It's a violent snap, the perfection of which punches out from the epicenter of her, and his mouth still sucking and lick when every new touch, new brush, becomes almost unbearably electric. All of her reduced to the waves of hot, fast pleasure rolling over her, through her, shuddering her whole body as it ramrods through every cell, between the involuntary pull of all her muscles in her abdomen pulling her inward to that one spot on her, and the way every other muscle falls limp, strings cut, white-out blind with the force of release, feeling like the final drop of the last continued arch of her body to the couch is from a dozen feet up and not two to three inches.
He climbs up her, and this isn't done, but for a second, her eyes are half-lidded, and all she focuses on is moving the cement of one arm until it's over his shoulder, and her fingertips, still tingling like she's the full aftereffect of sticking your finger in a socket. Curling the back of his neck, into the hair at the nape of his neck, all slick under her fingers, arm across the back of his shoulder, all the way to her elbow, face pressing into the side of his face and the side of his neck.
The rumble of his voice, vibrating her second favorite of his words, her name, against her cheek, even as it finds her ears, while her lips curve against his skin. He tastes like sweat, and everything smells like her, will taste like her when she gets back to his mouth in a second. But relishes the broken open limpness of her whole body, of the sheer larger, heavier mass of him dwarfing her entirely, pushing her into the couch, like a blanket made of sun-warmed steel-bricks, surrounding every part of her. Luther the only world all around her, all that exists, as they easily jostle and shift parts of themselves, each other, like interlocking pieces that know, without thought or focus, where to go.
He props himself above her, all smug satisfaction and the unguarded crinkle of wonder that still sends a shot through her heart all these years later. Making her have to pull back her arm, hand finding the still damp side of his face, fingers the curve of his jaw and pushing herself up, in ruthless, easy command for her muscles to listen (the way they will, do, even through broken bones), because she has to kiss that mouth, his, him.
"Mmmm." Rumbles against his mouth, half-sound and half-sigh, as she squirms, tossed and torn, like a small buoy, between the touch-sensitive fading echoes and the trailing electric sparks that light her skin, already, again, under his fingers, with the heavy promise of more, of that impossible, well-proven, even better to come. "It is now."
no subject
He climbs up her, and this isn't done, but for a second, her eyes are half-lidded, and all she focuses on is moving the cement of one arm until it's over his shoulder, and her fingertips, still tingling like she's the full aftereffect of sticking your finger in a socket. Curling the back of his neck, into the hair at the nape of his neck, all slick under her fingers, arm across the back of his shoulder, all the way to her elbow, face pressing into the side of his face and the side of his neck.
The rumble of his voice, vibrating her second favorite of his words, her name, against her cheek, even as it finds her ears, while her lips curve against his skin. He tastes like sweat, and everything smells like her, will taste like her when she gets back to his mouth in a second. But relishes the broken open limpness of her whole body, of the sheer larger, heavier mass of him dwarfing her entirely, pushing her into the couch, like a blanket made of sun-warmed steel-bricks, surrounding every part of her. Luther the only world all around her, all that exists, as they easily jostle and shift parts of themselves, each other, like interlocking pieces that know, without thought or focus, where to go.
He props himself above her, all smug satisfaction and the unguarded crinkle of wonder that still sends a shot through her heart all these years later. Making her have to pull back her arm, hand finding the still damp side of his face, fingers the curve of his jaw and pushing herself up, in ruthless, easy command for her muscles to listen (the way they will, do, even through broken bones), because she has to kiss that mouth, his, him.
"Mmmm." Rumbles against his mouth, half-sound and half-sigh, as she squirms, tossed and torn, like a small buoy, between the touch-sensitive fading echoes and the trailing electric sparks that light her skin, already, again, under his fingers, with the heavy promise of more, of that impossible, well-proven, even better to come. "It is now."