Pairing: Bea & Ben Rating: Mature Word Count: ~1000 Summary: Ben has a thing for bathtubs. Specifically, Beatrice in the bathtub with him.
This is a gift for zedknot. She said she would be impressed with smut so I decided to bring some filth to the fandom. Please forgive me for corrupting the young innocents. Set at an unspecific time in the future.
"You have serious issues," Bea mutters against his relentless lips as the small of her back hits the unforgiving chill of the porcelain sink. "Serious, serious issues."
"Shut up," Ben retaliates, nibbling her lower lip and tugging a groan from somewhere deep in her stomach, the place where heat is rising. Ben tugs her forward with a firm hand on her hip and backs up towards the bathtub. He lets go of her neck to turn on the tap behind him and Bea immediately feels the loss of his touch. She drags her lips across his jaw and down his neck, finding that place that makes him squirm and greedily sucking on his paper-white skin. Ben returns her groan and she feels a surge of lust at how easily she can turn him on.
"I thought the point of getting a hotel room for the night was to enjoy a king-sized bed," she teases (there’s just something that’s always better about the sex when they’re teasing one another with quips).
Ben turns his attention to the buttons on her shirt and harrumphs. “The point of getting a hotel room for the night was to get away, woman.”
"We have a shower in the flat," she shoots back, voice catching on the final two words as Ben’s nimble fingers slip beneath the cups of her bra and tease her responsive peaks.
She looks up and he sends her a wicked smile. “But the shower in the flat is not half as large as this one.” He unsnaps her bra and she lets it drop to the cold tiled floor. “And there isn’t a removable shower head in the flat’s bathroom.”
Bea’s toes curl in anticipation at his insinuation and she eagerly helps him free them of the rest of their clothes, his skin hot and sticky beneath her fingers, desire making her head full and her thighs slick. The water is scalding but Ben’s hand running down her spine and teeth nibbling her collarbone send gooseflesh up and down her body.
His long, slender fingers quickly find their way to her center, to the place where she is boiling over with need for him. She cries out his name as one, then two fingers enter her.
And then he takes the shower head off the wall.
With his fingers buried inside of her, his mouth creating a bruise on her neck, and the water focused on her most sensitive of areas, it doesn’t take long before she shudders and sighs in his arms, the clouds of steam looking like the clouds of heaven for surely she is not on this earth anymore.
"Say it," Ben taunts and, damn him, this isn’t supposed to turn her on as much as it does. "Say. It.”
"I fuckin’ love bathtubs," she moans, and she can feel his smug smile despite her eyes being closed.
She knows how much he wants her, his arousal hard against her thigh, but she insists that there is no way in hell she’s having sex in a bathtub.
"One of us is going to slip and fall and die and there is no way I’m explaining to your loved ones that I killed you through bathtub sex," she says in one breath (when she’s caught her breath again, that is), giving him her most annoyed look.
"Fine!" he huffs, blowing air out of his nose and turning off the water. "We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way then." He rolls his eyes as he throws a towel at her face but there is no disguising the plain lust in his gaze or how the sight of his naked body makes her long to lick every drop of glistening water off of him.
What is it about this man?
When they step back into the bedroom Bea throws him on the bed (its time for her to take charge, dammit) and places herself between his legs, gently taking hold of his erection. He whimpers her name and grows under her touch, sending another rush of desire through her veins.
She whets him with her mouth, taking her time and enjoying the growing pitch of his excitement. Finally, when she knows that they are both close to exploding from want, she crawls up the bed and lowers herself onto him. He groans, low and deep, and when his eyes fly open she feels her heart throb in unrestrained desire.
“Beatrice,”
He usually calls her Bea. Like she’s the second letter of the alphabet, like she’s a yellow-and-black bug flying around his life (maybe even like she’s a bitch). But when he calls her Beatrice like this, eyes unfocused and thumb working strong circles on her sensitive nub, she is more than Bea, she is Beatrice, she is his queen and she has blessed his life with her mere presence.
She reaches her peak and he follows a moment later, tumbling over the cliff into the abyss and if not for his grip on her thigh she would fly away.
"Mmmmm," she mutters against his chest, too exhausted and sated to think, let alone speak.
"That was nice." His broad hand runs up and down her back, making her shiver and squirm against him.
"Stop it," she grumbles.
He pushes her damp hair behind her ear and looks into her eyes. How could it be that for years and months she saw only hostility in his brown depths? Now they are bright and open and filled with adoration for her. “Let’s get cleaned up,” he whispers.
When they return to the bed he orders room service and she flips through all of the channels trying to find something decent to watch. It isn’t until nearly an hour later, when their food is half-eaten and the movie they started in the middle has finished, that Bea realizes she forgot something.
"Hey." She pokes him in the arm with her fork.
"What?" He is already fiddling with the remote, trying to find another program.
"Happy anniversary, dumb shit."
Ben leans across their picnic and kisses her on the lips, slow and gentle and making the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
"Happy anniversary."
