[ It's rare that Wynonna's the first one awake, even rarer that he isn't rushing off to open up the diner early in the morning — so when she rolls over at some untold hour (mostly because she's too lazy to glance over at her Fluid sitting on her nightstand) to find him still sleeping deeply next to her, she's a) surprised and b) briefly stilled by the sight of him looking so restful, features slackened and peaceful, chest rising and falling evenly with his breathing. She'd joked early on about the possibility of being turned off by his snoring, but it turns out that Frank Castle is not the kind of man who even makes all that much noise in sleep, so quiet that if it wasn't for the fact that she can see him inhaling and exhaling she'd think he'd stopped breathing altogether.
Whatever time it is, it's early enough that the sun isn't fully streaming into the room yet, only the beginnings of light making their way through the sheer curtains that idly billow with the stray breeze coming in through the half-open windows, the ones they leave open at night when it's cool enough to offer some respite from the intense summer heat they've been having. But that intermittent breeze doesn't prevent her from needing many layers; the body tucked under this sheet with her is always more than enough to keep her warm, so much so that she's never required to wear more than a tank and underwear to bed while he usually foregoes a shirt altogether.
She props herself up on one elbow, gaze casually scanning down the length of him until it comes to a screeching halt right in the vicinity of his hips, where a very telltale tenting of the bedsheet is happening right now. She's definitely not unfamiliar with the various causes of morning wood, but it's another thing entirely to see him sporting it, and maybe she's feeling slightly impish at the thought of being the first one up, so to speak, even though it looks like he's plenty up right now, so after quietly lifting the sheet to slip beneath it, she gently slides herself across him to stretch out on her stomach between his legs.
He's very thoughtfully donned a pair of sweatpants for sleeping in, and after tugging the drawstring loose a little bit at a time, she carefully pulls at the waistband in order to free him from underneath it, sliding her fingers across him to start before she lets her mouth join in on the fun with slow, lazy, unhurried sucking. ]
[ if it were almost any other day, he would probably be guaranteed to be awake before she gets around to it, but sometimes he's been known to pull off the later shifts at the diner, especially in these days when restaurant traffic has been on the rise on account of food shortages everywhere else. it's not exactly brimming with food, but the diner is still one of the better sources for it (thanks to diarmuid's stubborn sense of duty in providing surprising security against the nuns) and to make sure portion control is maintained, he's occasionally taken on doing some double shifts.
which ultimately means that he's exhausted by the time he's dragging himself back to the farmhouse, and for all the little sleep frank normally gets, enough strain on him does allow him to fall into a heavy enough doze that he could sleep in for a few extra hours.
the heavier the exhaustion, the deeper the sleep, and he finds himself well lost to a haze of dreams that don't run fluid together, mostly emotions turned into imagery and a soothing comfort from whatever presence appears within it. he possibly won't be able to make much sense of it later, can hardly make much sense of it now when he's too at peace to even give it much care, but he can sense her within it.
either it's just his body translating the physical presence of her nestled against him, but he can feel her warmth radiating through it, and in the vague presence of his dreams, he finds his hands on her, curving over her hips, the rocking motions that grind in a slow set rhythm. the pinkness of her lips part for him when he glides his fingers against them, soft breathless noises escaping him with a followed cry of his name, and he feels his own go dry from the observance of it.
but when he slides his tongue across his mouth to wet it, he feels the heat of hers roam elsewhere and he gasps softly, a surprised moan rising from his throat from the realness of it, pleasant and slow, hot on his skin, satisfying with every lazy movement along the fullness of him. ]
[ The stars have all aligned to create the perfect setting for her to do this in — the house is quiet, no sounds of movement happening elsewhere (although if the other occupants were up already she wouldn't necessarily always pick up on it, especially the smaller of the two who seems to be able to move silently without detection), and she's pretty sure she's got just enough time to accomplish this without risk of them being caught or overheard — at least until he moans like that, something that sounds just a little too sleepy rather than a noise edging on surprise.
She uses her free hand to lift up the bedsheet, peering out from underneath it, but aside from a brief curving of his fingers in against his palms it looks like he's still asleep, dreaming whatever he might happen to be dreaming. As someone who's been on the receiving end of a particularly enjoyable one starring him a time or two, she knows damn well that dreams here tend to be even more vivid than most, details easily recalled even in the height of an intense slumber; once, she'd woken up with no insignificant amount of frustration and a heat undeniably pooling between her thighs, so crazy with arousal she'd been forced to slide a hand down her shorts to satisfy it before being able to fall back asleep.
She wonders what he's picturing now on the inside of his eyelids, if anything at all, or if some part of his subconscious can dimly register the sensations his body is experiencing now, and how long it will take him to wake up if she starts to become a little more vigorous in her attention. But the hour of the morning, paired with a slowly abating sleepiness in her own limbs, leads her to want to take this whole thing slowly, to really savor it, savor him.
She lets the sheet fall over both of them again, shrouding herself from his sight, and when she returns her mouth to him again it's with a quiet rhythm, doing her best not to make too many sounds herself even though she's already expressed interest in enjoying this part of it, of doing this for him. It does plenty for her all on its own with the taste of him on her tongue, the scent of the soap he'd used in the shower to scrub the smell of grilltop grease and coffee from himself before collapsing into bed last night, the out and out heat of his skin that seems to burn even hotter when he's been cocooned beneath a pair of sweats all night. She settles her weight more decisively on him and strokes her fingers across his hips as her mouth steadily works, listening for the signs that he might be rousing little by little. ]
[ there's no awareness of his surroundings now, not yet, and for the moment, the only thing he can layer his attention on is whatever seems to be happening low on his hips. because if there's anything he's absolutely certain on in being real, at least in his mind, it's in the sensation of her mouth, parted lips that work him over in a lazy pattern, a gentle wet roll of a tongue that makes his own breath go unsteady. ]
God, Wynonna — [ it's a low moan, not quite loud enough to echo out past these walls but every syllable of her name is clear, even in his sleep, and there's little remnant of control over the sound when there was never really any to begin with.
it's familiar and yet it still has a way to surprise, to somehow make his skin quiver as she explores the taste of him, and he can feel a set of his own fingers clutch at the mattress beneath him as the other blindly reaches down in hopes of touching her, to curl within her hair.
Instead of those messy waves, however, he instead finds the sheet that coats her head instead, and it's in that unlikeliness that his upper body begins to stir, his eyes faintly opening to a mere squint, catching only a blur of that slightly bobbing bed sheet, only a mystery in sight as every sensation remains as vivid as ever, twitching against the soft suction. ]
Shit. [ he's not quite awake, or at least he still can't seem to find where the lines are between dream and reality, and maybe that's why he doesn't filter the moans that follow, noises more free that he'd eventualy voluntarily allow. ]
[ She knows he's finally waking up — or getting there — when she feels it, that twitching of awareness that manifests somewhere within his body and then travels to the rest of him until his legs shift slightly around her, until fingers gently prod against the bedsheet and she hears her name float from his lips, and after a beat of consideration she finally lifts the sheet to toss it behind herself, the cotton gently floating down to rest across her shoulders instead of covering her and everything she's doing to him right now.
Because she definitely hasn't stopped, but he's not exactly keeping his noises to himself either, groans slipping freely into the morning air, and as much as she doesn't want him to stop doing that, there's only so long either of them can persist with that kind of volume before it becomes readily apparent what's happening behind this closed door.
She reaches up with one hand to sweep blindly across his chest, feeling her way over him, letting her mouth fall away from him in the process but being forced to stretch a little in order to brush her fingers across the shape of his lips, her own wetly pursing to deliver that coaxed hushing sound. ] Shhhh.
[ She won't resort to fully covering his mouth, not unless he needs it this time, her hand slipping down to brace against the bed at his hip as she finally leverages herself up a little higher to kneel between his legs, shoulders rolling forward for her to take him into the enveloping heat of her mouth again, slow and easing, almost the same pace she sets when she's the one sitting astride him, moving on him with that same lack of haste. He's coming back to waking, and she wants to welcome him there memorably. ]
[ in his mind, there's only the two of them here, the long fall of her hair tickling the sensitive height of his hips, another gentle sensation to gradual ease him into the wake of the early darkened morning within their bedroom. because of that, he doesn't find reason to filter the echo of his satisfaction, low rumbling groans vibrating from his throat and working into soft gasps each time she takes in a little more into the sanctity of her mouth.
he swallows when he feels the slide of her fingertip brushing over his lips, the suddenness of the touch prompting a further widening of his eyes, the sight before him of her hunched body hovering above him more clear as his senses gradually return to him.
but his voice, his breath, all remain trapped in his throat as he remains in a momentary daze, watching her settle more firmly on her knees between his legs and return to position, a sigh of both defeat and relief when she wraps her lips once more, tightly encircled and taking full command on him in even more of a vulnerable state. ] Shit. [ he mutters again, but this time, he bites his lips soon afterwards to contain any helpless noises to a muffled sound, his fingers reaching out against to gently rest over her head, feeling the gradual pace that works him over. ]
[ In an even more perfect set of circumstances, the house would be fully empty, all other occupants removed elsewhere save for the ones who linger together in the master bedroom upstairs, and he could moan to his heart's content; maybe she'd even let herself be a little more vocal in the expression of the pleasure she receives by doing this, by satisfying him in turn. But they have more than who's in this room to consider now and there's almost more of a thrill in the knowledge that they need to keep it down, the risk of being overheard accompanying even the slightest adjustment of weight against the mattress. Even so much as the smallest creaking could give them away.
She glances up beneath the momentary fall of her hair and uses one hand to sweep it out of her face, wanting an unobstructed view of him — and that does not disappoint, his lips silently parting to release a sigh into the air as he blinks dazedly a handful of times, probably bringing his world back into focus a little more and her along with it, kneeling in front of him as her head bobs repetitively.
The softness of his repeated swear prompts a small laugh, more of an exhale than anything else, and her lips practically curve around him in the form of a smile because she can still hear his noises, even his attempts to stifle himself now as he clamps his mouth shut, too sleepy to be completely silent in his responses. Her head tips into the touch of his hand and she briefly slows to catch her breath, exchanging that slow suction for a few long licks until she's recovered herself enough to continue. ]
[ he’s somehow sure he’d been dreaming, but the sight he’s met with upon waking makes him question where that line had really been drawn, how it all blurs together now in knowing there’s a solid truth in the fact she’s very much tucked between his knees now and keeping her mouth low to his skin. but he has no energy to protest, and he isn’t sure that he would even if he did; she looks good where he finds her, something adamant in the occasional gazes she manages to sneak his way despite the busy task at hand, and even her eyes on him sprout another layer of arousal at the scene.
he isn’t sure how they got here, if he’d muttered something in his sleep, somehow moved unconsciously, or if this was motivation all on her own, but it doesn’t matter now, not when he’s already as far along in the build-up as he is, the shakiness in his breath providing plenty hint of it. ]
Wynonna. [ he manages to keep the moan fairly quiet, but it’s still a clear vibration from his throat, his fingers working further into the dangling locks of hair to form a bundle within his palm, clutching it together at the side of her head, where he can feel the motions of her movements from more than one source.
she licks and he twitches against her mouth, a tightening grip of his fingers a silent message for her not to stop, flush on his cheeks and a strained expression sending a signal that he’s so close, and with the sudden rise from sleep, there’s no time to consider any shamefulness in his full vulnerable display. ]
[ She figures he's still pretty dazed from it all, being gently led out of rather than yanked from sleep like this only to tumble headfirst into heightening arousal, unable to string two coherent thoughts together — and really, she doesn't need him to think right now, because it's better if he doesn't, better if he just gives himself over to it, that slightly mind-numbing sensation from a satisfying release that whites out everything else.
What she does need, however, is for him to maintain a certain volume; little noises here and there won't give them away necessarily, and she's pretty sure her imploring him to keep it down before has permeated through the warm haze of sleep and rising enjoyment, because the next time he utters her name it's barely audible, little more than a croaked whisper, and she gently nuzzles her head into his touch in wordless acknowledgment, temple nudging into the heel of his hand.
But she returns her mouth to him in earnest too, trying her hardest to keep any errant sounds of suction to a minimum even if she does start getting a little energetic about it; it's more difficult for her to maintain eye contact with him but she's still trying to look up here and there, watch those telltale signs in his expression that he's already close, the tension in his forehead and the rising color in his face, the way his body starts to go taut beneath her.
Somewhere beneath the sheet she finds his other hand, threads their fingers together, offers him a small encouraging squeeze to let go, just let go — because she's got him like this, lazy and slow in the rising morning light, and she's giving him permission to fall apart. ]
[ he won’t do well to try to think too hard here, and it’s clearly become too late to even consider that possibility. still, it’s not entirely bizarre to find themselves in this situation, either; plenty of times they’ve found themselves both working late nights, shifts that allow just enough time to wash off the grime of the day’s work — remnants of cooking oil and bacon grease or the scent of spilled whiskey — before hitting the bed for a long awaited rest. the mornings, though, if he’s not on the slate for an earlier shift, belongs to them, privacy allowed for something of an hour to laze in the relaxation of each other’s company.
and sometimes that relaxation builds, builds until his mouth is left to pant lightly as wynonna kindles that fire with every roll of her own upon him, and he’s left tensing throughout the rest of his body, anxious from basking in every sensation that drags him ever closer to that early morning release.
he groans just before it, a strained sound that’s surprisingly vulnerable out of his lips, but it’s the warning he provides as he tightens his fingers against her locks of hair, the others squeezing against her supportive hand. it’s a hold that says far more than it does, about what they do here and what it really is for them.
his hips give an instinctive buck, but they still once they lift slightly from the mattress, hovering briefly there and only lowering down again in defeat once he’s spilled every trace of the contents upon her tongue. ]
[ Mornings are a time that belongs more to them than few others do; their schedules don't so much compete for their spare hours as they overlap, but chances are they're more likely to both stumble into bed with the intention of passing out than to stay up in favor of different pursuits, and if she has the advantage of him lingering here with her in the early hours, then maybe she's not going to bother sleeping in.
There's an intimacy in this laziness too, this unguarded arousal that paints his features, half-lidded eyes and parted lips that fight not to utter anything above a quiet, strained groan, the way she threads their fingers together and communicates that permission to him without words because they've evolved beyond the need for them in every setting. Still, it hasn't stopped him from voicing her name, not in protest but overwhelmed nonetheless, and she's keeping him tethered to her throughout with the quiet promise that she'll be there to bring him back down in the aftermath.
He doesn't have to give warning; she feels the preceding signal of it before he releases into the heat of her mouth, and she carefully soothes him over with a few lingering movements until withdrawing altogether, swiping the pad of her thumb across the corner of her lips as she rolls over onto her back with her head lolling against his hip, grinning towards the ceiling.
After a few beats, she adjusts the fall of his sweats across his hips to cover him and slowly scoots up the bed along his side to prop herself up on his pillow, gazing down at him with fondness and self-satisfaction in equal measure. ] Morning.
[ he needs to take a few moments to catch his breath, to steady himself again as he sinks his back into the mattress, hips now drained to stillness with parted legs and closed eyes. it’s that time that also allows him to register himself properly into waking, to fully separate from that dreamlike state that seemed to have taken over him the moment that wynonna’s lips touched his arousal.
he only manages to open his eyes again when he feels the shift along the bed, weight pressing down at his side as she climbs it to situate herself beside him and when he looks at her, it’s with clear affection in his gaze, helplessness in the formation of a subtle smile, even as he delays a response to simply take in the sight of her as the morning light filters in through the curtains. ]
Morning. [ when he does finally speak, it’s with that waking hoarseness still lodged there, clearing his throat into a soft hum as he drags one of his arms behind his head, the other raising to brush his fingers fondly beneath her chin. ]
[ Watching him come back to himself is its own novelty, since the range of relaxed expressions playing over his face tends to be reserved for moments just like this one: early in the morning, when they're both newly roused, skin warmed from a restful sleep in a bed where he's laid beside her ever since she brought him back to her that night he'd woken from a nightmare down on the couch, sweat-drenched and frantic. She can't help but notice that the bad dreams are fewer and further in between for him these days, that maybe they've have been temporarily laid to rest for now. There's every possibility they could rear up for him again, could send him jerking awake without warning, but if they do, she'll be there — exactly like she's here right now, stretching out a hand to walk fingertips across the plane of his abdomen.
Frank blinks his eyes open to find her gazing down at him and there's no mistaking what resides in his gaze, just like she's damn sure he can see it there in hers too, that undeniable something that's been there ever since she woke up to him the first time, since she knew she wasn't going to be able to keep this casual in the least little bit. And now, thanks to a night that had consisted of a little of Chloe's weed and some feel-good endorphins, she's got a name for it now, for what they have.
Wynonna's grin practically splits her face when he responds, trails fingers beneath the shape of her chin, and maybe she gives him her best expression of innocence, offers a small hunch of her shoulders. ]
What can I say? Saw you laying there looking like a snack, so I figured I'd grab a mouthful.
Oh, yeah? You figured that, huh? [ he cracks himself into a wider grin, a low rumble of a laugh leaving him without any sort of filter. it’s not a common sight, at least not to many, but wynonna’s been known to be a more frequent witness to it in the kind of privacy they can afford. it’s a different kind of haven for them, be it in this bedroom or along the trunk bed of her truck or in the subtle fly-be moments at the diner that he manages to steal a kiss from her because it’s worth those brief seconds to remind her how he’s come to feel by her presence.
the kiss is there now, more willing with lack of interruption, and it hardly matters to him that he can taste himself there on her lips, in the same way that there’s no bother in basking in shared morning breath before they could get a good teeth brushing in. because it’s all her, and it’s all parts of her that he’s come to embrace, that have gradually, in their way, shaped him into a better version of himself, to where he’s really beginning to consider allowing himself this.
— allowing himself happiness. with her.
chuckling against her lips, he raises himself to gently nudge hers over onto her back, swapping their positions to where it’s now him there along his side peering over her laying body. ]
Didn’t know you had it in you, Judy. Taking advantage of my innocence like that. [ nothing about the slyness of his smirk spells anything close to “innocence”, especially as his palms roams low to her belly, exposed with the way her shirt has ridden up, fingertips slowly stroking along her skin. ] Meal like that — must have really built yourself up.
[ and he roams lower, fingers brushing light at the apex of her thighs. ]
I don’t think you minded being woken up that way, Harry. [ Half-distracted by the kiss, she doesn’t realize they’ve swapped positions until she’s flat on her back already looking up at him, hair fanned out in sleep-mussed waves across the pillow with a contented smile on subtly swollen lips, cheeks flushed with warmth. ] Not at all.
[ Her hand rises to cup the side of his face without thinking now, thumb sweeping over the angles of his features now made visible with his lack of beard to soften them. She touches him, period, without a second thought now, reaches for him because she can, because she’s permitted to, because she knows he’ll tilt into that contact same as she does, seeking something they’ve both craved without realizing it for so long.
She does her best not to fidget but it’s easier said than done when his fingers are skimming over the edges of her stomach, roaming across the silverlight lines of old stretch marks that run low across her hips above that waistband, where her belly had once swelled with new life. It’s the only evidence she has now to remind her of the legacy she still has, the one she’s fighting to spare from this curse, the child he’s since promised to get her home to someday.
Her head tips to the side and she watches him with a faint smile, teeth tugging at her lower lip while she tries to suss out exactly what he’s planning on. ]
Yeah, you think you could give me a hand with that?
Guess your mouth just does something to me. Can’t seem to resist it.
[ except it isn’t only her mouth, because the moment her fingers trace along his face, he sighs against their kiss, soothed down further by those gentle caresses. he does feel it more now without the presence of that beard acting as a slight barrier, and even as small strands begin to form along his jaw, he can still feel the silkiness of her skin tracing against it. and every touch of it is plenty familiar now, still just as irresistible, but routine almost in the way they consistently reach out for one another.
because it’s like this, fingers against one another, lingering in their shared spaces, that there’s a sense of safety, a sense of belonging, and it’s a feeling he chases over and over again with, never tiring of it, no matter how many kisses he’s come to steal over the span of the last several months.
he’s come to recognize every curve of this body, the softer areas of her, every unscarred batch of skin that her abilities have kept clean, save for the faintness low there on her hips, subtle and easy to miss, save for those moments that he roams his lips there, kissing those lines with tenderness and understanding. he’d kiss her there now if his mouth weren’t preoccupied, roaming close to hers where their breaths sigh softly together until she moves to let her eyes linger on him. ]
Yeah? And where’d you like that — ? [ two large fingers linger against her underwear, light in their touch until he gives a gradual press there at that sensitive center. ] Here?
[ She’s giddy on the proximity of him, the closeness, soft laughter sneaking in along the edges of the kisses they share; he slants into her palm and she keeps her hand there, spanning her fingers wide across the strength of his features as he presses his mouth to hers again and again, that sort of soft drifting that they sometimes exchange when they’re — or, more accurately, when she’s — still trying to keep talking.
But now, he actually finds a way to temporarily remove any higher thought the second his hand dips between her legs, finds where she’s already damp through that thin barrier, the blunt edges of fingers pressing hard enough to make her gasp before she shuts her mouth to stifle the sound. It comes through as a sharp intake of breath anyway and on reflex, her knees shift open a little wider. She’s never made a secret of her eagerness for this, for him and she’s not about to start now. ]
Uh — um, yeah. Yes. [ She’s struggling to not let it show in her voice but a little stammering happens anyway, as she tries to recenter her mental train from where he’d flipped that switch by touching her there; she nods once, maybe too quickly, and presses back against the pillow to look up at him. ] You’re just about there.
[ even though he’s fully awake now, there’s still a sort of laziness in this, the way they remain draped across the bed, relaxed upon the mattress as they make the most of these private moments they have, before they eventually have to rise up out of bed and recognize that they can’t remain here for as long as they want, that this house isn’t only the two of them on their own anymore. that isn’t such a bad thing, and he has plenty of fondness for the other residents that have taken up space here, including the girl he’s gradually been able to proudly declare his daughter despite their lack of blood relation.
still, there’s a selfishness for this too, for remaining tangled in the bed sheets with the woman he loves, and seeing all the ways he can make her curl her toes.
there’s especially fondness in this position too, because even if he’d often made it a habit to lower himself down to nest his face there between her thighs, he can’t quite sacrifice the opportunity to watch the shift of her expressions from such a perfect viewpoint, especially when she struggles now to speak as he touches her more firmly. ]
Does feel like I’m getting closer. [ the smirk is practically in his voice, especially because he knows where she’d want him to next, feels that dampness that calls him to bypass that single layer that keeps him away from a direct touch. but, maybe it’s in the eased mood he’s been placed into that has him feeling a little more playful, craving the results of a tease instead as his hand remains there above the fabric, instead choosing to rub a little harder, finding the source where she grows wet, adding a rhythmic friction of the cotton against it. ]
[ He's awake and she's right there with him, that shift of limbs beneath a tangled bedsheet now reversed to where it's her restless hips lifting to seek more from his touch, that subtle tease building to a more deliberate massage until the effect he's having on her even through that gentle barrier is basically undeniable. The lightest furrow appears between her brows and she dips her chin down to playfully nip at his mouth, a retaliation that loses some of its impact when she can't quite hold back the quietest of whimpers. ]
If you're trying to play that hotter-colder game with me right now, I'm just gonna say that you're definitely getting warmer.
[ When she slips a hand down to wrap loose fingers around his forearm, it's not to steer or to direct him; she has no doubt that he's got everything well in hand, but she does enjoy the feeling of that tension when he equips more of his strength to deliver that building sensation, a subtle flex of muscle and tendon that ripples beneath her touch, and she can squeeze him there too when he's on to something really good — like right the hell now, that damp press eliciting a slow rock of her hips as she moves to meet him in it. She's probably risking him pulling away just for the purposes of a continued teasing, but she really hopes he's not feeling inclined to stop.
And there's a difference in having him here stretched out alongside her as his hand works between her thighs; he's got a front-row seat to everything that plays across her face, all her undisguised, unfiltered need, the way she fights to keep quiet by pressing her lips together, the visible indents in her cheeks becoming even more prominent when something he says tickles her in just the right spot of her sense of humor.
Her smile only drifts a little when she starts to get impatient and even then it's because she's surging up to kiss him, something deep and yearning and maybe halfway to an attempt to convince him to bypass her underwear for that direct contact already. ]
I thought so. [ even his own voice is a pitch lower, both unintentional and a way to seduce her further, the close distance of their mouths punctuating that low gravel in his town and the noise he makes in turn when she nips at his lips, and he can practically taste the whimper that leaves her.
even if he teases, he knows there’s a mutual trust between the two of them, and when she takes a hold of his arm, it’s in the same way that his fingers had drifted tight into her hair, massaging his palm against her scalp, all for the mere tether that keeps them close together at all points, to sink further and further until it all blends together and they communicate every response, every need, without a single showcase of words save for the soft sounds that echo, sometimes in the form of their own names.
when she presses up her hips, he can tease her further if he desires it, but he doesn’t, instead working that hand harder against her on each rising press, meeting her there to add to that aided rhythm to coaxes more of that soaking dampness.
he can feel the shift in her breath, when instinctive humor gets traded for urgency, muscles tensing when she’s desiring more and awaiting it. he runs his tongue over his own lips right before she snatches them with hers and the sudden contact makes even him moan a little at the passion that follows with it, the slide of their mouths that prompts the final shift of the tone he’d set.
because he drifts his hand up to the hem of her underwear then, finally sneaking below to roam beneath it, earning a direct contact that makes him nip at her lip in feeling her, rubbing briefly from above before a finger snakes in to slip past that initial entry. ]
[ She'd joked once, maybe a little off-hand, about how he'd had a voice made for narration, that kind of low dimension to it that implies authority and commands a certain kind of attention — but maybe what she hadn't fully communicated to him, then or now, is the effect it has on her, that gravel in his tone when he's close enough to utter words across the shape of her mouth, to let her feel the rumbling vibration in his chest as he lays at her side. It's its own turn-on, that voice, full of implication and promise, tease and fulfillment, and she lets it roll over her skin, tilting her face up towards his like she wants his lips to form the shape of each word right across hers.
Her grip on him links them further, preserves that joining; even if they're pursuing something they don't veer towards normally, often skipping ahead to a certain main event, she wants to find every route she can to touch him, to reciprocate in putting a hand on him so she isn't just laying here passively enjoying herself. She'll seek that connection everywhere she can until it's physically impossible and she runs out of hands, or places to put her mouth; she wants him over her, against her, pressing every inch of herself to every inch of him until there's nothing that remains untouched.
But now she's being built up too high to think about anything other than where his hand resides between her legs, half-disappeared beneath a twisted sheet; the muscles in her abdomen tense slightly as those first tendrils of heat unfurl strongly in her core and she blatantly arches beneath him, the rolling wave that starts in her shoulders and carries down to her hips as his kiss stifles the ensuing moan.
And then she melts when his hand covertly slips beneath to touch her where she's aching for it, touch dipping under and in, and her fingers dig into his forearm a little more, maybe hard enough for him to perceive the rounds of her nails; if she maintains a hold somewhere, somehow, she thinks, she might be able to keep quiet, but it's a struggle to keep her eyes open, to watch him watching her as arousal plays so openly across her features, as he strips her bare with that single digit. ]
[ he can roll his eyes, pout his lips, and pretend to ignore her when she tosses over her teasing compliments, even as far back as when she brought attention to his voice, but he’s plenty attentive to know the things that have an affect on her, how sometimes a simple look that make her breathe more deeply, or a steady whisper can warm her skin. he feels it, bears witness to it as closely as he can capture the details and hold it all to memory, for the sake of showering it upon her again and again until he can coax her into unraveling.
he does it even now, and he knows she’s lost the will to retaliate in banter when all he receives in turn is the muffle of moans against his lips, his mouth parting to taste each and every one, the sound of her just as much of an important effect as what paints his fingers down below. ]
God, you’re beautiful — [ yet, not everything that comes from his mouth is purposeful, and he hardly even notices himself when he says it, distracted as he thrusts the press of a finger to a second knuckle and captures the result of it in the shifting lines across her face, the rounded workings of her lips as they gasp, and the firm grip that pinches into his skin, sharp but welcoming to any scratches of those nails that might leave remnants of this moment to draw back on later.
it’s a risk to not shield her mouth with his own, but he draws himself back just enough to gaze with fond eyes, his own breath even a light panting now, because he doesn’t want to miss the moment that he adds an additional digit, finding a steady rhythm of two fingers side by side, rocking with slick ease within the warmth of her. ]
[ It'd be a lie to say he hasn't always affected her even in some small way, provoked a response from her — the difference now is in what those reactions are, everything ranging from something fluttering low in the pit of her stomach to the equally intense swelling in her chest that happens when she glances at him and finds him already looking in her direction, surveying her with an openness she hasn't always been on the receiving end of. She knows what that latter feeling is now, even if she hadn't always been able to give a name to it; it's in her heart for her to offer up strong enough for him to feel it too, to know what exists between them, want and desire and need and love all wrapped up into one.
He's found a means to take her apart piece by piece, but she trusts him enough to put her back together afterward, and that's the difference between him and everyone else she tried to have this with — the trust to pour herself into his hands, because he's never given her any reason to doubt he's got the strength to hold her up, and she'll be there for him to lean on when it's his turn to unravel, not just on an intimate level like this moment now while the town is still waking up.
Her brow furrows more deeply, not a squint or a look of confusion at his words but somewhere closer to concentration, focus; she's lost in his eyes and everything he's saying to her while he touches her, all of it so good and safe and right that she'd be bowled over by it if she wasn't already laid out across their bed. Her mouth silently streams the sounds she can't allow herself to make, and her fingers flex at his arm, digging in even harder at that further stretch within her.
Lips form his name without a noise — Frank — and she curves against him, head tipping back against the pillow and eyes briefly screwing shut; she has to surrender his gaze for a moment but then she's reeled back to him through the rhythm of his fingers, firm and unrelenting. She blinks open to find his face and the hand at his arm travels up the length of his body to cup him at the nape of his neck, cradling their faces together while they breathe one another's breaths and he steadily works her ever closer to that release. ]
[ they’d always been channeling something together all these months, something unspoken beyond the banter and the bickering and the affectionate words that fall in between. and while it hadn’t always been this exact feeling, the more intimate and heart-gripping emotions built and stitched together somewhere along the path of all of this, the attention had always been there, capturing details and learning curves, memorizing the ease of certain expressions along with the rarity of others. but through it all, he’s never tired of her, never stopped looking, especially as he looks at her now, seeing the woman he’d accidentally given the whole of his heart to, something he’d initially tightened his grip around defensively when he’d thought it’d lost the will to beat as hard as it does now.
and yet she holds him now, just as much as he does here, and while it’s she that has his hand perched within her underwear, fabric tucked up by the firmness of his knuckles, he loses himself in her just the same, sharing in it by watching as the pieces of her lay exposed, listening for her soft hushed moans, and sighing when he sees her lips form a silent call of his name.
when she reaches her his neck, curving her fingers for that solid hold, he leans to her mouth, kissing her hard then, a tight but tender press of his mouth to hers, an echo of a reminder that goes unsaid but is told in every kiss, every fond gaze, every caress to her skin.
i love you, he doesn’t say, but he sighs to her mouth and in that steady breath, he says it again and again, i love you, i love you.
perching his thumb high against that sensitive nub, he steadies his firm touch there as he seeks a faster rhythm of his sunken fingers, a steady pumping that echoes its slick sound just enough through the room that the moment still belongs to them and them alone. ] I got you. [ he mutters to her mouth, a soft reminder, as he provides the full attention of his touch between her spread legs, aiming to help her climb and climb until she achieves that sought out peak. ]
[ They haven’t given up everything that defined those early months, the bickering and playful teasing now just adopting a different tenor as if it represents a foreplay all its own, a prelude to what they fall into when they can seize the moment long enough to achieve it. His hands are on her and his voice is uttered softly across her lips as she spirals high and higher still, now practically reduced to helpless writhing when he pairs the motion of his fingers with that glancing brush of a thumb over a point of major sensitivity.
She grips at him harder, knowing she’s lost, giving herself over to it all while he’s there to ease her back down from it in the end but touching her so capably to bring her to that breaking point first, the tension inside her building more and more until she doesn’t know if she can take it.
They don’t have the benefit of living alone, together, not anymore, but that’s proving to be the fun of it, being forced to stay quiet when she knows other ears might be sensitive enough to pick up on too many suspicious sounds and interrupt them, and not using her words hasn’t stopped her from finding his eyes in this, from letting them say what she already has but pouring it out of herself now through that shared look — keep touching me, don’t stop, please, please don’t stop, I love you.
He’s rocking with her, moving, here to hold her, to give her the graze of his mouth to hers and right when she thinks she might burst open her release rolls over her instead, played out by the rhythm of his fingers; she grinds down to meet it and presses her lips firm to his to utter her moan there, something soft and strained as she comes apart against him, around him, and she doesn’t stop until the last of it ebbs away and she can ease back into the pillow, flushed and visibly satisfied. ] Goddamn.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action; this is basically going to be nsfw from the start so
Whatever time it is, it's early enough that the sun isn't fully streaming into the room yet, only the beginnings of light making their way through the sheer curtains that idly billow with the stray breeze coming in through the half-open windows, the ones they leave open at night when it's cool enough to offer some respite from the intense summer heat they've been having. But that intermittent breeze doesn't prevent her from needing many layers; the body tucked under this sheet with her is always more than enough to keep her warm, so much so that she's never required to wear more than a tank and underwear to bed while he usually foregoes a shirt altogether.
She props herself up on one elbow, gaze casually scanning down the length of him until it comes to a screeching halt right in the vicinity of his hips, where a very telltale tenting of the bedsheet is happening right now. She's definitely not unfamiliar with the various causes of morning wood, but it's another thing entirely to see him sporting it, and maybe she's feeling slightly impish at the thought of being the first one up, so to speak, even though it looks like he's plenty up right now, so after quietly lifting the sheet to slip beneath it, she gently slides herself across him to stretch out on her stomach between his legs.
He's very thoughtfully donned a pair of sweatpants for sleeping in, and after tugging the drawstring loose a little bit at a time, she carefully pulls at the waistband in order to free him from underneath it, sliding her fingers across him to start before she lets her mouth join in on the fun with slow, lazy, unhurried sucking. ]
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which ultimately means that he's exhausted by the time he's dragging himself back to the farmhouse, and for all the little sleep frank normally gets, enough strain on him does allow him to fall into a heavy enough doze that he could sleep in for a few extra hours.
the heavier the exhaustion, the deeper the sleep, and he finds himself well lost to a haze of dreams that don't run fluid together, mostly emotions turned into imagery and a soothing comfort from whatever presence appears within it. he possibly won't be able to make much sense of it later, can hardly make much sense of it now when he's too at peace to even give it much care, but he can sense her within it.
either it's just his body translating the physical presence of her nestled against him, but he can feel her warmth radiating through it, and in the vague presence of his dreams, he finds his hands on her, curving over her hips, the rocking motions that grind in a slow set rhythm. the pinkness of her lips part for him when he glides his fingers against them, soft breathless noises escaping him with a followed cry of his name, and he feels his own go dry from the observance of it.
but when he slides his tongue across his mouth to wet it, he feels the heat of hers roam elsewhere and he gasps softly, a surprised moan rising from his throat from the realness of it, pleasant and slow, hot on his skin, satisfying with every lazy movement along the fullness of him. ]
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She uses her free hand to lift up the bedsheet, peering out from underneath it, but aside from a brief curving of his fingers in against his palms it looks like he's still asleep, dreaming whatever he might happen to be dreaming. As someone who's been on the receiving end of a particularly enjoyable one starring him a time or two, she knows damn well that dreams here tend to be even more vivid than most, details easily recalled even in the height of an intense slumber; once, she'd woken up with no insignificant amount of frustration and a heat undeniably pooling between her thighs, so crazy with arousal she'd been forced to slide a hand down her shorts to satisfy it before being able to fall back asleep.
She wonders what he's picturing now on the inside of his eyelids, if anything at all, or if some part of his subconscious can dimly register the sensations his body is experiencing now, and how long it will take him to wake up if she starts to become a little more vigorous in her attention. But the hour of the morning, paired with a slowly abating sleepiness in her own limbs, leads her to want to take this whole thing slowly, to really savor it, savor him.
She lets the sheet fall over both of them again, shrouding herself from his sight, and when she returns her mouth to him again it's with a quiet rhythm, doing her best not to make too many sounds herself even though she's already expressed interest in enjoying this part of it, of doing this for him. It does plenty for her all on its own with the taste of him on her tongue, the scent of the soap he'd used in the shower to scrub the smell of grilltop grease and coffee from himself before collapsing into bed last night, the out and out heat of his skin that seems to burn even hotter when he's been cocooned beneath a pair of sweats all night. She settles her weight more decisively on him and strokes her fingers across his hips as her mouth steadily works, listening for the signs that he might be rousing little by little. ]
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God, Wynonna — [ it's a low moan, not quite loud enough to echo out past these walls but every syllable of her name is clear, even in his sleep, and there's little remnant of control over the sound when there was never really any to begin with.
it's familiar and yet it still has a way to surprise, to somehow make his skin quiver as she explores the taste of him, and he can feel a set of his own fingers clutch at the mattress beneath him as the other blindly reaches down in hopes of touching her, to curl within her hair.
Instead of those messy waves, however, he instead finds the sheet that coats her head instead, and it's in that unlikeliness that his upper body begins to stir, his eyes faintly opening to a mere squint, catching only a blur of that slightly bobbing bed sheet, only a mystery in sight as every sensation remains as vivid as ever, twitching against the soft suction. ]
Shit. [ he's not quite awake, or at least he still can't seem to find where the lines are between dream and reality, and maybe that's why he doesn't filter the moans that follow, noises more free that he'd eventualy voluntarily allow. ]
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Because she definitely hasn't stopped, but he's not exactly keeping his noises to himself either, groans slipping freely into the morning air, and as much as she doesn't want him to stop doing that, there's only so long either of them can persist with that kind of volume before it becomes readily apparent what's happening behind this closed door.
She reaches up with one hand to sweep blindly across his chest, feeling her way over him, letting her mouth fall away from him in the process but being forced to stretch a little in order to brush her fingers across the shape of his lips, her own wetly pursing to deliver that coaxed hushing sound. ] Shhhh.
[ She won't resort to fully covering his mouth, not unless he needs it this time, her hand slipping down to brace against the bed at his hip as she finally leverages herself up a little higher to kneel between his legs, shoulders rolling forward for her to take him into the enveloping heat of her mouth again, slow and easing, almost the same pace she sets when she's the one sitting astride him, moving on him with that same lack of haste. He's coming back to waking, and she wants to welcome him there memorably. ]
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he swallows when he feels the slide of her fingertip brushing over his lips, the suddenness of the touch prompting a further widening of his eyes, the sight before him of her hunched body hovering above him more clear as his senses gradually return to him.
but his voice, his breath, all remain trapped in his throat as he remains in a momentary daze, watching her settle more firmly on her knees between his legs and return to position, a sigh of both defeat and relief when she wraps her lips once more, tightly encircled and taking full command on him in even more of a vulnerable state. ] Shit. [ he mutters again, but this time, he bites his lips soon afterwards to contain any helpless noises to a muffled sound, his fingers reaching out against to gently rest over her head, feeling the gradual pace that works him over. ]
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She glances up beneath the momentary fall of her hair and uses one hand to sweep it out of her face, wanting an unobstructed view of him — and that does not disappoint, his lips silently parting to release a sigh into the air as he blinks dazedly a handful of times, probably bringing his world back into focus a little more and her along with it, kneeling in front of him as her head bobs repetitively.
The softness of his repeated swear prompts a small laugh, more of an exhale than anything else, and her lips practically curve around him in the form of a smile because she can still hear his noises, even his attempts to stifle himself now as he clamps his mouth shut, too sleepy to be completely silent in his responses. Her head tips into the touch of his hand and she briefly slows to catch her breath, exchanging that slow suction for a few long licks until she's recovered herself enough to continue. ]
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he isn’t sure how they got here, if he’d muttered something in his sleep, somehow moved unconsciously, or if this was motivation all on her own, but it doesn’t matter now, not when he’s already as far along in the build-up as he is, the shakiness in his breath providing plenty hint of it. ]
Wynonna. [ he manages to keep the moan fairly quiet, but it’s still a clear vibration from his throat, his fingers working further into the dangling locks of hair to form a bundle within his palm, clutching it together at the side of her head, where he can feel the motions of her movements from more than one source.
she licks and he twitches against her mouth, a tightening grip of his fingers a silent message for her not to stop, flush on his cheeks and a strained expression sending a signal that he’s so close, and with the sudden rise from sleep, there’s no time to consider any shamefulness in his full vulnerable display. ]
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What she does need, however, is for him to maintain a certain volume; little noises here and there won't give them away necessarily, and she's pretty sure her imploring him to keep it down before has permeated through the warm haze of sleep and rising enjoyment, because the next time he utters her name it's barely audible, little more than a croaked whisper, and she gently nuzzles her head into his touch in wordless acknowledgment, temple nudging into the heel of his hand.
But she returns her mouth to him in earnest too, trying her hardest to keep any errant sounds of suction to a minimum even if she does start getting a little energetic about it; it's more difficult for her to maintain eye contact with him but she's still trying to look up here and there, watch those telltale signs in his expression that he's already close, the tension in his forehead and the rising color in his face, the way his body starts to go taut beneath her.
Somewhere beneath the sheet she finds his other hand, threads their fingers together, offers him a small encouraging squeeze to let go, just let go — because she's got him like this, lazy and slow in the rising morning light, and she's giving him permission to fall apart. ]
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and sometimes that relaxation builds, builds until his mouth is left to pant lightly as wynonna kindles that fire with every roll of her own upon him, and he’s left tensing throughout the rest of his body, anxious from basking in every sensation that drags him ever closer to that early morning release.
he groans just before it, a strained sound that’s surprisingly vulnerable out of his lips, but it’s the warning he provides as he tightens his fingers against her locks of hair, the others squeezing against her supportive hand. it’s a hold that says far more than it does, about what they do here and what it really is for them.
his hips give an instinctive buck, but they still once they lift slightly from the mattress, hovering briefly there and only lowering down again in defeat once he’s spilled every trace of the contents upon her tongue. ]
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There's an intimacy in this laziness too, this unguarded arousal that paints his features, half-lidded eyes and parted lips that fight not to utter anything above a quiet, strained groan, the way she threads their fingers together and communicates that permission to him without words because they've evolved beyond the need for them in every setting. Still, it hasn't stopped him from voicing her name, not in protest but overwhelmed nonetheless, and she's keeping him tethered to her throughout with the quiet promise that she'll be there to bring him back down in the aftermath.
He doesn't have to give warning; she feels the preceding signal of it before he releases into the heat of her mouth, and she carefully soothes him over with a few lingering movements until withdrawing altogether, swiping the pad of her thumb across the corner of her lips as she rolls over onto her back with her head lolling against his hip, grinning towards the ceiling.
After a few beats, she adjusts the fall of his sweats across his hips to cover him and slowly scoots up the bed along his side to prop herself up on his pillow, gazing down at him with fondness and self-satisfaction in equal measure. ] Morning.
action; nsfw
he only manages to open his eyes again when he feels the shift along the bed, weight pressing down at his side as she climbs it to situate herself beside him and when he looks at her, it’s with clear affection in his gaze, helplessness in the formation of a subtle smile, even as he delays a response to simply take in the sight of her as the morning light filters in through the curtains. ]
Morning. [ when he does finally speak, it’s with that waking hoarseness still lodged there, clearing his throat into a soft hum as he drags one of his arms behind his head, the other raising to brush his fingers fondly beneath her chin. ]
Had a rush to get breakfast this morning, huh?
action; subtle nsfw
Frank blinks his eyes open to find her gazing down at him and there's no mistaking what resides in his gaze, just like she's damn sure he can see it there in hers too, that undeniable something that's been there ever since she woke up to him the first time, since she knew she wasn't going to be able to keep this casual in the least little bit. And now, thanks to a night that had consisted of a little of Chloe's weed and some feel-good endorphins, she's got a name for it now, for what they have.
Wynonna's grin practically splits her face when he responds, trails fingers beneath the shape of her chin, and maybe she gives him her best expression of innocence, offers a small hunch of her shoulders. ]
What can I say? Saw you laying there looking like a snack, so I figured I'd grab a mouthful.
action; not-so-subtle nsfw
the kiss is there now, more willing with lack of interruption, and it hardly matters to him that he can taste himself there on her lips, in the same way that there’s no bother in basking in shared morning breath before they could get a good teeth brushing in. because it’s all her, and it’s all parts of her that he’s come to embrace, that have gradually, in their way, shaped him into a better version of himself, to where he’s really beginning to consider allowing himself this.
— allowing himself happiness. with her.
chuckling against her lips, he raises himself to gently nudge hers over onto her back, swapping their positions to where it’s now him there along his side peering over her laying body. ]
Didn’t know you had it in you, Judy. Taking advantage of my innocence like that. [ nothing about the slyness of his smirk spells anything close to “innocence”, especially as his palms roams low to her belly, exposed with the way her shirt has ridden up, fingertips slowly stroking along her skin. ] Meal like that — must have really built yourself up.
[ and he roams lower, fingers brushing light at the apex of her thighs. ]
action; nsfw
[ Her hand rises to cup the side of his face without thinking now, thumb sweeping over the angles of his features now made visible with his lack of beard to soften them. She touches him, period, without a second thought now, reaches for him because she can, because she’s permitted to, because she knows he’ll tilt into that contact same as she does, seeking something they’ve both craved without realizing it for so long.
She does her best not to fidget but it’s easier said than done when his fingers are skimming over the edges of her stomach, roaming across the silverlight lines of old stretch marks that run low across her hips above that waistband, where her belly had once swelled with new life. It’s the only evidence she has now to remind her of the legacy she still has, the one she’s fighting to spare from this curse, the child he’s since promised to get her home to someday.
Her head tips to the side and she watches him with a faint smile, teeth tugging at her lower lip while she tries to suss out exactly what he’s planning on. ]
Yeah, you think you could give me a hand with that?
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[ except it isn’t only her mouth, because the moment her fingers trace along his face, he sighs against their kiss, soothed down further by those gentle caresses. he does feel it more now without the presence of that beard acting as a slight barrier, and even as small strands begin to form along his jaw, he can still feel the silkiness of her skin tracing against it. and every touch of it is plenty familiar now, still just as irresistible, but routine almost in the way they consistently reach out for one another.
because it’s like this, fingers against one another, lingering in their shared spaces, that there’s a sense of safety, a sense of belonging, and it’s a feeling he chases over and over again with, never tiring of it, no matter how many kisses he’s come to steal over the span of the last several months.
he’s come to recognize every curve of this body, the softer areas of her, every unscarred batch of skin that her abilities have kept clean, save for the faintness low there on her hips, subtle and easy to miss, save for those moments that he roams his lips there, kissing those lines with tenderness and understanding. he’d kiss her there now if his mouth weren’t preoccupied, roaming close to hers where their breaths sigh softly together until she moves to let her eyes linger on him. ]
Yeah? And where’d you like that — ? [ two large fingers linger against her underwear, light in their touch until he gives a gradual press there at that sensitive center. ] Here?
action; nsfw
[ She’s giddy on the proximity of him, the closeness, soft laughter sneaking in along the edges of the kisses they share; he slants into her palm and she keeps her hand there, spanning her fingers wide across the strength of his features as he presses his mouth to hers again and again, that sort of soft drifting that they sometimes exchange when they’re — or, more accurately, when she’s — still trying to keep talking.
But now, he actually finds a way to temporarily remove any higher thought the second his hand dips between her legs, finds where she’s already damp through that thin barrier, the blunt edges of fingers pressing hard enough to make her gasp before she shuts her mouth to stifle the sound. It comes through as a sharp intake of breath anyway and on reflex, her knees shift open a little wider. She’s never made a secret of her eagerness for this, for him and she’s not about to start now. ]
Uh — um, yeah. Yes. [ She’s struggling to not let it show in her voice but a little stammering happens anyway, as she tries to recenter her mental train from where he’d flipped that switch by touching her there; she nods once, maybe too quickly, and presses back against the pillow to look up at him. ] You’re just about there.
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still, there’s a selfishness for this too, for remaining tangled in the bed sheets with the woman he loves, and seeing all the ways he can make her curl her toes.
there’s especially fondness in this position too, because even if he’d often made it a habit to lower himself down to nest his face there between her thighs, he can’t quite sacrifice the opportunity to watch the shift of her expressions from such a perfect viewpoint, especially when she struggles now to speak as he touches her more firmly. ]
Does feel like I’m getting closer. [ the smirk is practically in his voice, especially because he knows where she’d want him to next, feels that dampness that calls him to bypass that single layer that keeps him away from a direct touch. but, maybe it’s in the eased mood he’s been placed into that has him feeling a little more playful, craving the results of a tease instead as his hand remains there above the fabric, instead choosing to rub a little harder, finding the source where she grows wet, adding a rhythmic friction of the cotton against it. ]
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If you're trying to play that hotter-colder game with me right now, I'm just gonna say that you're definitely getting warmer.
[ When she slips a hand down to wrap loose fingers around his forearm, it's not to steer or to direct him; she has no doubt that he's got everything well in hand, but she does enjoy the feeling of that tension when he equips more of his strength to deliver that building sensation, a subtle flex of muscle and tendon that ripples beneath her touch, and she can squeeze him there too when he's on to something really good — like right the hell now, that damp press eliciting a slow rock of her hips as she moves to meet him in it. She's probably risking him pulling away just for the purposes of a continued teasing, but she really hopes he's not feeling inclined to stop.
And there's a difference in having him here stretched out alongside her as his hand works between her thighs; he's got a front-row seat to everything that plays across her face, all her undisguised, unfiltered need, the way she fights to keep quiet by pressing her lips together, the visible indents in her cheeks becoming even more prominent when something he says tickles her in just the right spot of her sense of humor.
Her smile only drifts a little when she starts to get impatient and even then it's because she's surging up to kiss him, something deep and yearning and maybe halfway to an attempt to convince him to bypass her underwear for that direct contact already. ]
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even if he teases, he knows there’s a mutual trust between the two of them, and when she takes a hold of his arm, it’s in the same way that his fingers had drifted tight into her hair, massaging his palm against her scalp, all for the mere tether that keeps them close together at all points, to sink further and further until it all blends together and they communicate every response, every need, without a single showcase of words save for the soft sounds that echo, sometimes in the form of their own names.
when she presses up her hips, he can tease her further if he desires it, but he doesn’t, instead working that hand harder against her on each rising press, meeting her there to add to that aided rhythm to coaxes more of that soaking dampness.
he can feel the shift in her breath, when instinctive humor gets traded for urgency, muscles tensing when she’s desiring more and awaiting it. he runs his tongue over his own lips right before she snatches them with hers and the sudden contact makes even him moan a little at the passion that follows with it, the slide of their mouths that prompts the final shift of the tone he’d set.
because he drifts his hand up to the hem of her underwear then, finally sneaking below to roam beneath it, earning a direct contact that makes him nip at her lip in feeling her, rubbing briefly from above before a finger snakes in to slip past that initial entry. ]
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Her grip on him links them further, preserves that joining; even if they're pursuing something they don't veer towards normally, often skipping ahead to a certain main event, she wants to find every route she can to touch him, to reciprocate in putting a hand on him so she isn't just laying here passively enjoying herself. She'll seek that connection everywhere she can until it's physically impossible and she runs out of hands, or places to put her mouth; she wants him over her, against her, pressing every inch of herself to every inch of him until there's nothing that remains untouched.
But now she's being built up too high to think about anything other than where his hand resides between her legs, half-disappeared beneath a twisted sheet; the muscles in her abdomen tense slightly as those first tendrils of heat unfurl strongly in her core and she blatantly arches beneath him, the rolling wave that starts in her shoulders and carries down to her hips as his kiss stifles the ensuing moan.
And then she melts when his hand covertly slips beneath to touch her where she's aching for it, touch dipping under and in, and her fingers dig into his forearm a little more, maybe hard enough for him to perceive the rounds of her nails; if she maintains a hold somewhere, somehow, she thinks, she might be able to keep quiet, but it's a struggle to keep her eyes open, to watch him watching her as arousal plays so openly across her features, as he strips her bare with that single digit. ]
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he does it even now, and he knows she’s lost the will to retaliate in banter when all he receives in turn is the muffle of moans against his lips, his mouth parting to taste each and every one, the sound of her just as much of an important effect as what paints his fingers down below. ]
God, you’re beautiful — [ yet, not everything that comes from his mouth is purposeful, and he hardly even notices himself when he says it, distracted as he thrusts the press of a finger to a second knuckle and captures the result of it in the shifting lines across her face, the rounded workings of her lips as they gasp, and the firm grip that pinches into his skin, sharp but welcoming to any scratches of those nails that might leave remnants of this moment to draw back on later.
it’s a risk to not shield her mouth with his own, but he draws himself back just enough to gaze with fond eyes, his own breath even a light panting now, because he doesn’t want to miss the moment that he adds an additional digit, finding a steady rhythm of two fingers side by side, rocking with slick ease within the warmth of her. ]
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He's found a means to take her apart piece by piece, but she trusts him enough to put her back together afterward, and that's the difference between him and everyone else she tried to have this with — the trust to pour herself into his hands, because he's never given her any reason to doubt he's got the strength to hold her up, and she'll be there for him to lean on when it's his turn to unravel, not just on an intimate level like this moment now while the town is still waking up.
Her brow furrows more deeply, not a squint or a look of confusion at his words but somewhere closer to concentration, focus; she's lost in his eyes and everything he's saying to her while he touches her, all of it so good and safe and right that she'd be bowled over by it if she wasn't already laid out across their bed. Her mouth silently streams the sounds she can't allow herself to make, and her fingers flex at his arm, digging in even harder at that further stretch within her.
Lips form his name without a noise — Frank — and she curves against him, head tipping back against the pillow and eyes briefly screwing shut; she has to surrender his gaze for a moment but then she's reeled back to him through the rhythm of his fingers, firm and unrelenting. She blinks open to find his face and the hand at his arm travels up the length of his body to cup him at the nape of his neck, cradling their faces together while they breathe one another's breaths and he steadily works her ever closer to that release. ]
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and yet she holds him now, just as much as he does here, and while it’s she that has his hand perched within her underwear, fabric tucked up by the firmness of his knuckles, he loses himself in her just the same, sharing in it by watching as the pieces of her lay exposed, listening for her soft hushed moans, and sighing when he sees her lips form a silent call of his name.
when she reaches her his neck, curving her fingers for that solid hold, he leans to her mouth, kissing her hard then, a tight but tender press of his mouth to hers, an echo of a reminder that goes unsaid but is told in every kiss, every fond gaze, every caress to her skin.
i love you, he doesn’t say, but he sighs to her mouth and in that steady breath, he says it again and again, i love you, i love you.
perching his thumb high against that sensitive nub, he steadies his firm touch there as he seeks a faster rhythm of his sunken fingers, a steady pumping that echoes its slick sound just enough through the room that the moment still belongs to them and them alone. ] I got you. [ he mutters to her mouth, a soft reminder, as he provides the full attention of his touch between her spread legs, aiming to help her climb and climb until she achieves that sought out peak. ]
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She grips at him harder, knowing she’s lost, giving herself over to it all while he’s there to ease her back down from it in the end but touching her so capably to bring her to that breaking point first, the tension inside her building more and more until she doesn’t know if she can take it.
They don’t have the benefit of living alone, together, not anymore, but that’s proving to be the fun of it, being forced to stay quiet when she knows other ears might be sensitive enough to pick up on too many suspicious sounds and interrupt them, and not using her words hasn’t stopped her from finding his eyes in this, from letting them say what she already has but pouring it out of herself now through that shared look — keep touching me, don’t stop, please, please don’t stop, I love you.
He’s rocking with her, moving, here to hold her, to give her the graze of his mouth to hers and right when she thinks she might burst open her release rolls over her instead, played out by the rhythm of his fingers; she grinds down to meet it and presses her lips firm to his to utter her moan there, something soft and strained as she comes apart against him, around him, and she doesn’t stop until the last of it ebbs away and she can ease back into the pillow, flushed and visibly satisfied. ] Goddamn.
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