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rainbowfic2014-02-12 01:35 am
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2014-02-12 01:35 am
Twilight 16: sweet sweet
Author: Kat
Title: sweet sweet
Story: Shine Like It Does
Colors: Twilight 16 (Caprice)
Supplies and Materials: Frame (since these two have their shit together), fabric (about the right mood) (plus, yanno, Georgia O'Keefe), novelty beads (no actual frogs involved).
Word Count: 1200
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "I have this fantasy." Charlotte and Daniel have sex.
Warnings: sex. Lots.
Notes: For sexisnottheenemy ficathon, this prompt. I'm way behind! Must catch up.
Eta: html unfucked, sorry about that.
"I have this fantasy," he breathes into her ear, and she shivers. He's so close, closer than she thought he could get without touching her. She tries to lean back, for the warmth and the solid reality of him, but he moves away before she can—she gives him a puzzled look, and he smiles.
"What fantasy?" she asks. The way he's looking at her... her nipples tighten, and she presses her thighs together, just a little. If he'd only touch her.
But he doesn't, only smiles a little more broadly as she shifts. "I have this fantasy," he repeats. "When you're not here, when you're visiting your family or something. I imagine walking into our bedroom and you're there—" His hand twitches toward her. "Just lying on the bed, touching yourself, waiting for me."
She can feel the blush as heat spreading across her cheekbones. "You want me to..."
"Do you want to?" He tilts his head forward, eyes on her. "You don't have to, but I would enjoy it."
She doesn't look at him. She can't. Her face is so hot it must be scarlet, and if she looks at him... so she doesn't. She closes her eyes instead, bites her lip, and says, "All right."
How does she do this? Put on a show? She's not much of an exhibitionist. Maybe if she pretends he isn't there, that she's just getting herself off and imagining him...
"You're so beautiful," he says, nearly purring. No, that won't work, he's not going to keep quiet. He's not going to make it easy for her.
She releases her lip, and admits it. "I don't know where to start."
"You want me to tell you?" He sounds gentle, almost concerned. Her flush is spreading now, over her whole upper chest.
"Yes, please." It's barely a whisper, but she gets it out, squeezing her eyes tighter shut.
"All right." There's a rustling sound, and the rough scrape of furniture against the carpet. He's... turning the chair around? He's going to watch her.
Of course he is. She knew that. But that sound, the reality of it... she shivers again, uncontrollable, as an electric thrumming coils around her hips.
"Take your clothes off," he says, in the low husk of lust. This shiver is not one of nerves. "I always imagine you naked. I like you naked."
She's not wearing anything very complicated, just a button-down shirt and jeans, but she knows he watches her as she takes them off, watches every button she undoes and every sliver of skin she reveals. He always does it. She likes that he does it.
Her shirt slides off her shoulders, and he sucks in a quick breath of air, which is a little confusing because she's wearing the stupid floral underwear set, the one that makes her look like a particularly immature teenager. But he's breathing deeper now, quicker. It makes her smile.
The jeans puddle at her feet as she steps out of them. The bra and underwear she might have left, but she decides at the last minute not to—this is his fantasy, and in it she's naked, so she will be naked now. She's starting to think this might be easier than she thought.
Still, she doesn't open her eyes. Not just yet.
She stands naked for a few heartbeats. The room seems cooler, goosebumps rising on her skin, or maybe that's just his eyes on her, and suddenly she can't stand it anymore.
"What next?" Her voice is quiet, but in the silent room it sounds close to a yell.
He clears his throat, and when he speaks his voice is hoarse. "You... you're on the bed."
She climbs onto the bed, and after a little hesitation lies down, their comforter smooth against the skin of her back. She could open her eyes now that she'd only be looking at the ceiling, but she doesn't—there's something strangely intimate about this lack of sight, just her body and his voice.
"Is this right?" she asks. Her own voice has dropped a bit, nearly seductive.
"Perfect." He rasps it out and doesn't say anything more. She can picture him, sitting in their bedroom chair, hands clutching his legs, his erection a hard line against the fabric of his pants. She wonders if he'll masturbate too, watching her.
She takes a moment to breathe, to try to relax against the bed. It's far from the first time she's done this. It's only the first time that she's had an audience. And he is her lover, her fiancé, he's seen her broken and angry and weeping. He's seen her naked, beneath him or above him, coming so hard she sobs. She can do this.
"Please," he whispers.
She traces her clavicle first, fingertips brushing the hollow of her throat before dipping down over the swell of her breasts. Her breasts aren't particularly sensitive, but she spends some time there, rubbing her thumbs over her nipples and feeling the weight of her breasts, the silk-soft skin pebbling into her areola.
Across the room, he draws in a harsh breath.
Her belly curves upward under her hands. She strokes back and forth a few times, enjoying the sweep of her palms, the faint pressure of her fingertips. Then down again. The flare of her hips, bonier than her breasts and belly. The springy hair, more wiry than elsewhere. And then.
She's wet. It's a faint surprise, the easy way her fingers slide against her vulva. Down and down, avoiding her clitoris at first, just exploring and naming—labia, frenulum, vagina. One finger dips in, to the same easy slide.
It's been a long time since she masturbated like this. Usually she does it in the shower or the bath, water slopping around her body. Being spread open on the bed feels curiously vulnerable, and she finds she rather likes the feeling. She spreads her legs a little wider, to give him a better view.
He's quiet, but she can hear him breathing, deep and ragged.
She likes a gentle hand on her clitoris. He knows this, of course, he's touched her before. Gently, then, barely a touch at first. Little circles, stars and swirls and shapes until her legs are trembling, until she has to catch at her breast and pinch her nipple just to keep from coming. She spreads her hand open, palms the nipple again, breath catching every time she slides her fingers across her clit. Her back arches, her head pushing into the bed, her hips pushing into her hand, the sheets twisting under her and she's going to come, oh, soon...
"You're so beautiful," he says suddenly, his voice cracked and hoarse. "Christ, you're perfect, it's better than I thought."
She whimpers in reply; it's all she can manage. It's all she can do to keep her legs open. She wants to close them, trap her hand against her clit and rub off against her own skin, but he won't be able to see if she does. Only a moment longer—
"Come for me," he says, "come for me, gorgeous, let me see you come—" and she does, gasping, her breath catching like sobs, her eyes still closed.
Title: sweet sweet
Story: Shine Like It Does
Colors: Twilight 16 (Caprice)
Supplies and Materials: Frame (since these two have their shit together), fabric (about the right mood) (plus, yanno, Georgia O'Keefe), novelty beads (no actual frogs involved).
Word Count: 1200
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "I have this fantasy." Charlotte and Daniel have sex.
Warnings: sex. Lots.
Notes: For sexisnottheenemy ficathon, this prompt. I'm way behind! Must catch up.
Eta: html unfucked, sorry about that.
"I have this fantasy," he breathes into her ear, and she shivers. He's so close, closer than she thought he could get without touching her. She tries to lean back, for the warmth and the solid reality of him, but he moves away before she can—she gives him a puzzled look, and he smiles.
"What fantasy?" she asks. The way he's looking at her... her nipples tighten, and she presses her thighs together, just a little. If he'd only touch her.
But he doesn't, only smiles a little more broadly as she shifts. "I have this fantasy," he repeats. "When you're not here, when you're visiting your family or something. I imagine walking into our bedroom and you're there—" His hand twitches toward her. "Just lying on the bed, touching yourself, waiting for me."
She can feel the blush as heat spreading across her cheekbones. "You want me to..."
"Do you want to?" He tilts his head forward, eyes on her. "You don't have to, but I would enjoy it."
She doesn't look at him. She can't. Her face is so hot it must be scarlet, and if she looks at him... so she doesn't. She closes her eyes instead, bites her lip, and says, "All right."
How does she do this? Put on a show? She's not much of an exhibitionist. Maybe if she pretends he isn't there, that she's just getting herself off and imagining him...
"You're so beautiful," he says, nearly purring. No, that won't work, he's not going to keep quiet. He's not going to make it easy for her.
She releases her lip, and admits it. "I don't know where to start."
"You want me to tell you?" He sounds gentle, almost concerned. Her flush is spreading now, over her whole upper chest.
"Yes, please." It's barely a whisper, but she gets it out, squeezing her eyes tighter shut.
"All right." There's a rustling sound, and the rough scrape of furniture against the carpet. He's... turning the chair around? He's going to watch her.
Of course he is. She knew that. But that sound, the reality of it... she shivers again, uncontrollable, as an electric thrumming coils around her hips.
"Take your clothes off," he says, in the low husk of lust. This shiver is not one of nerves. "I always imagine you naked. I like you naked."
She's not wearing anything very complicated, just a button-down shirt and jeans, but she knows he watches her as she takes them off, watches every button she undoes and every sliver of skin she reveals. He always does it. She likes that he does it.
Her shirt slides off her shoulders, and he sucks in a quick breath of air, which is a little confusing because she's wearing the stupid floral underwear set, the one that makes her look like a particularly immature teenager. But he's breathing deeper now, quicker. It makes her smile.
The jeans puddle at her feet as she steps out of them. The bra and underwear she might have left, but she decides at the last minute not to—this is his fantasy, and in it she's naked, so she will be naked now. She's starting to think this might be easier than she thought.
Still, she doesn't open her eyes. Not just yet.
She stands naked for a few heartbeats. The room seems cooler, goosebumps rising on her skin, or maybe that's just his eyes on her, and suddenly she can't stand it anymore.
"What next?" Her voice is quiet, but in the silent room it sounds close to a yell.
He clears his throat, and when he speaks his voice is hoarse. "You... you're on the bed."
She climbs onto the bed, and after a little hesitation lies down, their comforter smooth against the skin of her back. She could open her eyes now that she'd only be looking at the ceiling, but she doesn't—there's something strangely intimate about this lack of sight, just her body and his voice.
"Is this right?" she asks. Her own voice has dropped a bit, nearly seductive.
"Perfect." He rasps it out and doesn't say anything more. She can picture him, sitting in their bedroom chair, hands clutching his legs, his erection a hard line against the fabric of his pants. She wonders if he'll masturbate too, watching her.
She takes a moment to breathe, to try to relax against the bed. It's far from the first time she's done this. It's only the first time that she's had an audience. And he is her lover, her fiancé, he's seen her broken and angry and weeping. He's seen her naked, beneath him or above him, coming so hard she sobs. She can do this.
"Please," he whispers.
She traces her clavicle first, fingertips brushing the hollow of her throat before dipping down over the swell of her breasts. Her breasts aren't particularly sensitive, but she spends some time there, rubbing her thumbs over her nipples and feeling the weight of her breasts, the silk-soft skin pebbling into her areola.
Across the room, he draws in a harsh breath.
Her belly curves upward under her hands. She strokes back and forth a few times, enjoying the sweep of her palms, the faint pressure of her fingertips. Then down again. The flare of her hips, bonier than her breasts and belly. The springy hair, more wiry than elsewhere. And then.
She's wet. It's a faint surprise, the easy way her fingers slide against her vulva. Down and down, avoiding her clitoris at first, just exploring and naming—labia, frenulum, vagina. One finger dips in, to the same easy slide.
It's been a long time since she masturbated like this. Usually she does it in the shower or the bath, water slopping around her body. Being spread open on the bed feels curiously vulnerable, and she finds she rather likes the feeling. She spreads her legs a little wider, to give him a better view.
He's quiet, but she can hear him breathing, deep and ragged.
She likes a gentle hand on her clitoris. He knows this, of course, he's touched her before. Gently, then, barely a touch at first. Little circles, stars and swirls and shapes until her legs are trembling, until she has to catch at her breast and pinch her nipple just to keep from coming. She spreads her hand open, palms the nipple again, breath catching every time she slides her fingers across her clit. Her back arches, her head pushing into the bed, her hips pushing into her hand, the sheets twisting under her and she's going to come, oh, soon...
"You're so beautiful," he says suddenly, his voice cracked and hoarse. "Christ, you're perfect, it's better than I thought."
She whimpers in reply; it's all she can manage. It's all she can do to keep her legs open. She wants to close them, trap her hand against her clit and rub off against her own skin, but he won't be able to see if she does. Only a moment longer—
"Come for me," he says, "come for me, gorgeous, let me see you come—" and she does, gasping, her breath catching like sobs, her eyes still closed.
no subject
Anyway I'm glad you liked it!