He rides out the orgasm with that last loss of control: hands grasping and tightening, Allison gasping as she nudges herself the rest of the way, drags herself to yet another climax in order to join him in being absolutely, positively, delightfully drained.
Luther's gone boneless like a ragdoll collapsing on top of her as Allison pulls him to her, the weight of him driving the breath out of her lungs with a little oof and then a shared laugh; it's hard to tell whether it started in the rumble of his chest or in hers. He's sprawled over her, with a fist buried in the cushions and a bare foot dangling off the bottom of the couch — he's still too tall for this — and his chin against her shoulder, their bodies aligned, all long lines sprawled languorously. Still inside her for now, satisfied and sated and sweaty.
The urgency's gone out of the room like a fire finally banked and ebbing, making way for a pleasantly tired stillness: the kind of loose relaxation that pretty much nobody ever sees from either of them, all tension and wariness temporarily banished. The eye of a storm. A hunger finally appeased, leaving them naked and content.
"Just let me know if I'm crushing you. There's not a lot of space," Luther says muzzily, bemused, fond. If they were in bed, they'd be able to lie more adjacent to each other, maybe with her arm draped over the deep barrel of his chest; considering the narrowness of the sofa, though, they've been turned into a sprawl of entangled limbs, with Luther resting right on top of her, with as much bare skin against bare skin as possible. He relishes all of this: the blazing radiant warmth of their bodies, the softness of her curves beneath him, the smell of sex in the air, the slight stickiness of drying sweat across both their bodies, the companionable angle of his arm half-curled around her. As if they still can't let go, even now, still can't accept the barest inch of distance being imposed between them. They're still wedged together, and he'll have to pull out in a second and they'll have to go clean up—
But not just yet.
Right now, still buzzing from the stimulation and brain still pleasantly whited-out from orgasm with nothing more coherent to think than I like the smell of the shampoo she used today, Luther is perfectly happy to just lie here for a little while longer.
no subject
Luther's gone boneless like a ragdoll collapsing on top of her as Allison pulls him to her, the weight of him driving the breath out of her lungs with a little oof and then a shared laugh; it's hard to tell whether it started in the rumble of his chest or in hers. He's sprawled over her, with a fist buried in the cushions and a bare foot dangling off the bottom of the couch — he's still too tall for this — and his chin against her shoulder, their bodies aligned, all long lines sprawled languorously. Still inside her for now, satisfied and sated and sweaty.
The urgency's gone out of the room like a fire finally banked and ebbing, making way for a pleasantly tired stillness: the kind of loose relaxation that pretty much nobody ever sees from either of them, all tension and wariness temporarily banished. The eye of a storm. A hunger finally appeased, leaving them naked and content.
"Just let me know if I'm crushing you. There's not a lot of space," Luther says muzzily, bemused, fond. If they were in bed, they'd be able to lie more adjacent to each other, maybe with her arm draped over the deep barrel of his chest; considering the narrowness of the sofa, though, they've been turned into a sprawl of entangled limbs, with Luther resting right on top of her, with as much bare skin against bare skin as possible. He relishes all of this: the blazing radiant warmth of their bodies, the softness of her curves beneath him, the smell of sex in the air, the slight stickiness of drying sweat across both their bodies, the companionable angle of his arm half-curled around her. As if they still can't let go, even now, still can't accept the barest inch of distance being imposed between them. They're still wedged together, and he'll have to pull out in a second and they'll have to go clean up—
But not just yet.
Right now, still buzzing from the stimulation and brain still pleasantly whited-out from orgasm with nothing more coherent to think than I like the smell of the shampoo she used today, Luther is perfectly happy to just lie here for a little while longer.