Work Text:
She doesn’t say anything.
He’s got an arm thrown over his eyes but he sees the light pool in his peripheral when she opens the door. He hears her shoes click as she walks to the bed and then their clatter when she takes them off and deposits them on the floor. He feels the mattress dip. He feels her gaze on him.
In his mind he can picture her next to him, hip up on the bed with her legs hanging over the side, twisting her waist to lean towards him. She lays a cool hand on his bare chest and brushes it over his ribs. She lets it linger there, waiting, but she never had much of a gift for patience and moves it again after only a moment. She strokes down to his hip and then back up again. She doesn’t say anything. He knows she wants him to move, to acknowledge her, but she won’t say it.
He stalls her for a bit longer, lets her hand move in its pattern against his side. She lets out a frustrated huff and he feels himself smile.
It’s only after their eyes lock when he slips his arm off his face and rests it back behind him on the pillow that she makes her move. She straddles him in a quick motion, swinging one of her legs over him and resting her full weight on him shamelessly. Instantly, he responds and wraps a hand over her hip, gripping hard. The other he places somewhere low on her back for a moment before dragging it upwards to the back of her neck as she leans her body down to meet her lips to his. There’s no hesitation between them.
She shoves her tongue inside his mouth and grazes his teeth with it and he lets her, he doesn’t mind the intrusion, but he licks up into her as well. He’s got the feeling she would bite a piece of himself off if he didn’t push back against her with an equal force. Then again she’d probably do the same if he pushed too hard in the opposite direction. It’s a balancing act with her, he thinks he'd probably die if he just laid there and took whatever she gave him or if he tried to take the reins from her without permission. He’s just putting up enough resistance to survive, and the result is a caustic, biting kiss that makes him feel like he’s drowning and on fire simultaneously. Jesus.
She sits up momentarily to take her clothes off and he takes the opportunity to discard his own pants. She leans down again to settle between his legs this time, kissing with that same fury and pressing her naked chest to his. He holds onto her. He grips her hip tighter, presses his thumb hard into the dip next to where the bone of it juts out sharply, and threads his hand into the dark hair on the back of her head. Already she’s got a hand wrapped around him, stroking.
Her hand travels lower, just barely grazing near that spot, giving him the chance to shift away and say no to this part. He does, sometimes, but not tonight. It's a second later that he hears a click and then the squirting sound of something liquid leaving a bottle. He was anticipating it, but he still jolts a little when he feels the coolness of the substance as she presses her finger into him. It’s just the tip of it, but she quickly begins to move it deeper. He figures he doesn't really like this part, when it's just the cold, alien intrusion with none of the sensation yet. Her other hand is doing that thing again though, grazing over his side from his rib to his hip over and over, and he gets lost in that repetitive motion instead.
Her finger moves straight up and down, no angle to it, and it’s clear her goal at the moment is to let him get used to the feeling of something inside him and not to produce any sort of stimulation that would overwhelm him. She always treats him with an uncharacteristic tenderness during this part no matter how many times they’ve done this. He bares his hips down and spreads his legs further apart to put an end to it.
She adds another slender finger and crooks it upwards with the first in a quick, skilled movement, and he lets out a wounded gasp as all the breath is knocked from him. Fuck. His hands twist in the sheets. She takes her fingers almost all the way out and then swiftly pushes them back in, hitting that spot inside him again, and then again. He feels her everywhere, inside and in that up and down against his side and now in her lips wet against his chest. He has no idea where in hell she learned how to do this, or how the hell he keeps ending up in bed with a woman who does. No one else has ever done this to him, with him, and the realization soothes an ache that’s burdened him for a long time. There are no memories of her in this sensation. A particularly hard thrust elicits a broken moan from somewhere deep in his chest and he’s briefly grounded by the reminder that he should probably be embarrassed by this, that he should tone it down, but any notion he might have had to maintain his pride is quickly swept from his mind. If she was going to tease him for this she would have by now.
She doesn’t say anything. She slips a third finger in and starts to twist them and spread them as she continues to thrust them in and out. The sound he chokes out could only be described as a whimper but she says nothing, still.
There’s nothing weighing him down tonight. He feels himself getting hopelessly lost in the pleasure of it, in the absence of soured memories. He can’t see or hear her, the only sounds in the room are the rhythmic movement of bodies against cloth and these high breathy sounds that he distantly realizes are coming from him, but she’s everywhere. He can’t feel his body anymore except for the points where she touches him. He doesn’t exist except for where she moves inside him and where she kisses him and where she strokes her hand up and down against him. She slows her thrusts, keeping pressure on that spot for a few seconds and rubbing it in a circular motion that makes his back arch off the bed. It’s one of his moves, he does the same thing when he’s got his fingers in her, when he’s the one making her tremble and buck from the work of his hands.
He brings his arms up onto her back and tightens his legs, bracketing her body in his. He’s just holding on. This is so fucking much. She pauses and looks up from his chest and when he meets her eyes they’re the gentlest he’s ever seen them. Questioning, and concerned, but he doesn’t have an answer, he doesn’t know what this is either. He just continues to lock his gaze with hers, only breaking with it when she moves her fingers again and he has to dip his head back to let out another choked moan.
The hand on his ribs leaves and wraps around his cock and in an instant he’s back in his body, remembering he has dick that’s aching and a woman on top of him he’s barely touched yet. He could absolutely come from this, from her fingers, but if that happened tonight he's not so sure he would be able to pull himself together and return the favor to her. He props himself up on one elbow and uses his free hand to cup her jaw and bring her face to his so they can resume that hot, messy kiss. The position is awkward with her hand reaching so low and she pulls her fingers out of him. His ass aches but he ignores the feeling and lunges for her, wrapping his arms around her and flipping them over, making her land on the mattress with a gasp.
He lines himself up, pushes in and in and starts pumping his hips furiously. They’re not kissing anymore, his face is turned into her neck, his lips against the shell of her ear. She’s making these pretty whimpers in time with his thrusts that just spur him on. The only goal in his mind at this moment is to give it to her as hard as humanly possible, to tether himself to the world somehow. He doesn’t know what the fuck that was earlier. He feels her shake and clench around him as he reaches a hand down between them to rub at her clit, and then the breath catch in her throat when she comes. He follows soon after, driving her into the bed and then spilling desperately inside her.
He pulls out and rolls off of her, panting, and she only spares a minute to lay there next to him before sitting up and slipping off the bed to put her clothes back on. He waits for the sound of the door opening and closing, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he feels a hand on his side and a gentle brush from his rib to his hip. It's only at her touch that he realizes he’s shaking a little, he doesn’t think they can do this again. At least not with the silence, god, she’s always talking, why was it so fucking silent tonight?
He can feel her staring again, and she makes this aborted sound like she was going to speak but decided against it last second.
She doesn't say anything, and he hears her leave a moment later.